by Wen Spencer
Bethy closed her out stretched hand into a fist.
One of the boys moved between them. The tween was dressed in a dark suit. His tie was askew and his shirt wasn't tucked in and his ginger curls looked like a rat's nest.
He held up a rose to Elise. "Here! Take this!"
"Huh?" Elise backpedaled more, thrown mentally off-balance by the boy's interruption.
He pressed forward, trying to force her to take the flower. Tears were welling up in his eyes. "Take it! Take it!"
She glanced around for his parents. They shifted forward, hands out reached, as if to pull him away. She'd been aware of the crowd moving toward her while she talked with Bethy but she hadn't realized that they'd surrounded her completely.
"Hold still, Grigori," one of the boys stated.
His power flashed through her. Every muscle stiffened in response. It felt like she'd been turned to stone. She couldn't even breathe.
"Take her," the warlock commanded. "Hold her tight. Don't let her go."
With faces full of dismay, the families grabbed hold of her. A score of hands tightened on her arms. Fingers clenched tight in her hair.
Close up, the warlock was clearly in his early twenties; too old to be part of the families he'd taken over. His auburn hair, though, made him blend in with them. She should have been able to recognize the Wicker. His Italian silk suit had been tailored expertly to his slim frame. Large gems flashed on his fingers. It was the classic warlock look; they had a need to be recognized as powerful.
The warlock pulled the eight-year-old boy to him, making the child a meat shield. "Where is the wolf?"
His voice was rich with his power. The answer rushed out of her mouth, spoken without her knowledge or consent.
"Which one?" She laughed as she realized he'd asked the wrong question. She took a deep breath of freedom as she managed to shrug aside his control. "Oh, you blew it."
He pulled the boy tighter against him. "You'll have to go through all these people to get to me. Tell me where the newborn wolf is. You're not here because of the massacres. You stopped my huntsman elsewhere. You know where the newborn went."
The warlock had talked to Stewart. Elise wondered if the U.S. marshal was still alive.
She didn't want to hurt these people but she couldn't buy her safety by telling the warlock anything. He knew she'd kill him the moment she got free. He and his coven had already killed nearly two dozen people. No court of men would ever convict him. No police would even arrest him. She and her family pledged their lives to fight evil like him; it was the only way they could gain heaven.
If she could stall, it was possible that more people would show up. Once the number was greater than he could control, the puppets holding her might slip free. They obviously wanted no part of this. They watched with mute terror, too strongly held to even protest.
"Why do you want him?" Elise said to gain more time. "Why did you kill so many people to get him? You have no hope of holding him. The Wolf King knows."
"Oh, let me tremble in my boots. Please. I've been dodging wolves my whole life. They're stupid animals, pure and simple. Your family has been pandering to them far too long. The time is at hand when we take what should be ours. Tell me where he is and I'll simply kill you. Otherwise I'm going to have to make use of you."
Make use. Such an innocent-sounding phrase for vivisection.
All over the city, the church bells started to ring. The funerals. No one would be strolling by to tip the balance. She was going to have to fight her way free. Most importantly, she needed to keep him from getting the rattle of her pocket. She didn't know what the Wickers planned to do with Joshua, but it was game changing if the warlock was willing to risk so much to find him.
God, almighty, maker of heaven and earth, give me power to destroy this evil.
She shattered the knee of the nearest man on her left. He went down with a scream, the pain breaking the witch's hold on him.
"Kill her!" the warlock shouted, backing away, keeping his shield carefully between her and him.
Luckily none of the puppets were trained fighters. They tried to comply, but they had no idea how to kill a human outside what they'd seen in movies. She downed two more while they rained punches on her.
"Hey!" Bethy shouted as one of the men rushed toward Elise, butcher knife raised for a stab at Elise's throat. "No! Don't!" Bethy caught the man's knife hand and disarmed him. "Dumbass!"
The warlock had forgotten Bethy in the confusion and hadn't taken control of her. The one trained fighter had stood dumbfounded until the knife appeared.
"Run!" Elise shouted, hoping that the girl would escape.
