by Alex P. Berg
Frank cursed. “Stuttgart, is your ass ever not in a sling?”
“I’m serious. Send a car or thirty. We’re at Bone Lickers in Driftwood.”
“Driftwood?” said Frank. “That’s outside my jurisdiction.”
“Screw your jurisdiction. Did you not hear me say inhuman horror?”
“Sorry, Stuttgart. Call me when you reach the city limits.”
Larry growled, his phone hand shaking with anger as Frank cut out. “Damnit!”
Tank shook his head as the screeching and gunfire grew louder. “Roarurh grawar.”
“I agree,” said Dawn. “We need to get the hell out of here. This smoke room might be safe for now, but for how long?” She ran forward and tested the door. It didn’t budge. “Tank?”
The big guy came forward and slammed his shoulder into the door a few times. It still didn’t give. He shrugged. “Gruh?”
“Well, can’t you turn into bear form?” said Dawn. “Rip it off its hinges.”
Tank shook his head. “Roarurh groo.”
“What do you mean you need an external stimulus? What does that even mean?”
“Guys, there’s another door.” I pointed to the back of the room. “I’ve been to places like this. I bet it leads to a dining hall or the rest of the kitchens.”
Dawn, Tank, and I hurried to the back door, carefully avoiding Darragh’s puddles of vomit, while Larry continued to stew. Dawn tested it. “Damn. Also locked.” She rattled it in its frame. “Doesn’t seem as solid as the front one. Tank, surely you can break it down?”
He slammed a palm against it. “Ruhgruh?”
“I don’t know,” said Dawn. “Give it your best shot.”
“Can’t you pick it?” I said. “Like at the Harry Ransom Center?”
“Yeah. If I’d brought my picks.”
A voice sounded from near my knees, and someone slapped me on the thigh. “Outta da way, ya geebags.”
I blinked. “Darragh?”
The leprechaun pushed his way through. He reached into his green jacket, pulled a leather tool case, and opened it. He plucked a couple pointed metal tools and jammed them into the back door’s keyhole.
Dawn looked as surprised as I felt. “The leprechaun has lock picks?”
Darragh looked up. His face went green. He bent over and retched all over the bottom half of the door. He wiped his mouth, wobbled back up, and glared at Dawn. “They’re cobbler’s tools, but they work in a pinch. How do ya think so many o’ us build our fortunes?”
Darragh worked on the lock as Larry came over, Bill in hand. The warbling howls continued unabated, but the gunfire and human screams were dying down. “Seriously, guys, maybe we should stay. Whatever’s out there probably doesn’t even know we’re here.”
The lock clicked. Darragh cranked on the handle. The door swung open, revealing a dark room filled with long tables, benches, and an empty display case. The lights were off, but moonlight streamed in through the windows.
“Sorry, Larry,” said Dawn. “You’re going have to earn back your leadership privileges after this debacle. The rest of us have voted. Move out, but be quiet.”
Darragh took one step through the door, wobbled, fell flat on his face, and promptly started snoring again. Tank picked him up on his way through. Dawn and I followed, with Larry in the back.
“Aren’t you all forgetting something?” said Larry as we snuck past a greasy table. “We can’t leave yet. We don’t have the tome!”
“Screw the tome,” said Dawn. “Our safety is more important.”
“Actually, Dawn? I’m going to agree with Larry on this one,” I said. “Getting that tome is a matter of safety. If we don’t take it, those bikers will sell it to Romanov, and I have a nebulous but frightening idea of what he’ll do with it.”
“If there are any bikers alive after that shrieking horror finishes with them,” said Dawn.
“And you’d rather it find the tome of power?” said Larry.
Dawn sighed. “Fine. You win. But how exactly do you propose we find it?”
“Look in the obvious places, for starters,” said Larry. “Like, say, that office over there.”
