Northern Lights

By kctjohnson

PREFACE

Thirty-six dead in Los Angeles, twenty-two in Las Vegas, eleven in Denver, seven in Albuquerque, and thirteen in Phoenix. Those numbers would have been considered high death tolls in a single week if the police force in each of those cities had known of them. Most of the dead were vagrants and indigents whom no one apparently missed, and in large cities like these, murders were not uncommon. And it didn't help that those killed disappeared without a trace. Well, almost without a trace. In each case, the only thing remaining of the victims was their eyes. If those had been discovered by authorities, it would have been obvious that the murders were all connected.

The killings had been steadily increasing in the past two months in large cities on the western coast and the southwestern parts of the country. It had all started in the vicinity of Canyon Del Muerto, or Valley of the Dead, on the Navajo reservation. It had begun as 'mild' killings where victims were found petrified to death. But it had somehow escalated to gruesome mauling, and finally to possible human consumption – save the eyes.

No one spoke of these seemingly supernatural killings on the reservation, especially those who found the remnants. They all know what did it, and it was best to not say anything lest it – or they – would come after those who dared to speak openly of them. Many Navajo communities were being terrorized as the killing area seemed to spread. It was not so much that they were spreading their territories that bothered those who lived on the reservation. It was that their killing tactics were changing. They had never consumed human flesh in the past. Something was changing, yet no one dared to investigate – not even the Navajo Nation Police; they were, after all, only human. Chasing them would have been deadly. Arresting any was laughable.

"Ms. Blade, here are the reports you were looking for," a stocky Navajo police officer muttered expressionlessly from behind the counter. He handed a stack of papers to a slender, rather pretty woman who took them with a knowing smile. The officer nodded blankly, his eyes somewhat unfocused.

"Thank you, Officer Yazzie," replied the tall woman known as Ms. Blade. "You will not speak to anyone of this."

"No… I will not speak to anyone of this," the man said nodding. It was only after the woman had left the police station that life came back into them. Of course, he had no recollection of what had happened in the past half hour, nor of how the Skinwalker reports had mysteriously disappeared from the files in the back.

Two men awaited Ms. Blade by an old, unremarkable Ford Focus just outside of the station. One had sandy blond hair with tanned skin, while the other was a tall African-American with tight dreadlocks that extended half-way down his back. Ms. Blade had light auburn hair and was pale as white sheets. Under any other circumstance, three such characters would have attracted much attention on the reservation, but strangely, no one took notice of them. People walked past them as though they were invisible.

"I'm always impressed by your skills, Blade," the blond man chortled as he eyed the stack of papers in the woman's hands. She didn't respond but merely waved the two to get into the car.

"I'd been itching to hunt werewolves," the darker man said in a tone that was clearly held back from sounding too eager. "I was getting bored of vampires."

"Oh really, Jackson?" the blond man smirked as he raised a curious eyebrow. "And who was it that had gotten himself bitten by a Newborn and was out of commission for three days?"

"Watch it, Harrow. You're treading dangerous waters," growled Jackson as he started the engine.

"If you two can keep it down for ten minutes I might be able to figure out some kind of pattern in their movements," snapped Blade from the back seat as she studied the reports. "We're dealing with shape-shifters here. They're not just werewolves."

"We know, Blade," Jackson drawled as though mocking a repetitive teacher. "They can turn into anything. But more often than not, they're wolves."

Harrow scoffed and rolled his eyes upward. Both men felt the icy glare of Blade from behind them and resorted to complete silence throughout the rest of the trip back to Phoenix.