The warlock pointed at Bethy. "You! Kill her!"
And lo, a miracle happened.
Bethy stepped forward, leg swiped the meat shield, knocking him to the ground. The field cleared, she grabbed the warlock and flung him hard.
Good God in Heaven! Joshua's sister was the one in a million who was immune to witches.
For one stunned moment, the warlock's hold was weakened on the puppets. They paused in their attack, loosening their grip. Elise ripped free her left hand and jerked her pistol out of its concealed holster.
"Kill them both!" the warlock roared from the ground.
Instantly the puppets tightened their hold on Elise. She couldn't raise her arm. She could hear Bethy swearing loudly as she struggled with their attackers. Elise didn't want to kill these innocent people, but she was quickly being left no choice. If they wrestled her weapons away from her, then they'd be able to use them on her and the werewolves. She pulled the trigger, firing blindly. Someone cried out in pain. Blood scented the air. She was able to raise her arm slightly.
"God forgive me and have mercy on their souls!" She pulled the trigger again and again.
The pistol kicked in her hand, booming loudly, as the puppets tried to wrestle it away from her. Bullets whined off the parking lot's asphalt. She had a dozen shots to hit something worthwhile, and then the gun was a useless hunk of metal. Five. Six. Seven.
Another puppet cried out in pain.
"Stop!" the warlock commanded. She felt his power pluck at her, quiet urges, easily ignored. He was trying to control too much with Bethy added into the equation. The puppets wavered and she managed to raise her arm enough. Her ninth bullet hit him in the foot.
Instantly the puppets scattered. They ran screaming.
Elise leveled her pistol at the warlock who was thrashing on the ground.
Even wounded, the warlock was dangerous. He held out his hand to Bethy. "Don't let her shoot me! I'm unarmed! I haven't done anything wrong."
"Like hell you didn't." Bethy wiped blood from her mouth. "What the hell is going on? Has everyone gone insane? What the hell are you doing?" This was to Elise. "You can't just shoot people. We should call the police."
Elise backed up to make sure that the girl didn't try to disarm her. Bethy didn't understand what was going on. "This man killed your neighbor, Joe Buckley. He cut Buckley's heart out while he was still alive. He's after your brother."
"He is?" Bethy cried. "Why?"
"I don't know." Elise only partially lied. She knew it was because Joshua was a werewolf, but why were the Wickers so intent on him? The area was filling up with wolves; it would be easier to snatch one off the streets in any other city in the world.
"Stupid ignorant bitch," the warlock snarled. "He's not even your brother. That stupid slut Alvarado ditched him with your family."
Elise opened her mouth to ask who Joshua really was when she remembered Cabot's conversation with Seth. "He's Ilya Tatterskein, isn't he?"
"He's the end result of two thousand years of breeding by Alexander," the warlock said.
The baby rattle was taken from the Tatterskeins' mountain lodge if the Wickers knew that it belonged to Joshua.
"What do you want with him?" Elise asked.
"The same thing that the Wolf King wants with him," the warlock said.
Ilya would have been Prince of Bos
ton if he hadn't been kidnapped.
Several blocks away, the sirens of police cars wailed to life.
She realized that the warlock was playing for time. He planned only to tell her enough to keep her listening until new---heavily armed---puppets arrived. Even if she shot him now, there'd be Bethy to contend with. As far as the girl would know, Elise would have shot a wounded and unarmed man.
If she left him alive, she might have to kill police officers or be killed herself.
She took aim for a heart shot.
"I said you can't..." Bethy moved in to stop her.
A large black wolf streaked between them. It hit the warlock and blood sprayed across the cement.
Cabot! Elise jerked her gun up. She wasn't loaded with silver but she didn't want to piss him off by accidently shooting him.
The warlock looked like a ragdoll in the wolf's jaws as Cabot mauled the man. It was one thing to know an angry werewolf was dangerous, it was another to watch one tear limbs from a body.
And you wanted to sleep with Cabot? Seriously?
It was going to be really hard to kiss the man without thinking of the bloody muzzle of the wolf. All that blood.
