Blood and Silver - 04

by James R. Tuck

  “I am the Lord of the Forest.”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it. Tiff swallowed a giggle, the priest coughed, and the Lord of the Forest looked annoyed. “You are being serious?” I asked.

  Fire flashed in those big eyes. Hot energy roiled across the table at me, touching my power even down where I had hidden it. I smelled the dark loam of the woods and felt the crisp touch of air shielded from the sun by a canopy of great oaks. The bones in his face moved under his skin, and his hair slid apart as antlers began to grow from his head. The table shook as he slammed hands hardening into hooves down on it. The antlers grew faster, becoming thick tines that were pointed like daggers.

  “Do not mock me!” he screamed, chest working like a bellow. His lycanthropy boiled across the space between us, rushing over me like a wind.

  Tiff took one step forward and shoved the barrel of the Colt behind his ear.

  Everyone froze. The click of the hammer being pulled back sang across the room like a whip crack.

  That’s my girl.

  9

  The Lord of the Forest vibrated as he tried to sit still. Anger seethed off him in drips. Through clenched teeth, he growled. “Human, if you don’t remove that gun, I am going to—”

  Father Mulcahy cut him off. “Don’t do that, son. I had to mop up the last one of your kind who threatened her just this morning.” Cigarette smoke curled up, making him squint as he kept talking. “I don’t particularly fancy doing it twice in one day.”

  I stood up. My hand found Bessie’s handle and rested on it.

  “I get it.” I did not yell when I spoke. I did not raise my voice at all. “You are The-Pretentious-Bastard-of-the-Forest-Who-Is-Not-to-Be-Mocked. You’re some kind of deer Were.” I leaned in, pointing with my left hand, the right one still on Bessie’s handle. “You would do well to remember that you came here to me. This is my club, my little corner of the fucking universe, and you are not in the forest anymore, Bambi. Threaten me or my people again, and you will never taste another acorn in your life. Understand?”

  He nodded. The muscles in his jaw stood out like cables and his antlers were still slowly growing, but it was something. I gave Tiff the signal to step back. She did but didn’t decock the Colt or put it back in its holster. It hung ready in her hand, hammer back and one tiny squeeze away from spitting death.

  The Lord of the Forest closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned back in his seat. He sat meditating, antlers still growing slowly from his head. I watched him through narrow eyes before sitting back down myself.

  I looked over at the last Were at the table. The old man had not moved during the whole confrontation. The only difference in him since the meeting started was that now he was smiling. Thick, silver-shot hair flowed into a beard that gnarled its way down to a massive chest. Long yellow canines showed through his smile. Black eyes stared out at me under overgrown gray eyebrows. A scar pulled one side of his face up, the skin taut over his cheek and forehead. His hands sat on top of each other like washed-up driftwood. Brown liver spots covered their backs. The knuckles were swollen twice as big as the finger bones with arthritis. He was a grizzled old Were, still dangerous despite his age. Maybe even more so because of it. When you can’t rely on strength anymore, you learn cunning and brutality.

  “Ragnar.” His voice had a guttural lilt to it. Almost a Scottish brogue but more primitive. “Wolf.”

  “We don’t have many Werewolves here in the South.”

  He shook his head, gray strands shimmying to and fro. “The local pack is small and moves in and out of the area. I live alone and am the only one who lives here permanently.”

  “That is because we chase all of your kind away.” The Lord of the Forest’s antlers were in full display, wide racks of bone sprouting out into branches of points. His face had smoothed and pulled while I was looking at the wolf. Those big eyes were now farther apart and toward the side of his face, so that he could look at the wolf without turning his head to the side. He snorted. “We only tolerate you because you are too old and feeble to be a threat.”

  A rumble vibrated across the room, coming from Ragnar’s chest. “Keep talking, whitetail, and you will learn just how feeble I am.” Tension cascaded between them like a building thunderstorm. Cool, deep forest clashing against cold, craggy highlands.

  “That is quite enough.” Charlotte did not stand. She did not raise her voice. Merely emphasizing the word quite with a sharp edge gave her the attention of everyone in the room. Chocolate brown skin was now covered in a fine gray fur. Her face had elongated to accommodate six extra eyes, which stacked in rows above her two original eyes, all of which now glowed red. Behind her, four legs rose and moved in the air. A chill went down my spine.

