The glossy black Rolls Royce tore through a desolate forest path, whipping loose leaves in its wake. Dogs, large and barking, pursued. 

            Though the driver, a fierce looking man with sharp features and brown and white hair, kept his foot firmly pressed on the gas pedal, the dogs were catching up. The car was homage to the past; even with an up-to-date engine, it was built for durability, not speed.

            "Her beasts will be upon us soon," the driver announced with cold certainty. His yellow eyes flashed to the rearview mirror. "What are your orders, my lady?"

            His question was directed to his passenger. A woman so tall she had to slouch in her seat to keep her head from hitting the roof of the car. Her long, inky black, hair swayed as she sat up. She would not admit it, but she had almost fallen asleep.

Or, rather, passed out from loss of blood.

She gripped the injury on her arm with her other hand and squeezed it, hoping the pain alone would keep her awake.

            "I do not have the time nor the desire to entertain Madame Terrebonne this evening," the woman breathed, trying her best to reign in her growing weakness. "Hornroot, rid me of her vermin. No mercy."

            The driver hesitated. A rarity.

            The woman flinched when his piercing eyes flashed to her. "You are hurting worse than you let on, my lady."

            It was not a refusal to her order. Nor was it a suggestion for an alternative plan. Just a remark. The way he said it could have been mistaken as casual, if it weren't for the solemnity of their situation.

            Still, it bothered her. She could never hide anything from him.

            "I'm fine. Roll down your window, Hornroot."

            The driver did so without complaint or hesitation. Cold air shot through the new opening. The long, wild hair of the Rolls Royce's passengers billowed in the wind. The snarls, howls, and barks of the dogs became more apparent. Louder. Closer.

            "Are your others in position?" the woman asked, having to speak louder over the rush of wind.

            "They are, my lady."

            The woman reached across the caddy. When one of her pale hands caught the wheel, the driver released his grip. The Rolls Royce veered to the left until the woman clutched the steering wheel with both hands. As her body stretched further, she was forced to let out an audible groan.

            The driver made to assist her. "My lady—"

            "I said I'm fine!" the woman snapped. The driver did not move. Something from the back seat let out a little whimper. "Now go! Fly! Change!"

            The last word the woman spoke carried with it a certain raw emotion. The driver couldn't place the feeling – he never could – but when that word was spoken, he felt compelled to change. He had to change. He had to be more in order to serve his master.

            So he became an owl.

            Where once sat a man in his late fifties/early sixties, now there was nothing but a heap of his dark clothes and a few feathers. The owl that had replaced him was already out of the window, flying into the cold and the dark.

            The woman let out a ragged breath. She gripped the wheel tighter, but could hardly feel it in her hands. She risked a glance to the rearview mirror.

            They had been nearly upon them. Terrebonne's Terrors, as the free witches had come to call the Madame's legion of loyal monsters.

Dogs. Big, mangy, slobbery things with wide mouths, sharp teeth, and abnormally large muscles. Alone, one would be a problem, but a pack – a herd of them, organized, single-minded, and commanded by one True Alpha? That was...more than just a problem.

            Her eyes met with him. The True Alpha. He led the pack and was closest to the Rolls Royce. His dark eyes never failed to unsettle her, so unlike the fiery, fierce eyes of her own Hornroot. Shepherd's eyes were as still and frigid as the night sky.

            Their eye contact was broken when Shepherd shot his pointed head up to the sky. His senses were superhuman, more so than a normal dog's. Had to be, in order to hear the parliament of owls as they fell upon the pack.

            It was an eerie thing, seeing so many dark shapes descend from the trees without making a sound. Nearly thirty of them, last time her Hornroot had counted.

            Owls were unique when it came to their method of flying. Their primary feathers on their wings, serrated, like a comb, broke down turbulence as they flew. It allowed them to catch their prey by surprise, whether it was a lone field mouse... or a pack of unsuspecting dogs.

            While Hero was quick to bark an order and leap to one side, his command was too slow for most of the other dogs. The owls fell upon many of them and, while the woman could not see it in the darkness, she could imagine their talons tearing ears, puncturing eyes, and gouging throats. Injured cries and sharp whines filled the night air.

            It was her order. She could not expect any less.

            The woman turned her head back to face the open road. She unbuckled herself, clambered slowly into the driver's seat, and rolled up the window. The silence that followed was absolute.

            "I'm sorry."

            The woman's eyes again fell on the rearview mirror. There was no sign of the dogs behind them. Hornroot would certainly keep them distracted long enough for them to slip away. She had time.

