First-Person POV (Marcus Hale)
The familiar sight of Bobby's junkyard fortress was a welcome relief after the long drive back. I killed the engine of the Nissan, stretching my arms with a satisfied groan.
Bobby stood on the porch, arms crossed, looking as grouchy as ever. "Took you long enough."
I smirked. "Miss me that much, old man?"
"Like a toothache."
I grabbed my duffel and sauntered up the steps, tossing him a mock salute. "Mission accomplished. One vengeful spirit, officially salted and burned."
Bobby grunted, but I caught the flicker of approval in his eyes. "You get jumped by the sheriff?"
"Oh yeah. Turns out, he was Eleanor's stepbrother."
That got his attention. Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "No shit?"
"No shit." I flopped onto the couch, kicking my feet up. "Guy knew exactly what I was doing. Didn't even arrest me."
Bobby snorted. "Lucky you."
"Luck's got nothing to do with it. It's my natural charm."
"Only thing natural about you is your ability to annoy me."
I grinned. "See? Progress."
---
Bobby tossed a stack of files onto the coffee table in front of me. "Got more cases for you."
I flipped through them—ghost sightings, possible werewolf attacks, even a weird one about cursed objects in Nebraska. "Sweet. More monsters to stab."
"You're leaving in a week."
I froze. "Wait, what?"
Bobby didn't look at me, busying himself with pouring a drink. "You're ready. More than ready. Time you got out there, did some real hunting."
I sat up, dropping the playful act. "You kicking me out?"
"I'm cutting you loose." He finally met my gaze. "You're good, kid. But you ain't gonna get better sitting here."
Internally, my mind raced. This is perfect. A week to pack, plan, and train my telekinesis without Bobby breathing down my neck.
Outwardly, I groaned. "Ugh. Fine. But I'm taking the good whiskey."
"Like hell you are."
---
Bobby slid a slip of paper across the table. "After you leave, head here. Ellen's Roadhouse. Good place to pick up cases, meet other hunters."
I took the note, nodding. "Ellen Harvelle, right? Heard she's tough."
"Tougher than you."
"Doubtful."
Bobby ignored me. "She'll set you straight if you start slacking. And don't even think about hitting on Jo."
I blinked. "Who's Jo?"
"Her daughter. And if you value your limbs, you'll stay away."
I held up my hands. "Message received. No flirting with hunter girls who could murder me."
"Smartest thing you've said all day."
I leaned back, swirling the idea in my head. Ellen's Roadhouse. More hunters. More cases. More opportunities.
And more chances to test my power.
---
That night, after Bobby had retreated to his study, I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
My fingers twitched.
Focus.
The salt shaker on the coffee table wobbled.
I held my breath, mentally pushing at it.
It slid an inch. Then another.
Then it launched off the table, hitting the wall with a clink before clattering to the floor.
I bolted upright, heart pounding. Shit.
Bobby's voice carried from the other room. "You break something, you're paying for it."
"Uh—just dropped my phone!"
Silence. Then, grumbling.
I exhaled, rubbing my temples. Okay. Less force next time.
I tried again, this time with a pen. It lifted smoothly, hovering in mid-air.
A grin spread across my face. Hell yeah.
I twisted my hand, and the pen spun lazily.
What else can I do?
I focused on the lamp.
It shuddered.
My nose started bleeding.
*Okay. Big stuff = nosebleeds. Noted.*
I wiped my face, grimacing. Gotta train this like a muscle. Start small, work my way up.
And I had a week to do it.
---
By the time I collapsed back onto the couch, my head was buzzing—partly from exhaustion, partly from excitement.
I had a plan.
Step One: Train my telekinesis in secret. Get stronger, faster, better.
Step Two: Leave Bobby's, hit Ellen's Roadhouse, and dive into the deep end of hunting.
Step Three: Find more monsters. Kill them. And if I was really lucky…
Take their power.
The thought sent a thrill down my spine.
If killing a ghost gave me telekinesis, what would a werewolf give me? Speed? Strength?
What about a demon?
I clenched my fists.
This world was dangerous. But now?
I was dangerous too.
---
The next morning, Bobby found me in the kitchen, chugging coffee like it was the elixir of life.
He eyed me. "You look like hell."
"You're a vision of sunshine yourself."
He grunted, pouring his own cup. "You packed yet?"
"Nope. Still got a week."
"Six days."
I groaned. "You're really pushing me out, huh?"
Bobby sipped his coffee, expression unreadable. "You don't belong here, kid."
I paused. "Wow. Harsh."
"Not like that." He scowled. "You're meant for more than this junkyard. Always were."
I blinked. Damn. That's… almost sweet.
I smirked. "Aw, Bobby. Is that your way of saying you'll miss me?"
He flipped me off.
I laughed, but something warm settled in my chest.
Six days.
Then the real hunt began.