by Kit Hallows
“That’s not what my intelligence told me,” the magician replied.
Madhav’s smiled but his glare was withering. “Which one of your dogs did you name Intelligence, 'cause all three of them look pretty thick to me?”
The magician ignored the barb. “I know the armory’s here, and that you’re the fool assigned as its sentry. Now tell me where the fuck it is before I pry your mind open and pluck the answer out by force.”
“I expect you’d have done that already if it were so simple.” Madhav replied, glancing my way as I slowly drew my blade and Samuel raised his short sword.
Red-orange light enveloped Madhav’s jaw line as the tip of the staff burst into flames. He yelped and tried to flinch away. A strange shimmer passed through the air before him as he whispered, and slowly the scorched red wound on his chin began to fade.
“That was just a taste of what’s to come, boy, you won’t be able to heal the next injury,” the magician said, “now where’s the fucking door?”
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Madhav’s eyes flashed like burnished gold as he stared at the magician.
“No, you really shouldn’t have,” I agreed.
The werewolves and magician turned our way. Samuel stabbed the nearest beast in the chest with his short sword. It pulled the weapon out as if it were no more than a toothpick, and head butted Samuel to the floor.
Astrid slashed at one as it stalked toward her and the other one ran at me. I thrust my sword at its midriff, but it growled and shoved it away. I sidestepped and wheeled round for another attack, giving the swing everything I had in me. Which wasn’t much…
The werewolf parried the swipe but the flames that had engulfed my blade set its fur ablaze.
I leaped forward as it swiped its great paw trying to douse the fire, and kneed it hard in the nuts. It yelped and took a step back before charging at me like a runaway train filled with claws and teeth. I ducked down an aisle as it hurtled by.
The magician thrust his staff into the air, summoning a fresh arc of fire. Madhav stood before him, his hands outstretched. Long golden claws sprang from his fingers and his eyes brimmed with light. He'd summoned a shield with the strange magic he was wielding. It absorbed the magician’s blast, before reflecting it back at him. The magician ducked and the fire shot over his head, roared past my face and exploded behind me.
I turned back as the floor shook. The werewolf was coming at me hard and the wall behind me was on fire. I tried to sidestep again, but it grabbed my coat and whirled me round as it skidded to a stop. I punched it hard in the stomach and winced at the pain shooting through my knuckles, it felt like I’d just hit a rock. Then the entire shop seemed to topple and whirl as the werewolf hurled me down the aisle into the burning wall.
My coat spared me from the brunt of the searing heat, but I had to roll across the floor and slap the stray flames out before they could spread.
I glanced up in time to see the beast charging toward me, its eyes wide, its grin a steely trap of yellowed teeth. I stumbled to my right but ducked left at the last moment and let it careen into the burning wall.
The supernatural flames caught in its fur and raged fast as its meaty paw swiped and swatted them out. I pressed forward to take advantage of its distraction but it struck my hand, sending the sword of intention skittering into the gloom.
I kicked my heels and tried to push myself out of the way as the werewolf thundered over me like a wave of dark animalistic fury. But it fell on me, slamming me into the ground, its breath vile, its eyes boring into mine with savage malicious intention.
34
I could only watch as the werewolf raised its paw above me, its claws long and black as they descended toward me like a hand of knives. I closed my eyes instinctively and braced myself.
And then a hollow thump rang out above me and the beast slammed into me. I looked past its drooling maw to find Bastion Stout standing above me. His eyes twinkled as he yanked a large silver ax from the beast’s back. “Morgan,” he said, as if I’d just strolled into the armory.
“Bastion,” I returned, my entire torso aching, my chest winded.
He pulled at the werewolf’s side and I pushed until finally we rolled the dead beast off to my side. A glow of golden red light lit the shop as I ran to the counter with Bastion behind me, ax in hand. The magician stood before Madhav his staff ablaze as he uttered a spell.
Bastion threw his ax, but the magician whirled round to face him and it struck whatever invisible aura shielded him and clattered to the ground. And then magician summoned a stream of fire from his staff and sent it blazing at Madhav.
Madhav held his hands out, his fingertips flickering with light as he absorbed the fire into his palms. Flames burned in his mouth and in his eyes and he grinned as he threw it back, striking the magician with his own spell and smashing his invisible shield.
“I told you you should leave,” Madhav said.
The magician roared his anger and flew past me, shoving me aside as he went.
I was about to go after him when I spotted Samuel wheeling around another werewolf, while Astrid battled the other, her daggers whirling and spraying the air with blood. It was pushing her back, and I was torn between helping her or Samuel until Bastion ran to Astrid’s aid and swung his ax into the werewolf’s torso. It howled with agony and then fury as I seized the other around the throat and wrestled it from Samuel.
The werewolf turned and batted me away. I flew into a display case, sending video cassettes raining down around me. I just had time to note the irony as An American Werewolf in London smacked onto my knuckles, when the beast came again.
I scrambled to my feet and led the werewolf away from the others, freeing them up to deal with the monster attacking Astrid, before realizing I was out of space to run.
“Here!” Samuel called. He threw the sword of intention. It blazed with fire as I caught it.
