Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  Now I know why the office lights had been off when we’d come up.

  Consuming this homebrew laced with vamp blood made one a wee bit sensitive to light.

  The half-titan’s skin blistered off as he howled and staggered backward. His boots went straight through the crate of clear, smashing the Mason jars in a symphony of shattering glass. The landing ran red with moonshine as he continued to scream.

  Evelyn staggered over to the hole and put the lamp down. “That’s as far as the cord goes.”

  On the other side, Maximo snapped his broad jaws and growled.

  Body humming like a struck bell, I said, “Thanks.” I found the long sliver of wood on the ground and picked it up.

  Evelyn wriggled with self-satisfaction, her hair bristling. “I’ve been around the block a few times.”

  “Let’s not push it,” I said, testing the point. A thin bead of blood dribbled from my fingertip. Not the fanciest stake, but it would do. I didn’t know for sure, but I guessed that the blood temporarily transferred properties of the species to the unfortunate imbiber.

  I hoped that meant, in addition to his delirious super-strength, Maximo was now very vulnerable to wooden stakes.

  The flickering light reached out to the landing, past the ruined wall, keeping the half-titan pinned to the corner. Above the paint thinner aroma of the shine, I could smell the smoke. The captured mountain wolves no longer screamed.

  Which meant two things.

  They were extra crispy—and the fire was coming for us next.

  Unfortunately, there was still a deranged half-titan between us and any hope of escape. And I didn’t really want to get within striking distance of Max’s fists to jam this wooden shard through his heart.

  I racked my brain, looking about the plain, empty room for inspiration. But aside from the papers and sparse documentation, there wasn’t anything to use as a weapon. Certainly nothing that would save us from a monster inside—or the pack that awaited us outside.

  Staring at Maximo’s bulging neck, I said, “Why do you think he drank that shit?”

  “Strength.”

  “But I don’t think he needed any extra.”

  “You ever drank something’s blood?”

  I gave Evelyn a grimace. “Not my style.”

  “Too saintly?”

  “It’s fucking nasty,” I said. “You ever heard of germs?”

  She flashed me a wolfish smile. No. Germs didn’t matter when you feasted on people’s shit-filled intestines. Ah, to be a beastie driven by baser instincts. Sometimes critical thinking was a real curse.

  Then again, idiocy was probably a far worse fate.

  “I never would have taken you for a prude, Ruby.”

  I instinctively reached for my shotgun, only to find it missing. It was still on the landing, soaking up the wolfblood clear near Maximo’s panting body.

  Allowing my arm to slip back to my side, I said, “Oh, I’ve done things that would make a good girl like you blush.”

  Evelyn tried to come up with a clever retort, but her lips only pursed in frustration. I would’ve given her a you can’t beat the best reassurance—I’d had almost two hundred years to hone my insults—but I wasn’t the olive branch type.

  “So, Einstein, tell me about why our dear buddy would drink the blood.”

  “No pain if he gets shot. Stronger than usual. No fatigue. Faster reflexes. Especially with the mix…you’d get little fragments of both species’ abilities, at least for a little while.”

  Maximo growled, as if to confirm that he was, for one brief moment in time, a sliver wolf.

  “I know all that. Why?”

  “Desperation.”

  “Now that’s something we can use.” I chewed on my lip, an idea coming. I took one step outside the torn up hole.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just make sure the light stays on.” My boots splashed as they touched the pooling moonshine. Maximo, huddled against the wall, arms flexed and veins bulging, gave me a warning grunt.

  I glanced at the shotgun, which was way too close to him for comfort. Yeah, I had the sharp chunk of wood, but it felt like a toothpick now that I was out on the landing. His gaze contained no semblance of sentience. That was bad—or good, if you had a plan like mine.

  “There another outlet in the office?” I asked, examining the half-titan’s blistered face. However they’d cut the shine, the recipe was clearly unfinished. That type of hyper-sensitivity to artificial light meant they’d screwed something up during the brewing process.