            The woman readjusted the mirror so she could see her daughter. A frail, little girl. A spitting image of the woman with her dark hair and clothes and pale white skin. She seemed even smaller the way she had tucked in her legs and curled herself against the backseat of the car. The woman noted the raccoon eyes her mascara had given her, a sure sign she had been crying.

            So young, the woman thought to herself. Not even thirteen and already— No. The woman corrected herself. Her daughter was thirteen now. Today was her thirteenth birthday.

            "You have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet one," the woman said, keeping one eye on the road and one on her daughter. "Your mother was at fault this time. I should have told you the truth."

            Her daughter stared at the floor of the car. Her tiny hands gripped the loose cloth of her dark dress. A sure sign she was angry.

The woman suspected she would be angry with her for some time. Her daughter wouldn't ask her why her mother had done what she did. She was angry, but she was a good girl. She never questioned her mother.

Even when her mother desperately wanted her to.   

"Rosetta—"

"It isn't moving."

"What?"

The woman slowed the car as it came to a sharp turn. She turned her head slightly to see her daughter indicating the black silk bag that lay motionless on the seat furthest from her. Rosetta remained scrunched up against the side of the door and her mother wondered if it wasn't just due to fear of Terrebonne's Terrors.

"He's probably resting—"

"He hurt you. I hope he's dead."

"Rosetta..." She attempted to correct her daughter, but was reminded of her weakened state when she couldn't form the words. She had one good hand left on the wheel. As she made the sharp turn, her injured one fell to her side. She didn't want it to, but she could put no strength into it. It had become dead weight.

The Rolls Royce jerked around and the woman had to fight to keep control of the car. She heard her daughter let out another soft whimper as the car threatened to go off the road. There was hardly a few feet between the dirt path and the forest surrounding them. The car's cruise control kept it at a steady pace – if she let it swerve off the road, she wasn't sure they would all survive the impact.

The woman bit her lip as she pulled on the wheel with her last good arm. She bit hard, but not enough to draw blood. That was the last thing she needed right then.

With the rest of her strength, she managed to keep the car at the center of the road. She didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief. Both for the sake of Rosetta and the simple fact that the release of air might knock her out. She was nearing her end.

And all from a bite.

Sure, his teeth were sharp and he had not held back, but the bleeding was excessive. It was hard to tell from her dark clothes, but blood had soaked them. If she looked, the woman could see trails of red trace down her hands and fingers. If Rosetta saw, she made no comment. She knew how sick her mother was. The woman had made sure to not to hide that from her.

But why did she hide the truth about the boy?

The woman's vision was growing hazy. The world outside of the car's headlights was pitch black. She did not have the luxury to think anymore. It would take all of her energy and concentration to make it out of the dense forest that gave the community its namesake.

The cold, crippling numbness was seeping into her shoulder.

The woman wasn't sure if she'd make it back home alive. 

...

Loretta Louise awoke in a bleary haze. At first, her vision was nothing but a mixture of blurry grays and she was only aware of the sensation of being weightless. So, she wondered if she had died, as she had predicted.

Then the person carrying her shifted his weight. Her cheek slid against the smooth fabric of his suit and the firm ridges of his muscles.

All at once, her vision cleared and Lady Louise sat up, almost causing her familiar, Hornroot, to drop her.

"Careful, my lady," he cautioned. A hand on her rump adjusted itself to keep her from falling.

"Release me, Hornroot." Loretta had wished her voice had been more firm than it sounded. "I can walk on my own now."

"As you wish."

Hornroot stopped walking and knelt down. Loretta caught sight of her daughter, clinging to the tail of Hornroot's suit with one hand, and made to say something to her, but no sooner had her feet touched the ground than she was falling backwards.

Though the grizzled familiar had one hand on a dark silk bag, he was quick to shoot out the other and grab his Master's hand before she could fall all the way back. She remained at an acute angle from the ground until he gently pulled her against him. Without meaning to, Loretta threw her arms around his midsection as her legs threatened to give out again.

"You are still weak," her familiar commented, seemingly unfazed by the close contact. "You should give yourself more time to recover, my lady."

Loretta closed her eyes for a brief moment. She sucked in a deep breath of crisp, winter air. She tried to ignore the feel of the hardened body beneath the suit.

"Alright. You're right," she relented. "But only for a few minutes."

She straightened herself, using her familiar's free arm for support and took a few seconds to take in her new surroundings.

They were no longer in the woods. That was for sure. They were on the sidewalk of a familiar neighborhood. Their neighborhood. Miles away from where she remembered struggling to stay conscious in the Rolls Royce.

Squat, french-styled, homes, almost close enough to touch one another, were lined up on both sides of the road. Their colors didn't vary much between light browns and pale yellows and they appeared near identical in the lack of sunlight. Though they were squat, most were at least two or three stories tall.