I put my right foot forward and waited for the creature to come, my eyes locked onto its bestial glare. It slowed, revealing hesitation, no doubt as its human brain calculated the odds. Two against five.
“Yeah, not great,” I said as I swung the sword, and lopped its head off.
The remaining werewolf was badly injured but his wounds seemed to only ignite his fury as he bounded toward Bastion, his paw poised to deliver a killing swipe.
Bright golden light shot through the air, hitting him squarely in the chest, sending him flying back. He struck the wall with a thud and fell to the ground, his eyes smoldering one last time before the life in them fizzled out.
I grabbed the edge of a display case and caught my breath. The air reeked of burned fur and flesh, and musty, animal sweat.
“Thank you,” Madhav said, as he walked past me and quenched the fires with a stream of magic from his fingers. The golden fire had left his eyes and his spectral claws had receded. But I was still in awe of him as I watched him tidy up with fast, magical efficiency.
“You okay?” Bastion asked Astrid as he helped her up.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. But she didn’t look fine, and I saw the way she clutched her side. As did Bastion.
“I’m supposed to call the Organization the moment you come here,” Madhav said as he returned to his place behind the counter.
“And I’m guessing you weren’t supposed to tell me that,” I said.
“Indeed, I wasn’t. But we rarely do the things we’re supposed to do, do we?” Madhav picked his phone up and began reading what looked like a comic. “I can give you thirty minutes,” he added. “And then I’ll have to call, Humble.” He gave me a slight nod. “Good luck, Morgan. I hope you get the bastards. Each and every last one of them.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I take it you came to stock up?” Bastion asked, wincing slightly as looked up at me. For a moment I thought he’d been injured, but his black suit was unmarked. Which probably meant his injury was from the vengeful ghosts of whatever he’d drunk the night before.
“I
do,” I said. “I lost my gun, my bag and a bunch of potions and crystals.”
“You did,” Bastion said with a wry grin. “And Osbert recovered them and handed them in to me. Good ogre that he is.”
“That was nice of him,” I said, “especially after all the efforts he’d gone to to kill me.”
“Bastion Stout,” Bastion said, offering his hand to Astrid. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too.” Astrid’s face softened as she shook his hand.
"And this is Samuel,” I said.
Bastion shook Samuel’s hand. “Excuse my trembling,” Bastion said. “That was my first encounter with a werewolf, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Plus I have a hangover the size of a particularly tall mountain, which means I should probably slip a little restorative into the coffee I was brewing out back. Care to join me?”
“That sounds marvelous,” Samuel said, and I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he’d taken an instant liking to Bastion, as had Astrid.
“Come this way then.” Bastion led us down an aisle and through an illusion of a storeroom cluttered with buckets, stepladders and broken video players. We emerged into the armory and the bright light from the crystals glowing in their display cases.
“Well this is impressive,” Samuel said as he took in the room. He stooped before a glass cabinet filled with deep blue crystals, while Astrid wandered to the wall with the blades, daggers, and long swords.
“Here!” Bastion shouted, throwing something toward me. My bag. “I could have given you a new one,” he added, “but I think that one suits you best. It’s tough, leathery and riddled with holes.”
“Thanks.” I strapped the bag round my shoulder. It felt good to have it back again, tattered though it was.
“Now why don’t you fill it with whatever you need,” Bastion offered as he strode toward his counter, “and I’ll look the other way and pretend you were never here. Right?”
“What about Snarksmuth?” I asked. “Won’t he notice things have gone missing?” Personally I couldn’t have given a shit about the whiny old goblin, but I didn’t want Bastion getting into trouble on my account.
Bastion gave a hearty laugh and vanished behind the counter. “I’ve been screwing with his stock takes from the first day that little bastard arrived. So no, he won’t know a thing is missing, which is just the way we like it.” Something sputtered and whirred and moments later Bastion’s hand appeared and set a coffee mug upon the counter, followed by three more. He pulled himself up onto his customary stool and thumped an expensive-looking bottle of whiskey down. “Now,” he said, raising his voice, “who’s for Irish Coffee?”
“I could be interested in that,” Samuel said as he appeared like a flash and inspected the bottle.
“Astrid?” Bastion called.
She shook her head. “I need to keep my mind clear, but I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering it.”
“Me too,” I said. In that moment there was nothing more that I would have liked but to join Bastion and Samuel for a dram or two, but I had to have my full wits about me. I began to fill my bag and by the time I’d finished I was fully stocked on an ammo, had a new gun in my holster, and enough crystals to take down half the city.
I caught Astrid’s eye as I strode to the counter and she smiled and I returned it. Even though I felt as ragged as the bag around my shoulder, and not just from the fight. Because Mrs. Fitz’s words were still haunting me and I still didn’t know what to make of them. I knew you were stronger than him, but you’d been betrayed and so you were weak and in pain.
“It’s good stuff,” Samuel said as Bastion slipped another measure into his coffee.
“It is that,” Bastion said and turned my way. “Find everything you need?”
“I did. Thanks for your help.”
“It’s my pleasure, Morgan. Always.” His eyes twinkled as he lifted his cup to me. “Cheers, old friend. Here’s to the end of times. We’ll have to have our pub crawl before they come. By hook or by crook. In this world, or the next if needs be.”
