Hair of the Wolf (19 page)

While his back was exposed Amber leapt forward with a snarl and landed heavily on him, latching her jaws around the back of his neck. He started whipping around, howling in pain, trying to dislodge her.

Drew hunkered down, getting ready to spring into the fight despite his bad leg, when a hand lightly touched his shoulder and a barely visible shadow moved forward. He paused, and the shadow moved in front of him.

“Hey, asshole.” Eliot’s voice floated calmly through the darkness. “Don’t ever touch my friends again.” There were two clicks as the triple cell ultraviolet lights he was holding in each hand sprang to life. The tinkered-with wiring on them overheated instantly and they exploded.

The Vampire screamed and fell to its knees sobbing, his skin starting to smolder and the torn up clothes he was wearing burst into flame, lighting the underground battlefield. Amber used the distraction well, savaging the creature’s neck until there was the loud snap of bone. She kept going until the head was ripped off the body.

The Vampire slumped forward and fell face first into the water, his life-force drained, burnt out of him.

The wolves didn’t have time to relax before Tabitha’s limp form came hurtling out of the darkness behind Amber and smashed into Eliot.

A woman’s voice, rich and deep, obviously used to laughter, came rolling out of the darkness. “Oh well done, my pretties. I didn’t expect you to be able to take my pet so easily. Yet you managed. I must applaud the elder.” The voice sighed. “How she has … matured. Those delicate young features lining with age. If only she had my secret.” Laughter drifted down the dark sewer.

Amber backed up, hackles raised, till she was poised between Drew and Eliot. Eliot wasn’t paying attention to the voice, focused instead on getting Tabitha settled and checking her vitals. He found a heartbeat, which seemed to be enough for him, then he stood up, pulling a gun out of his pocket.

Dull oranges and reds highlighted the passageway, a flickering dance of macabre light from the smoking remains of the Feral vampire. Without a word he pulled the massive chrome monstrosity to shoulder height and started squeezing the trigger.

Burps of flame flashed in the tunnel as he shot bullets at the source of the voice, slowly walking forward. The gun clicked empty and he dropped the clip, slapping another into its place in under a second and continuing to fire.

Amber sprang forward to his side, man and wolf calmly walking forward, towards the voice. Tabitha’s voice sounded weak, but she struggled up and said, “Stop. She’ll kill you.”

The Vampire woman’s voice cut through the darkness like a katana through silk. “Oh, pet, you are ruining my fun.” There was a blur in the edge of the ember glow, and two wet thuds.

Eliot and Amber went flying backwards, bouncing off the tunnel walls and landing in broken heaps behind Tabitha. Drew growled and limped forward.

The elder vampire was standing in the light, languidly relaxing by the crisped remains of her feral companion. She was five foot five, but carried such a presence that she seemed to fill the murky corridor from floor to ceiling. Dark hair cascaded in lavish curls down her pale, heart shaped face, and the pure white suit she wore seemed to glow with the power that surrounded her.

With an elegant gesture of her hand, the corpse at her feet slid to the side, clearing a path between her and the two elder werewolves. She crooked a finger and beckoned to Drew. “Come child, let’s dance, shall we?”

Drew was only too happy to oblige her, springing from his crouch with a snarl. She reached out, lightning fast, to catch him by the throat, but his form rippled in midair. He snaked his head out of the way, reached forward with an arm and landed a vicious slice with half formed claws across her chest. But then her hand was clamped around his wrist, twisting, pushing him to the ground until he was kneeling before her.

Glancing down at her shredded coat, fangs poked her bottom lip as she frowned. “What is it with me and these suits?”

Twenty feet away Tabitha was struggling to get to her feet. “Who the hell are you? How can you be so strong?” he gasped.

“I, sir,” she smiled languidly, “am her Excellency, niece to the King of Poland, Countess Elizabeth Bathory. And you … well, as I like to say,
Vini, Vidi, Finem Vita.”
The countess swept her left hand up across Drew’s torso and chest. Blood sprayed against the walls on either side of them. A gurgle escaped Drew’s throat as he slumped to the ground.

