Bustin'

by Minda Webber

  Snuggling closer to Nic's hot body, Sam knew that she should let sleeping werewolves lie; she was sore this morning from their all-night marathon. But as memories of their passion curled around her, she began to feel like she needed the hair of the dog that bit her. She wriggled herself against his crotch, smiling happily when she heard him growl.

  Before the growl finished he'd grabbed her and turned her over for a passionate good morning kiss. Unfortunately it was interrupted by a knocking on the door. They drew apart and cursed.

  "I'll get it," he snarled, yanking on his jeans and flipping on the bedroom light. "And I'll break the neck of whoever it is for interrupting us."

  Sliding on her robe, Sam smiled ruefully as Nic opened the door.

  Alex rushed in, fairly bursting at the seams. Seeing Nic and Sam half-dressed, a grin split his face from ear to ear.

  "Nic wasn't in his room, so I took a guess and tried here," he said. He gleefully rubbed his hands together. "So, you two mule-headed people have finally gotten together." Taking in the destruction, the sheets and pillows on the floor, he added, "Looks like a hurricane hit here—Hurricane Strakhov."

  "Alex!" Nic warned. There was an unspoken threat. He didn't want his practical-joking brother to embarrass Sam after the special night they had just shared, and he wasn't taking any chances. "This had better be good."

  "Oh, it is," his baby brother confided, his eyes glittering with excitement. "We got a shapeshifter—a panther—who says he knows Nero from the clubs. He's been out of town hunting, and just got back in. He heard about the deaths in the supernatural community from Ripley. Four nights ago he was walking a girl he met in Club Dread to the subway station, and he saw Nero sneaking off into the tunnels. He thought it was odd that Nero was doing that, since it's more than obvious Nero's no homeless guy."

  "I don't get it. Why would Nero be hiding out in the tunnels under the city? He has money, and New York is huge, a no-man's-land with plenty of places to hide." Nic chewed his lip thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  Tapping her fingers on the headboard of the bed, Sam exclaimed, "I can't believe I forgot! Vanderbilt—of the railroad Vanderbilts—was said to have built a Greek pavilion to park his own personal railroad car. It's only rumor, and I've never found it on any map, but I do know that the Vanderbilts used to live near the St. James Church over on Hudson Street."

  "So you think Nero is so homesick that he lives underground in an aging Greek pavilion?" Nic asked cautiously. He thought hard about the possibility. It seemed idiotic, but then so had the Statue of Liberty idea.

  "I was right about the Statue," Sam pointed out. "I bet I'm dead-on about this. It makes sense. Nero has been hibernating for centuries in Italy, probably somewhere underground. He probably feels comfortable in a pavilion below the earth."

  "I guess I can see that," Nic remarked, still a little skeptical.

  "Yes," Sam said excitedly.

  "All right, we buy the story. Now, which subway station did this panther see him at?" Nic asked, his heartbeat accelerating at the possibly of a good hunt.

  "He couldn't remember exactly, since he doesn't live in this part of town and he'd drunk some Warlock's Blood at the club," Alex replied, knowing himself how potent the drink was, a beverage made from the blood of pigs and spiced and bespelled by a prince warlock. "He said they walked by Jeremy B.'s Cellar. You remember, the bar that used to be the old Falk biker vampire hangout. Now's it's run by biker wolfmen. It's the place on the corner of Eastwood and Hutton street."

  Nic nodded.

  "The panther guy said he turned right by St. James Church—the church where that Lansberry artist designed that eight-foot angel guarding the shepherd."

  Sam put in her two cents: "The subway station is two to three blocks after the church, but before you get to Hell's Kitchen. Good thing, too. Hell's Kitchen is now a big devil hangout, and we've got enough troubles without adding one or two of them to the mix. Does Prince V. know?"

  "Yeah, I alerted the whole gang. Our cousin is using his connections to get maps of the underground tunnels, since those shafts can stretch for miles. He's also getting us some equipment we'll need: miner's helmets with lights, flashlights and stuff. Petroff said he'd meet us downstairs in twenty minutes."

  "So, what are we waiting for? Let's get going!" Sam's eyes were bright with anticipation. She wished that her baby brother could be along, knowing Bogie would be ready at the drop of a hat to rock and roll all over this gargon. She supposed it was safer if he wasn't here.

