Blood and Silver - 04

by James R. Tuck

  I’d spent two days there once recovering from a run-in with a nymphomaniac poltergeist. The ghost had been killing the johns of hookers who frequented the motel, so the hookers hired me to put her down. At the end of it all, I had spent two full days in and out of it from ectoplasmic poisoning while the working girls nursed me back to consciousness.

  Music poured from the speakers, rising over the rumble of the engine. Cinderella cranked out their version of blues-rock. Tom Keifer’s whiskey and sin growl ripping out, singing about love gone bad. The guitar hummed along with the motor, making a sweet sound. I hated to turn it down, but we were close and needed to talk. My fingers pushed the buttons on the MP3 player, fading the whiskey-soaked blues down under the roar of the engine.

  The Lord of the Forest chimed in from the backseat. “Thank you for turning that shit down. This car is loud enough to wake the dead without that noise.”

  My middle finger rose up to answer. The Comet is not loud enough to wake the dead. Trust me, I would know better than he would. I ignored his sour look in the rearview mirror as I turned slightly toward Boothe.

  “So, tell me what you know about this Were-lion who’s trying to kill this Marcus cat, no pun intended.”

  “His name is Leonidas and he is Marcus’s twin brother. But where Marcus is striving to bring peace between predator and prey, Leonidas is more than happy to hold the status quo.” Charlotte put her hand on the dash as I pulled to a stop at a red light. The rosary swung to and fro from the rearview mirror.

  “It is hard to give up a free pass to rape, pillage, and plunder,” Ragnar gruffed.

  “You would know,” the Lord of the Forest snapped.

  The growl from the old wolf was real now, matching the engine in rumble. “Shut up.” He turned toward the stag man. “Do not ever presume to judge me again. You do not know me. What I have seen nor what I have done.” His brogue was deepening along with his voice, anger making him sound more animal.

  The light turned green and I put the pedal down. The Comet responded by leaping forward, the G’s in the car pushing everybody into their seats. I spoke to the backseat. “Both of you knock it the fuck off. We’re almost there. You two children can bicker on your own time.”

  Boothe slapped a full clip into one of the Bushmasters and racked the bolt with a klick-klack that snapped as loud as a gunshot inside the car. He leaned forward and turned to put his back against the door so he could look at me. His words were crisp and clear when he spoke. “Leonidas is the ultimate alpha predator. He’s a dick who takes full advantage of the predator-prey dynamic to have anything he wants when he wants it. He’s surrounded himself with like-minded thugs of various types, and they call themselves the Brotherhood of Marrow and Bone. They’ll be without weapons, but they have trained to fight as a unit under Leonidas’s command.”

  “So they go by BOMAB?”

  “Usually by the ‘Brotherhood,’ but sometimes yes.”

  “That’s a dumbass name.”

  “It is, but don’t underestimate them. They are vicious and without mercy. They work together with paramilitary precision.”

  The motel sign blared out into the night as we topped a hill. I touched the brake to slow us down so we could make the turn into the parking lot. The Comet responded with a low-throated growl, exhaust crackling and popping through the muffler.

  Boothe kept talking. “Marcus has been traveling the country, preaching nonviolence to lycanthrope communities. He will get the predators and the prey to work together, but once he leaves, the Brotherhood sweeps in and undoes everything he accomplished. They do this with terror tactics that would make the Nazi SS blush. Every member of the Brotherhood is a confirmed killer. No need to hesitate.”

  “Never fear,” I assured him, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  Pulling hard on the steering wheel, I slid the Comet into the parking lot. I whipped the big car to the entrance and put it in Park. The motel was an old-style side-of-the-road rat trap with a décor that hadn’t been updated since the seventies. Pink stucco walls and hacienda-styled tile roofs made the buildings, and cracked asphalt, white pebble rock, and sad palm trees in planters made the grounds. The motel stayed in business renting rooms by the hour to crack whores and adulterous couples. I switched off the car, then took the vest and rifle Boothe handed me. George’s Mazda pulled in behind me, parking with a chirp of tires.