Tabitha had managed to pull herself up. “Do you really see yourself as Caesar? I came, I saw, I killed?”

“Oh, dear, no. Caesar was a small-minded, cruel little man who tried to make up for great insecurity with great feats of conquering. Napoleon centuries before Napoleon, if you will. I am a force of nature. An immortal. It’s just a little affectation of mine. But, you, you get to live again.”

Holding on to the pipe bolted high on the wall, Tabitha narrowed her eyes. “Why me, bitch?”

“Oh, you are just so cute I could eat you up. Of course, that wouldn’t help keep you alive to feel your pain, now would it?”

Tabitha was thankful that Bathory was evil. A good-hearted person wouldn’t have talked, wouldn’t have gloated, and wouldn’t have given her a chance to gather her willpower together.

Bathory fiddled with her torn lapels. “That fool minister ancestor of yours was the sole reason I lost my estate and was imprisoned in that damned tower. If it hadn’t been for my dear friend Vladimyr, I most likely would have died in there. I spend a lot of time on other projects. But your lines have a special place in my unbeating heart. Magyari …”

She delicately wiped Drew’s blood off her face. “It is for his sins that you pay. Each of you is a descendant of one who wronged me in those trials. You will suffer for them, as will your descendants. You will die alone, as I extinguish any life that comes too close to your own.”

Bathory stopped walking forward and the two women were face to face, with only two feet separating them. Tabitha focused as she saw the Countess’s eyes start to swirl, red and lavender. Tension ripped at her shoulders forcing her hands apart. She recognized the feeling, and knew that they were sharing mindspace, battling with will alone.

But old dogs can learn new tricks …

This time, as Tabitha felt the wood of the crucifix scrape roughly against her back, she fed the fire. All of her hate, all of her sorrow, everything that had built a lifetime of pain she fed to the fire. And it burned. It burned like nothing in the real world could, consuming the pain, consuming the hatred, consuming the weariness … until all that was left was steel, forged in a mind of power, by an opposing will.

Tabitha snapped open her eyes and smiled. Bathory reeled back, shocked by having her will resisted. Human arms, augmented by lycanthrope strength, snapped forward, and claw-tipped fingers closed like a vice around Countess Bathory’s throat. Vicious nails dug into the Vampire’s neck as Tabitha dug her fingers into flesh.

The Countess returned the favor and started choking Tabitha.

“Not … fucking … fair …”
Gasped Tabitha, as her vision started to swim and go black around the edges. “
Can’t end … like … this …”

A boy’s voice, with the lightest traces of a British accent, came from behind Countess Bathory. “And so it shan’t, werewolf.”

Three feet of steel ripped through the Vampire’s chest and burst into flame. Bathory shrieked, blood flying from her mouth. She leapt forward, bowling over Tabitha and away from the threat behind her.

Tabitha looked up. Surrounded by the faintest golden nimbus was … a boy. He was dressed street punk, had a shaved head, and couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old.

The Countess hissed at him. “You!” She spat. “How dare you interrupt? I will seek you, ambusher, and I will kill you!” As suddenly as he had appeared a few seconds before, she disappeared.

The boy sniffed the air. “The stench is gone. Dammit. Your pack will need medical attention. Lucky for you she wanted to save their killings until you were enthralled, to leave the mark of their deaths on you, eh?” He reached down and offered a hand to help her up.

She blinked. “Who … what … wha … the …”

He smiled impishly and sheathed his sword in a dusty looking old scabbard hanging under his London Fog trench coat. “I’m Skid. Shall we skip the formalities until we have your friends out of here?”

Around them, groaning, the pack started to get to their collective feet, nursing injuries as they pulled themselves up. She took his hand. “Yes. And … Thank you, Skid.”

***

2013

***

Lilith

Lilith screamed, yanking on the bars.

“A thousand years of captivity, and you are still uncivil. You are such a beast. You’re better off since I caged you, animal.” Lilith’s doppelganger, perfect in every aspect other than personality, stood outside the cage. The caged goddess and her clone were floating on a vast platform surrounded by the dazzling reaches of infinite space.