When the warlock had been reduced to a half dozen pieces, Cabot turned toward the two men she'd wounded.
"Leave them; I need to question them." Elise reloaded. "Where's the prince? Is he safe?"
"He went someplace with Isaiah. I was looking for him when I heard gunshots."
Someplace close by, another siren wailed to life. Cabot wasn't the only one who'd heard the shots.
"Police are coming." She took out her hotel key and held it out to him. "They have silver. You can't be roaming the streets like that in daylight. Go get clothes on."
He growled, glancing toward the oncoming police and then her. "What if a Wicker is with them?"
"Then you'll hear more gunshots and you can come back. Go!"
Bethy pointed at Cabot as he stalked to the hotel room. "Did---did---did it just talk?"
"Yes, congratulations, your life just got a whole lot weirder."
23: Seth
Albany led them to a storefront a few blocks from the Hotel Utica. From what Seth had seen of Utica, they were in the business district of the city. (Albeit a very small area compared to New York City.) It was Monday morning, after the start of office. The streets were full of people.
One block back from what seemed to be the main drag, there was a low red brick building that clearly started life as a stable. The wide door that once allowed horses hitched to wagons to enter had been converted into a large window display. Gold lettering in an old-fashioned font arched across the glass, identifying the store as "Gold Coast Coffee, Antiques and Taxidermy." On the left side of the window display, bags of coffee were tastefully arranged between a bronze-plated antique cash register and balance scale. On the right was a pair of snowshoe hare jackalopes with deer antlers. The rabbits were locked in spar, their cannibalized horns inches from ramming into each other.
"Oh no." Seth's stomach gave a sickening roll. He didn't want to go into the store and find what had been done to Samuels' body.
Albany put his hand on Seth's shoulder. "That was what I was afraid of. There are humans inside. I can't tell if they're witch or puppet. They don't appear to be armed." He waved Isaiah toward the side alley. "Thane, take some of your people to the back door. We don't want them taking his body and running."
"Don't kill anyone," Seth added.
"It's the only way to be sure," Isaiah snapped.
"Don't. Kill. Anyone." Seth put his power behind the command.
"The prince is right," Albany stated quietly. "We need to find out how many are in the coven and where they holed up."
Isaiah growled but nodded agreement.
Seth hadn't been thinking about questioning anyone. He knew his foster brother; the Thane gave his wolf full rein far too often.
Albany kept hold of Seth while Isaiah took the Thanes down the side alley.
"Now is the time to be the prince you were born to be. If things go south, you'll be the one that needs to be strong for all of us." Albany patted him on the shoulder. "Good boy."
It reminded Seth of his vet, Dr. Huff. A wrenching homesickness hit him. He didn't want to walk into this store and find a man he'd known and loved like an uncle butchered like an animal. Or worse, mounted like some hunting trophy. He didn't want to have to deal with possibly killing innocent people whose only crime was to be caught up in the power of a Wicker. He wanted to be home. Only he didn't have a home to go back to. All that was in Boston was an empty lot and the smell of soot and ashes.
Albany opened the door. Bells hanging above the door chimed. The warm smell of coffee blasted out into the cold street. The scent of dusty fur and dried skin followed, most likely too faint for a normal human to pick up. It raised the hair on Seth's neck. Growling, he followed the old wolf into the shop.
It was an assault on the senses. Every nook and cranny was filled with the bizarre and macabre. An anatomically correct science mannequin, its skin peeled back to reveal plastic organs. Ancient stuffed ferrets dressed in odd clothing. One ferret in a fez hat and blue bathrobe. A second dressed as a green beret soldier. The head of a third framed like a portrait with a tiara balanced between its ears. A duckling's head under glass. A songbird with parts of its body replaced with clockwork. A miniature skeleton riding a stuffed fancy chicken.
There were other, more normal things. Old farm equipment. Battered tin signs. A neon clock from the fifties. Gumball machines. An old jukebox. But the taxidermy nearly crowded them out of his awareness.
Why would you do this to another living creature? Killing an animal to eat it, he understood. This was a mockery of the animal's existence. A demeaning of its life for eternity.