We clinked cups.
“Pub crawl?” Samuel asked.
“He’ll give you the details,” Bastion said, nodding to me. “It was his idea. I think.” He continued to smile but his thick brow knitted as he regarded me once more. “Be careful, Morgan. I’d like to get everything back in one piece if possible. Including you. Now,” he glanced to the door behind him, “Snarksmuth’s due any moment so you should leave before he pisses all over your day as well as mine.” He slurped down the rest of his cup and raised his empty cup to me. I nodded to him. There was no need to say anything more.
35
As we left the video club I watched the blinkereds hurrying along the street on their way to work, their faces grave above their thick winter coats. I wondered if they’d somehow picked up on things, if they could see that the world around them was on the brink.
“Are we going to borrow another car?” Samuel asked. It sounded like he was relishing the prospect. “Not that one.” He nodded to the magician’s battered old BMW with its sagging tires and then his eyes gleamed as he pointed to a nearby Ferrari. “That might be good.”
“It’s too busy here. Come on,” I said.
We ducked down a side street lined with upmarket boutiques and overpriced cafes, and glanced back as a low thump of bass rattled the air. A sleek black customized truck rolled into view, amid music so loud I could see the shop windows and car windshields rattle as it parked. I tried to spot the driver but the windows were tinted. Finally he emerged, resplendent in wraparound shades, despite the rolling grey November sky. All in all the perfect mark.
I cut him off before he could reach the ritzy electronics store, peddling premium phones at exorbitant prices, and snatched his shades off.
“What the-”
“Keys,” I said. I held his angry, then panicked gaze. I had one hand on the crystal in my pocket, and the other on his wrist. He tried to pull away, but I held him firm and continued to stare into his eyes until his expression turned from outrage to simple terror.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he said.
“There’s nothing to understand. We just need to borrow your vehicle for a while and you want to lend us it. You’re not worried and won’t give it a further thought until tomorrow morning.”
“Right.” He handed me the keys, glanced from me to Samuel, then his eyes lingered on Astrid and he winked. She stared back at him until he strode away, glancing around like he’d forgotten something but had no idea what.
The first thing I did after starting it up, was switch the music off. Then I opened the windows to get rid of the stench of weed and we headed for the highway and the distant, darkening clouds.
Albany turned out to be a small town with two main streets that amounted to nothing much at all. I stopped outside a rundown grocers and asked if they knew of a man called Lampton, or a sprawling estate with a lodge, but they’d never heard of either. Finally, after an hour of driving in what felt like circle after circle, I pulled into a gas station to fill up.
The man behind the counter was a scrawny suspicious old goat who eyed me as if I was about to rob the place. Like that was his only plausible explanation for an out of towner stopping by. I handed him money for the gas and asked him if he’d heard of a place people called The Lodge.
“Nope.” He shook his head to emphasize the point.
“It's a big house on several acres of land. The owner’s a bit...reclusive.”
His eyes wandered and I saw him give a slight shudder. “There could be somewhere, now I think about it… the property is mostly still taken up with woods. It’s out on Crescent Way, about two miles south of here.” His eyes flashed over mine and he added, “creepy frigging place.”
“In what way?”
He shrugged and looked a little sheepish. “I don’t know. It just has that stay the hell away from here vibe about it. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know ex
actly what you mean.” I thanked him, climbed back in the truck and headed south.
“There,” Astrid said. I glanced in the rear view mirror and reversed as I spotted the driveway I’d somehow missed. It looked like a narrow lane winding through the trees, nothing ostentatious. Not what I’d have expected from a Lampton. I put it back in drive, made a u-turn and pulled over on a residential road. The truck with its overblown customizations and tinted windows stood out like the proverbial sore thumb, but thankfully the street was empty as I pulled my bag and checked my gun.
We crossed the highway and stood before the thick bank of trees. The place was posted with a sign that read:
‘No Hunting. No Trespassing.’
“Ready?” I asked, as I glanced along the highway to make sure it was clear.
“Ready.” Samuel stared into the woods and I saw a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. I got it. Even from where we stood I could feel it. The low, heavy buzz in the air. There was evil here. No question.
We trudged into the trees and I took the lead, with Astrid bringing up the rear. The place was gloomy, the canopy above thick with evergreens and the ground carpeted with pine straw and moss. As I climbed over a log the side broke away and beetles rolled out like black coins from a slot machine.
All was quiet but for the occasional bird fluttering in the tangle above. I grabbed a fallen branch and used it to push away the long arching brambles as we climbed a steep rise. The woodsy smell of decomposition grew steadily stronger the further in we hiked.
“Wait,” Samuel called in a hushed whisper. I turned back to find him stooped by a tree, examining the ground near its trunk.
“What is it?” Astrid asked, one hand straying beneath her cloak for a weapon.
“Tracks. Looks like hounds,” Samuel said.
“So?” Astrid asked.
A hand full of dirt and leaf litter slipped through Samuel’s fingers. “We need to be on guard. Something rotten’s passed through here recently.”
“Like what?”
