Rosalie Delilah Lockwood stands across the street from the bar, the seventeen-year-old stares at the building meticulously because she plans on going in, not to drink or party or anything like that, but to kill, kill a monster.
Rose has just turned seventeen, and like every seventeen-year-old witch or werewolf, they're given a test to kill a monster to gain their mark. It is a witch and a werewolf's job to protect humans from the creatures that lurk in the dark.
"You nervous?" her uncle asked her before leaving the house, and Rose gave him a look, a grimace consumed her face, because why would she be nervous? Because one, she has been training her whole life for this. And she's a Lockwood, a Lockwood has never failed a test, and she knows she's not going to be the first to fail.
"Alright, alright, sorry for asking that question." Her uncle giggled, and she still doesn't know what's funny. Well, maybe because her uncle really did ask her that question to be funny, and he knows she's not nervous. Why would she be?
She's a hybrid who happens to be a Lockwood.
Some people have failed their test; most of them were shunned by their family because they were seen as a disgrace. If you fail your test, the gods will curse you by making you human.
The thought makes Rose shudder; her being human looks cool and peaceful because at least there won't be people scared of her for being a hybrid. But she likes being part witch and part werewolf, and she can't imagine failing a test and being shunned by her family for doing so.
A Lockwood has never failed a test.
And she's not going to be the first to fail.
Seeing her cousin, Derek, pass his test when he was seventeen, motivated her even more. Derek was sent to kill three ogres. He killed them, but their stinky green blood splattered all over him, and he and the house stank for a week.
But it didn't matter; all that mattered was that he got his mark, and Rose is going to be doing the same thing.
Rose watches the adults walking into the club in a straight line. These people are so clueless about what goes on in their surroundings, they don't know there are wendigos in there ready to tear and eat their flesh. But oh well, Rose will make sure their night doesn't get ruined.
She's read a lot about wendigos, and she knows their weak spots; she's going to kill them tonight.
She steps away from her motorcycle, which her uncle gave her when she turned sixteen last year. She takes in a deep breath and says a prayer to the gods and then moves forward with confidence.
She crosses the street and walks past the adults in the line, strutting toward the bouncer who guards the door.
All eyes are on her, because Rose is not just beautiful but magnetic.
Deep brown skin, long dark curls, full luscious lips, cognac brown eyes, a straight nose which has a ring linked to it, and there are several piercings on her brows and ears.
Her outfit leans hard into a grunge/alt-rock aesthetic with a bit of punk edge.
An oversized graphic band tee layered over a long-sleeve black shirt. The layering adds depth and that effortless "I don't try too hard" vibe.
Loose, high-waisted dark jeans with a relaxed, slightly baggy fit-very 90s inspired. A red plaid shirt tied around the waist, which gives the classic grunge touch and breaks up the dark tones.
Chunky chain necklaces, a wallet chain hanging from the jeans, adds a rebellious edge feel.
Fingerless black gloves and chunky black platform combat boots ground the whole outfit and make it feel bold and confident.
Anyone who looks at her will automatically assume that she's cool and everyone wants to be her friend. But it is very hard to be friends with someone who only has two friends and doesn't trust anyone.
She stands in front of the big black bouncer with lots of tattoos. The bouncer looks her up and down.
"Sorry, princess, back of the line," he says, and Rose scoffs. And she flashes her eyes, it goes bright golden, and so do his.
Now they understand each other.
"Oh," the bouncer says. "Please go in." Rose puts a brief smile on her face, and she eventually gets into the building.
"Good luck!" The bouncer says to her.
Rose stops, and she faces the man with a scowl on her face. He isn't looking at her; he's paying attention to the fake twenty-somethings who want to get drunk.
Rose rolls her eyes and walks away.
Luck.
She doesn't need luck.
Luck is for the mediocre.
And she surely isn't mediocre.
She chooses to ignore that, and she moves forward, and the further she gets, the louder the music.
She's never been in a club before, she'd like to think that the first time she'd be in one is to drink, not kill a monster.
But oh well, there's time for everything.
The music is louder than ever, and she's surrounded by dancing humans, people who just came in here to avoid the outside world.
As tempting as it is to join the crowd and forget about her problems and past trauma. Rose has to stay focused and look around for any suspicious activity. But first, she has to stay hydrated so she moves over to the bar.
"Why hello there," the bartender says to her, liking what he's seeing. He is handsome with his Justin Bieber haircut.
"Yeah, hello. Can I get an orange juice?"
"Really? Nothing else, nothing stronger?"
She could take something stronger, but she doesn't want to right now. She just wants something to keep her hydrated. She has drunk alcohol so many times but of course, her Aunt and Uncle cannot find out.
And right now they're at home, and if she takes alcohol, they'll smell it in her breath. They're werewolves, and werewolves have a super strong sense of smell.
"Nah, just the juice."
"Alright, coming right up," the bartender goes to get her juice. While she waits, she scans the room to catch a wendigo in the act. All she sees are drunk humans who can easily be killed by a wendigo. No wonder they came here.
"Here's your juice," the bartender says, putting a juice in front of her, and she takes it and finishes it in one go.
That's refreshing.
The bartender places something else in front of her. Vodka.
"Uh, I didn't order this."
"He did," the bartender says, pointing. Rose looks at who he's pointing at. And it's a man in his mid-forties in a suit lifting his drink at her.
Rose feels something turn in her stomach. She knows for a fact that this man is married and has probably told his dear pregnant wife that he'll be working late while he's here looking for a girl young enough to be his daughter to take to a motel.
Rose puts on a brief smile, and as soon as she turns away, her face falls, she rolls her eyes, gets up from the stool and goes to look for the monster she's supposed to be killing.
She spots someone looking suspicious, a white man in a red cap going out back. Rose smiles.
"Got you," she mutters.
She walks past a lot of enthusiastic drunk dancers; some girls even trap her and ask her to dance with them.
"Ah, I'd love to, ladies, but I have some things to take care of."
Like saving you from a flesh-eating monster.
They all whine in disappointment.
"Sorry, maybe next time."
"I love her hair, oh my God," she hears one of them say, and Rose smiles and walks away from them.
Rose heads over to the place that Wendigo went to.
She knows about almost all the creatures that lurk in the dark, and she tries to recall what she's learned about the wendigo.
They were humans cursed to be monsters because when they were humans, they were eating humans, cannibals.
They're very strong and fast, they have an insatiable hunger, thrive in cold environments, and they're master manipulators. If you thought your ex was the biggest manipulator around, then you sure haven't met the wendigo.
Their weaknesses are fire, destruction of the heart, spiritual intervention and their own hunger.
Rose knows this much, and she's going to use it to her advantage to pass this test.
She moves out back, and she springs out her claws just to be ready.
At first, there's silence and the distance of the music, but then she hears muffled noises, grunts, moans and punches. Almost like there's a fight going on right now.
Rose furrows her brows, confused as fuck. What could be going on?
Are they fighting each other?
There's a red curtain that guards the VIP section. They're in there. She can smell their frozen hearts.
She lifts the curtain, and what she sees is not what she expects.
Someone is already fighting them.
"Oh, hi, you must be a werewolf," the boy says with a smile and then punches a wendigo, which sends him flying.
Who is this?
The most confusing part is that this person is neither a witch nor a werewolf.
He's a fucking vampire.