Chapter 1:The Night Watcher
1200 Words
Scarlett's flashlight died with a sad flicker just as the crash echoed through the empty hall.
"Hello?" She called out, her voice bouncing off the marble floors. First night on the job, and already something was wrong. Just her luck.
She fumbled for her phone, switching on its light. The security company had given her a map of the Crescent Gallery, but it didn't show where they kept spare batteries. Or who might be breaking in at midnight.
Scarlett had taken this job because she needed money after the art world kicked her out. Nobody wanted works from "the girl who had a meltdown" at the biggest show of the year. Never mind that she couldn't remember what happened that night.
Another crash, closer this time.
Scarlett's heart pounded as she moved between the sculptures. Her breath came out in white puffs. Why was it so cold in here? The gallery had been warm when she did her security rounds an hour ago.
"Security guard on duty!" she shouted, trying to sound stronger than she felt. "I've called the police!" She hadn't, but the intruder didn't need to know that.
Something silver flashed in the corner of her eye. When she spun around, nothing was there.
Scarlett's phone pinged. A text from her landlord: Rent late again. Final warning.
"Great timing," she mumbled, shoving the phone in her pocket. She needed this job. No running away, no matter how much her senses screamed to get out.
The marble floor suddenly changed to wood under her feet. Scarlett looked up. Somehow she'd walked into the east wing—a part that, according to her map, should be locked for renovation.
Her phone's flashlight beam fell on fresh scratch marks on the floor. They looked like animal claws had dug into the wood. Following them, she reached a wall where the marks simply stopped.
"Weird," Scarlett whispered, reaching out to touch the wall. It felt ice-cold.
As her fingers pressed against it, the wall swung inward with a soft click. A secret door. Her map definitely didn't show this.
"Hello?" Her voice shook as she peered into darkness. "Anyone in there?"
Silence answered, but the air from the secret room smelled strange—like forest dirt and something wild.
Just look quickly and get out, she told herself. Don't lose this job too.
The secret room was small, with no windows and no other doors. Empty picture hooks lined the walls. In the middle stood a single painting on an easel, covered with a velvet cloth.
Scarlett's phone flickered, the charge running low. She had maybe a minute of light left.
"Just a peek," she whispered. Her hand shook as she lifted the velvet cover.
The picture underneath knocked the breath from her lungs.
Three werewolves stood in a forest clearing under a blood-red moon. Two guys faced off—one black as midnight, the other silver-gray. Between them crouched a female wolf with copper-red hair and a white streak down her back.
The female wolf was turning toward the viewer, her golden eyes seeming to stare straight at Scarlett. They were filled with recognition and warning.
Scarlett stumbled backward, dropping her phone. It clattered to the floor, its light spinning wildly before going dark.
Those sparkling eyes. That white streak in the red hair.
The wolf had Scarlett's face.
Not just similar—it was her face, with the same small scar above her right eyebrow from when she fell off her bike as a kid.
"That's impossible," she whispered, feeling suddenly dizzy. The room seemed to spin around her.
The picture began to glow with its own faint light. As Scarlett watched, frozen in shock, the wolves in the picture moved. The red wolf's head turned, following her moves. Its mouth opened in a quiet howl.
"This isn't real," Scarlett said, backing away. "I'm just tired. I'm seeing things."
Her back hit something solid—not the wall, but a person. Warm hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her.
"You weren't supposed to find this room yet," a man's voice said softly. "You're early this time."
Scarlett tried to turn, but the hands held her firmly in place.
"The painting—" she started.
"Yes," the man said. "It always calls to you first. Some things never change, no matter how many cycles pass."
"Who are you?" Scarlett asked, finally twisting free and spinning around.
In the dim light from the picture, she could make out a tall figure with broad shoulders. His face remained in shadow, but his eyes caught the light—one blue, one gold, exactly like the black wolf in the picture.
"You know who I am," he said. "You just don't remember yet."
Scarlett backed away. "I've never seen you before."
"You've known me for over three hundred years, Scarlett." The man stepped closer, into the glow of the picture. He was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way, with silver-streaked black hair and those impossible mismatched eyes. "My name is Magnus Nightshade. I own this gallery."
"Mr. Nightshade," Scarlett stammered. "I'm sorry for being in here. I heard noises—"
"You heard the painting calling you." Magnus reached past her and touched the canvas. The wolves froze, becoming just paint again. "It always finds a way to reach you, no matter where I hide it."
"This is crazy," Scarlett said. "Paintings don't call people. And that wolf doesn't have my face."
"The white streak in your hair," Magnus said. "You've had it since birth, correct? And the nightmares about running through forests? The blackouts during full moons?"
Scarlett felt her blood turn cold. "How do you know about those?"
"Because I've watched you die seventeen times," Magnus said simply. "And I'm trying to prevent death number eighteen."
The room suddenly felt too small, too close. Scarlett darted past him, running for the door.
"You can run," Magnus called after her. "But remember what happens when you see the moon tonight!"
Scarlett didn't stop until she reached the main gallery floor, gasping for breath. She had to be dreaming. Or the famous Magnus Nightshade was completely insane. Either way, she needed to get out of here.
As she rushed toward the exit, the clouds outside parted. Moonlight streamed through the glass roof, bathing her in silver light.
Scarlett froze as pain ripped through her body. Her vision blurred, replaced by flashing images: Forest paths. Blood on snow. A metal knife. A baby crying. A stone glowing blue in her hand.
Her hands began to tingle and burn. When she looked down, her toenails were lengthening, sharpening into points.
"What's happening to me?" she gasped, falling to her knees.
Behind her, Magnus's voice was calm. "The moon remembers, even if you don't."
Scarlett turned to see him coming, holding a small blue stone that pulsed with inner light.
"Take this," he said, offering the stone. "Before it's too late."
"What is it?" she asked, pushing against the strange pain in her bones.
"A piece of your soul," Magnus answered. "From the first time you died."
As the moonlight increased, Scarlett felt her teeth sharpening in her mouth.
And somewhere in the distance, a wolf began to howl.
- Writer