  Like I said, Charlotte in her Were-spider form creeps me the hell out. She’s a brown recluse and her bite is necrotic, meaning her venom kills and then dissolves flesh. I have watched her reduce vampires to puddles of goo with her bite, and I never want to be on the receiving end of it.

  Charlotte also changes form unlike any other lycanthrope I have ever watched. She can switch forms from one thought to the next almost instantaneously. Most lycanthropes have a painful rearranging of their body to form their beast, but not her. I wasn’t sure if that was just her gig or if it applied to all Were-spiders.

  I should make a note to ask.

  Charlotte turned to me, alien spider face tilted, weird eyes unblinking. She gave a small shiver and changed again. It was like water washed over her, taking away the spider-lady and leaving Charlotte in its place. Her noble human face smiled at me.

  I knew Charlotte was actually a nice lady, a good guy, one of the white hats, on my side and all that.

  But she could be one scary bitch.

  “The reason we came here together is we need your help, Deacon.”

  My feet went back up on the table. “I’m listening.”

  “I know you are familiar with lycanthropes, but I don’t think you know much about lycanthrope society.”

  I shrugged in admittance that what she said was true. “Usually when I run across one of you guys it’s not a good situation.” Not for the lycanthrope involved, that is.

  She took a deep breath. “The world of Weres is divided very similarly to the natural animal kingdom. We have predators and prey. If you are a predator, regardless of the species or your power, then you are left alone except for members of your own species establishing dominance. However, if your animal happens to be a prey animal . . .” Thin hands gestured at the end of thin arms. “Well, then you are at the mercy of any predator who comes along.”

  “What does ‘at the mercy of’ mean?” This from Tiff. Father Mulcahy continued to smoke, a nicotine-laced fog streaming from his nostrils.

  The Lord of the Forest did not turn when he spoke, but short brown hair swirled from his hairline, down his neck. “A predator can demand anything a prey animal has. Their life. Their money. Their flesh.” His big eyes rolled around. “A predator can kill, maim, rape, or steal from a prey with no consequence at all, because that is the natural order of our unnatural state and it has been for centuries.”

  Boothe leaned forward. “Speak for yourself, asshole. My rabbits are nobody’s prey.” Even behind the glasses his eyes flashed. Veins popped out on his forearm as he jabbed his finger toward the Were-deer. I liked this Boothe more and more.

  The Lord of the Forest opened his mouth to respond.

  Charlotte tapped a needle-thin nail on the table, leaving behind a scratch. The snik-snik sound of it hung deadly in the air, shutting the Lord of the Forest up. “Regardless, this is how it has been for centuries, and it has caused much evil among our kind. Not every predator takes advantage and abuses, but too many of them do.” She leaned in, liquid hazel eyes blazing. Her voice took on the fervor of a missionary. “Now we have a man who will change that. He has the ability to set things right and bring equality to our society. He can make peace between predator and prey.”

&nbs
p; For some reason I had a cold knot of dread in the pit of my stomach. “Who is this messiah of goodwill?”

  “His name is Marcus. He was here earlier with his mate, Shani.”

  That knot began to unravel and unwind through my body, spreading coldness in its wake. “Were-lion in a suit? With a tall lady and a psychotic bodyguard? That him?”

  Charlotte nodded once.

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  10

  “Are you serious?” George blinked at me as he asked.

  I stood up, pushing my chair back with my legs as I did. “Yes, I am. Get the hell out. I am not helping that douchebag after what happened earlier.” Anger seethed inside me. It was his fault that he didn’t control his bodyguard and his fault I’d had to kill someone mostly human. Was I holding a grudge? Damn right I was holding a grudge.

  The Lord of the Forest threw up his hands. Wide nostrils flared with a wet snort. His eyes rolled around the room. “I told you he would not help.” Fingers gone black with a rim of hoof thrust in my direction. “He is the reason Marcus is without protection, and yet he refuses to help. He does nothing but kill our kind. He is nothing but a cold-blooded murderer.”

