by J. R. Rain
My hands in this form are quite dextrous; unfortunately, they’re also attached to my wings, just like a bat. Still, I used my hands to drape the backpack over one of my talons. Once done, I gripped Jerry Blum by his shoulders. No doubt my claws hurt like hell.
I flapped my wings hard, causing a thunderous downdraft that whipped Jerry’s hair crazily. He screamed and fought me some more, but had no clue what was happening to him. And as I got a little air under me, I adjusted my grip on the crime lord, using both talons now. I flapped my wings harder and now I was rising up into the night sky, Blum dangling beneath me like a kangaroo rat.
Chapter Fifty-one
We were in the predetermined clearing in Carbon Canyon. One of us unwillingly.
Still wearing the black hood, Jerry Blum was handcuffed to a tree branch, his hands high above him. He had cussed and hollered the entire twenty minute flight here. I flew on, ignoring him, catching a high altitude current that made flapping my wings a breeze. Once we had arrived in the clearing, I had transformed again and slipped into a little black dress that I had included in my bag of tricks. Blum was full of questions and vitriol and hate. I ignored all of his questions as I cuffed him to the tree branch.
Now from my bag of tricks, I removed my cell phone. I selected eleven recipients and sent out a single text message. I next made a call to my client, Stuart Young. In so many words, I told Stuart that the eagle had landed. I had our man. Stuart had paused, swallowed hard, and said he would be here as soon as possible.
I left Jerry Blum alone, secured to the tree. Jerry Blum, as far as I was concerned, had dug his own grave. From my backpack, I fished out a pack of cigarettes and fired one up and inhaled deeply. I had stepped out of the clearing and into a thicket of twisted trees. As I exhaled, I looked up at the full moon, now just a silver mosaic through the tangle of branches. My thoughts were empty. My heart was empty. I felt empty and cold. I listened to the sounds the forest made, and the sounds of my own distant beating heart. I finished the cigarette and immediately lit another just to be doing something. Jerry Blum bellowed angrily from the clearing behind me, but I ignored him. He dug his own grave. I finished the second cigarette but decided against a third. I finally leaned a shoulder against a dusty tree trunk and closed my eyes and stayed in that position until I heard the crunch of tires from somewhere nearby.
* * *
I met Stuart on the dirt road, about a hundred yards away from the clearing. Stuart did not look good. He looked sick and scared and probably had to go to the bathroom.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said.
I nodded and he dashed off. A moment later, he came back, zipping up. He said, “So he’s really here?”
I nodded, watching him. “Yes.”
“I want to see him.”
I nodded again and led Stuart through the forest and into the clearing, which was dappled in bright moonlight. Jerry Blum heard us coming and raised his head.
Seeing a man chained to a tree was no doubt unnerving to Stuart. He immediately stopped in his tracks. “Oh, my God.”
Blum shouted, “Who’s there, goddammit?”
I ignored Blum. Instead, I took Stuart’s hand and walked him over to the shackled crime lord. I removed the hood and Blum shook his head and squinted. I handed Stuart a flashlight from the backpack and he clicked it on and shined it straight into Blum’s face, who turned away, blinking hard and spitting mad.
“Goddammit! Who the fuck are you two? What the fuck is going on? How the fuck did I get here?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jerry,” I said.
“Fuck you, cunt.” He spit at me, tried to kick me. He succeeded in only losing his footing and hanging briefly by the cuffs.
Stuart said nothing. He simply stared in open-mouthed wonder at the man hanging from the tree. Still open-mouthed, Stuart then turned to me.
“You really did it,” he said.
I said nothing. I was watching Stuart. My client still did not look good. He looked, in fact, a little hysterical. I covered Jerry’s head again and led Stuart away. Blum screamed and repeatedly threw his body against the tree trunk. Stuart looked back but I pulled him along through the high grass to the far end of the clearing. Once there, we stopped.
“And no one knows he’s here?”
“No one who matters.”
Stuart nodded. His wild eyes were looking increasingly erratic.
“Are you okay?” I asked Stuart.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Sam.”
“I understand.”
Stuart was shaking. He ran a hand over his bald head. “I hate him so much, so fucking much. I still can’t believe he’s here. How did you do it?”
I shook my head; Stuart nodded. The wind picked up considerably, swishing the branches along the edge of the clearing and slapping the tall grass around our ankles.
And through the wind, I heard many more vehicles driving up along the dirt road. One after another. Stuart didn’t hear them. Stuart was lost in his own thoughts. Stuart also didn’t have my hearing.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
Stuart nodded. Tears were in his eyes.
“I hate him so fucking much.”
We were silent some more. The wind continued to pick up, moaning through the trees. I heard footsteps coming. Many footsteps.
I said, “What if I told you that you didn’t have to do this alone, Stuart?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I told you that Jerry Blum had wronged many people the day he killed your wife? What if I told you that many, many people share your desire for revenge.”
“I don’t understand.”
