Wolf and Raven

by Michael A. Stackpole

  I sniffed at the air. “No gas vapors.” I turned to Zig. “Did they refuel?”

  “Not so’s I noticed, chummer.”

  The intrusion of voices ended our whispered conversation. Appearing on the sea side of our hiding place, Etienne La Plante strolled along with a man who Zig silently indicated was the owner of the boat. From the top of his white-haired head to the tips of his black shoes—and for the length of the perfectly tailored, double-breasted black suit he wore—La Plante looked every bit an aristocrat from the days before the Awakening. Only the silver of his artificial right hand seemed out of place, but it didn’t break the image—it just dented it a bit.

  His stocky guest stood a bit below average height, but the Old One growled a warning that prevented me from dismissing the man outright. As I studied his olive-skinned, hawk-nosed profile I caught his dark eyes darting warily about. The man missed nothing and stroked his black mustache and goatee thoughtfully while La Plante babbled on endlessly. I saw no obvious signs of chroming, which meant the man had to be taken very seriously.

  I always take spellworms very seriously.

  Following La Plante and his visitor at a discreet distance, The Chauffeur affected the air of a jilted lover or a young sibling aching for the adult privileges his older kin had been accorded in the family. I could read his concentration as he struggled to overhear any and all remarks that passed between his boss and the smaller man. The ship’s lights glinted from the slender man’s sunglasses as he turned and once again commanded that the cadre of grunges and razorboys behind him keep silent.

  The grunges simpered and groveled when scolded, but the razorboys met The Chauffeur’s looking-glass stare with glares of their own. The two gillettes in the middle were supporting a young woman who marched along as if drunk. Her head lolled to the side and I saw a flash of red hair as she pulled free of one man and tried to escape the other. Her remaining captor just tightened his grip and a grunge tackled her. She cried out in despair, but grunge laughter quickly swallowed the sound in huge hyena-gulps.

  Suddenly the sound of an explosion behind us heralded the start of the Redwing assault. La Plante dropped to one knee and covered his face with his metal hand. The guest darted toward the gangplank of his ship while the crewmen scrambled their way down below decks. The Chauffeur barked orders at his minions, and they instantly deployed themselves in defensive positions.

  Abandoned by her captors, the girl got up and began to stumble away toward the second boathouse. The Chauffeur pointed at her, dispatched a razorboy after her, and signaled him by drawing a finger across his own neck. Ten-centimeter talons sprouted from the street samurai’s fingertips as he rose to go after his prey.

  If I’d stopped to calculate my odds of success, I’d have failed. “She’s mine,” I shouted as I vaulted the crate in front of me and set off. With my reflexes jazzed, the world around me moved at an unbelievably torpid pace. As my feet hit the ground, I snapped off a shot that hit the gillette in the left shoulder, slowly spinning him to face us. Stealth’s shot followed immediately and jackknifed the street samurai like a tanker-trunk on ice.

  Three steps into the open ground between the two boat houses and only the closest of the grunges had seen me. As he turned and started to bring his Ingram up, everything above the bridge of his nose vanished and his body toppled back as if its bones had become water. As if I needed confirmation of what had happened, the report of Stealth’s Kalashnikov echoed back from the ship.

  Zig and Zag added their firepower to Stealth’s effort by the time I’d closed half the distance to the girl. La Plante had already spun and dove toward the edge of the jetty. Bullets savaged the wooden decking all around him, but the silver-handed man lived a charmed life and avoided Stealth’s retribution. A slug from someone’s rifle blasted The Chauffeur to the ground, but he kept moving and scurried to cover. I couldn’t smell blood because of the cordite filling the air, but I figured him to be smart enough to be swathed in kevlar the same as me.

  A gillette stood up right in front of me. I could see from the way he moved and reacted that he’d not seen me at all and had been angling a shot at one of my compatriots. I shoved the MP-9’s snout into his stomach. Because of the speed at which I was running, he folded around it like a knight skewered on a lance, so I kept my finger off the trigger and sprinted the last three steps to the woman.