“Bitch. You think that you can talk down to me? Cage me forever? Yes, you are one of the few beings that existed before me, but that doesn’t give you license to do this. You have to emulate my form to achieve your goals.…And you dare to think you are more than me, petty little god? Just because you have me caged?” Lilith raged as galaxies and nebulae spun by.

“Well, I do have you caged. Ergo, I am stronger, ergo, I
can
talk down to you. There is also the little fact that—” the doppelganger’s eyes went wide.

Lilith threw back her head and laughed. She could feel him at work. Smart beat strong every time. Loki had always been amongst the smartest of the gods, though he rarely chose to employ that intelligence with the caution of wisdom.

“What the hell is he doing now??” The doppelganger spun on Lilith. “Stay put, princess. Once this is done, I’ll be needing your essence.”

She vanished, leaving Lilith alone in her cage at the center of the universe.

***

Jonathan Harker

Jonathan sat atop the roof, unfazed by the sleeting rain pouring from the Denver night sky. Blurry car lights streaked by below, lending color to the blacks and grays of a night that sane people stayed inside on. He hunched inside the protection of his leather long-coat, water streaming off his derby, contently scanning the streets for some particular activity, sipping a cup of steaming coffee.

Every night he did the same thing, watching for Van Helsing or Bathory. Something caught his eye and he adjusted his angle to see more clearly into the darkened alleys of the warehouse district. There it was. Barely visible behind the rain, two kids, and behind them a near-invisible figure moving through the shadows, a hunter stalking prey.

His grin revealed fangs poking against his lower lip. Finally. It had been weeks since the watcher had last caught the hunter. With a swift motion, he leapt, flying from the rooftop towards the alley eight stories below. And from the shadows behind where he had been perched another figure stepped out of the shadows, watching his flight.

***

Van Helsing

“Stop and pay attention!” Elizabeth held Van Helsing frozen with her gaze. He was the only Feral to survive more than days or weeks, and had been a worthwhile investment of time. Especially the discovery that a feral would move up from blood consumption and eat whole bodies.

The corpse at his feet was half consumed, and Van Helsing was holding a severed forearm. The hand was jammed in his mouth and blood dripped down his beard. The Blood was so clearly speaking with Van Helsing’s voice and words, and Elizabeth found it unsettling. Though …

Watching his personality resurface over the course of decades, stripped of humanity, had taught them much about the Blood. And finally, Vlad had given her the all-clear to unleash Van Helsing. She had been anticipating this day for so long. Their master, Kaine, was done studying the creature.

Elizabeth pumped the shotgun, expelling the used shell. “Once you do this, it is ready to go again. Since you haven’t developed a hypnotic gaze, this tool will allow you to subdue errant food faster than with claw and fang alone. Should you turn it on me while we hunt, it will be the last thing you do. Understand, beast?”

“Yef,” Van Helsing spoke around the half masticated hand.

“Spit that out!” Bathory chided. “If you keep eating fingers you’ll spoil your appetite.”

Van Helsing dropped the forearm. Wincing, he rooted around his mouth, and then spat out a wedding ring. “I’m hungry. When do we hunt?”

“In just a moment.” She tossed him the shotgun.

Van Helsing stood, shoving the shotgun under his rain cloak, and paced.
Evil bitch!! You must fight her!! Kill her!!
Something inside him screamed, but the Blood laughed at the voice. It had no power here.

The penthouse was filled with things he didn’t understand. The last century had been spent in a cage in the basement of a castle, then in more recent years, in an odd room with very bright walls and a lot of extremely polished metals. A powerful elder had done things to him.

None of that mattered now. He was free. So free that he even thought of himself as a he, rather than an it. And he was going to be able to hunt. Finally.

Elizabeth Bathory turned from the mirror motioning to Van Helsing. “It is time, tonight we hunt.” She held up a picture of a group of teenagers. “These are the ones master Kaine says we are to hunt.” She pointed at a Cherokee youth in the center of the picture. “This one is the next inheritor of Loki. Attack his friends, and he will respond. He
must
die. We are to make sure of it, even if all else fails. Understand?”