I waved my hand and in that moment ten figures stepped out of the woods. Ten solemn, white-faced figures. I recognized the faces, all of whom I had met in the past few days. All of whom I had easily convinced to be here tonight. Not one needed prodding. All had jumped at the opportunity.
“Jerry Blum is a bad man, Stuart. He would have hurt you tonight. He would have killed you.”
“Who are they?”
“People like you, Stuart, all victims of Jerry Blum.”
“What’s going to happen tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m leaving that to all of you.”
Stuart looked at me with impossibly wide eyes. He then looked at the others, most of whom nodded at him. They were all here. Mothers, wives, husbands, and children. All had lost loved ones in the crash.
I squeezed Stuart’s hand and then left him there with the others. I went over to Jerry Blum and uncuffed him. I took his blindfold off and led him over to the center of the clearing.
“Who the fuck are those assholes?” said Jerry. He only fought me a little.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I turned and walked away, leaving Jerry alone in the light of the full moon. Off to the side of the clearing, I quickly slipped out of the dress and shoved my cell and cuffs and keys inside the backpack.
I had just transformed when I heard the first gunshot. And as I leaped high into the air and flapped my wings hard and flew away from the isolated canyon, I heard shot after shot after shot.
* * *
I asked Stuart a few days later what had happened on the night of the full moon, but he wouldn’t give me an answer. And neither would the others.
I had been wrong about Jerry Blum. He didn’t dig his own grave. I very much suspected the others had done it for him, leaving Orange County’s notorious crime lord buried deep in that forgotten clearing.
Chapter Fifty-two
I don’t get exhausted, but I get mentally fatigued, and tonight had stretched me thin. I was looking forward to coming home to my empty hotel room, closing the curtains tight, and sleeping the day away, dead to the world.
But as I unlocked the door to my room with the keycard and stepped inside, I was immediately met by two things: the first was a fresh breeze that was blowing in through my wide open balcony door, and the second was a nearly
overwhelmingly foul stench.
Last time I had been surprised in such a fashion, a vampire hunter had been waiting for me. And what was waiting for me now, stunned even me.
* * *
Alert for silver-tipped arrows or silver ninja stars or silver anything else hurling at me, I cautiously entered my hotel room.
I moved cautiously down the very small hallway. To my left was a closet. The door was partially open. I knew immediately there was no one inside. No, whoever was in my suite was in my living room or sleeping area.
The lights were out. Squiggly, rapidly-moving prisms of light shot wildly through the air. These super-charged particles of light illuminated my way, as they always did.
I took another step into my suite.
I was approaching the end of the short hallway. Around the corner to the right would be my bed and the desk. Around the corner to my left were sitting chairs and a round table. Presently, from my position, I could not see very far around either corner.
Directly before me, at the far end of my suite, I could see the sliding glass door. Or what had once been the sliding glass door, as most of the glass was presently scattered across the carpet. The heavy curtains shifted in the breeze, swaying slightly.
I took another step.
My sixth sense was buzzing. The fine hairs on my neck were standing on end. The foul stench grew stronger. Something rancid was in my hotel room.
No, something dead was in my room.
I took another step. I was now at the end of the hallway. To my right, I could see the foot of the bed. To my left, was a section of the round table. The stench, I was certain, was coming from my right, on the side where my bed and desk were located.
I paused, listening.
Someone was breathing around the corner. Deep breaths, ragged breaths. My heart thumped fast and hard. I suddenly wished I had a weapon.
You are a weapon, I reminded myself.
I continued listening to the breathing. A slow sound. A deep sound. A rumbling sound. Something big was in my living room. Either that or someone parked a Dodge Charger on my bed.
I stepped around the corner.
* * *
The thing standing in the corner of my room was horrific and nightmarish, and if I wasn’t so terrified, I would have turned and ran or peed myself. Instead, I stopped and stared and still might have peed myself a little.
The thing was watching me closely, almost curiously, its head slightly angled, its pointed ears erect and alert. Its lower face—or muzzle—projected out slightly, but not quite as long as a traditional dog, or wolf. More like a pug.
Standing there in the corner of my room, the thing looked like a long-forgotten Hollywood movie prop.
Except this movie prop was breathing deeply and growling just under its breath. A low growl. A warning growl. The same kind of growl a guard dog would give. Except this growl was terrifyingly deep.
Blood was dripping from its face. Blood, and something else. Something blackish. Something putrid. I suddenly had a very strong sense that it had dug up a body and feasted on it. In fact, I was certain of this. How I was certain of it, I didn’t know. Maybe my sixth sense was evolving into something more.
Or maybe because this thing smells like the walking dead.
I made sure my back was to the open glass door. I wasn’t sure what I would do if the thing attacked, but having a readily available escape route seemed like a damned good idea. And if I had to take flight, well, I could kiss these clothes goodbye. They would burst from my body in an instant.
A part of me felt like this was a dream. Hell, a lot of me felt like this was a dream.
We continued staring at each other. I continued wanting to pee. The creature continued breathing deeply, throatily. I could have been standing next to a tiger cage.