  I froze. Muscles tensed along my arm, screaming to draw my gun and prove him right. My right hand rolled into a fist so that I would not draw Bessie. Drawing Bessie would be a very bad thing with the Were-deer making me feel like hunting season.

  “Listen up, Bambi.” My voice deepened with rage. “If this Marcus is without a bodyguard, it’s his own fault. He should have kept the one he had on a shorter leash instead of letting him run wild.” I rose up halfway out of my chair. “I am not a cold-blooded killer. If I was, you would be venison right now.”

  My hand was on Bessie’s grip. I hadn’t put it there on purpose. Pulling air deep in my lungs, I held it and then let it out slowly. When my gaze turned back to him, my voice was calmer. “Why don’t you go and keep him safe yourself?”

  Charlotte touched my arm with her long, thin fingers. “Deacon, look at us. We are the strongest shape-shifters in this area, but how many predators do you see?”

  I looked at the group and counted. Two. I saw two predators. One was Charlotte. But even though spiders are predators, they are not hunters. They lie in wait for prey to come along and fall into their trap. They are almost like crafty scavengers instead of stalking hunters.

  The other was the old, arthritic wolf. He should have been killed long ago in the natural order of things, taken out by a younger, faster, stronger wolf. Everyone else was a prey animal. They may have been big and strong, able to keep from being victimized, but they were not predators.

  I made an assumption that the people trying to kill Marcus were the same lycanthropes I had rescued Sophia from. It was too big of a coincidence to have two new groups of lycanthropes in town headed by a pair of brothers for them not to be connected. I had faced those guys down. They were killers to the bone, every one of them.

  “So you want me to help because I am just a cold-blooded killer of Weres?”

  “We need your help because we might be able to protect Marcus, but you can make him safe.”

  Safe.

  In other words, I could kill the people out to get him. My friend was implying I could be a glorified assassin. It was hard to hear.

  I don’t kid myself about what I am and what I do. I kill monsters for a living and I don’t feel bad about it. It’s dirty, violent work. Being wracked with guilt over what I do to keep humans safe serves no purpose. It’s stupid and I try very hard not to be stupid.

  “I don’t take hits. I am not a paid assassin.”

  Boothe leaned up. “Listen, Marcus’s safety be damned. Leonidas and his crew are too dangerous to just let them do whatever they are in town to do. You appointed yourself the Sheriff of Monstertown. If you don’t do something to stop them, then people will get hurt.”

  An objection formed in my mouth. It shriveled to nothing as my hand was bumped by something covered in soft, russet fur. I looked down. Sophia sat beside me, head rubbing my hand and blue eye tilted up at me. I thought about how Tiff and I had rescued her. I thought about the asshole who had tried to beat her to death, or at least beat her until she lost her babies. For that . . . well, for that I could kill someone. She sat up on her hindquarters and put her front paws up in the air.

  I hate it when a woman begs.

  “So you want me to protect this Marcus, even though you chose to stay with me instead of him earlier?” She put her paws down and bumped my hand twice with her head. Yes.

  Charlotte spoke, “The ones who mean him harm are the ones you saved her from earlier today. If they try for Marcus, you could have revenge on them.”

  “What makes you think I want to match up against them again?”

  Charlotte just looked at me, one sculpted eyebrow rising.

  I put my hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I want to give those bastards what they deserve and get them the hell out of my town.”

  A cell phone sounded off. Some crap metal song for the ringtone. Boothe pulled it from his pocket and stood, moving to the corner of the room. I ignored him and turned back to Charlotte.

  “If I do this, you all have to pitch in and help guard this Marcus. There are too many Weres for just me to handle without heavy explosives.”

  She smiled. “We are all committed to his mission of peace. We’ll be there when you need us.”

  Boothe slapped his phone shut and stepped back over to the table. “That was Marcus. The Brotherhood is there and they brought the local Werewolf pack for backup. Shani and him are holed up in their room, but he says they could attack at any minute.” He turned to me. He pulled off his glasses and gave me a hard pink stare. “So we’ve got to go. The question is, are you coming with us?”

  Dammit. This was going to be more trouble than it was worth. I just knew it. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, all eyes in the room on me.