  Evelyn called back, “Yeah.”

  “Switch the light over and bring it out. Quick. ”

  “But you’re out there!”

  “I’m aware,” I said, taking another step through the moonshine lake. Beneath me, in the dim darkness, the stills gleamed, continuing to manufacture their illicit brew. In a few minutes, they’d be the perfect accelerant, burning us all up in a brilliant orange haze.

  In that light, this plan wasn’t insane at all.

  “Do you want me to give you a warning?”

  “Just fucking do it.”

  No sooner had I said the words than the lights went out.

  And all I could hear was the thick, hot breath of one very pissed off half-titan.

  13

  Hot breath spewed a rain of spit across my cheeks as Evelyn switched the light back on. I watched the skin peel back, turning pink from the wattage as she passed the plain lamp through the hole to me.

  I brandished it like a spear, backing Maximo into the corner. The splintered crate heaved and cracked under his heavy feet.

  “Only one way out of this, you dumb shit.”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks. If the brew blunted pain, this must’ve been agony. Not that I felt bad for him.

  Kill or be killed.

  I knew which side of the line I came down on.

  Noticeable fingers of smoke drifted up to the landing, disappearing into the rafters.

  I stepped closer, light outstretched.

  “You can end the pain.”

  Maximo roared, stretching to his full height. My heart pounded, wondering if he would decide to charge. Instead, he began tearing at the logs, blood streaming from his hands as he turned the wall into toothpicks.

  Within a minute, a chunk of the wall was gone. With a pained, feral roar, he took two steps back and then charged straight through. An electric green pulse shimmered across the building as he broke through the wards.

  I heard his scream as he dropped to the snowy hill outside. The gunfire started almost immediately, followed by his bear-like roar.

  I set down the lamp and rushed to the shotgun. After shaking off the foul shine from its exterior, I racked the slide. Everything still worked, smooth as it ever had. Then again, I had no reason to believe it would ever fail me.

  Evelyn waded through the landing.

  “It worked.”

  “Desperation is a hell of an incentive.” The shine had made him strong enough to break the wards. Still a shitty plan, considering Evelyn and I were inside. But we were always tenuous allies, and I doubted the half-titan had much remorse about semi-friendly fire.

  Someone—not Maximo—screamed in the frosty night, muzzle flashes lighting up the forest.

  “He’s killing them all,” Evelyn said.

  I glanced back. “We’re not done yet.” The shattered Mason jars cracked beneath my boots as I slid cautiously toward the ruined wall. Gunfire crackled beyond the hole, Maximo bellowing like a delirious bull.

  The FBI had its hands full, but even a doped-up half-titan could only sponge up so many bullets.

  With a cautious finger, I tested the wards. No magic rebuffed me. Maximo had shattered them through sheer force.

  Guess you didn’t buy them premade for the quality. Never thought I’d be grateful for incompetent practitioners of dark magic.

  Emboldened, I peeked into the gray-washed forest. Blood stained the snow, leading directly to Maxim
o’s screams. A bullet crashed against the ruined wood, and I quickly jerked my head back inside.

  “Wrong move, asshole.” Another rifle shot slammed into the thick wall.

  “Uh, Ruby?” Evelyn’s voice was tight with concern.

  “I’m busy.”

  “You won’t be for long.” She jerked my sleeve, spinning me around.

  The fire was visible down below, merrily crackling its way toward the moonshine stills. Between the vapors and all that combustible liquid, we didn’t have much time.

  So I made the only move left.

  I jumped, rifle bullets rocketing through the brisk air around me. I got off one shot, turning a Fed into sizzling dust. As I racked the shotgun, I felt a bullet narrowly miss my shoulder, cutting into the fabric of my shirt.

  I slammed to the ground, rolling down the short hill. Evelyn landed in a heap next to me as the rat-a-tat of bullets peppered the snowy night.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” I said, lying prone in the snow.