  Stealth screamed something at me, but I lost everything except his urgent tone amid the gun-battle’s thunder. I saw flickering movement and light over by the ship, but I was so intent on the woman, it didn’t register fully. Even the acrid, oily scent didn’t trigger any emergency alarms in me.

  Traveling at roughly Mach 2.086, the bullet smashed into me between the shoulder blades, just to the right of my spine. Even though the kevlar of my coat snared the bullet before it could penetrate my hide, and the trauma padding absorbed some of the projectile’s energy, it still packed quite a punch. It lifted me off my feet like a leaf in a cyclone and tossed me forward. My left arm scooped the woman to my chest as the MP-9 went flying. A heartbeat later I twisted in the air so my back hit the boathouse and shielded her from the collision.

  Suddenly a dragon’s-tongue of fire flickered out through the space we had occupied before the bullet gave my feet wings. Without thinking I drew the Viper and pumped two rounds into the grunge wearing the flamethrower. The first bullet drilled an ugly hole into his right thigh, dropping him toward the ground. The second bullet took him high in the chest, and his dead body rolled to the foot of the gangplank.

  Before the body had expended all of its momentum, La Plante’s visitor appeared at the head of the gangplank and gestured toward the wharf area. In a flash of blinding gold-white fire, a monstrous figure appeared—a creature utterly out of proportion to the rest of us. With golden skin and eyes to match, the heavily muscled cat-thing laughed aloud in a hideous voice as a grunge whirled and emptied his Ingram into it. The bullets ricocheted off in a puff of gold dust, leaving faint freckles on the creature’s chest.

  In return for the decoration, the lion wearing a woman’s head playfully swatted the grunge with its right paw. When the body hit the ground and stopped rolling, its chest sagged like a broken zeppelin. The torpedoes in La Plante’s employ immediately threw their weapons down and lit out for the marina clubhouse and parts beyond. I would have joined them except that the conjured beastie stood between me and that possibility.

  Kid Stealth, firmly gripped in his own form of battle madness, leaped over the crates he’d been using for cover and attacked the lioness. His leap carried him five meters into the air and nine forward, with sickle-claws glittering like stars in the night sky. The Ceska Scorpion in his left hand sprayed gunfire over the left side of the human profile, then his claws hit. The metal-on-metal scream ripped its way through the night, then died as a feline roar of pain accompanied the gold curlicues Stealth tore out of the monster’s left shoulder.

  The creature dropped away from Stealth and rolled quickly onto its back. Stealth retracted his claws and jumped free to avoid being caught and crushed beneath it. In doing so, however, he hung motionless in the air just long enough for the cat’s right paw to bat him out toward the bay. He arced over the yacht’s prow and I heard a splash, but could not see anything to determine if he lived or died.

  The creature pulled itself into a sitting position. Its tail swished back and forth, knocking the grunge with the flamethrower into the water. Despite wearing a woman’s face, it licked at the wounds in its shoulder like a cat and briefly stemmed the flow of molten, golden rivulets running down its left foreleg. When I moved forward to put myself between it and the woman I’d rescued, its head came up and it hissed at me in a nasty fashion that had the Old One urging me to give myself over to his control.

  The wizworm who’d conjured up the creature looked down at me from the ship. “My sphinx seems to have cleared the battlefield of friends and foes alike, excepting yourself, of course.” He squinted at me, then a most
evil smile possessed his lips. “Is it possible you are the Wolfgang Kies mentioned as the person who took the elf, Moira Alianha, from La Plante?”

  I nodded and stood slowly without dropping my pistol. I waved both Zig and Zag back with my left hand—I knew that with the sphinx between them and the magemaggot they couldn’t get a shot off at him. I also knew that if the sphinx was powerful enough to kill Stealth, it would make catnip out of those two, so I didn’t want them shooting it. I smiled as graciously as the Old One’s nattering would allow. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  The little man brought himself to attention and bowed his head. “I am Hasan al-Thani. I have been sent to obtain the woman La Plante had for us. Though we preferred the elf, we will accept the flame-haired woman with emerald eyes.”

  Something about Hasan irritated me, much like the wet sucking sound of a nasty chest wound. In midsentence his lips and words began to move out of synch and I got the feeling that I was hearing the words more in my mind than with my ears. I shook my head to clear it, but between his monologue and the Old One’s continued war-chants, I found it impossible.