  "How about getting dressed?" Alex teased, staring pointedly at her blue terry cloth robe.

  Blushing, Sam admitted, "I forgot." Grabbing her jeans and a lumberjack shirt, she headed for the bathroom. Nic intercepted her.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

  "Where do you think?" What was wrong with him now? They had a strong lead, and she was chomping the bit to get at it.

  "You stay here and coordinate the effort. Direct reinforcements if any are needed."

  "Have you gone loco?"

  "Look, Sam, there's no need for you to put your neck on the line when Alex and I are here."

  She rolled her eyes. "Nic, get a grip. Get on board the train to the twenty-first century. Women everywhere are right now screaming 'chauvinist' at you."

  Grabbing her shoulders, he pressed his fingers into the soft skin. "You could get stoned."

  "I'm a big girl. I don't faint at the first sign of danger. This is my job. I'm a Paranormalbuster, for Pete's sake." Glancing down, she added, "Well, I don't mean that pete. And I'm going. It's a done deal—either I go with you guys, or I go it alone."

  Seeing the grim resolution in Sam's eyes, Nic knew to give up the ghost. He might not like it; he might hate the possibility of losing Sam, but Sam she was. He knew good and well that this woman would carry out her threat. Why he was crazy about such a difficult female, he didn't understand. But he was. He had no choice.

  Glancing at the bathroom door, which Sam had just shut, he shook his head. "I don't want her to go, so what do I do?" he asked himself.

  "Roll over and play dead," Alex suggested cheerfully. "With a woman like Sam, you'll always either be in the doghouse or howling in delight."

  Nic growled in agreement.

  The Resident Evil in the Tunnels of New York

  An excited Alex, a taut Nic, a vibrating Ripley and a curious Sam all rode in one cab over to St. James Church; Boris, Natasha and Petroff rode in another. From the church they walked on, finding the subway station they sought only a few blocks farther. It was on the intersection of Pierce and Mirren Streets.

  All were aware the clock was ticking on their search and destroy mission. Prince Varinksi could withstand several hours of daylight, but Natasha and Boris would fall into a deep sleep by midmorning. Nero must be vanquished long before high noon.

  Once they were downstairs and in the subway tracks, the group split into three, each covering one of the tunnels that snaked off into the darkness of the underground perpetual night. Boris and Alex took the tunnel on the right, while Natasha and Prince Varinski took the one in the middle. This left Nic, Sam and Ripley the tunnel on the left. They had decided earlier that one of these tunnels was probably the one that held the Greek pavilion Vanderbilt built, and they were prepared to find the city below the earth where the disenfranchised and hopeless now lived.

  Everyone donned their helmets, checked the battery lights and their water canteens, and began to walk into the eternal darkness. All of the others in the group were nocturnal except for Sam, which gave them a distinct advantage, but the pitch-blackness was so deep and dark that even preternatural predators needed help in seeing what lay ahead. Wishing each other well, the groups each headed off toward their date with destiny.

  The shafts extended in straight lines through a world of utter blackness, a forgotten land of tunnels and cavernlike rooms beneath the earth, far from the harsh light of day or the soft glow of the moon. As Nic, Ripl
ey and Sam followed their assigned tunnel, the air became musty with a strong odor of decay and moldy earth. Their lights cast gloomy shadows on the tunnel walls.

  In less than a mile, the tunnel began to twist and turn, descending, and Nic slowed his step and said; "Sam, you stick close to me."

  Noticing the tiny red eyes that watched her balefully from the shadows, and the sound of soft furry feet scrambling in the darkness, she remarked firmly, "You're kidding, right? I'm on you like feathers on a duck's back."

  Nic snorted, amused.

  "I really hate rats, you know," she said. "I'm glad you're not one anymore." Her skin crawled in apprehension.

  In spite of the tension he was feeling, Nic laughed. He had to protect Sam at all costs, though he also wanted this gorgon's head on a platter.

  Ripley just shook his head.

  Sam felt a faint breeze of air stir. The rotten odor of decay faded, leaving a dusty smell of damp earth. In front of them, highlighted by their helmet lamps, steps led spiraling down into the greater unknown.

