At the Behest of the Dead (11 page)

Andrews was off in pursuit as I huffed up the sidewalk. Two nights in a row of
this had taken its toll. I was also exhausted from using so much magic. It might sound easy, all this drawing glyphs in the air and calling on the dead for help, but it’s not. It can be exhausting. Salazar called it a balance. Mother Nature’s way of making sure no witch or warlock got too powerful. And the more adept the spell slinger, the bigger the toll it took on them. Heavy hitters like Balkir, head of Demonology, could bring something up from the second or third ward, which no average warlock would ever attempt.

“Out of the way!” t
he detective yelled.

Peop
le did not get out of the way. They turned to see who in the hell was yelling. The creature leapt across the street, paws barely touching the road, muscles rippling under all that matted fur. A car slid into the cross section, saw the shape, and tried to swerve. It ended up smashing into an old pickup truck and then bouncing up onto the curb. The sound of metal on metal was horrifically loud. The driver got out and stared after the shape that bounded onto the sidewalk.

Andrews continued her pursuit and I was right beh
ind her. The detective had her big hand cannon drawn and I had a pair of vials in mine. I was reading the lids with a practiced thumb when the detective had a clear shot, stopped, and took it. The gun roared again and it threw the werewolf onto the ground. Forward momentum smashed it into the wall.

I dashed across the street and jumped the curve. We were near the Starbucks we used earlier. The few late evening customers looked up at the sound of the gunshot. Some stood and others began packing their belongings.

The creature rolled to its side then came up growling. I didn’t have a glyph prepared so I relied on another potion. I tossed a simple concoction of mushrooms and frog venom. It struck near him, so I asked the wind for help. A puff of a breeze, something you might barely notice unless it was trickling down your neck, was all it took to carry the gaseous smoke upwards, seeking the creature’s face.

It tried to jump out of the way of the nauseous gas and smashed through a plate glass window. Shards exploded as the werewolf tumbled into the shop. Tables were tossed aside as the hulking form attempted to maneuver in the small space. A pair of
customers dove to the ground. One, a man in his early twenties, grabbed a laptop bag and held it to his chest like a talisman. Sorry to say that even if it contained a laptop the device would be little use against the angry changer, whose five inch claws would cut through it like a hot knife through butter.

The beast got a glimpse of Detective Andrews and her gun. It snarled and dropped to all fours, oblivious to the piles of broken wood and shards of glass. It wavered and I almost cheered as the potion took effect. Then I cursed as the beast shook its head and howled.

Frank dropped from the sky with a scream. He tucked his wings in close then dropped into the portal left by the shattered window. The werewolf’s flank was the target and Frank tore into it with a screech. It rolled in pain and smashed into the man with the laptop clutched to his chest. His face wore a look utter fear.
Hey, barista, I didn’t order two pumps of a Hollywood horror movie with my latte.

Frank came screeching in again, wings arching, and feathers flying. His massive talons extended and then sliced into the changer.

With the overhang, he didn’t have room to maneuver and disengaged right after the strike. He hit the ground and hopped back and screamed loud enough to stop any passersby that weren’t already looking in at a seven foot tall werewolf.

Andrews was through the door and yelling for everyone to get down. They were slow to react, most looking on in confusion. A woman did hit the floor
, but a pair of Asian tourists looked on with mouths gaping. Good lord, hadn’t these people ever seen an action movie? When a guy bursts in with a gun and yells “Get down!” you kiss the goddamn floor.

I tried to prepare a glyph
, got it mostly formed, but lost my concentration for a second when I got a look at the barista behind the counter. She was staring at the beast and she appeared terrified. I did a double take and realized it was Ashley, whom I’d badly flirted with not an hour ago.

I cranked up another shape and decided that I had a clear shot and
unleashed it with a whip of splayed fingers. Then I accelerated it with a word and the net was loosed. It tangled the beast’s feet, making it fall over in a heap. It howled for all it was worth, the sound making people on the ground cry out in fear.

Frank changed before us and stood as naked as the day he was born. Andrews
didn’t know which to focus on--the naked Indian with two feathers streaming down his back from his long black hair, or the creature we’d brought down.

Frank picked up part of a chair and smashed it on
to the wolf’s head. Wood splintered and Frank was tossed across the room. He veered into his hawk form and ended up flapping his wings until he settled on the ground, kicking up dust and debris as his wings steadied him.

The beast surged to its feet and razor sharp claws lashed out to tear into a young man tryin
g to back away from it. Hot chocolate and whipped cream spilled down his jacket and he screamed in fear. The claw tore into his leg, low near the calf, and his mother was suddenly pulling him back, probably saving his life.

The werewolf struggled to its feet but fell over again as I approached, hand held out with the last vial as I waited for my turn. It hit the counter and the pastry display was crushed.
Pieces of glass and wood exploded in every direction as the hulking beast struggled to get away.

The net wo
uldn’t hold long and his claws were still slashing. There was a grunt and then a scream as someone behind the counter tried to avoid being slashed. I glanced up to see it was Ashley. She stared at the horror on the floor and then at me, her emerald eyes going wide. Then she picked up a plate and hurled it at the beast, striking it between the shoulder blades.

“Go old man,
” Frank croaked.

He beat his wings once in the small space and jumped in to tear at the werewolf’s eyes. Before the creature could snap at Frank and tear into a wing, the great hawk was away. Frank jumped to a counter, wings popping out and snapping up to get a little lift. Then he took
flight and dove in for attack again.

