Night crept across the city like a bruise, swallowing the last orange streaks of daylight. In the abandoned museum cellar beneath the historical district, the air was still except for the quiet murmur of a man pacing in a tight circle. Candles burned low, casting gold shadows against glass display cases long emptied of their treasures.
Dr. Elias Ren stopped his pacing at last.
He stood before a stone table where a girl's body lay shrouded in a gray sheet.
Ginger Fitzgerald.
Her red hair spilled out like dried blood against limestone. Her skin was pale, almost marble. She looked peaceful, almost asleep, but Elias knew the truth: her life had ended violently, tragically, and too soon.
He placed the Book of the Dead beside her—its gold-encrusted cover gleaming despite the dim light.
"Tonight," he whispered, "you will rise again."
He had studied legends of the Wolf-Blooded—creatures touched by ancient magic. Some scholars believed they were linked to Anubis himself. When Elias read witness accounts of Ginger Fitzgerald's transformations, he knew what she was: the last echo of that long-lost lineage.
And he needed her alive to prove it.
He opened the Book.
The pages exhaled dust like a long-forgotten breath.
The hieroglyphs pulsed faintly. Elias felt the warmth of ancient power creep into the room, humming beneath his fingertips.
He began the incantation.
"Tu-ak awi. Ta feri. Ankh-tech heru. Rise and walk once more."
The candles flickered violently.
Wind spiraled through the room though no windows were open. Ginger's hair fluttered, lifting slightly as if underwater.
Elias continued louder, heart racing.
"Return soul to vessel, flesh to bone, blood to curse! Obey the call of life!"
A tremor shook the floor.
The stone table vibrated. Glass shattered in distant cases.
Ginger's fingers twitched.
Elias stepped back, breath held, eyes wide.
Her chest rose once—as if remembering what it meant to breathe.
Then a crack echoed through the room.
Her spine arched sharply. A gasp tore from her throat, raw and hollow. The sheet slid down, revealing skin crawling with black veins that pulsed like ink spreading through water.
Ginger's eyelids snapped open.
Gold. Bright, hungry gold.
She rolled onto her hands and knees, gagging as if forcing air into lungs unused for years. Elias held his breath. He didn't dare speak; he didn't dare move.
Ginger lifted her head slowly.
Her gaze locked on him.
Not wild. Not mindless.
Aware.
"Where…" Her voice rasped like torn fabric. "Where is Brigitte?"
Elias blinked. He hadn't expected her first concern to be anyone but herself.
"She's alive," he said carefully. "Alive but in danger."
Ginger's nostrils flared. She could smell Brigitte's scent—faint, distant, tangled with fear and illness.
The bond between them flared like a hot wire in her skull.
Pain. Brigitte's pain.
Ginger stumbled, then stood, muscles trembling, forcing strength into limbs that had been dead.
Her heart thumped once—twice—then settled into a steady rhythm.
Elias lifted a hand. "You must stay. There are things you don't understand—"
Ginger growled softly. Not uncontrolled fury. Something colder.
A warning.
Elias swallowed hard.
She turned toward the exit.
"Don't follow me."
Then her eyes flashed gold.
"Brigitte needs me."
She bolted out of the cellar with speed he couldn't match.
---
The night air stung her skin but felt real — alive, sharp, electric. She ran through the labyrinth of alleys, bare feet barely touching the pavement. Every step drew her closer to a familiar heartbeat, faint but steady.
Brigitte.
Alive.
But afraid.
Ginger's breath hitched. The bond burned hot in her chest, guiding her through streets she had never walked in this new life. She scaled a chain-link fence, sprinted across a rooftop, and halted.
Below, in the decaying silhouette of a suburban house, Brigitte's scent leaked through the cracked windows.
Weak. Sick. Half-wolf.
And trapped.
Ginger dropped silently into the backyard. A basement window was welded shut, but the locks snapped beneath her fingers like brittle bones. She slid inside, landing in darkness thick with damp and fear.
Her eyes adjusted instantly.
Brigitte sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, shivering. Her hair hung over her face. Her hands were half-clawed, trembling.
For a moment Ginger froze.
She had imagined this reunion so many times, but nothing compared to the raw, aching reality of her sister alive before her.
Brigitte lifted her head slowly.
Her eyes reflected pale blue light—wolf eyes.
"Ginger?" she whispered, voice cracking.
Ginger stepped forward.
"It's me, Bee."
Brigitte's breath stuttered.
"You're dead… I saw you die."
Ginger knelt, touching her shoulder.
"I came back."
A sound creaked above them — soft, slow, deliberate.
Ghost's footsteps.
Ginger's eyes narrowed, gold bleeding into them.
"Come on," she whispered. "I'm getting you out."
Brigitte reached for her—hesitant, scared—but Ginger took her hand firmly.
And for the first time in a long time…
Brigitte didn't pull away.