Despite appearances, this was not a neighborhood for the poor.

It was still dark out. Though, judging by how much better she could see, Loretta assumed they were only a few hours from dawn. Her eyes scanned the multitude of windows surrounding them.

"Is it wise to escort us this way, Hornroot?" she asked as she peered through any window she could see. "What if we have been seen?"

"This is a fairly new neighborhood, my lady. Most of these houses remain empty and those that are occupied are occupied by residents who keep to themselves when they see something strange." Her familiar mimicked her scanning of the windows. "In my experience, most know-nothings do not seek trouble unless it directly involves them."

Loretta remained silent. Her blue eyes did not stop searching windows until she felt her familiar's probing gaze on her.

"But you have already been told all this, my lady. Do you not trust the word of the Overseer and Stalwart?"

She met his gaze. His bright yellow eyes were so foreign, so unique, that it sometimes scared her when he looked right at her. Like he could burn her alive with just a look.

"No, I simply trust your word more."

More and more, she saw it wasn't hatred which made his eyes burn as they did when they looked at her. She allowed a small smile to touch her lips.

Hornroot nodded and Loretta took the pause to put some distance between them. The strength was returning to her legs already and she needed her composure back before she could face her daughter.

After taking a few calming breaths, Loretta kneeled down and Hornroot stepped aside, revealing the small girl still clinging to his coattails.

She was standing, she was breathing, and she still had enough spunk to keep her head pointedly turned away from her mother. But still, Loretta had to ask: "Are you alright, my angel?"

Her little fists tightened their hold on Hornroot's coat. "We crashed into trees."

Loretta had to resist grabbing her daughter and probing her body for injuries. Instead, she tightened her white hands into fists and shot her head up to her familiar. She was unable to speak right away, but her wide eyes and chalk white face told him everything.

"I caught up with the car near the edge of the Brimwick Forest," Hornroot answered, meeting his master's eyes and keeping his voice level and slow. "You had crashed, likely from loss of blood, but you managed to switch off the cruise control before the impact. The car had slowed significantly and the 'trees' that Miss Louise claims you hit were no more than a few saplings and adolescent ferns."

"It made a terrible noise," Rosetta protested. "And the windshield smashed."

Loretta let her head fall and bit her lip for just a moment. She was feeling light-headed again, but she put on a brave face before meeting her daughter's eyes.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

Her daughter's face was dirty, a smudge here and there, but Loretta saw no cuts or bruises. Though she must have been tired walking lord knows how far, she kept her feet and her irritation was in full force. Loretta could see it in her eyes.

            Her daughter was far stronger than her.

"I'm tired," was her only response.

Though she already knew the answer, Loretta spread out her arms and asked: "Would you like me to carry you?"

Her daughter shied away, much as Loretta expected, seeking shelter behind Hornroot's tall legs. She forced an understanding smile. "Would it be alright if Hornroot carried you then?"

Rosetta was quiet for a few moments. "I suppose so," came the muffled reply.

Loretta's smile became easier. 'I suppose so' was one of the few phrases her daughter had borrowed from her.

She sat up to face her looming familiar, spying the black silk bag still in his hand as she did. "Is Al...Is the boy alright?"

Hornroot lifted the bag slightly in the air. Loretta could just make out the imprint of the creature's small body as it lay motionless at the bottom.

"He's resting," Hornroot answered. "I made sure the blow I dealt him was just severe enough to put him in a long sleep during the healing process."

Loretta nodded. Her daughter made no comment. Either she had already gotten over her desire for her familiar to be dead, or she had already known about his survival and had her spell of disappointment while Loretta was unconscious. Her mother could only assume it was the latter.

She held in a weary sigh and offered a curt nod instead. This was her mistake, after all. It fell on her to find a way to still make it work.

"I will hold on to...him for the rest of the way. If you would be so kind as to carry my daughter?"

Her familiar nodded as well before silently handing over the bag. It was far lighter than Loretta expected. She stared down at it, examining the golden rope keeping it tied up tight.

"We should think up something to call him," Loretta said.

Her familiar made no comment as he knelt down and her daughter said not a word as she climbed up on his back. The rest of the walk was spent in silence.

She had not spoken very loud when she had suggested it. Loretta would pretend they simply hadn't heard her.

...

*Author's Note*

As Alex takes his author prescribed knock out for the week, we seem to have gotten a little more insight on the family he is about to be a part of. Based on what we have seen so far, is Alex safe with them? Or is he in for even more troubles and tribulations?

Whatever you guys think, feel free to comment and let me know