Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

  “Nothing… maybe… downstairs?”

  He gasped spinning toward the noise. Someone was coming downstairs. There was more than one, maybe two or even three of them. He concentrated on the sound all the while trying to fend off Mist as the wolf fought to reach for the door handle again. There were four, he was sure it was four.

  “We can’t go out there. They will see us,” he whispered. “Mist, they’ll see us!”

  Let me out, I will protect us. They won’t see us!

  He didn’t know what to do. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  We must go!

  He felt the change beginning and tried not to fight it, but his fear made that hard. Mist’s anxiety seemed to lend the wolf strength, and David found himself almost a spectator in his own body. His eyes were burning, and he grunted as a cramp hit him in the belly. He fell to his knees trying not to scream at the agony. They would hear. He kicked off his shoes and tried to release his belt instinctively knowing it was needful. His heart was thundering in his chest, and the pain in his joints was indescribable. He shrieked silently as his bones dislocated and changed. His mind was lost in the burning agony as muscles stretched and tore only to re-knit themselves moments later into new patterns. His face erupted into a muzzle filled with teeth and his pants bulged and tore as they succumbed to his changed body. His stomach shifted within him and his heart thundered as it moved to accommodate his new physique. His kidneys, his liver—everything was moving and burning. Fur covered him in seconds and his ears lengthened. Claws scrabbled desperately at the wood of the floor trying to find purchase.

  “In the lounge!” A voice yelled. “He’s in the lounge!”

  Mist climbed shakily to his feet and shook himself from nose to tail. He cocked his head at the voices approaching. He had learned from his brother what the manthing noises meant, but it was he and not David that was listening now. It was hard to understand the words without David’s thoughts to listen to. He took a few steps toward the door and stilled again. Strange scents filled the room and they confused him. His ears weren’t fooled though. There were four manthings coming and they meant to hurt David. He wouldn’t allow that. David was his pack.

  The pack is good. The pack is all.

  Mist leapt upon the first one as he entered the room. The man barely had time to shout before his breath was stopped. Mist clamped his jaws down on his throat and squeezed. Hot and foul tasting blood poured into his mouth and made him want to gag. Manthings tasted disgusting, almost as bad as they smelled. He shook the man once to be sure then dropped him in time to attack the next one just entering the room.

  This one was smaller, but Mist was taken by surprise by her speed and fell heavily as she fired her weapon. The pain made him snarl and snap at his side, but the anger of being hurt by one so puny brought him up and lunging at the woman’s leg. He clamped down and blood spurted once again, but he couldn’t get a firm hold and she kicked him off with the other leg.

  “Arghhh he got me! The bastard got me!”

  Mist lunged again, and managed a better hold, on an arm this time. The weapon skittered across the floor and reduced the woman to kicking and flailing to no good purpose. Mist ignored the kicks and concentrated on ripping her arm off. He was well on his way to succeeding when her friends arrived and opened fire.

  The window, out the window!

  Mist didn’t need David’s advice, but he took it. When you can’t fight, run. When you can’t run, hide. That was the way. He dashed across the room and leapt through the window breaking the glass with a crash. He landed in the bushes and lost his bearings for a moment, but the voices from within the house lent him a sense of direction.

  “Kill her.”

  “Don’t! Brad we’re friends,” the woman’s pain filled voice panted.

  “Sorry girly girl, but you’ve been bitten. You know what that means.”

  Braaaap! Braaaap!

  Mist leapt the fence and ran straight at an oncoming car. Another leap and he was scampering over the hood and away down a side road.

  Where are we going?

  We should hide, but not here. They will come; we killed some of their pack. They will come.

  They aren’t like us. They don’t think as we do. They won’t come unless they’re sure they can kill us without being seen.

  Cowards.

  Yes they are. They will come when we least expect, when we think we’re safe.

  Mist loped along conserving energy. His side hurt and he wanted to lick the wound, but stopping now seemed too soon. They might not chase him, but he wouldn’t take the chance. He slowed to a pained walk and turned down an alley. He stopped to scent the air and listen. There were manthings close, but they did not smell of burning metal things and fear like those others. These just smelled bad like manthings always did. He walked on.

  “Here now, nice doggy!”

  Mist turned to watch the old man approach. He was slow and frail, no threat. He reached out, but Mist stepped back and grinned at him—not a friendly greeting. The hand withdrew very fast.

  “Nice doggy?”

  Mist snorted and dodged by. There were many manthings living in the alleys. Mist avoided them when he could, scared them off when he could not. He was looking for a place to stop, somewhere to make his den for the night. He was still bleeding and in pain, he was limping worse than before. There were many places he could hide in, but most had manthings in them already. Everywhere smelled bad. There were no trees, or grass, or flowers. There were no hills, or valleys, or caves to hide in. There was only the smell of rotting things and manthings overlaid by the stink of their weakness. How could they live like this, why didn’t they go up into the mountains where the air was clean?

  We, men I mean, live in cities. These people are poor and unwanted. They live here because they have nowhere else to go.

  No pack?

  No.

