Witching Hour

Let's start at the beginning. I am a witch. And not the kind that has green skin and flies around on a broomstick, although that might be pretty cool. No, I am a bonafide, Magic wielding person who seems to be on the s**t list of other magical creatures just for simply being born. I have spent my entire life running, hiding because of who and what I am. Vampires want to drink my blood because it gives them some euphoric high. Werewolves and other shifters covet our magic and believe that they can use us as some sort of mystic but in chains and cages. Other witches like to have some sort of‘Highlander' competition to see who the better witch is, like something out of a Harry Potter duel or something. Witches are solitary creatures. We don’t stick together and defend our kind as a force and it’s really sad but also frightening. I have no refuge anywhere I go and once someone discovers me, I am on the move once again. Like tonight. I am currently on a bus headed from some hodunk town in Tennessee heading to the next hodunk town I get to. Somewhere I can live away from people. Last time I was only able to hide for eight months. The time between settling and being discovered was getting less and less and it seemed that many people that were part of our secret supernatural community were thinking the same as me. Weres were the worse. They could shift my scent out easily. Vamps, you had to be within a ten-mile radius. I hadn’t come across many other witches though, but to be honest, I think I could reason with another witch better than the other two. The thing too was, I could easily be turned into either of the two others. I could be a shapeshifter witch or a vampiric witch and that part scared me more. So far though, the groups I met all wanted me as I was. It was late and the road we were on was fairly empty, as was the bus. There was only one other passenger and he was sleeping near the back with his baseball cap covering his face. I often traveled at night. Less of a chance of meeting someone I didn’t want to. The driver as a plump man. I knew he drank at least three cups of coffee during the night just by reading his mind. I tried not to use my empathic and telepathic gifts. They could lead to more trouble but I was bored. He was thinking about his wife and daughter and how they were being held captive... What? Suddenly the bus pulls over. My heart beats a mile a minute. The driver looks at me with wide brown eyes. “Sorry... they have them...” and he gets off the bus quickly, closing the doors behind him. The man in the back is quick, too quick, and has me pinned against the window, salivating as a growl rumbles from his throat. “You’re running days are over, witch. You’re mine now.” “Well, Fuck.”