Dark Gift

by Kim Richardson

  The hallway was empty, but I sent out my senses just in case a werewolf hid around the corner. Nothing.

  I moved faster. When I reached the elevator, sweat dripped down my back. I pushed the button until the light came on and stepped back, exhaling the breath I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding.

  “I don’t know which room they keep the bodies in,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  “Just follow the smell of the wookiees,” prompt the cat. “They’ll have found it by now.”

  “Right,” I swallowed, shifting from one foot to the other. “You know what to do, right? Tyrius?” I said to the cat. A ting came from the elevator and the doors slid open.

  “I’ll make a diversion,” answered the Siamese cat as I stepped inside. “The werewolves will come after me, leaving you alone with their alpha. Done deal.”

  That sounded like a really stupid plan. It was my plan. “That’s if he remains with the body.” I had a hunch he would. As pack leader, he’d probably still be trying to make sense of his loss and trying to cope with what happened to the young werewolf. But that was still a very big if.

  I hit the basement button and moved back. The elevator doors slid shut, and with a jerk we started our descent.

  “He will,” he said as he jumped down from my shoulders to land next to my feet.

  “And if he doesn’t?” I asked, my breath coming in fast.

  Tyrius cocked his head. “We scream like little girls and get the hell out of here.”

  I tried to smile, but my face scrunched up in a grimace. Exhaling through my nose, I fought against the sick feeling I’d had since I got in my car tonight. What am I doing?

  “Remember to get him with the spell before he has time to change,” said the cat, his voice strained.

  The spell. It was the only thing that could help me take down a two-hundred-fifty-pound man or werewolf singlehandedly.

  Okay, so I wasn’t a real witch, but that didn’t stop me from being able to conjure up some dark spells. I needed a dark spell right now and I was getting pretty damn good at invoking them.

  Once again Evanora’s dark witch grimoire came to the rescue. Ignoring Tyrius’s never-ending bickering about the ramifications of using the witch’s grimoire, I’d gone through the old book, finding not one—but three killing curses. At first, I couldn’t believe my luck. But as I proceeded to read the spells more carefully, my optimism deflated.

  Unfortunately, time was not something I had, and the complex killing curses all required days of preparation and of course, two out of the three needed something from the victim. Blood was out of the question, but a single hair would work. However, I didn’t even have that, and I didn’t have the time to go looking for some hair follicles at Steven’s vet clinic. Wouldn’t want to kill some poor dog by accident, not knowing which hair I was actually using.

  Since the killing curses weren’t an option, the only thing I could do was an immobilizing spell, which temporarily paralyzed the victim. Most of the ingredients I could find in my local grocery store, and with the extra black candles and herbs from my last transformation spell, I went ahead and conjured up the dark spell.

  The end result, after a few hours of working at it, was a yellow powder that reminded me of Gareth’s elf dust. Next, I carefully added the powdered mixture into a glass vial and prayed I didn’t accidentally break the fragile glass on myself—which could totally happen.

  The spell wouldn’t kill the werewolf. But it would paralyze him, giving me ample time to stab him in the heart with my soul blade for a quick death. It was the only humane thing I could do at this point.

  I would never be the same after tonight. Like Gareth said, I could never go back.

  But there was a hole in my master plan—a big one. From what I could understand, the spell was designed for humans. If Steven changed into his wolf, the odds were the spell wouldn’t work. As a full-fledged werewolf, he’d be impervious to drugs, and I was pretty sure some of that included magic. It was too late to second guess the plan. It was the only one I had.

  My other motivation to get this right was if I screwed up and didn’t hit him with the spell when he was in his human form, I was dead. A werewolf like Steven could wolf-out on a whim. He didn’t need to wait for a full moon, as most myths would have people think. No. Steven could probably wolf-out in under a minute. If he did, I was dead. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I had to spell him before he wolfed-out.

  “If you’re going to kill him,” informed the cat, “it has to be when he’s in his human form.”