  "This is creepy, Nic," she said. She was ecstatic that he was with her, for she felt clearly the taint of a cool evil presence seeping out from the great yawning depths. Her heart sped up with fear, and she forced herself to take each step.

  Glancing back, Nic gave her a smile of encouragement.

  "I had to trap a rogue hooker werefox once, in a mine in Mexico. It wasn't my cup of tea," Sam admitted.

  "What happened?" Nic asked. He was curious to know everything about her, past and present and future.

  "She'd been slashing up her male customers. Killed one of them. I remember Bogie running her to ground, and we finally trapped her in one of the shafts, trying to coax her out. She had beady brown eyes, and she acted like she couldn't hear us. She was plotting her next move. It was a Mexican stand-off for two days."

  "How'd you get the little vixen out?"

  "Psychology. I made Bogie dress up as a bunny."

  Nic started laughing again, and this time Ripley joined in.

  "I kid you not. Worked like a charm. She came out and gave chase, and I trapped her with some iron netting." As she talked, Sam felt a little less afraid of the big, black unknown. "For months I teased Bogie about it. I said we'd always have a job for him come Easter."

  Nic shook his head. His helmet light bobbed, making the shadows dance. "You, Sammy, are a pistol. Don't let anyone tell you different."

  Their good humor was cut short as Ripley stumbled on something big and hard. Glancing down, he took a small leap backward. Sam and Nic both moved to stand beside him, their helmets illuminating the reclining figure of what had once been a man. The figure was now just a monument to the Meduse's destructive force, with the expression on his face preserving his terror for eternity.

  "Nero's been here," Nic stated gravely. Bending over he inspected the man and the area around him, sniffing the air. "This coffee in this cup here behind him smells three, maybe four days old."

  "We're on the right path then," Sam acknowledged grimly, both frightened and innervated by the thrill of the hunt. "Ripley, call Prince V. and the others and let them know we've got a dead one."

  Ripley raised his state-of-the-art walkie-talkie to his mouth, but all he got was static. Apparently they were too deep in the ground.

  "I guess we should go back and tell the others, since splitting up your forces is just plain stupid," Sam suggested.

  But before the other two could agree or disagree, there came the sound of something coming at them from the end of the tunnel they had just traversed.

  Both Nic and Ripley fell into a crouch. Sam's light beam ranged into the depths, but it reflected back only blackness.

  Suddenly Boris appeared, flying through the air about three feet off the ground. He landed at once, and Nic asked harshly, "What's happened? What's going on?"

  Breathing deeply, Boris explained, "We ran into Nero in our tunnel. Alex is hurt bad, Nic. Too bad to transform."

  "Did the snakes bite him?" Sam asked, filled with concern.

  "No. Nero's claws did the damage, but it's bad. I didn't want to move him without help. So here I am."

  "You left him there with Nero around?" Nic growled, his eyes feral.

  "Easy, Nic. Nero ran out the way we came in. I think he's going topside," Boris explained. Holding up his arms, he showed the claw marks and dark red stains decorating his own jacket. "I fought, too."

  Nic was frantic to get to his brother, but he couldn't leave Sam, who couldn't move as fast as a paranormal. "Alright, let's hurry. Sam, jump on my back and I'll carry you."

  She shook her head. "I'll slow you down, and every second counts for Alex. You and Boris go ahead, and Ripley and I will follow."

  Nic didn't like the idea of leaving her with the other werewolf; but his brother could be dying. "Alright. Be careful, Sam. Ripley, guard her with your life." And with those words he kissed her on the lips and began to run, following Boris.

  Their speed amazed Sam as she watched the lights of their helmets fading rapidly into the blackness. "Come on, Ripley, let's hurry. I can run for a while." Sam felt distinctly uncomfortable when she saw the man's pupils had dilated and he looked half wolf, but Ripley simply said, "The ground here is too treacherous. We'll walk fast until we get back out into the tunnels. I'll lead."

  They walked swiftly for a few minutes, their footsteps in the hard graveled dirt making the only sounds. Sam's mind was focused on Alex, concern for both him and Nic striking at her mind as she placed each foot in front of the other.

