“Charlotte, please . . .”
“Is it true, Marcus?”
“It’s not like you think.”
“Is. It. True?”
His hands went up toward her, supplicating. “Let me explain . . .”
Charlotte moved toward him. Between one footstep and the next her humanity washed away, leaving her spider-lady form. Long spider legs loomed over her, waving back and forth toward him. Eight unblinking, red eyes pinned Marcus in their gaze. Her voice took on the strange metallic sound as it passed through her Were-spider larynx. “Did you force that girl to sleep with you after she said no?”
Marcus backed up a step. His head dropped. “Yes.”
Charlotte’s right hand was a streak as it flashed across Marcus’s face. His cheek slashed open. Each finger of her hand was a needle-thin claw. Marcus’s blood dripped from each of them, falling to the floor. She turned away, dismissing him. Her humanity swept back in before she completed her turn. She stepped back to us, wiping her hand on her sundress.
Boothe nodded in appreciation. Father Mulcahy placed a comforting hand on her arm. I gave her a big thumbs-up and a wide grin.
“Back to the pressing matter at hand. What do we do if Shani is gone and warns Leonidas of our plan?” Boothe asked.
“Then he won’t come and we posse up and go after them. Until we know they’ve been tipped off, we have to stay ready. Lure them in and take them down. If we have to go on the hunt, it all gets more difficult.” My gaze met his. “Leonidas and his followers are psychotic and they have to be put down. If we have to, we will follow them to the ends of the earth.”
Boothe’s radio squawked and he hit a tiny button on the earpiece he had on. He listened for a second, head down, body turned slightly away. After a moment, he looked up. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when an explosion rocked the building we were in.
29
People were pushing and shoving, trying to get inside the building and away from the explosion. They were also trying to get to the children, parents willing to push anyone aside to make sure their child was okay. Bodies crammed close, arms flailing, legs pushing. They pressed against us, a river of lycanthropes to swim against.
I shouldered my way through, knocking people aside as I strode forward. Boothe was a few feet away, his head and shoulders above the crowd. He talked on his radio as he moved people aside. Charlotte had shed her human form for the hybrid one. She was swinging through the doorway after crawling up the wall and over the top of the door frame. Father Mulcahy moved in my wake, using Shaolin skills to sidestep around the people who closed the gap behind me.
A thin young man stumbled in front of me, falling to his knees, threatening to be swept under the tide of people behind him. My hand clamped around his arm, it was like a stick in my hand, and hauled him to his feet. He gave me a grateful look before I shoved him on past me. A few more long strides and we broke through, stepping outside the doors and onto the stone patio out front.
To the left, a house was in flames, thick black smoke billowing out of the hole that had been blasted into the side of it.
To the right, the playground and picnic area had thinned out. All that were left were men and women dressed like Boothe in dark clothing. Every one of them had a weapon out and had taken cover behind different apparatuses. Some crouched behind grills, some behind playground equipment. All their guns were pointed in the same direction.
Leonidas stood on the roof of a house on the other side of the playground, holding the still-smoking tube of a rocket launcher. His voice was heavy, rolling out of his throat in a roar, vocal cords stuck between human and lion.
“You thought you could make a stand against the Brotherhood of Marrow and Bone? This is what happens when you try.”
Smoke began to billow up from around the Warren as houses caught fire around the perimeter. Smog began to fill the air with a chemical smell like burnt diesel fuel. I knew that smell. It was the smell of napalm.
When the hell did it become fair for lycanthropes to use rocket launchers and napalm?
Boothe began yelling orders and the Were-rabbits began scrambling. I looked over and Boothe had changed. He was even taller, black shirt pulled tight against bulges of muscle. His skull was now oval, and his ears had moved up the side of his head, lengthening and morphing. Short silver hair covered his body, and his teeth had become two-inch-long enameled blades surrounded by whiskers. His legs now jointed in two different places and bulged, splitting his pants up the side seams. His eyes were large, round, and blood red as they rolled around, surveying the scene.
A seven-foot-tall Were-rabbit may sound like a joke, but it was a scary sight.