  I let out a deep breath. “I know that too.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, worry thick in his tone.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. The sound of his fear dove to the primitive part of my brain that set my anxiety flowing. “I just want to get this over with.”

  I was going straight to hell. No stops in purgatory on the way down. It was the Netherworld for me. I was sure of it.

  My heart leaped in my throat as the elevator dinged and jerked to a stop.

  “It’s show time,” said the cat.

  I took a breath, letting it slip slowly from me. The elevator chimed and the panels slid apart.

  The hallway looked just like the one upstairs except for the lower ceiling height and missing reception area. I stepped out, listening.

  All I could see were more hospital-like hallways and clean walls. Long, luminescent tubes flickered weakly as the only source of light in the hall.

  With my heart thrashing in my chest, we crept forward along the long hallway, my steps stealth-like and quiet just like Tyrius’s. After passing a few doors and doorways leading to offices and medical-like rooms, the hallway ended with a pair of swinging doors next to a sign that read: B-5203 BODY STORAGE.

  Even without super-hearing, I could make out the mumbled voices of the werewolves.

  I stepped into the nearest open room and pressed myself behind the door. Tyrius followed closely behind me, his tail twitching in excitement.

  “You ready?” I whispered, staring down at the cat.

  “To wreak havoc? To lay waste on the unsuspecting?” The cat smiled. “Always. I’m a demon, after all.” And with that, Tyrius disappeared behind the door. I didn’t have to wait long before the loud, splintering sounds of crashing and the floor vibrating like we’d been hit by a small earthquake erupted down the hall from me. How the hell did he do that?

  Then there was the loud whine of metal on metal and a crash of the swinging doors busting open, followed by heavy footsteps. I sucked in a breath as they ran past me, following the loud crashing and booming that Tyrius continued somewhere down the hall.

  This was it.

  I pushed myself off the wall and edged forward to peek through the crack in the door. I heard the clang of something hit a wall followed by a distant masculine groan, then nothing.

  A quiver ran through me. I took a breath and slipped into the hallway towards the swinging doors.

  My mind was weary almost beyond measure, and my chest hurt from the constant pounding of my heart. Maybe it was trying to tell me something? My legs trembled as I fought to keep them moving forward. I suddenly felt sick. My mind flashed to gruesome images of my grandmother—her mutilated body lying on her kitchen floor, her eyes wide, her face still etched in pain.

  Gran’s going to die if I don’t do this. There is no other way.

  I swallowed the bile rising in the back of my throat and pushed open the swinging doors.

  The room was refrigerator-cold and way too clean, lit with the same fluorescent lights as in the hallway. Metal refrigerator doors lined one wall, and an occupied autopsy table stood in the middle of the room, a white sheet covering its subject. A rolling medical cart sat next to it, topped with shiny medical tools.

  Splayed on a second autopsy table at the far end of the room was the dead werewolf, and next to him stood the head of the New York City werewolf court, Steven Price.

  He was a big man by every d
efinition of the word—tall and strong with a wide chest that looked like it was made of stone. He wore a white polo shirt that played off his caramel-colored skin with a pair of khaki pants. His black hair was cut short, and his thinning skin around his cheek bones and square jaw was the only indication of his age, which I guessed was early forties.

  Shaking with the need to run, I forced myself to approach him. I needed to get closer.

  Steven’s eyes crinkled. “Rowyn? What are you doing here?” The big man came from around the table, his dark brown eyes alight. “You didn’t have to come. I said I’d take care of it.”

  I slowed and then stopped where I was, my heart desperately trying to pound its way out of my rib cage with fear, dread, and shame. So much shame. My ears were ringing. I was breathing too hard. My heart was racing too fast and loudly enough for a werewolf to hear.

  Steven halted where he was. I knew he could smell the fear on me, but he could also see the promise of violence in my stance. “What’s going on, Rowyn? Why are you here?” he asked again, his eyes narrowing. “The noise back there. That was you?”

  May the souls forgive me.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” I said, reaching inside my jacket pocket with a trembling hand.