He pointed. Sure enough, at the side of the dining area an open door led to a room with a desk, a swivel chair, and multiple filing cabinets. We walked there quietly and peered inside. A cool breeze blew through an open window, rustling the pages under a paperweight. The air was oddly still, calm and quiet in a lull between howls. In the center of the desk was a massive tome. The Librum de Virtute.
Tank grunted. “Gruh.”
“I know, right?” said Dawn. “Talk about serendipity.”
“Well, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” said Bill. “Grab it and let’s go!”
Tank nudged me with an elbow. “Roaruh gruh.”
“Yeah, you’ve got Darragh,” I said. “I can figure it out by context.”
I took a step toward the tome. As I did so, I hesitated. Maybe it was the sudden cessation of the breeze, or the lack of screaming and gunfire, or maybe I was finally developing the sixth sense that kept idiots like Larry alive. Either way, I dropped as I neared the book, rolling into the side of the desk. I belted out a strangled warning, but it was too late. A rush of air whooshed over me as a furry, clawed blur leapt through the window. If I hadn’t dove when I had, the thing probably would’ve taken off my head.
Instead it flew right into Tank’s.
30
Tank roared and bucked, dropping Darragh with a thud as the creature latched onto his muzzle. Tank’s hands shot to his face, trying to tear the beast from his fur, but the thing moved with unbelievable speed. It zipped and twirled, whipping around Tank’s head in a black and grey blur, attacking the big man in a frenzy of scratching claws and flashing teeth. It screeched again, the sound filling the office, piercing my ears.
Tank spun, arms flailing as he stumbled into the dining area. Dawn and Larry dove out of his way. Bill went flying, cursing as he smacked into a wall. Tank tripped over a chair and crashed into one of the wooden tables. Splinters flew.
I leapt to Dawn and Larry’s side. “Christ. Do something!”
“Without my swords?” said Dawn.
“It’s on his face,” said Larry, gathering energy in his hands. “If I miss, it won’t be pretty.”
“Tank’s not particularly pretty as is,” I said.
Tank roared again as the creature continued to savage him, cutting loose with an angry bellow. Cloth tore as the pile of man and bear flesh topped with a ferocious nightmare blur sprouted thick fur all over and grew.
“So that’s what he meant by an external stimulus,” said Dawn. “I get it now.”
Tank rose from the remains of the dinner table, now in full bear form. He swiped at the creature on his head with his massive paws, but the thing was too quick. Tank succeeded only in smacking himself in the muzzle.
“You’ve got to do something, Larry,” I said. “He can’t get it off. If you don’t help, I will.”
The heat from Larry’s energy ball warmed my face. “How do you plan on doing that?”
I pulled the demon tooth bat from my pocket and squeezed. “By trying.”
Larry shook his head. “Fine. Here goes nothing. Sorry, Tank!”
Larry extended his arms. The ball of energy flew through the air, crackling and expanding as it went. I’m not sure what guided it, because despite Tank’s bucking and flailing, it nailed him right in the face, enveloping his head with a foot to spare on all sides.
The creature attacking Tank may have been quick, but Larry’s magic ball had grown big enough to render its speed moot. The screeching howl turned into a yelp as the creature shot across the room, blasting through the cinderblock wall separating the dining room from the smoke shack.
Tank lifted himself from a pile of mangled furniture and shook his head. Not his bear head, but his human head, which was now stuck onto his comically oversized bear body.
“Tank?” said Dawn.
“Uh… great,” he said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do all along.”
The creature’s inhuman screech echoed through the open door and the hole in the cinderblock wall.
“Crap,” said Larry. “I thought that might’ve been enough.”
I ran with Larry to the open door and glanced at the creature that crouched, hissing, at the other end of the smoke shack. For once, it had decided to stand still.
“It’s a raccoon?” I said.
The trash panda hissed and bared its tiny fangs.
“Strongest damn were-raccoon I’ve ever seen,” said Larry. “Of course, weres who can’t control their turning during a full moon are always the strongest—and most dangerous. Your pal Tony mention anything specific about his condition?”