  I stabbed my left hand into the air and shouted at both of them. “Hold it! Are you telling me that you want me to just hand this woman over to you so you can cart her off somewhere?”

  Hasan smiled woodenly. “We do not see that you have any choice.” He gestured toward the sphinx. “If you do not, we will kill you and take her anyway.”

  I brought the Viper around and pointed it at the unconscious girl. “So if I blow her away, you’ll just leave?”

  Hasan’s eyes grew wide with shock, then narrowed to a more thoughtful size. “We do not believe you would do that. We call your bluff.”

  I dropped to one knee and triggered the remaining dozen bullets in the Viper. Spent shells rained over the wharf like cylindrical hailstones. Hasan ducked back by the sixth shot, but did not realize until later that he’d not been the target of my assault.

  Stealth’s shots, and those fired by the grunge, had only blown fragments of metal from the sphinx because they attacked the creature on only one level of its existence. They hit the shell it wore when summoned to the material plane. While they could damage it or even cripple it, they couldn’t kill the creature itself. Even the rents Stealth had carved into it with his claws had started to heal over.

  My silver bullets, I was pretty sure, could affect the monster on the metaphysical plane. Silver has magical properties that make it perfect for killing all sorts of things like shapeshifters and vampires. It’s been considered sacred and necessary for countless rituals down through the ages. As the Viper’s slide snapped back for the final time, I just knew I had to be right.

  I wasn’t.

  Sure, I’d done some damage. The sphinx had recoiled from my barrage and the silver bullets had indeed hurt it. I’d centered the shots on the face, and the dozen silver projectiles had savaged the creature’s nose by blowing its tip off. The sphinx’s reaction was sluggish and it appeared to lose its balance at one point, but it recovered before it could pitch over backward into the bay.

  Hasan reappeared on the ship’s bridge and glared at me. “You leave us no choice. Kill him.”

  As the sphinx got up on all four paws and stalked toward me, I realized where I must have gone wrong. Shapeshifters and vampires might have some natural aversion to silver—an allergy to it, if you like. But the sphinx was neither. It was a summoned spirit, which meant I needed something else to kill it. Being plumb out of sphinx leukemia virus, and suddenly regretting the loss of the flamethrower to the bay, I tried to remember if I had life insurance and if whoever I’d named as beneficiary really deserved the money.

  “No matter,” I muttered to myself as I tossed the Viper aside and backed up slowly. “The Mr. Johnsons at Kyoto-Prudential will figure my tackling this to be suicide.” To kill this thing would require attacks on both the material and metaphysical planes. I toyed with the idea of letting the Old One have his way with me, but I knew I’d end up like that grunge and Kid Stealth. It had to be something magical and physical, but with a creature this size, it also had to be big.

  Really big.

  In fact, it had to be as big as the black coyote that materialized out of the shadows above and around me. For a half-second I thought the Old One had managed to manifest outside my body, but his howl of outrage at being seen in the form of a coyote quickly disabused me of that notion. The canine beast sheltering me growled in a low voice, then lunged forward at the sphinx, its ebon teeth gleaming with the light of the fire the Redwings had started.

  As the two titans nipped and swatted at each other, I dove over to where the woman lay. A second or two later Zig and Zag joined me. Zig grabbed my shoulder. “Raven’s here—he got Stealth’s message. He said to get her out as fast as possible. Says he can’t be sure how long he can hold the sphinx back!”

  I lifted the girl into Zag’s arms, then gave Zig the ignition sequence for the Fenris. “Get her home or to a hospital. Go, go—the car’s back at the cannery.”

  Zig hesitated. “Raven said to get you out of here, too. He said there’s something very wrong here.”

  “He’s got that right. Go on. I’ll catch up with you later.” I massaged my left leg for a second, and I saw them both shudder as they recalled the last time I’d sent them away.