Van Helsing nodded. The food’s faces were etched into his memory. He would find and eat them.

Elizabeth took a step towards the door when light exploded around her. Loki bowled into her screaming, “Leave my family alone you bitch!” Both of them impacted—then smashed through—the 35
^th
floor penthouse window. Elder vampire and trickster god vanished, plummeting into the stormy night.

Van Helsing stared quizzically at the shattered glass and rain filled sky. He shrugged. Turning around, he walked out of the penthouse door and took the elevator to the ground. He looked around the street. Nothing but water.

Grinning, Van Helsing sped into the Night. No one would be there to stop him from having real fun now. He knew who his dinner was, and the hunt was on.

***

Winston Bartholomew Smith

Winston glanced over to Jenny. “Are you sure this is the right way? This rain is killing my velvet, Jen.”

She shook some of the rain out of her hair. “Winnie … If you had brought enough money for parking we wouldn’t have to walk all the way across downtown to get to the party. And Spyke wouldn’t be getting soaked.” Frowning, she reached into the pocket of her trench coat and felt her little black Chihuahua shivering.

Winnie grinned, his braces flashing in the dim light. “Yeah, but if I blew my whole allowance tonight my parents would so know that I had snuck out. Sowwy.”

Jenny stopped and grabbed his shoulders, swinging him to face her. Winnie was six feet tall, lankier than a string of Christmas lights, had too many pimples, and flashed silver every time he smiled. But through all that … she smiled and straightened his shoulder length hair. “I know, Winnie, and thanks for covering tonight. I appreciate it.”

He grinned and shrugged, embarrassed by the sincerity of her tone. “Like I would come without my best friend. Duh. Let’s get moving. This alley gives me the creeps.” He shivered as a third figure became visible in the space ahead of them.

The night’s unnatural silence was ominous, with the usual sounds of a city being dampened by the steady slapping of water falling on concrete. The two teenagers moved to the side to edge around the indistinct third figure in the alley. Lightning flashed and they saw him clearly.

He was an older man, wearing a Victorian era British rain cloak. The parting darkness revealed a white beard, with rivulets of red running down from the corners of his mouth. His eyes, half closed, were lazily watching them and his smile showed fangs. Though the stranger was a couple inches shorter than Winnie, he seemed to take up twice the space.

He stepped forward slowly, forcing Winnie and Jen back, and a low growl rumbled from his throat. “Dinner …”

***

Robert Crowley the 3rd

Deep music thrummed through the nightclub, making the red and violet lights seem to vibrate in time to the music. Purple glowed on Robert’s chest, his poet’s tunic glowing below his Victorian cassock. Emotion thrummed through the air around him, bouncing between the people packed into the nightclub.

Glowsticks, plastic vampire fangs, leather, silk, and the occasional bright colors adorned the ebb and flow of humanity in the giant church-turned-nightclub’s basement; and between happy people projecting sad, sad people projecting happiness, indifferent people projecting interest, and lonely people projecting disinterest; tense and dark sexuality permeated the air.

On the walls, clipped scenes from old horror movies played on sheets hung to catch the projections, adding to the ambience with scenes of carnage interlaced seemingly at random with romance. Robert mopped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he navigated towards the dance floor and he smiled, enjoying being a Goth boy.

“There's a crack in the window

“and blood is on the walls …

“There's a crack in the window

“and blood is on the walls …”

Robert spun in place and stepped forward, letting his black silk skirt billow around him as the music reached into his soul and guided his feet.

“I was a vampire and lover

“You’re the lusting dead …

“I was a vampire and lover

“You’re the lusting dead …”

Black strands of hair fell down in front of Robert’s eyes as he stopped mid-step. Something was wrong. He had always been very sensitive to his environment, and to his friends, and RIGHT now, his two best friends needed him. The necklace his grandfather had gifted him felt warm against his chest.