  Her well-honed senses started screaming that something was wrong, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. No, something wasn't right; she couldn't put her finger on what, but she felt it to the core of her being. Her tension mounted, almost suffocating her.

  Cautiously, she reached inside her jacket pocket for her dagger. The ancient knife had been fashioned for protection against shapeshifters, since iron, like silver, had been revealed as dangerous to a werewolf; deadly if the metal penetrated either the eye or the heart. The blade had been a birthday gift from her Uncle Myles on her eighteenth birthday, and had cost an arm and leg—though luckily not the arm or the leg of anyone law-abiding.

  Unfortunately, Sam didn't have long to wait for her premonition to come true. The enemy revealed himself. Ripley had turned, switching off his lamplight. From her own helmet's beam, Sam saw that the werewolf's eyes had dilated even further, and his claws were extending from the flesh of his hands, sharp and curved. His jaw had elongated, and he looked rather like the beast in the old black and white movie with Lon Chaney, The Werewolf of London.

  Ripley scrambled to the side, shoving away what looked to be part of the tunnel wall. It was instead a cleverly camouflaged doorway to another tunnel, to another dark and scarier world.

  As Ripley worked, Sam turned and began to run, which only incited the werewolf to violence. He leaped and brought her down hard to the ground, his breath harsh and stale on her cheek, his wicked teeth protruding from his half-human jaws.

  Thrusting himself against her, he growled, "I can see why Nic has the hots for you. You're built."

  Her arms were trapped, and she couldn't reach her dagger. She spit in his face. Ripley slapped her, knocking her head to the side. He leaped up and jerked her roughly to her feet.

  "Come on, bitch! We're going in there," he snarled, and he practically threw her through the door.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam asked as they ascended into a new tunnel. Above and ahead, she could see some kind of light, like a beacon welcoming her into hell.

  "What do you think, Miss Paranormalbuster? Use that expertise you're supposed to have."

  Getting a damn good idea of what was going on, she tried to stop her shudder of revulsion and terror. "Ripley, I got news for you. Nobody rocks my world except Nic. That includes you and snake hair. I take it you're Nero's wolf, and you brought us here to lure us to our deaths."

  "Bravely spoken, bitc
h—and you're right. You're soon to be stone-cold for eternity."

  Unfortunately, Sam was afraid the wolfman was right. She had gotten in over her head, and the next few eons were going to be rocky ones.

  Paper, Scissors, Meduse

  The short tunnel ended, opening into a large cavernous room lit by lanterns, the kind used for camping. The roof of the cavern had been painted to imitate the night sky. Stars were marked on the ceiling in some kind of luminescent paint, as well as a large full moon. Sam could hear and see the trickle of water that ran down one cavern wall, draining into a small pool.

  Below the fake sky was a small Greek pavilion made out of grimy white marble with round circular columns and steplike benches. A marble table was carved in the center, with cushioned chairs. The table-top had a plate of grapes, grape leaves and what looked like cheese: typical Greek and Roman fare.

  Plastered against the walls were various posters of the Statue of Liberty wearing a bikini. Sam took a double-take at the defacement. Jeez! It was worse than if someone had magic-markered a fake moustache on her.

  Shaking of her disgust, Sam rapidly took in the rest of the pavilion.

  Statues of women of various sizes and shapes were everywhere, all frozen in sexual poses. They were scattered throughout. In the corner of the pavilion, a drape made of some shiny material curtained off the front of a room.

  Sam gasped. Here was where Nero presided over his court of stone women. She was receiving a stiff welcome.

  Stepping out from the curtained area, Nero appeared. He stared at Sam from about twenty feet away. In human form, without his full head of snakes, he was a remarkably handsome man. At the moment he wore only boxer shorts.

  Sam was struck by this as the height of absurdity: A classical Greek godlike figure in a pair of boxers. Who would have thought old Mr. Snakehead would be into Fruit of the Loom.

  Ripley yanked on her arm, trying to drag her forward. Sam lost her sense of humor. She was going to be a stone sacrifice? Well, this was certainly not another day in paradise. What could she do? She was fighting against the odds when she had just found love. And she did love Nic, with all her heart and all her soul. She couldn't die now!