  “I’m in.”

  Tiff stepped close to me. Her hand touched my arm. “Am I going with you?”

  I looked over her head around the room. All the shape-shifters were moving toward the door. We were going to face off against some stone-cold killers who had supernatural strength and speed. Killers as deadly as they come.

  Killers as deadly as me.

  I looked back down into Tiff’s blue, blue eyes.

  She had gone on some hunts with me, training, learning the ropes of the job. But it had all been easy stuff. A drunk goblin raising hell at the Atlanta PRIDE parade, a bugbear at a miniature golf park, and an outbreak of pixies on April Fool’s Day. This? This was over her head. Like Mariana Trench level of over her head. “Not this time, darlin’.” I said it softly. Still, her eyes turned just a little sad.

  “I could wait in the car, ready to go when you get done.”

  I shook my head. “I know your heart is full of courage, little girl, but we’re walking into a situation already gone tits up and I need you to stay here. If you’re there I won’t be able to concentrate on the bad guys. It sucks, but that’s what I need from you right now.”

  Her lip poked out, full and petulant. Their movement drew my eyes like a magnet draws steel. “It does suck.” She moved even closer, reaching up to brush her fingers through my goatee. The light touch made me feel funny inside my chest. Her voice was low and breathy as she spoke two words. “Be. Careful.”

  I leaned down, bringing my mouth close to her ear. The warm honeysuckle scent of her drifted to me. Soft. Intimate. The sweet smell of her skin as intoxicating as a double shot of whiskey. “Never fear, little girl. I will come back to you.”

  Her hand slid up to the side of my face. Her full lips parted. “I like it when you call me that.”

  I smiled. “I know.”

  The world was contained in her slightly parted lips. Everything that men cross oceans for and fight wars to possess. Her hand made the slightest pressure on my cheek and I was swept forward. I began to fall toward thos
e lips and all the promise they held only an inch away. Her eyes closed softly. Mine did, too, as I was pulled in. Close, so close.

  The door slammed into the wall with a BANG! as George the gorilla burst in. “We’re loaded up. Everybody’s waiting on you, Deacon.”

  The moment shattered like a windshield in a car crash.

  George looked at us both as we stepped back from each other, his thick face pasted with bewilderment. “Sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

  Dammit.

  Now I was ready to kill somebody.

  11

  The Comet was full of lycanthropes as we raced down the road at top speed. Windows down, the cool night air rushed in, carrying the smells of the South in spring mixed with the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and exhaust fumes of a good old American hot rod.

  I love my car. Made in 1966, the Mercury Comet is a fine example of automotive engineering. A 351 Windsor-motor pushes her down the road like a scalded dog. Badass black, with the bare minimum amount of chrome, and a chain-link steering wheel, she looks like a beast. She’s loud, fast, and drinks gas like an alcoholic kleptomaniac working at a liquor store sloshes back the inventory, but I love her.

  Charlotte pressed up against me as we pulled through a curve, her weight warm against my shoulder. Next to her, Boothe pushed silver bullets into clips. The full clips went into loops on ballistic vests, one for him and one for me. At his feet lay two Bushmaster AR-15’s looking black and evil. I had grabbed them on the way out since we had no idea how many lycanthropes we would be up against.

  You always want more bullets than enemies, and the AR-15 holds thirty-three bullets per clip. That’s why it has been standard issue for SWAT teams for decades. I still had the two Colt .45’s locked, cocked, and ready to rock in their holsters, and Bessie on my hip, but I had no idea what kind of situation we were walking into. The AR-15 should keep me from running out of ammunition.

  The backseat held the Lord of the Forest, his giant rack of antlers, and Ragnar. The stag was apparently still upset and kept his antlers out so there wasn’t room for anyone else in the back. I think the old wolf rode back there just to annoy him. George the Were-gorilla and Lucy the rhino were following in his tiny Mazda and doing a good job of keeping up with me. We were heading for a crappy little no-tell motel on the outskirts of town. The people who ran the place were the kind who didn’t ask any questions. They didn’t want the answers they might get from the whores, dealers, and assorted criminals who stayed there. It was a good place to hide out if you wanted off the radar.