  Steven frowned, his eyes following my hand. “About what? What the hell is going on, Rowyn?”

  “Ad immobilem!” I shouted. Too fast for even a werewolf’s reflexes, I hurled the glass vial at his feet. The vial smashed sending a cloud of yellow vapor into the air.

  At first nothing happened, and for a horrible moment I feared the spell wouldn’t work on a werewolf. But then the whites of Steven’s eyes showed, and his mouth dropped open in an O of surprise.

  He dropped to his knees, fell forward onto the floor, and was still.

  Holy shit. It had worked.

  I blinked a couple of times. Then I felt my legs move forward of their own volition. I didn’t even remember pulling out my soul blade as I stood before the paralyzed werewolf, my blade angled over his chest.

  Steven’s eyes met mine. They were wide with anger and confusion and betrayal as I stood over him, soul blade in hand. His face said it all. He was going to kill me if I missed. His eyes, full of shock and hate, remained on me as I knelt next to him with my blade angled at his heart.

  A sob broke from my lips. “I’m sorry,” I moaned. “I’m so sorry. I have no choice.”

  I pulled my eyes away from his face before he saw the tears that threatened to fall. I couldn’t look at him and do this. I couldn’t have his eyes haunt me forever.

  I didn’t know how long I knelt there, unable to drive the blade down into his heart, unable to take the step that would change me forever. I went somewhere far, far away from myself. Silent tears slid down my face and neck, puddling around my clavicles.

  My hand shook violently. My soul blade was a heavy weight, as though I was holding a sword and not a small dagger. Its weight pulled my hand down. As I gripped my blade, something inside me fractured so completely that there would be no hope of ever repairing it.

  I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t take his life.

  I let my arm fall. “I can’t do this,” I breathed, knowing that I’d just killed my grandmother. The tears that were flowing were for her and not for what I had just contemplated doing.

  A crashing noise pulled my attention towards the doors and my breath caught.

  Four big men stood shock-still in the door frame, their eyes on their alpha paralyzed on the floor and me leaning over him with a blade in my hand.

  Oh crap. Those were some big werewolves.

  And they all looked like they were going to eat me.

  9

  One full-fledged werewolf was scary as hell. Four, well, four was enough to make me wet myself.

  “Oh,” I breathed. “Oh, crap. This isn’t what it looks like,” I stammered, seeing their collective hatred coupled with their killing stances. “I mean yes, I was about to stab him, but I changed my mind.” Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

  For a second my body wouldn’t move, as though I’d gotten some of that paralyzing spell on me. I knelt there, frozen in shock for the briefest of moments, as I watched two of the four werewolves rip off their clothes, drop down on all fours, and start to change. I’d only seen the Hollywood version, and damn, it was bang on.

  Shit. This was really bad.

  Around me, I heard the werewolves’ growls bubbling up in their throats as their bones cracked and popped, lengthening their arms and legs. Their faces pulled and stretched, their jaws elongating in a hideous blending of human and wolf.

  Their skin flashed to gray and a fluff of silky, thick fur appeared—one dark gray and one brown. Their eyes fixed on me, and there was nothing human left in them. They were bigger than the average wolf. These were wolves on steroids. Their lips curled in warning with steady growls of rage coming from them.

  Holy crap. They had wolfed-out in ten seconds flat!

  But I barely had time to register how quickly my plan had gone down the crapper as the two wolves came at me.

  I flung myself under the operating table, twisting while ducking and rolling, barely missing a swipe of razor-sharp claws from the brown wolf.

  My heart hammered. I was in deep shit. Neck deep, and it was pulling me under.

  Teeth snapped where my face would have been, and I kicked out, my foot making contact with something hard. There was a yelp as claws raked the side of my leg. I cried out, feeling the searing pain of the deep gashes. I was lucky it hadn’t been his head taking a chunk out of my leg.

  “He’s not dead!” I cried. “He’s just sleeping!” Well, not exactly, but it was the first thing that came out of my mouth. I didn’t have time to try and tell them about Lisbeth’s blackmail. They wouldn’t believe me. It looked bad. To the weres, it looked like I’d killed their alpha.