  Stepping out, I slipped on the vest, the full clips pulling down, making it hang heavy on my shoulders. Charlotte slid out behind me, transforming into a spider-lady between one step and the next. Boothe and I pushed the seats forward, letting the two Weres in the back get out. Ragnar took a minute, pulling himself out of the car with a grunt. He stood holding on to the car for a second, slowly stretching up to a full standing position. The Lord of the Forest took a minute because his antlers got tangled in the seat belt.

  Once everyone was out, I pointed to George and Lucy. “You two start at this end of the motel, knock on doors and clear any humans out of here. Tell them the place is being raided by the cops and they will hightail it out of here without any fuss.” I checked the slide on my rifle to make sure it was loaded. “If you hear a big ruckus, shift into your strongest form and get your asses over to us.”

  They nodded and headed off in opposite directions. Turning back, I saw Ragnar had pulled on a pair of armored gloves. Long spikes jutted from each knuckle, neon gleaming off their silvered edges. His hair was longer and shaggier; black-ringed amber eyes blazing from under his heavy brow. He smiled at me, baring longer yellow teeth under an animalistic snout. He still looked human, but barely.

  A warm rush of power washed over me from behind, carrying with it the scent of loam and land never farmed or tamed by humans. I turned and the Lord of the Forest had stripped off his clothes and stripped off his humanity. His body twisted in on itself, making nooks and crannies of flesh. Limbs stretched with wet pops as he re-formed himself. Brown fur crawled over bare skin. He lay in a heap of quivering flesh beside the car.

  After a minute, he pulled a deep breath into his lungs, swelling his chest. Slowly, he rose, pulling his legs underneath himself. Shaking his head swung a rack of antlers grown even more massive through the air. With a snort and a stomp of a hoof, he stood tall and proud. He had transformed into a gigantic, magnificent stag. His head was even with mine at 6’4”, antlers spreading wider than my arm span. The horn bough of them as thick as my arm, spikes jutting up like bone daggers. Liquid brown eyes the size of my fists stared out at us. Under his luxurious pelt, muscle stacked with power and agility. In this form he truly deserved the title Lord of the Forest. I nodded at him in appreciation. He snorted in my direction and turned away.

  Yep, still an asshole.

  Reaching inside, I let my power go. I could use it to find lycanthropes in hiding if we were going to be ambushed. They had to know we were here by now and since I didn’t hear any big commotion, I assumed they were laying low, waiting to sucker punch us. It unfurled in a sweep of sensation. The air was charged with lycanthropic energy, like ozone after a lightning strike. It made my skin tingle and my mouth run dry.

  There was a wide, arched corridor that stretched through the center of the buildings to a courtyard parking lot. We had to get through that to the backside of the motel where the two Were-lions were holed up.

  With a nod I began walking toward the back of the motel. Boothe flanked me to the right, sweeping the area with his AR-15 in militaristic precision. I never served in any military, so our movements were strikingly different.

  His steps were silent, booted feet rolling heel to toe, knees bent, shoulders hunched around the stock of his rifle. I walked like I normally did, chest wide and one foot in front of the other, rifle pointed down but ready.

  The Lord of the Forest stalked behind him, hooves click-clacking on the asphalt. Ragnar loped along in the rear on all fours, looking more canine as the minutes passed. I could feel him behind me, his wolf pushing toward the night under his s
kin. With his animal rising, he moved better than he had when he was more human, loping with a grace and ease his joints denied him as a human. Charlotte traveled along the ceiling, spider legs moving like clockwork to carry her forward.

  Cars began driving out of the motel from George’s and Lucy’s efforts. Good, I wanted as few civilians in the way as possible; plus, without them in the line of fire, we would have more time until someone in this part of town called the police. Even automatic gunfire wouldn’t make most residents of this side of town anxious to call the cops. Not unless it was directed at them.

  With each step I could feel the power in the air growing. There were some angry Weres just up ahead. Rage clouded the atmosphere like an oncoming thunderstorm. My hand tightened on the grip of the rifle. I raised it up to my cheek.