At the mention of his name, the raccoon cut loose with another ear-splitting shriek. His claws played a melody on the floor as his feet spun into action, his beady little eyes full of hate and focused directly upon us.
Good thing I’d always hit the fast ball best. I planted my feet and brought my demon bat back as Raccoon Tony launched himself into the air. I connected with a crack, sending the furry missile flying. He slammed into the heavy metal exterior door, blasting it off its hinges without slowing.
Larry and I rushed to the door, where we paused in horror. Bone Lickers looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Bikers sprawled across the grounds, some moaning in pain, others still and quiet. The exterior lights were shattered, shards from their bulbs and covers littering the lawn. Branches had been ripped from trees and leaves from bushes. Even some of the barn’s siding had been knocked loose.
Pounding footsteps sounded from behind, and Tank squeezed through the door to join us. He was still in bear form except for his head and the one arm. “Damn.”
“Damn is right,” said Larry. “Where’s Dawn?”
“Guarding Darragh, Bill, and the tome,” said Tank.
Larry eyed Tank’s arm. “I thought you could transform your body parts at will.”
Tank flexed again. “Still working on it. I’ll get there.”
Tony the were-raccoon hissed and darted across the lawn. Larry shot a couple quick spells after the thing, hissing missiles that blasted chunks of earth into the air, but he didn’t come close to connecting with the creature.
“Stop it.” I batted his arm down. “We don’t want to kill him.”
“Says the girl who slapped him upside the head with a demon tooth softball bat.”
“That’s different,” I said. “You’d already proven he’s resistant to impacts.”
Tank glanced at the guns and empty shells littering the premises. “I think he’s resistant to just about everything.”
Tony darted across our field of vision, howling as he did so, but the ear-splitting call had acquired a new tone. There was a hint of fear in it that hadn’t existed before.
“The point is, he needs help,” I said. “He’s asked us multiple times. We have an obligation to capture him, not kill him.”
“Well, he’s spooked now,” said Larry. “How do you plan on drawing him in?”
“We need bait.”
“My face worked the first time,” said Tank, “but I’d rather not use it again.”
“Not your face.” I snapped my fingers. “That’s it! Tacos!”
Another pained howl filled the air.
“Hate to break it to you, Lexie,” said Larry, “but Tank ate all those.”
“Not tacos specifically. I meant food in general. After the fight with the vampires, Dawn said Tank needed protein to recover. Tony’s taken about a hundred bullets and tangled with a were-bear. He must be starving. You saw the meat locker in the back of the dining hall, right Tank?”
“Lexie,” said Larry. “This place may be a BBQ joint, but it’s abandoned. I don’t think—”
“I’m on it.” Tank took off through the door behind us.
“He’s not going to find anything,” said Larry.
“He’ll pull through,” I said. “What we need is a way to subdue him.”
“Beyond asking Tank to put him in a headlock?”
“Not much of a long term solution, Larry.”
“Well, you think of something. I’m into wizardry, not animal control.”
Heavy breathing preceded Tank as he popped out the door, a twenty-five pound pork leg in his hand.
I almost retched at the smell. “Oh dear god.”
“Yeah, it’s been there a while,” said Tank. “It’s all I could find. I figured—”
Tony screeched and dove at us from the shadows. Thankfully for me, even though I was busy trying to keep my dinner down, Tank was on his game. He swung the meat, batting Tony to the side in mid-leap. Bits of rotting flesh sprayed from the ham, splattering as they hit the ground. Raccoon Tony dove on one of the larger pieces, wolfing it down in a single gulp.
“It’s working!” said Tank.
I choked back some vomit. “Larry… urgh… use a … hurgh … stasis field.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Larry pointed at the outdoor grill near where we’d met the bikers. “Tank, chuck it under there.”
“Under?”
“UNDER!”