And that’s when the beast took a step toward me.
Every instinct told me to run—and to keep running until I had put hundreds of miles between me and this thing. But I didn’t run. Something kept me in that room. That something was curiosity.
Curiosity killed the cat. Or, in this case, the vampire.
It took another step toward me. A very long step. One that spanned nearly the entire length of my bed. As it walked, it sort of tucked in its shaggy elbows.
The thing, I was certain, was a werewolf. And that werewolf, I was certain, was Kingsley.
When I transformed, I was all there; meaning, I was still me, and I could control all of my actions and emotions. I doubted Kingsley would have chosen to dig up a grave and feast upon a corpse, if that was, in fact, what he had done. So that alone suggested Kingsley was not all here. Meaning, something else was controlling this beast. But enough of Kingsley was in there to find his way to my hotel room tonight.
What happened to the panic room? And where was Franklin the Butler who, I knew, looked after Kingsley during these monthly transformations?
You ask a lot of questions, vampire.
The words appeared in my thoughts, directly inside my skull, as if someone had whispered them straight into my ear cavity. I didn’t jump, but I did step back.
“Who said that?”
As I spoke, the creature cocked its head to one side, its pointed ears, moving independently of each other, shot forward. Cute on a dog, not so cute on a hulking, nightmarish creature.
Who do you think said it, vampire?
The creature stepped forward. Its movements were graceful and surprisingly economical. It only moved when it had to. Nothing wasted.
“Kingsley?” I asked.
Kingsley’s not home.
“Then who is this?”
The werewolf stepped closer still, and the wave of revulsion that emanated from it nearly made me retch.
I reminded myself that I was a terrifying creature of the night, able to strike fear in the hearts of even the most hardened criminals.
You look afraid, vampire, said the voice in my head.
Up close, the creature looked even more hideous. And up close, it smelled even worse.
“Who are you?” I asked again. My voice shook.
Does it matter?
“Yes. I want to know where my friend is.”
Oh, he’s in here, vampire.
“Where is here?”
In the background, vampire. Watching us.
Moonlight reflected off the creature’s thick brow and slightly protruding muzzle. Long, white teeth gleamed over black gums. A low, steady, rumble came from its throat and chest. The creature seemed incapable of remaining silent. A low growl seemed to continuously emanate from it. I fought a nearly overwhelming desire to step back. But I didn’t.
You are brave, vampire.
“And you smell like shit.”
The werewolf tilted its head. One of its ears revolved out to the side, hearing something that was beyond even my own keen hearing.
Kingsley has been wanting to see you, vampire. Very badly. But he has refused to do so out of pride. But I thought I would take it upon myself to visit you tonight. I thought it was time to make your acquaintance. There are, after all, so few of us.
“Us?”
The undead.
“Fine, so you’ve met me. Now who the fuck are you?”
The werewolf growled a deeper growl, a sound which seemed to resonate from deep within its massive chest.
I am called Maltheus.
I did my best to wrap my brain around what I was hearing. “You are a separate entity that lives within Kingsley?”
Not always within, no. But I do visit him once a month. He’s such a gracious host.
I sensed sarcasm. “And what, exactly, are you?”
I am many things, vampire.
“How is it that you can take possession of Kingsley? How is that you can turn into this thing?”
This thing, as you call it, is my physical incarnation. And I took possession of my dear fellow Kingsley because he allowed me inside him.
“He wanted to be bitten by a werewolf?”
> No. He wanted death. He wanted revenge. He was full of hate and despair and emptiness. The voice paused; the werewolf stared down at me, breathing heavily through a partially open mouth. Its lips were pure black. I exist to fill that emptiness.
“I don’t understand.”
You will someday, vampire. And we will meet again. Of that, you can be sure.
In a blink of an eye, moving faster than any creature that size had a right to move, the werewolf turned its massive shoulders and dashed through the shattered door and leaped off the stucco balcony.
I ran over to the edge and watched as it dropped nine stories, landing softly and gracefully. It didn’t throw back its head and let loose with an ear-splitting howl, nor did it dash off into the night on all four legs.
No, it simply sniffed the air, scratched behind its ear, and walked calmly away.
Chapter Fifty-three
It was late and my IM chat window was open. So far, there was no sign of Fang.
I had spent the past three hours cleaning my room, picking up glass and scrubbing clean the blood and other bodily fluids that had been dripping from Kingsley. With the place clean, now all I had to do was come up with a convincing story about the broken glass. I decided on going the drunken, divorced mother route. I had been drinking on the balcony, when I stumbled through the glass door. Could happen to anyone.
Now, with my hotel suite smelling like coconut butter and rotted corpse, I was sitting in front of my computer, waiting for Fang to log on.
I buzzed him again.
And again.
Twenty minutes later, I saw what I wanted to see: a flashing pencil had appeared in the message box. Fang was writing me a message. I felt overjoyed and relieved. I had come to rely on Fang more than he realized.