Other Were-rabbits were changing as they ran, muscles thickening, legs stretching. Their steps became strides and their strides turned into leaps as they ran like quicksilver to try and contain the fires. Soon the only ones left in the playground with me were Boothe, Charlotte, Father Mulcahy, Ragnar, and Marcus.
The priest, the rabbit, and I crouched behind the Comet. Charlotte was on the wall of the building, using the angle of the corner to cover herself. Ragnar lay at the base of the fountain, droplets of water glistening on coarse wolf fur. Marcus stayed in the doorway, out of sight of Leonidas.
Leonidas tossed the spent rocket launcher tube over his shoulder, letting it spin away into the night. He crouched on the peak of the roof. The moonlight and the firelight made him look like the feral beast he was. His dreads had grown out into a mane with his lion-man form and cast his face in shadows; only the glint of his yellow eyes and the gleam of his white teeth shone out. I stretched my arm across the roof of the Comet, black metal still warm under my skin, and pointed one of the Colts at him. The green laser cut across the distance and danced in the center of his silhouette.
He looked down, spotting the dot of death. A thickly muscled arm reached back, dipping below the roofline and out of sight. With effort he dragged someone up, pulling them around in front of himself like a shield. It was a woman, hands behind her back, probably zip-tied like her legs and ankles were. A gag cut across her mouth, keeping her quiet even as Leonidas held her up in one hand by her thick, blond ponytail.
Kat.
Fuck.
I kept the gun pointed but took my finger off the trigger. They were well over a hundred feet away. There was no way in hell I could make that shot around Kat. I looked over at Father Mulcahy. He was standing, tranquilizer rifle pointed at Leonidas. He was stone-still, cheek pressed against the stock, eye squinting into the scope. “I have no shot.” Speaking didn’t change his position one iota.
I yelled out across the playground. “What the hell are you doing? Let her go and I’ll let you walk away.” I was lying. Leonidas was dead, he just didn’t have the sense to lie down, but it was worth a shot.
“If I let her go from up here she will break her pretty little neck.” He stood up, dragging Kat with him. Her eyes were wide with pain, but she didn’t struggle. “But if you insist.” His arm flexed to toss her off the roof like he had the rocket launcher.
“Do it and you are dead right here!” I fired a shot into the roof at his feet, the bullet kicking up chunks of shingle in a spray of black bits. I put the green laser back on him. “She is the only thing keeping you alive right now.”
The lion-man pulled her closer to himself. His free hand came around her body. Black talons began to lightly trace swirls and patterns across Kat’s chest, caressing around her breast and trailing down her stomach.
“I would not throw away a fine morsel like this. Bring me the rhinoceros.” The golden furred hand flexed, ripping open the jumpsuit she wore. Black talons sank slightly into Kat’s skin, drawing her up in an attempt to escape the sudden sharp pain. “I am still holding a grudge from the last time we fought.”
I glanced at Boothe, the earpiece and microphone still clung to his ear, even with the drastic shape change. I hoped Leonidas couldn’t h
ear when I spoke to Boothe. “Get on the wire and tell George and Lucy to come up from behind us and to stay hidden until they get here. That feline sonuvabitch has something up his sleeve.” He nodded and turned away to use the microphone.
I stood up and walked around the end of the car. The Colt hung loose in my hand, ready to fire, but pointing at the ground as I took slow steps toward the building Leonidas stood on.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come down and finish what we started? I was kicking your ass pretty good last time.”
Thick dreads shook as he threw back his head and laughed, the sound rolling across the playground. “Oh, I plan to finish with you, Deacon Chalk, but I have something special for your rhino friend.” His face drew back into a snarl and he shook Kat. She grunted in pain around clenched teeth. “And you stop right there or we will see if your friend can sprout wings and fly.”
I stopped. Everything in me screamed to open fire and blast him off that roof. I could feel it like the clothing against my skin, pressing against me, smothering me. So I stood and watched, waiting for a slip up on his part.
The seconds stretched into a minute.
The minute stretched into five.