"Oh god, not Samuels," Seth whispered. "Not this."
"We'll put things right," Albany said.
The only clear area in the store was the barista counter. A young man stood behind it. He excelled at the squeaky-clean scruffy look of a hipster. His long dark hair was twisted up into a man-bun and his full beard was meticulously groomed. He wore a white linen shirt that showed off his sleeve tattoos and braided leather suspenders.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't allow smoking..." The barista trailed off as he noticed the number and mood of the wolves trailing in behind Albany. Even the supernaturally blind would notice the wave of anger coming off the pack. "Can I help you?"
"Alasdair Aillig Keir, the Marquis of Albany. Hold out your hand to me."
"Okay." The barista obviously thought that they were simply going to shake hands. He wiped his hands on a towel and leaned across the counter.
Albany gripped his hand, making the barista wince.
"Wow," the young man said. "You have a strong grip for someone your age."
"Which is?"
"What?"
"How old am I?"
"I don't know. Sixty-five? Seventy?" The barista tried to pull free. After the first tug, he looked to the nearest of Albany's grandsons. "Is he...?"
"He's deciding if he's going to tear your arm off or not," the grandson said.
The barista gave a nervous laugh and tugged harder. "Please, sir, let go."
"If he knew who you were, he'd never have shaken hands with you," Seth pointed out.
"I know," Albany said. "The other humans are in the back. The Thanes are screening them."
There was a scream from a back room. Something large hit the wall. Everything behind the counter shook at the force of the impact.
The barista's eyes widened and he tugged more frantically.
"You have something of ours here." Albany kept hold of him. "We're picking it up. You're going to stay right here, not moving, not calling the police. My grandson Daniel here is going to make sure of that. If you stay calm and quiet, you won't be hurt. Understand?"
"Not entirely," the barista said, too honestly. He winced in pain and changed it to, "Yes! Yes! I understand!"
"Shouldn't we question him?" Seth asked.
"If he didn't know we were coming, then he wasn't held long enough to learn anything useful. We need a puppet that's been held at least a day for them to know anything important. The longer they were held, the more they'll know. He's clueless."
Albany led the way through a door labeled "employees only" and down a dim hallway crowded with antiques. The smell of blood and death lingered in the darkness. It grew stronger as they entered the actual taxidermy workshop.
The space was an assault on Seth's senses. Plastic forms in the shape of dozens of mammals hung from the ceiling. Bare of skin, horns, ears, and tails, he couldn't even identify the animals that they were supposed to be. The beige color and the rounded forms made it seem like huge grubs were descending from the roof.
Birds in mid-flight were pinned to corkboards upside down, wings spread, wrapped in white paper to protect the feathers. The mounted heads of whitetail deer sat on the floor, waiting to be claimed. The workshop's harsh lights gleamed brightly off their glass eyes.
A coyote hung from two heavy chains by its spread back legs. It had been skinned down to its front shoulders. The skinning knife lay on the floor.
Isaiah had a man pinned to a bloodstained table. "What if I skin you?" he was growling as he choked the man. "What if I hang you up by your feet and peel you?"
"Isaiah!" Seth shouted.
Isaiah stopped choking the man long enough to point at the coyote. "Look at what they did to Samuels!"
"That's a coyote."
"Why else would they bring his body here? They used those chains and that knife and they hung him up..."
"Shut up!" Seth roared.
Isaiah snarled as he dropped his gaze.
"Where's the wolf?" Seth shouted at the gasping man.
"I don't know! I don't work weekends. One of the out-of-state hunters brought in the coyote this morning. He wanted it before going back home."
"He's in the next room." Albany pointed at a barnlike sliding door.
"That's the storage for the antiques," the man said. "We don't keep animals in there."
Seth grabbed the handle and dragged open the door.
A mutilated body lay on a table within, surrounded by a bizarre collection of ancient tools. It had been covered with a tarp at one point, but the canvas had been pulled aside to show the damage done. The large wolf had been skinned and beheaded. What was left wasn't even identifiable by scent.