  The pair of street samurai vanished into the shadows and I turned back to find Raven. With the Old One’s help—he let me see Raven through his eyes—I spotted the Doctor up on top of one of the crates near the first boat house. Wreathed in the golden nimbus of a defensive spell, he looked magnificent. Incredibly tall, even for an elf, he looked very much a human because of his powerful build. His coppery skin and high cheekbones bespoke the Amerind heritage he was likewise heir to, and the sea breezes lifted his long black hair back from his well-muscled shoulders. Fists thrust into the air so he could channel more energy into the coyote he had created, he looked every bit a god.

  Opposite him, now standing on the yacht’s bridge, Hasan came into view. The Old One showed me a purple glow surrounding Hasan. Sweat beaded up on the mage’s forehead and pasted his black hair against his pate. He also held his fists aloft, but I noted a tremble in his limbs that I had not seen in Raven. Hasan, powerful though he might be, was not Raven’s equal in skill or magical energy. The battle would not last long.

  The sphinx jumped back on its hind feet and slashed with a paw at the shadow coyote. The golden claws sliced through the canine’s snout like sunlight streaking through boarded-up windows, but the wounds sealed themselves quickly enough. The coyote responded by lunging in and catching the sphinx by the throat. The attack bowled the feline over, but it managed to twist free, leaving the coyote’s black teeth stained with gold.

  A new surge of magical energy swept forward from the ship, making my hands and feet tingle as if I’d stepped on a live wire. The sphinx’s wounds healed over immediately, then the creature became half again larger. I shot a glance at Hasan, but instead of seeing a man crippled by the effort, he looked as if he’d been rejuvenated in the process. The purple glow now stained the ship’s bridge and forecastle and Hasan stood invincible within its cocoon.

  Raven’s limbs quaked with the strain of sustaining the coyote. The defensive spell around him shimmered, then died because of the lack of energy to maintain it. Raven’s lips peeled back from his white teeth in an angry snarl as he redoubled his effort. The tremors in his limbs ceased, but the pain on his face told me he would not last for long.

  I have to do something. I’d tossed down the Viper, so now I looked around for any other weapon I could find. I spotted and scooped up my MP-9 and cocked it.

  Recalling the special loads Stealth had made, I drew a bead on Hasan. Maybe the silver will get the bullets through the spell, eventually, then the mercury loads will do him. Something for magic, and something for flesh.

  It hit me like a virus wasting a database. I shifted aim and squeezed the trigger. As soon as I
burned that clip, I jammed another home and let it rip. Something for magic, perhaps, and definitely something for flesh, especially if it’s gold flesh! Poor pussycat.

  The mercury loads in the silver bullets bonded instantly with the gold of the sphinx’s flesh. The silver bullets themselves did a great job gnawing into the beastie. The result manifested itself in a bizarre display of feline leprosy. Silvery gobbets of demon-cat splashed to the wharf. The beast whirled to snarl at me and I let a burst go that ate away half its lower jaw.

  The coyote hit it hard on the left flank. The sphinx twisted back, but its hind right leg gave along a line I’d scored with several shots, crashing the beast down on the docks. I directed a stream of fire at its spine, burrowing in just at the base of its neck, while the coyote distracted it with lunges and feints. Once my fire severed its spine, the creature lay still for a moment, then evaporated into a mist.

  I ran over to Raven as the coyote likewise disintegrated. Raven had slumped to his knees on the crate and held himself up from total collapse on his hands. His chest heaved and the black curtain of his hair hid his face from me. Sweat glistened on his arms and shoulders and I saw droplets stain the wooden crate.

  I reached over and squeezed his left shoulder in congratulations. “We got him, Doc. We got his monster.”

  Raven shook his head and looked down at me. “He’s not defeated yet.” He pointed back at the yacht, purple highlights being etched onto his face by the glow still surrounding Hasan. “He’s getting an energy boost from the ship. It’s an ally spirit of incredible power and it’s using him as a conduit. Whatever summoned it must have been unbelievable.”

  The same voice I’d heard Hasan use before now burst into my brain without the sham of having the man’s lips move. “It is true, Richard Raven. What summoned me was beyond your mortal ken to understand. You have interfered with the mission given me by my master, and now you must pay! But first, you will see this one of your friends die because I relish the pain it will cause you!”