Leonidas crouched, holding my friend hostage, waiting with the endless patience of a predator hunting. I stood listening to the far-off shouts of Boothe’s people trying to stop the fires from consuming the close-knit houses. I breathed in the air that was tinged with oily smoke. My hand opened and closed on the grip of my gun. I shuffled and I fidgeted.
I am not a patient man.
Finally, George and Lucy stepped out from behind the building and began walking up toward the Comet. George was in his gorilla form, still wearing the rags of his white basketball shirt. It was smudged black with soot. Lucy was dressed in a pair of short shorts and a T-shirt with cartoon animals that made her look even younger than she was.
The Were-lion stood up again, dragging Kat back up by her thick hair. She tried to be tough, but a squeal of pain escaped from behind her gag.
“Glad you could make it,” Leonidas called out. “Now the fun can really begin.”
Then he threw Kat off the roof.
30
I wasn’t going to make it.
There was no way I would be able to catch Kat before she hit the ground. Leonidas had thrown her up in an arc, her bound body twisting, rising and rising high in the air. High enough to break her when she hit the ground.
Probably to kill her when she hit the ground.
I pushed off, muscles churning, trying to reach her. My feet drove into the ground, moving me forward. I pushed, a scream tearing out of me. She fell, speed increasing as the ground rushed up toward her.
I wasn’t going to make it.
A sharp blow hit me in the shoulder, twisting me around and taking my footing away. I stumbled, the ground hard on my knee, dust billowing up into my face making me blink as I swung my gun around toward whatever had struck me.
Boothe was a silver streak, rabbit legs churning, fur-covered arms outstretched. He leaped low to the ground, diving into Kat’s falling form a split second before she struck the ground. His body wrapped around her, insulating her from the impact. He rolled to a stop, limbs flopping out onto the ground, and lay limp with Kat on his heaving chest. His arm came up holding something. His fingers moved and a wicked-looking blade sprung out. He used it to cut Kat’s hands free.
Someone began to clap behind me.
I spun around on my knee, gun pointed, laser hot, searching for a target. I found a small, unassuming man standing there. He was dressed like the Brotherhood, all-black fatigues. Hair buzzed so close to his scalp I couldn’t tell what color it was; small eyes sunk on either side of a blade-thin nose. He looked like nothing as he clapped sarcastically. The laser dot danced on his face, shimmying around. Beady eyes squinted when it would cross them. I had not seen him before, so I shoved my power out to feel what flavor of lycanthrope he was.
My stomach muscles cramped as I pushed power across the space between us, sweat forming between my shoulder blades and pooling uncomfortably above the press of the katana where it rode. My eyes slit as my power rolled up onto him, washing across him, seeking, looking, tasting. Reaching for some clue as to what I was about to have to deal with.
And came up empty.
Nothing, nada, zilch, zip. The man before me was not a lycanthrope. He was a big metaphysical empty spot reading completely human.
So why was he with Leonidas’s crew, and why did he stand there with no weapons?
I kept my gun trained on him. “What are you? Human?”
He chuckled, slowly shaking his head. “No, I haven’t been human for a long time. The lab coats saw to that.”
“Whatever you are, this is your one shot at a walkaway. I have bigger beasts to catch tonight.”
His chuckle became a guffaw—a belly laugh that shook his entire body. He slapped his knee and wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh, man, you have no idea how wrong you are.”
I had a bad feeling about this. I stood up, stepping into a shooter’s pose, both hands on the Colt to steady my shot. The laser dot quit dancing and centered on his forehead. “What the fuck does that mean?”
The man didn’t answer. His face turned serious, brow creased, lips pushed together in concentration. The skin on his neck began to mottle, spots of red blossoming angry and bright. Thick, oily drops of sweat squeezed out of his brow, breaking and running down cheeks to drip from his jawline. A tic began to pulse under his eye and a tremor ran through him.