  I stepped around an ice machine that sat in the corridor we walked down. As I cleared it, a door on the other side opened. I caught a blond-haired blur from the corner of my eye a split second before it knocked into me. Spinning with the blow, I used the momentum to drive the barrel of the AR into that mass of blond hair, knocking her to one knee beside the ice machine. My hand tangled in those yellow curls, yanking her to her feet and shoving her against the ice machine. The business end of the rifle pressed into her throat. Big eyes the color of ice crystals sprung wide in recognition. Thick lips made for indecent things broke open into a smile that exposed dainty, almost delicate fangs. Her whiskey-throated southern drawl was molasses thick.

  “Well, sugah, I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  12

  “Hello, Blair.” I pressed harder on the rifle barrel, raising her delectable jawline. “What the hell are you doing here?” The last time I had seen Blair I had left her unconscious in a puddle of her own blood after she had given me a lap dance.

  It’s a long story.

  The short version is, she was a vampire I’d had to let go in that mess last year while tracking down Appollonia. I hate letting vampires go, ’cause they always pop back up. They are all evil, vicious predators. Every one of them. They prey on humans. Drinking blood. Destroying lives.

  Finding Blair here may or may not be a coincidence. Normally, Weres and vamps don’t work together, but I didn’t know much about the situation I was in. It could be one big happy freakfest.

  Blair’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “I am just like any other girl here, sugah. I’m just trying to make a living.” Her tongue slid over sinful lips, leaving behind a wet trail. They glistened in the yellow light of the corridor as she pouted. She made an effort to keep her fangs sheathed as her bottom lip poked out, full and moist. “Sometimes I get a snack, too, but I’m not hurting nobody.”

  I looked down at her then. She was wearing more than the last time I saw her, but then again, the last time I saw her she had been giving me a lap dance, which doesn’t lead to many clothes.

  Again, long story.

  A paper-thin cutoff T-shirt clung to big fake breasts, accentuating the fact that she was not wearing a bra. Generous hips curved under a denim skirt narrow enough to be a belt. Long, spray-tanned legs led down to stripper heels that had a confederate flag motif to match her shirt.

  She was a knockout, all lush curves and feminine sex. Too bad she was dead. Dead and evil. I would bet she had lured many, many victims to this hotel using her looks for bait. They would have thought they had hit the jackpot. Won the lottery of lust, until she turned on them and they learned exactly what their ticket had gotten them. Being a soulless bloodsucker, she would give a john a lot more than a case of herpe-gono-syphil-AIDS.

  My finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Wait, wait, wait, sugah.” Her voice was strained, words spilling out fast. “You don’t want to do that.”

  I did not ease the pressure on the trigger, but my finger stopped moving. “Why the hell not?”

  That deadly, saccharine smile came back across her face. “You are not here for me and right now you have bigger problems to deal with.”

  From behind me I heard Boothe curse and break into a run. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Lucy being dragged by her hair through the asphalt courtyard at the end of the corridor. The Were that had her was gigantic, eight or nine feet tall and swollen with thick, rubbery muscle. Battleship gray skin gleamed in the moonlit parking lot. He had no neck; instead, a wide, triangular head jutted from his shoulders ending in a gaping maw that bristled with row upon row of triangular teeth. Round black eyes sat above and in front of gill slits that ran both sides to his shoulders. Now that I was paying attention I could hear him draw bellowing gasps of air through them. It took my mind a second to put together just what I was looking at.

  A fucking great white shark.

  I had never seen a Were-shark. He looked like something out of a horror movie. Lycanthropes look like monsters if they can pull off a hybrid form, but the Were-shark just looked wrong. It belonged in the depths of the ocean, or the far reaches of outer space. It was alien, mind-bending, and just off. It was something you would see in the ninth circle of hell. Not in a no-tell motel courtyard on the outskirts of town.

  Boothe’s rifle sounded off, rapid pops zinging bullets toward the monstrosity. The shark turned, jerking Lucy up by the hair to his chest, using her as a shield. She screamed as her feet dangled in the air.