The beast had its eyes on Ashley. It struggled to its feet and swun
g at Frank with the back of its paw. My friend was tossed to the side, hitting Andrews, who was trying to get a bead on the beast with her gun. It was far from the ideal weapon but it would buy us a few seconds.

Frank
went down in a heap of feathers. He was hurt, wings flapping as he tried to right himself, but he got back to his feet and stumbled away, one wing bent in pain.

Ashley fell back, struck the giant metal oven
, and gasped in pain. The werewolf spun on her and extended a claw.

I had to do something!

As much as I had lamented the gun, I reached for the lead shards and found them buried deep in an inside pocket. I drew them forth and blew on them. Then I flung them in an overhand throw that would have been about as powerful as a child tossing a tennis ball.

Ashley screamed in horror but slapped his paw away.

Even with breath and a few spoken words, the distance between the beast and I wasn’t enough to reach any real velocity. For every piece of magic in the world, there is a little thing called physics that prevents things from getting out of hand. You won’t ever see a warlock rocking across the sky at Mach 3. He would be torn from his fork and left flailing as he fell from the skies.

But the lead got the creature
’s attention. It struck his head and actually made a sound like thumping a coconut. If I’d had more time and a lot more room, I might have made a real knot back there. Instead I made him angrier.

The werewolf turned on me, raised its head
, and howled like there was a full moon.

I wanted to turn around and run until I hit tomorrow
, then scrape the dirt out of my old sarcophagus and sleep until next week.

It dove toward me, one claw a blur
aimed for my face.

I ducked and rolled forward, my back colliding with a chair. I ended up on my ass with a table falling toward my crotch. I crab walked out of the way as the edge crashed between my spread legs.

The wolf was back, and I had to wonder at the crazy circumstances that had found me running from a demon the night before to facing off against a blood-mire influenced changer the very next day.

Andrews came to my rescue. Sh
e rose and emptied her gun into the werewolf’s back. Blood sprayed and fur flew. Frank hopped away and found a table to hide behind.

The
wolf screamed in anger and pain then turned on the detective, who was popping her magazine loose.

I propelled myself forward and slammed the vial onto the great beast
’s head as hard as I could. The tiny jar broke and quicksilver spread. There was a roar of pain and I was hit hard enough to send me flying into a table, over it, and into a chair.

My body scream
ed in pain and my head exploded, making me see stars as the back of it smashed into a crushed laptop.

Struggling to all fours, head swimming and breath coming in ragged gasps, I ran my hand over the back of
my head but didn’t find blood. Just a lump that throbbed under my touch. It would be much larger before the night was over.

I staggered upright and Frank was there to help me to my feet.

“Not bad for an old man,” he said in that pedantic voice with its slow measured pace. He kept one of his arms close to his side and rubbed at his elbow.

“Who you calling old?”

“I just call them like I see them.” Then Frank copied me by falling into a chair.

Andrews slid forward, her long jacket sweeping the floor
. In a way, she reminded me of some action hero. Well, an action hero that would be filling out paperwork all night.

The werewolf thrashed on the floor, smoke rising from its head where the deadly fluid had s
tuck. I didn’t want to kill him. I really didn’t. I just wanted to secure him, ask a few questions, maybe make a formal request for the council to step in and investigate the case.

He was half man shaped now, pale legs kicking as the quick
silver ate into his brain. Red and frothy blood tinged with grey spilled onto the floor.

Its eyes fixed on
mine, one blue and one a dull black. Some intelligence remained behind those eyes when it spoke words that chilled me to the bone.

“
Phineasssssss.” And then it coughed blood from its half snout, half nose.

I reeled back in shock. Again he said my name and it surprised the hell out of me. How could he know me, let alone know I would be hunting him? Had he planned to kill me?

The life faded from the beast’s eyes and I sat back on my feet, crouching beside the guy. His features were unfamiliar to me. He had blue eyes, but the irises were barely visible as his pupils dilated in death. Strange to see such dark eyes on a changer. Very expressive, which would give me something to think about when I hunted down the bastard that sent him after me.

T
he act of changing really does channel the person into the beast they become. Frank, for instance was a very thin, wiry guy. He was also immensely strong, but carried himself with a gait I would call almost feminine. But not to his face, since I was fond of my nose and didn’t like the idea of getting punched in it.

The
wolf man had broad shoulders, long arms, and a chiseled chest. He had to have spent years in the gym to maintain such a look. Nearly every inch of his body was covered in dark hair.

His face was contorted in pain and most of the top of his head was gone. Melted by the quicksilver concoction I had smashed there. I rubbed my hand on the side of my robe.

He was still warm, and I almost cried out when I touched him. Hate radiated from him like a furnace. Whatever he had been in life was gone, nearly sucked into the animalistic need that had consumed his existence.

Andrews stepped to my side and started to say something. She had the barrel of her gun pointed at the man and I motioned for him, a gesture that hopefully conveyed my sentiment that “We couldn’t make him any deader.”

“You okay?” she asked with genuine concern. I suppose I looked a mess.

“Yeah  ... no. Give me a moment.”

I hurt. Every inch of my body felt like I’d been put through a ringer. My head was the worst, from where the back of my neck had impacted with a chair. Bruises would mark my back and I would have to salve the old wounds where the cruel metal pentagram bit into my chest. It was not as constricted now, since the spell had worn off.

Andrews
stepped back, long coat swirling around her shoes, dropping bits of dust and clumps of crap from our late night tour of the underground. A siren peeled in the distance, the sound rising and lowering. Pretty soon this place would be swarming with cops. How in the world were we going to explain this? I would just have to work under the assumption that Andrews would back up my story, and more importantly my activities during the investigation.