The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1

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was at rest. There were only birds and soughing trees and
the odd plump bee—summer in its drowsiest, most indolent
state.
The young man craned his head, following the hawk,
following his girlfriend's pointing finger as she described
a burst of thrushes startled by the larger bird. Their gazes
traced wing against sky while Yocelin studied the shining
curve of the man's wrist, which hung close to her face. His
skin gleamed, caught light, beat with life. It was fragrant.
Yocelin wrapped a hand around his wrist, another around
his elbow, and ate into his forearm. Her teeth bit past the
scroll of his tattoo, snagged a few light blond hairs, and
gnawed toward bone.
His cry, naturally, rent the cemetery's quiet. Yocelin expected
this and let his voice yaw past her. She held tightly to
his arm and wrenched her head back, taking with it a knob of
golden skin. She was very strong, and the man wasn't able to
flail away. The young woman's scream braided itself around
his squawking outrage, but their voices were the only power
they had.
Yocelin chewed and examined the hole she created. She
grimaced. The flesh on her tongue was tough and flavorless.
The wound was dry. Ruz? she wondered, waiting. The red
wouldn't come. The bane was absent.
She was taken by surprise, and in her shock the man
twisted from her grip and staggered back. He staggered
in the wrong direction, falling on the cemetery side of the
gate. Yocelin leapt from her perch and blocked his path to
the road, wide-armed. Hemmed in by fence and aggressor,
the man scrambled in the only clear direction—through the
graveyard—while his girlfriend warbled. Her porcelain was
safe; Yocelin was fierce but she could only handle one victim
at a time. It was the gold, the denser, muskier warmth she
wanted, and she gave chase to it.
The hawk and thrushes, the hovering bees and the delicate
wind were gone. There was only the man in his enticing