  “Stop! Please!” Yeah, like they would listen to me.

  Shouts rang out as I kicked at the snapping jaws that threatened to break my leg in half. My soul blade hung uselessly in my hand as I tried to keep my ass alive.

  I should have stayed home.

  Panic struck me when I caught sight of the second wolf coming at me from the other side of the table while I was struggling to keep the brown wolf from eating me. Swell.

  Ears pinned and lips curled to show teeth the size of kitchen knives, it came at me. Paws, the size of my head, swiped at me and I fell backwards and out from under the table.

  The brown wolf leaped on me. The floor slammed into me, and I grunted as the air left my lungs in a whoosh. Instinctively, I brought my knees up, planting my feet on its chest and trying to keep it from biting my head off. Warm dog breath hit my face, and I shook from the weight of the beast. My thighs burned as I strained to keep it there. The wolf thrashed madly, and I could barely reach it with my blade without cutting myself by accident.

  “Tyrius!” I cried as loudly as I could, my lungs empty. Where the hell was my friend? I prayed to the souls the werewolves hadn’t killed him. If Tyrius died, it would be my fault.

  I screamed in agony as claws raked my side. I caught a flash of gray fur so I blindly waved my soul blade behind me at the gray wolf. There was a startled yip, and a few seconds’ break.

  Then I heard a roar, nothing like a wolf’s growl or snarl, and turned my head enough to see a great black panther lunge at the gray wolf.

  Tyrius and the wolf disappeared under a tangle of black and gray fur. I cringed at the horrible sounds of teeth and claws tearing flesh. If anyone could match the strength of a werewolf, it was Tyrius in his alter ego black panther.

  My lungs felt like they were about to explode under the strain of trying to keep the brown wolf from mauling me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get enough air. My head swam, and I blinked the dark spots from my eyes. Despair crept over me. If I didn’t do anything now, I was going to die.

  Adrenaline fueled my limbs. Pulling my knees to my chest, I pushed off as hard as I could with my f
eet and flung the brown wolf back.

  I took a ragged breath and scrambled to my feet, blade still in hand. I eased into a fighting stance, my butt pressed against the row of metal cabinets. But what could I do against these giant monster wolves? Not much. Worse, the other two weres were shifting into their wolf forms as well. I blinked and then I was staring at a red wolf and another darker gray. Damn.

  “Bad doggy,” I rasped, my head swimming with the surge of pounding blood. “Very bad doggy.”

  The brown wolf lowered its body to a crouch and growled at me.

  I didn’t wait for it to lunge as I threw my soul blade right at it. The blade hit the wolf’s left shoulder and stayed there. Shit. The wolf didn’t even move, except for its lips pulling back into a nasty snarl.

  Great. That just pissed it off more.

  The massive brown wolf came at me, its claws tearing up the tiles floors in an eerie fingers-scratching-a-chalkboard type sound.

  “Oh, crap,” I said, voice cracking. Heart pounding, I planted myself and waited.

  And just when its giant muzzle was an inch from my chest, I threw myself out of the way.

  With a loud crash, the wolf hit the metal cabinet with the force of a truck going fifty miles an hour hitting a tree. It crumpled to the ground in a heap of fur. Relief surged through me when I saw it was still breathing. He’d have a hell of a headache when he woke up. Poor bastard.

  Something caught my leg, and I went hurtling down on the ground. Propping myself up on my elbows, I caught a glimpse of Tyrius. The big black panther was a blur of claws, teeth, and limbs as he and the wolf rolled on the ground, tearing each other up like a pack of wild dogs. We met in a confusion of snapping teeth and swatting paws. Not his fault. I’d stumbled into my friend’s fight with the wolf.

  I rolled desperately, trying to escape being crushed. Something dark and strong struck me across the jaw. Ow. Stars plagued my vision as I swayed, close to losing consciousness. The blow was enough to ring bells inside my ears, literally.