  Boothe, Ragnar, Charlotte, and the Lord of the Forest all cleared the corridor’s exit, stepping into the parking lot. Shadows moved from the edges as other lycanthropes closed in.

  The pressure against my rifle barrel disappeared, jerking me forward. I looked to see Blair moving with unnatural speed around the corner.

  Her southern drawl floated back to me as she vanished out of sight. “Until next time, sugah.”

  Slippery bitch. I am going to kill you one day.

  I turned to join the battle.

  13

  Chaos reigned in the parking lot at the end of the corridor. The Were-shark still held Lucy by her hair in front of him. George had shifted into a full gorilla and was swinging a limp Werewolf by the hindquarters, using the body as a bludgeon against the four wolves that surrounded him. He roared as he spun. The Werewolf in his hands flew out, slamming into the pack attacking him.

  The Lord of the Forest chased a hyena around. His great rack of antlers swished through the air as he swung his head to and fro trying to gore the skittering bastard. The hyena was quick, bounding back and forth, occasionally flipping backward to swipe at the Were-deer with a handful of long black talons. Blood slicked the Lord of the Forest’s back and sides.

  Ragnar was circling two lycanthropes. A Were-lizard, his skin gone scaly brownish green and head elongated, and the Were-snake from earlier. A hiss escaped the Were-snake, long, forked tongue darting in and out of a thin-lipped mouth. Black, lidless eyes stared unblinking. Two fangs curved out of his mouth nearly a foot long. Pale yellow venom ran off them. Ragnar swung his bladed gloves in a weave of death, holding them off.

  Charlotte hung on the side of the building above Boothe, using her spider legs to knock aside the wolves trying to dart in on him.

  I tossed my rifle up and looked through the green reticle sight, getting a fix on the wolves dancing around under Charlotte. Between breaths I squeezed the trigger and the gun chattered death in three-round bursts. One of the wolves jerked to a stop with a sharp yelp of pain, blood slinging into the night. Two more bursts caught another one, stitching into him and flipping him over onto his back to lay still.

  Charlotte scooped up the last one as it turned tail and tried to run. Long spider legs pulled it into the air and up to her. Ruby lipsticked mouth parted and closed on the wolf’s back, over his spine. The wolf convulsed with a human scream. Charlotte dropped him. He fell to the ground, twitching on the asphalt as fur ran from his skin, leaving a dead naked man with a hole dissolved in his back to reveal spine.

  Spooky bitch. Boothe’s gun chattered out and I watched the bullets rip holes through dorsal fin. Blood spurted and ran down the Were-shark’
s back. The shark looked like he was screaming, mouth thrown wide, head tossing back and forth, but he made no noise. He was probably mute in that form. Sharks don’t have vocal chords. But he did jerk around and drop Lucy, who scrambled away.

  Charlotte launched herself out into the air. She spun, full of deadly grace, pulling spider legs in to tuck around her as she arced overhead like a jump shot in a pro basketball game. She hit the Were-shark’s back, unfolding around him like a net made of Were-spider. Her legs latched on, hooking in with sticky pads as he tried to sling her off.

  I felt a push of air at my back. The piss rank musk of cat washed over me, coating my throat with a foul taste. I spun. A giant cougar charged. Muscles bunched and moved under a thick tawny pelt. I tried to swing the rifle up to fire, but he was too fast, lycanthrope speed too unpredictable. Bounding up, claws unsheathed, he tried to maul me.

  I fell and rolled flat on my back.

  The cat sailed over me, hind legs catching against the rifle and wrenching it out of my hands. The sling was still wrapped around my arm, but it was out of my hands. Rolling, I scrambled to my feet as the cougar landed lightly and turned toward me.

  My hands filled with Colt .45. The 1911 is the finest handgun ever crafted. The standard sidearm for American service men for three quarters of a century, it is reliable and intuitive. My hands closed on the grips, thumbs flicking safeties off without a thought. Both guns were pointed at the cougar before he could take a full step.