His twitched once, then again, and then jerked and seized. Convulsions twisted him into a contorted pose. Ropes of muscle pulled into stark relief and began to pulsate and swell. A growl tore from his throat as his body began to change and grow. Faster than the eye could keep up with, his skin began to split and reknit as bones thickened and lengthened, muscle bunched and swelled and split to make new groups of muscle. Scale began to ripple from his skin, red and angry, interlocking into rows with audible clicks and clacks. His head became a dull square of bony ridge, deep-set eyes spreading around a massive reptilian snout. The bottom jaw unhinged, expanding and shifting into a new formation as teeth sprouted into six-inch daggers. A long red tail swept the dirt behind him as the creature rose to stand on legs the size of tree trunks. Two much smaller forelegs clawed empty space, ridiculous against a wide, red scaled chest. That big square head shook, thick spittle arcing into the air from those giant deadly teeth. A roar split the night, so loud that it made vibrations you could see like heat waves. My mind struggled to believe what I was seeing.
A blood-red Tyrannosaurus rex stood twenty feet away from me.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
31
Thunder rolled out of my hands, the Colts spitting bullets as fast as I could tap the triggers. I didn’t aim, I didn’t have to, my target was damn near thirty feet tall and big as a house. Sixteen .45 caliber bullets shot out and struck the T. rex across light pink belly scales and its left thigh. The bullets bounced off, ricocheting away into the night. The dinosaur roared in annoyance, swinging his big square head toward me. Yellow, baleful eyes glared at me under a ridge of scaly bone.
Like magic, six or seven darts from Father Mulcahy’s gun whipped over my head and struck the thick slab of neck under the jawline. One or two of the darts bounced off harmlessly, but most of them stuck, pumping their anesthetic liquid centers into the creature. He reared up, tiny forelegs flailing, trying in vain to reach the darts. That massive head swung wildly, red skin on the neck flexing and bunching, tossing the darts out. They bounced and rolled down its body to lay on the ground at its feet.
I shoved the Colts into their holsters under my arms. A shrug tossed the bandolier of grenades off my shoulder. It slid down my arm. My fingers clamped down on one of the grenades hanging from the bandolier in my left hand. A swift tug and it was free and heavy in my hand. I saw from the corner of my eye Boothe firing his gun at the dinosaur. It worked
about as well as when I did it. Kat was running back to the Comet with the others.
The metal ring made my teeth hurt as they clenched on it. The metal tasted dusty, cheap steel causing my wisdom teeth to ache. A swift yank pulled it free from the grenade with a ping. The paddle under my fingers snapped against my grip as the spring inside was released. Reaching back, I tossed the grenade underhand; it spun toward the T. rex like a deadly, shrapnel-producing softball and bounced off the ground between the two black taloned feet.
Pushing off, I spun and began to run, my feet driving into the ground, trying to get enough distance between me and the blast radius. The sound of the explosion hit me at the same time as the concussive wave that shoved me along. I didn’t lose my footing and I didn’t feel the biting sting of shrapnel. Hopefully it wasn’t just adrenaline masking away the pain. I hit the hood of the Comet in a jumping slide, my body slithering over the warm black paint job and dumping out on the other side. I felt a wet tear as a few of my staples pulled free.
Looking back over the playground, I saw that the T. rex was staggering. Blood ran from its abdomen and legs. It was black against the boiling red scales that covered the devil dinosaur. It stumbled back, crashing into the garage that Leonidas had stood on, caving the wall in, siding peeling back like a banana. The beast roared again, shaking the night. The hole in its belly reknit itself, the edges pulling closed and sealing like plastic melting together. Blood still covered its scales but no longer ran.
Boothe shouted at me, “Do we have a plan for this?”
“Oh yeah, of course, it’s the ‘Find a Way to Kill the Fucking T. rex’ plan.” I pulled Bessie out of her holster while I looked around at our situation.
Boothe, Kat, and the priest were on my left keeping their heads down behind the car. Boothe was still in Were-rabbit form; Father Mulcahy had his back to the dinosaur on the playground, watching out behind us. George, Lucy, and Charlotte crouched to my right. George was still a gorilla, and Charlotte still in her spider-lady form, red eyes watching me unblinking. Ragnar stood a few feet away, silver-shot fur standing down his spine, hackles raised. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
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