Smoothly turning his spin into forward momentum, he started darting between dancers, fighting against the rhythm of the floor to get out of the club. He grabbed his cellphone and texted his boyfriend while he fought free of the floor. Chad should be over at the bar, grabbing them waters.

Robert slipped between two last dancers and was free. He found his way to the stairs and darted up them, only to find his way blocked by a group of colorfully clad ravers.

A short, skinny, and too bouncy boy stepped out in front of Robert, giggling as he flung a handful of glitter at the Goth. He was obviously the leader of the three, and dressed outlandishly in shiny silver tight-pants, a red, blue, orange, and green tight long sleeved shirt with silver vest over it, and a two-foot tall floppy red and white hat.

Motes of light settled all over Robert as the boy pulled his cat-in-the-hat headgear back from his eyes and said “I heart boys that sparkle!”

Robert ground his teeth together and pulled back his fist, “I don’t have time for this crap.” With a single swing he dropped the raver, jumped over him, and sprinted out into the rainy night to find his friends.

A girl with long black hair, a dainty figure, and an impish smile delicately stepped over the stunned raver and followed him outside.

***

Jonathan Harker

The Watcher flew through the Night, his leather coat flying out behind him despite the torrential downpour. The presence was close now. Ice pricked at his spine and goose bumps danced along his forearms, guiding him towards the Hunter.

A lamppost took a heavy dent as he cornered too hard and his foot slipped out from underneath him on the rain-slicked pavement. Snarling a curse, he kicked his foot down at the concrete base of the lamppost. It cracked, making the post sway drunkenly in the rain, but it also gave him enough of a boost to his velocity to hurl forward again at a full sprint.

It was luck, he knew, that the downpour was so intense. Normally the streets in Capitol Hill and downtown Denver would be awash with pedestrians and cars. Everyone was out looking for a better party most nights, but the rain ensured that tonight the best party was anywhere that was dry.

He grinned, exposing two fangs, as he thought to himself. Only an idiot would be out here, catching their death of cold. He was a block away, and closing fast.

***

Winston Bartholomew Smith

Winnie put his hand forward and pushed Jen behind him. “We don’t want any trouble, man.”

Jen could feel his hand shaking, but his voice held steady. It was almost in synch with Spyke’s shivering in her trench coat’s pocket.

“Ha. You won’t be any trouble, children.” The stranger’s voice was deep, full chested. His words were human enough, but there was an odd quality to them, something guttural. It was like listening to a bear roar in a way that happened to come out as complete sentences. “Just a late night snack.”

In the dark shadows of the alley, his hands looked like claws as he raised them towards the two teens.

***

Robert Crowley the 3rd

Robert paused at the corner of Thirteenth and Sherman, ignoring the rain to kneel down and place his hand on the grass. Listening to the voice under his fingertips he felt a slight nudge to go down Thirteenth.

He rose from his crouch and ran forward. As he crossed the mouth of the alley, a bicyclist shot out and slammed straight into him, resulting in a two person-one bicycle tangle.

“Dammit,” Robert shouted at the rain, trying to untangle himself without hurting the cyclist. He roughly shoved the bicycle away from himself. The cyclist, a young man in cargo shorts and a tie-dye shirt, despite the soaking rain, got tangled in the bike again and fell back onto Robert.

“I am so sorry, man. I, like, totally didn’t see you there!” He carefully pushed himself up and offered a hand to Robert.

Robert saw his friends Jen and Winnie peel out of an alley a block away and start running in the opposite direction. He grabbed the biker’s hand and pulled himself up. “It’s okay man, but I’m trying to catch up to my friends over there. See ya.” He sprinted off as he saw Winnie collapse.

***

Winston Bartholomew Smith

“Look, back off!” Winnie gently pushed Jen back, trying to walk them backwards out of the narrow alley.

The stranger cocked his head to the side, staring quizzically at them. Another flash of lightning revealed fangs, exposed by the evil smile spread across his lips. Winnie shivered; this person was an animal. Winnie could feel his hindbrain screaming
Predator! Run!