  Then they should go away to die in dignity. When we can no longer hunt, when we hurt the pack by lingering on, it is time to die.

  That is not man’s way.

  Our way is better.

  Mist stopped suddenly and scented the air. A shifter had been this way in his manthing form. With nose to the ground, he circled the place widening his search until he had a direction to follow. He dashed to the end of the alley in excitement. A wolf had passed not long ago, and with her was her mate. He hesitated to follow the scent, but to meet others like him sent a pang of loneliness through him. He could feel David’s excitement at meeting others like them and that decided the matter. He stepped warily out of the alley and followed the scent keeping close to the walls of the buildings hoping the shadows there would hide him from the pitifully weak manthing eyes. To wolf eyes, the night was full of shades of black and grey and not too dark to see, but to a manthing it would be pitch dark with only the occasional car headlight to break up the unremitting blackness.

  Twice Mist lost the scent and had to backtrack. It confused him to lose the scent so easily. It should not have happened, but the jumble of human scents almost blotted out the one he needed to follow. The smell of manthings and their vehicles fouled the air—rubber, and oil, and hot metal things that Mist barely understood, but David knew them and therefore so did he. He found the scent again by running back and forth over the route she had used. The She had marked her territory by constantly using the same path to her den. There was layer upon untold layer of scent that told him much about her. She was fully adult and no longer in her prime, but she was still strong in body—a matriarch of the pack and wise. The She wouldn’t be high in the pack, but neither would she be low.

  Mist was limping badly by the time he turned into another alley and found his quarry. She was growling low in her throat and standing defensively before a manthing. He had been right; the grey in her fur was testament to her age. He was stronger than she, and therefore dominant, but this was her territory to protect. She had a right to what was hers and she obviously claimed the manthing too.


  “I seek sanctuary, pack mother,” Mist said in the language of wolves. It felt good to speak to another of his kind.

  Her ears pricked up and she cocked her head. “I am Onida, this is my place. You trespass.”

  “I am Mist.”

  “Who hunts you?”

  “Manthings; they came to my den to kill me.”

  “Do they come here now?”

  Mist settled painfully to the ground. “No, but I need to hide, and regain strength for the hunt.”

  “Onida, are you sure he’s friendly?” the manthing said. He smelled of fear and of... love? Love for Onida?

  Onida looked up at her manthing then trotted forward. She thrust her face into Mist’s ruff in greeting; he did the same with her. She smelled good, like a cold winter’s day.

  Onida trotted back to her manthing and together they set off up the alley. “My mate will heal your hurts; follow.”

  Mist struggled painfully to his feet and followed a few paces behind. Their destination wasn’t far. He followed them up a short flight of steps and through a door that Onida’s manthing unlocked for them. Mist found himself in a huge kitchen. He knew what the manthings were, but the smell of food would have told him without those. Onida trotted through an open door while her manthing locked up again. Mist followed her as she led him up a long flight of stairs and into a room on the second floor.

  The manthing hesitated at the door. “Onida?”

  “Let George tend your hurts,” Onida said and sat to watch.

  Mist was doubtful, but he was in Onida’s den. He dropped to his belly and lay on his side. It was more of a relief than he liked to think about. He didn’t understand why it still hurt. It burned and he wanted to lick it, but it was out of easy reach.

  “This doesn’t look too bad,” George said parting the fur carefully. “Hmmm. This should have healed on its own.”

  Onida got up and sniffed the wounds in Mist’s side. Her tongue darted out to taste the blood still seeping from them, and she jumped back with a yelp. She shook her head trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

  “Silver?” George said grimly and Onida whined. She was still chewing at the air trying to rid herself of the taste. “The bastards meant business, he won’t heal like this. I have to get whatever they used out of him, but it’s going to hurt like a bitch. He can’t change if it is silver, and we can’t leave it—he’ll be dead in a day from silver poisoning.”

  Mist listened in growing puzzlement, but David understood what it meant. Silver would kill them, that was easy enough to understand, but David had not known that it would prevent them from changing form. Their joining was new to both of them. Mist closed his eyes and tried not to snap at George as he poked and prodded with his fingers.

  “I can feel them in there, but I can’t get them. I’ll need your help, Onida. I need Cassie.”

  Onida trotted out of the room.

  “Don’t worry; she’ll be back in a minute. She has to change.”

  Cassie returned few minutes later and immediately took charge of Mist. She lifted his head into her lap and held him there.

  “This will hurt,” she said looking directly into Mist’s eyes. “It will hurt really bad. If you must bite, bite me. If you bite George, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  Mist whined.

  “Here goes,” George said and pushed his pocketknife deeply into the wound.

  Mist howled at the new pain and scrabbled to get away. Cassie held him down with all her strength, but he was stronger. He snapped and snarled and almost threw her off, but David was fighting him, helping Cassie against him.

  “I think I’ve got it. I’ve got it!”

  Mist collapsed back to the floor panting and whining, but already he could feel the difference. The burning was less.

  “Ready for the next?”

  “Go ahead, I’ve got him.”