Tank pulled back his arm. The rotting meat flew. It bounced and rolled into the fire pit. Tony pounced in after it, hissing voraciously.
“And now,” said Larry. “All we need is a little pressure.”
He lifted his hands and started pushing them together, as if he were squeezing an invisible cantaloupe. The metal grate over the grill whined and gave, caving at the sides before slamming into the ground in a hemispherical shape.
Larry smiled and dusted off his hands. “And that is how you make a raccoon cage.”
I walked forward. Sure enough, Tony was trapped inside the bent grill cage, swallowing giant mouthfuls of the stinking, rotten meat.
“I can’t believe that worked,” said Tank.
“I can’t believe he’s eating that,” said Larry.
“I can’t believe I haven’t … urgh … puked.”
I shouldn’t have said anything. With a heave and a rush, I leaned over and let ’er rip.
31
The Suburban’s headlights cut a bright swath across the pitch black country road as I took yet another curve at a slower speed than I was used to. Despite the high-speed chase through downtown Austin and the resulting SUV aerials, the truck itself ran as smooth as ever thanks to Larry’s restorative magic—which wasn’t saying much. At its best, the Suburban’s ride could generously be called turbulent. But the added weight had reached some nebulous tipping point, exacerbating the vehicle’s existing boat-like tendencies and turning me into a more cautious driver.
Larry sat next to me in the passenger seat holding the Librum in one hand and Bill in the other while Dawn, Darragh, and Tank shared the back bench. Darragh, despite his momentary lapse into consciousness, had kept right on snoozing, occasionally ripping forth with a ragged snore to remind us he was alive. Tank’s clothes had been destroyed by his most recent transformation. Since we hadn’t thought to bring any spares with us, he’d made the best of a bad situation and stolen what he could from bikers who weren’t able to tell him no. The sleeveless leather jacket that was a bit too small and showed off his bulging biceps wasn’t a bad look, but the bloodstained jeans left something to be desired.
In his arms, Tank held the makeshift cage containing Tony the raccoon, which we’d bent from a hemisphere into a full one. Initially, we’d stashed the ball-shaped cage in the back, but after Betsy started growling at Tony and Tony returned the favor with a vicious hiss, we’d decided it would be better to separate the two. Personally, I woul
d’ve preferred to leave the cage in the back and dealt with the sounds of aggression as a means of putting more space between me and Tony’s lingering rotten meat smell, but with all the Suburban’s windows down, the funk had faded beneath the gag threshold.
“Am I the only concerned about what happens if Tony reverts back to human form while he’s in that cage?” I asked. “There’s physically not enough space in there to contain him.”
“Have you looked outside your window?” said Larry. “That full moon’s not going anywhere for another—” He glanced at the radio clock. “—five and a half hours or so. The bigger problem will be getting Tony to transform back at all.”
“I was hoping it would happen by accident at Bone Lickers,” said Dawn. “That maybe he and Tank would transform at the same time while they were engaged in a heated wrestling match and glistening with sweat from the exertion. Could’ve been hot. I might’ve had to jump in there and… split them up. Or at least get in the middle.” Dawn bit her lip.
“Jeez, Dawn, get a hold of yourself,” said Larry. “It’s been, what? A day since you and Charity hooked up?”
Dawn stared wistfully out the window. “That counts as a dry spell in my book.”
“Speaking of books.” Larry patted the heavy one in his lap. “We saved Bill, we got the tome, and nobody died. At least not any of us. I’d call that one hell of a successful night.”
My mouth dropped at the sheer stupidity of Larry’s statement. I tilted my head to stare at him in disbelief, but the flashing lights in my rear-view mirror distracted me. I heard the siren a fraction of a second later. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t worry,” said Larry. “I’ve got this. I’m friends with the police, remember?”
“The Austin, police, maybe. We’re still in Driftwood, as far as I know. For the love of God, shut up and let me handle this.”
“Right,” said Larry. “Everyone? Act cool.”
