After their intense conversation about werewolves and hidden truths, Penelope took a deep breath and shifted gears.
"Let's talk about something a bit more... normal," she said, though her lips quirked in a wry smile. "Your college admission. Are you excited about starting at Lockewood College?"
Shea leaned back, her mind still reeling from the revelations. "Honestly? The college itself was never the main draw."
Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Don't get me wrong, it's a great school," Shea clarified. "But my real motivation for enrolling was to dig deeper into Lockewood's secrets. I thought maybe I could find a lead on the pack that attacked Dad."
Her aunt nodded slowly. "I had a feeling there might be more to it. Smart thinking, Shea. The college does have quite a collection of local history and folklore in its library."
"Exactly," Shea said, her eyes lighting up with determination. "Plus, being a student gives me a legitimate reason to be here, asking questions without raising too much suspicion."
Penelope leaned forward, her expression serious. "Just be careful, Shea. Remember what we just learned - they might already be watching you. You'll need to balance your investigation with maintaining a low profile."
"I know," Shea agreed. "I'll be discreet. But I can't just sit back and do nothing, not when I'm so close to uncovering the truth."
"Of course not," Penelope said softly. "You're too much like your father for that. Just promise me you'll be cautious, and that you'll come to me if you find anything... unusual."
Shea nods.
Aunt Penelope nodded, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "We can head to the college tomorrow to get you settled in. How does that sound?"
Shea's eyes lit up. "That'd be great, actually. The sooner I can start, the better."
"Good," Penelope said, patting Shea's hand. "For now, though, you should rest. It's been quite a day for you, hasn't it?"
Shea nodded, feeling the weight of everything she'd learned settling on her shoulders. But as she glanced towards the bathroom, a shiver ran down her spine.
"Aunt Penelope," she said hesitantly, "what about... what happened earlier? Those eyes in the bathroom. What if they come back? What if they try to hurt me?"
Penelope's face grew solemn. She stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving Shea's. "You're right to be concerned," she said softly. "We can't be too careful."
Without another word, Penelope walked to her closet. She opened it, reaching inside to pull something out. As she turned back to Shea, the young woman's jaw dropped.
In Penelope's hands was an intricately carved wooden box, its surface etched with symbols Shea had never seen before. The box itself seemed to hum with an energy that made the hair on Shea's arms stand on end.
"What... what is that?" Shea whispered, unable to take her eyes off the mysterious object.
Penelope's fingers traced the intricate symbols on the wooden box, her touch reverent. With a soft click, she opened the lid, revealing a gleaming shotgun nestled inside.
Shea's eyes widened as Penelope lifted the weapon. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship - a double-barreled shotgun with a polished walnut stock and blued steel barrels. Intricate engravings adorned the receiver, reminiscent of the symbols on the box.
Penelope held the shotgun with a practiced ease that surprised Shea. Her aunt's delicate hands wrapped around the grip, her index finger resting just above the trigger guard.
"This was your father's," Penelope said, her voice barely above a whisper. She ran her hand along the smooth barrel, a wistful smile on her face. With a swift motion, she cocked the shotgun, the sound echoing in the small room.
"You won't have to worry, Shea," Penelope continued, her voice stronger now. "This shotgun is loaded with silver bullets. According to Vincent, they're lethal to werewolves."
Shea's mouth went dry. The reality of her situation hit her anew - werewolves, silver bullets, her father's secret life. It was almost too much to process.
Penelope's expression softened as she looked at her niece. "You'll need training, of course. Come with me."
Shea followed her aunt, her mind reeling. They descended a narrow staircase, the wood creaking beneath their feet. At the bottom, Penelope flicked on a light switch.
Shea blinked in surprise. The basement had been converted into a compact shooting range. Target sheets hung at the far end, and a sturdy table stood to one side, various tools and ammunition boxes neatly arranged on its surface.
Penelope hefted the shotgun, her stance shifting with practiced ease. She loaded standard rounds into the chamber, her movements fluid and precise. With a nod to Shea, she took aim at the targets downrange.
The basement echoed with the sharp crack of gunfire.
Shea flinched at first, but her eyes widened as she watched her aunt's impeccable marksmanship. Penelope's shots found their mark with unerring accuracy, puncturing the paper targets in tight groupings.
"Impressive," Shea breathed, a newfound respect for her aunt blooming in her chest.
Penelope lowered the shotgun, a small smile playing on her lips. "Your turn," she said, offering the weapon to Shea.
Shea's hands trembled as she took the shotgun. It felt heavier than she expected, unwieldy in her inexperienced grip. She raised it, trying to mimic her aunt's stance.
The first shot went wide, the recoil catching Shea off guard. She stumbled back, nearly dropping the gun.
"Easy," Penelope soothed, stepping closer. "Let's work on your form."
Over the next hour, Penelope guided Shea through proper shooting techniques. She adjusted Shea's stance, showed her how to brace against the recoil, and taught her to sight down the barrel.
Slowly but surely, Shea's shots began to find their mark. By the time the last target sheet was riddled with holes, a sense of accomplishment swelled in her chest.
"Not bad for your first time," Penelope said, pride evident in her voice. "We'll make a sharpshooter out of you yet."
As they gathered the spent shells, Shea realized how much time had passed. Her stomach growled, reminding her of missed meals.
"Dinner time, I think," Penelope chuckled. "Let's head back up."
They climbed the narrow stairs, Shea's muscles aching pleasantly from the unexpected workout. As they neared the top, a shadow fell across the stairwell. Shea looked up, her breath catching in her throat.
A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing.
For a moment, Shea's heart raced, her mind flashing to crimson eyes and lurking threats.
But then the figure stepped forward, revealing a familiar face. "Gregory," Penelope said, surprise coloring her tone.
Gregory's weathered face broke into a warm smile as he saw Shea. "Well, if it isn't our long-lost niece," he said, his gruff voice tinged with affection. "Welcome home, kiddo."
Penelope cleared her throat. "Greg, Shea knows about... everything now. The werewolves, Vincent, all of it."
Gregory's expression sobered. He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Shea's face. "I see. It's a lot to take in, I'm sure. But you're not alone in this, Shea. We're here for you, and we'll help you find the answers you're looking for."
The trio made their way to the dining room, where a hearty meal awaited them. As they ate, conversation flowed more freely, touching on lighter topics and allowing Shea to relax slightly.
After dinner, as they cleared the plates, Penelope turned to Shea. "Listen, sweetie, with everything that's happened today... would you like to stay in the main house tonight? Just to be safe?"
Shea paused, considering the offer. Fear and uncertainty warred with her desire to prove herself. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "I appreciate the offer, Aunt Penelope, but I think I need to face this head-on. I'll stay in the cabin."
Pride flickered in Penelope's eyes. She nodded, then retrieved the shotgun from earlier. "Here," she said, pressing it into Shea's hands. "Just in case."
Shea's fingers curled around the weapon, drawing strength from its solid presence. "Thank you," she said softly.
With a final round of goodnights, Shea made her way back to the small cabin. She double-checked the locks, placed the shotgun within easy reach, and finally crawled into bed.
As exhaustion began to overtake her, Shea's eyes grew heavy. She was on the verge of sleep when a sudden noise jolted her awake. A scraping sound, unmistakable against the cabin's wooden door.
Shea's heart pounded as she sat bolt upright, her eyes fixed on the door.
Something was out there, and it wanted in.