  Mist yelped, but it didn’t hurt as much as last time. He didn’t fight so hard. The burning was replaced by the natural itchiness of a healing wound. He snuffled at his fur and licked the place he could reach, but he was too exhausted to do more. He collapsed back to the floor.

  Let me out, and you can rest.

  Mist agreed and let go with a sigh of relief. It was like falling into dreams for him, while for David it was waking to a nightmare of pain as the change took hold. He couldn’t help crying out this time. The wounds in his side stretched and tore open as his muscles changed and realigned from a four footed critter into a two footed one.

  He opened his eyes and groaned. Something wasn’t right. “My hands.”

  “Concentrate,” Cassie said urgently. “You must complete the change. Think about your feet, five toes not four. Come on, you can do it.”

  “So tired.”

  “If you don’t finish now you’ll regret it. Believe me, I know you’re exhausted, but it will hurt a hundred times worse tomorrow.”

  He looked down and imagined he saw his feet as they had always been. Slowly the huge paws at the end of his very human looking legs shrank with a cracking of bones and more pain. His hands had five fingers; that was right, but the fingernails looked like Mist’s blunted wolf claws. He concentrated and they slowly reformed.

  “Good. Can you stand?”

  He coughed and winced at the pain in his side. He clapped a hand to his ribs and groaned. He ached all over. “I think so.”

  “Get up and walk. We can worry about your eyes later.”

  “My eyes?”

  “Later I said. Make sure everything is working properly, you have to make certain you do it right the first few times. It takes practise. I remember waking up with a tail once—”

  George chuckled. “I remember that.”

  Cassie scowled. “It wasn’t funny. It hurt like hell.”

  “Here,” George said offering David a robe. “I don’t need the competition if you know what I mean?” His eyes flicked down then back to David’s eyes. He grinned.

  David blushed and thrust his arms into the robe and quickly belted it to cover his nakedness. Cassie sighed, but she was fighting not to laugh at his blushes.

  “You’re new aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “I’m David. This was my first time.”

  “Your first change?” Cassie said. “I’m sorry. The first time is always hard, something about changing against your will makes it worse than if you change voluntarily.”

  “I changed on purpose. AML sent people to murder me. I had to change to get away.”

  “But you said this was your first time,” George said glancing uneasily at Cassie. “Your first change is always involuntary.”

  “Always?”

  “Always has been as far as I know and I know quite a bit,” Cassie said with certainty. She shook her head. “That can wait; you need rest and time to heal. You can use our spare room and we’ll talk some more tomorrow.”

  “Will you teach me what you know?”

  “Tomorrow,” Cassie said firmly and George led David away.

  7

  Lost Souls

  “So you’re saying there’s something wrong with me?” David said and took another mouthful of Cassie’s excellent Cajun Lamb.

  She shook her head. “I’m saying there’s something different about your relationship with Mist, something very right if what I believe is true. Look, when a shifter is made it’s always the result of violence. Even those of us born with lycanthropy have an attack in our mother’s past to blame it on. The bond with our beasts reflects that. Danger, fear, anger, blood—violence or any strong emotion can trigger the change, and the first change is always involuntary because of that. Our beasts always come out to protect us.”

  “You said my first change was unusual.”

  “Because you chose it, it wasn’t forced on you. What do you know of natural wolves?”

  David shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Our wolf form doesn’t make us natural wolves. We may look like a natural wolf, though we’re usually much la
rger, but we aren’t wolves. We are a mixture. Wolves are pacifists you know?”

  “I’m not sure I follow. I’m sure I’ve read of wolves attacking people.”

  “It’s very rare. A wolf will always run away from a confrontation if it can and will only fight if cornered. Dogs are different. They can be vicious and will fight each other to the death, but wolves don’t do that. There was a story a few years back of a wolf hand reared by a man and his family. The wolf regarded them as his pack including the family pets—a pair of Alsatians. The story goes that these two dogs got into a fight over something and the wolf became very distraught. He was shaking and whining with his tail tucked—he just didn’t understand. Eventually he grabbed one of the dogs by the tail and physically pulled him off the other.”

  “Your point being?”

  “The point I’m trying to make is this: don’t be fooled by appearances. A natural wolf wouldn’t come anywhere near us. We may look like wolves in our other forms, but we are not wolves. We fight and kill over things no wolf would understand or be interested in. Our human side curses us with feral natures.”

  His eyebrows climbed. “Our human side does? I would have thought the opposite.”

  “No. Wolves are very social creatures; they never fight among themselves. Shifters do, all the time.”

  David nodded thoughtfully. Wolves were innocent creatures that had no concept of good and evil—those concepts were labels put on the world by man to explain it.

  “David... when you talk to Mist...”

  “Go on.”

  Cassie took a deep breath and tried again. “This is considered very rude among us. Rude is too mild a term for it. Asking personal questions is considered wrong because we can sense so much about each other that asking for more is an unwanted invasion of what little privacy we have. Our relationships with our beasts are very personal.”

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Mist yawn widely and close his eyes. “I understand. I have no problem with you asking, and I know Mist doesn’t care.”