  “I don’t…I don’t feel so good, Ruby.”

  I glanced over, where the nearby ground was turning a deeper shade of crimson than I’d have liked. Pushing the young woman over, I found her belly covered in red. The bastards had shot at her like she was a target.

  “It was always going to end like this,” Evelyn said, her eyes beginning to fog over. “You don’t…disobey…Daddy.”

  I knew better than to ask her to hang on. A wound like that, you bled out quick, and that was a mercy. I held her hand for a minute while she drifted away, which was about as warm and fuzzy as things got.

  After she had taken her final, halting breath, I brushed her eyes shut.

  We’d see what Director Robert Ford had to say for himself.

  Or not.

  Because it was gonna be hard to talk with my gun jammed right down his wretched throat.

  14

  Hoover’s special paranormal unit might’ve been trained with the best money the government could buy, but they were sorely lacking in one key area.

  Decades of experience.

  You see, when you kill things for a living, and you do it for twice as long as the normal person is breathing on this planet, you have what the bean counters call a competitive advantage. I might not have been as fast or strong as a werewolf—even in their human form—but when I could hit them clean from a hundred yards, I didn’t need to be.

  Gradually winding my way around to the front of the building, where the armada of cruisers was parked at the bottom of the snowy hill, I spotted yet another wolf—this one in a tree, desperately trying to shift. That was dangerous business outside the full moon.

  They were scared.

  And they had every reason to be.

  I let him know by blowing his head clean off. His torso crashed through the oak branches, coming to rest by the wheel well of a black government sedan. Senses running on overdrive, I scanned the horizon for any sign of Director Robert Ford.

  What an appropriate name for such a sack of treacherous shit.

  A round glanced off the car, shattering the side mirror. I dove against the driver’s door, checking my ammunition. Four shells left. That was one benefit of coming with ample backup: the leader was protected by a substantial swath of loyal cannon fodder.

  Being a lone gunwoman had its drawbacks.

  Another bullet crashed against the windshield, followed by another. Judging by the directionality of the shots, there were at least three shooters in the thick trees. I listened in the moonlit darkness, where off in the distance Maximo was still screaming and ripping wolves limb from limb.

  Nothing moved.

  I drew in sharply, trying to focus.

  A couple hundred feet west, the distillery suddenly erupted in a massive fireball, shaking the forest. Embers showered the hill, drifting through the winter air like fireflies in a summer field. After the initial eruption, the blaze subsided to extreme wildfire levels, burning hot at the periphery of the action.

  Maximo and Shiv were out of business—permanently.

  I had bigger problems, though. I could use my remaining ammo now, but it would be a hell of a thing if the Field Director or half-titan caught me off-guard. The alpha was always heartier than his cadre of disposable pack wolves.

  And I’d already experienced the power of Max’s delirium firsthand. I had no interest in confronting him again without a big-ass gun firmly in hand.

  The recently deceased wolf’s rifle shimmered in the frost next to his body. Unfortunately, about ten feet of uncovered space separated us. Normally, that would be a good thing. Getting pinned down with a dead body made for a generally more unpleasant experience.

  But, short stocked on ammo, that gap really wasn’t helping the cause.

  A chorus of shots slammed against the black sedan, the wolves letting me know they damn well intended to kill me. The feeling was mutual. A sharp wind cut through the air, giving me the opening I wanted.

  They were shitty shots anyway. A little breeze and it’d be—

  A sharp pain exploded through my shoulder just as I reached the rifle. Blood sprayed across the dirty snow, dripping from my tattered shirt. Grinding my teeth, I rolled over and blind fired into the darkness. A branch splintered somewhere, then a muzzle flash came from the northwest.

  I squeezed off two quick shots, the magazine going empty. But I heard a pained gurgle.

  Hastily ransacking the headless wolf’s pockets for rounds before I could be perforated again, I found two extra magazines. A meek shot hit the tree behind me, about twenty feet too high. Clearly the other sharpshooters had gotten the message that firing on Ruby Callaway was a bad move.

  Panting and bleeding, I dragged myself back to the rear wheel well. I leaned against the punctured tire, which proved to be a massive mistake. My shoulder stiffened and twitched from the jolt of pain.

  Goddamn strength in numbers. Fire a thousand rounds and you’d win by sheer luck.

  Using my one good arm, I loaded the rifle. M1, semi-auto, standard government issue. .30-caliber was a little wimpy for my tastes, but these things had killed plenty of Germans back in the war. So it was good enough for hunting wolves, long as I went for headshots.

  If they decided to show their ugly faces.

  Leaning forward, I managed to snake the shotgun back into its holster. I’d save the extra firepower for a rainy day.

  Judging from the ash drifting through the air, that day was coming up soon.

  Slinging the lightweight rifle over my good shoulder, I edged out from hiding. One bold soul took it upon himself to be a hero, squeezing off a couple shots that banged off the trunk with a metallic ting. Quick as lightning, I whipped the iron sights up and peppered the vicinity with five quick rounds.

  There was a howl, followed by a long crash.

  Someone had gone for the high ground. Not a bad strategy, but playing Icarus always had its downsides when you tumbled from the sky.

  I slipped around the back of the bullet-riddled sedan, listening as the last remaining wolf tore ass into the hills. Living to fight another day was always the prudent move.

  But people had pissed me off today.

  Following the distant grunts and growls of Maximo—and the blood on the snow-turned-muddy-slush—I staggered through the Kentucky hills. Trees had been uprooted like broken toothpicks, raw, sharp wood dotting the forest.

  “Why won’t you die, you goddamned monster?” an authoritative voice yelled, followed by the crack of a revolver. All six shots, and from the dull, fleshy thud that followed, all six hitting true.

  A pained roar flooded the forest followed by a seismic crash, like King Kong being felled in New York.

  I slid the rifle strap around and reached for the shotgun as I reached a newly made clearing. Maximo lay face down in the snow, blood darkening the ground beneath his massive form. Field Director Robert Ford stood over him, wiping his service revolver with a handkerchief, like a gentleman after a lengthy duel. His suit was torn, expo
sing his lean musculature.

  “Turn around, asshole,” I said.

  His neck stiffened with a jolt. “I should have known there would be another.”

  “It ends with you looking at me.” I raised the shotgun. “Look me in the damn eye.”

  Robert Ford turned, his eyes glowing with an alpha’s bloodlust. I’d seen that look before from a wolf named Albin, right before he’d sent me to a place worse than the Underworld.

  I had no intention of letting that happen again.

  “Anything to say?”

  “Don’t miss,” he said, raising his handkerchief to his sloppy brown hair.

  I pulled the trigger.

  The gun jammed.

  15

  Not that I was looking for another reason to hate wolfblood clear—or was it wolf-vamp-blood clear?—but this incident definitely gave me one that rocketed straight to the top of the list.

  Sitting in the shitty moonshine mixture had gummed up the shotgun. The initial shots had been fine, but after cooling off and allowing it to sit, I guess the shine had claimed another victim.

  I racked the slide and tried again, but the gun still refused to fire.

  “Looks like you’re all bark and no bite,” Robert said with a sneer.

  I tossed the shotgun to the snow and whipped the M1 around, but the wolf was too quick. The shot hit a snowdrift, the regional director gliding safely behind a nearby tree. I heard him shake out his revolver and begin reloading.

  Blood dripping from my shoulder, I scanned the tree line for movement. He bounced to another trunk, and I hit one of the tall oaks. But not the wolf.

  And here I thought I was being smart by saving up my firepower.

  Just like this job had been an easy thousand bucks.

  Things were just not going my way today.

  “You don’t smell human.”

  “The last guy who told me that lost his face,” I said, recalling my impromptu interrogation in the distillery’s cellar of horrors.

  “My wife always told me I was hardly a handsome man.”