by Eddie Jakes
"His body didn't destroy itself."
"Nope, it laid there for several hours before the villagers beheaded him, quartered him, and burned the body. No official investigation of the body was ever done. Even the story is second-hand so we can't be sure of too much."
"It's something, though. I think it may be the least of our problems in any case."
"Why?" Tara raised an eyebrow.
Maddix filled her in on the zombie attack and about Larouche's lack of cooperation. His story was filled with colorful metaphors in regards to the chief constable.
"Maddix, what if those stupid badges of theirs aren't keeping them safe anymore?" Tara was right to be concerned. The entire foundation of the prison was raised by magic, and their lives depended on that magic working. The thought of it breaking down and leaving everyone vulnerable was a frightening idea. Tara suddenly had visions of living in a giant dog's bowl, with packs of starving monsters surrounding it and waiting for the opportunity to feed.
"Let's not panic now. Do we have anything in the library that gives a detailed history of the prison? Anything that could be exploited as a weakness maybe?"
"I can look, but there isn't much. Nobody kept those kinds of records here just in case of a potential revolt."
It made sense not to keep Malevolent's secrets where curious demons could find them. Vampires couldn't come into the library without permission, but werewolves and the other monsters were a different story. Vampires were bound to a supernatural law that no one could understand, and all written texts concerning their origins were either missing or destroyed.
"Let me help you clean this up, and we'll start searching for more information about this place," said Maddix, who had already started collecting books from the table.
"You got it," Tara replied. "Been looking forward to a busy day."
There was nothing that Benjamin enjoyed more than a good meal and a sip of wine under the moonlight. Even though created through magical means, it still bounced off the water and leaves like any other full moon he had experienced. Still, though, he often thought about his life before being imprisoned with the rest of his pack. The great hunts they used to have and ritual howling with the other werewolf packs in the countryside.
The smell of rabbit cooking over his makeshift spit was intoxicating. He didn't cook his food that often, but the small part of him that was still human enjoyed the occasional roast every now and then with his own stash of homegrown spices that he kept hidden. He didn't mind sharing, but werewolves tended to be more territorial when it came to food. This was especially true for those more in tuned with their animal side than their human side.
Giving his dinner a few more turns on the spit, Benjamin decided that his meal was just about ready save for another basting with Kirkpatrick's special brandy to add a little something extra to the meal. Benjamin turned to his sack and started fumbling around, looking for the flask he kept handily nearby. This was a special batch of liquor that Kirkpatrick never shared with anyone except his close friends, so Benjamin never left home without it. It was too sweet for his drinking tastes, but he found that it made the best meats more decadent by caramelizing the outer skin.
Benjamin was so distracted by his anticipation that he barely heard the first footsteps coming toward him. He dropped his sack and looked around for his new guest or guests. He guessed at least two, but he wasn't sure. Sniffing the air proved pointless due to the aroma of his cooking filling the air around him.
The footsteps continued to come toward him. At first from one direction and then splitting up and taking a position in front and back of him. He was being surrounded and he couldn't tell who or what they were, or what they could possibly want with him.
"I know you're there," called Benjamin. "You can come out. There is plenty of rabbit meat here if that's what you're after."
Benjamin heard the parting of brush behind him and he spun around to face his guest. He was relieved and a little confused at the same time. This was the last person he expected to see in his private little dining nook in the woods.
"It's just you. What are you doing out—"
Everything went dark when his second guest came out from behind him pulling a burlap sack over his head. That last thing Benjamin would ever remember was a buzzing in his ear.
Maddix and Tara had spent the whole day reading through the countless number of journals and guides in the library. As they had feared there was not much to learn about the protective magic in Malevolent. There wasn't too much for them to learn that they had not already known in any case. Having forgotten to eat breakfast or lunch, they could not ignore their growling stomachs any longer. Aside for some small snacks around the office there wasn't a pantry or kitchen that they could keep a stock of food. Most of the food available to humans was through the local restaurant run by some werewolves.
Thank God one of these beasts likes to cook, Maddix thought to himself as he approached the front door of the only sociable hotspot in town. Even though they were wild animals at their core, werewolves still had some human characteristics that included drinking, dancing, and telling stories. Most of them were gypsies or part of some other nomadic tribe when they were human. Nearly all experts considered that to be just a coincidence, and that the main reason for it was that people that traveled more were more likely to be attacked and bitten by werewolves. It made sense to Maddix, but it was still apparent that they embraced culture more so than most other creatures of the night.
Richmond Kirkpatrick opened The Eternal Moon Pub to the public, but it was an unofficial meeting ground for non-affiliated werewolves to sit and have a cold drink and brag about themselves to one another. Not to say that there weren't the usual pack members coming and going, but they tended to stick with their clique. Lone werewolves were considered outsiders or accidental turnings. A lot of them were the result of werewolf attacks that did not result in the death of the victim either through escape or just left for dead. The hierarchy of the beasts was primitive but had a unique sense of honor associated with it.
"Looks like we have a special guest tonight," Kirkpatrick bellowed at the sight of Maddix. "What could a humble barkeep like me do for the Grand Overseer?"
Kirkpatrick’s physique was like the Norse gods in mythology. Every possible muscle the human body possessed that could be developed, Richmond Kirkpatrick had done so. Maddix wondered if it was because of his turning or if he was just a naturally muscular specimen. Maddix could imagine a barrage of silver bullets just ricocheting off the man due to the stone-like physique. Maddix shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to face a werewolf like him. When they turned, they usually doubled in mass depending on their age and internal power, and Richmond was both older and powerful.
"Please," Maddix smirked, slightly red in the face, "just call me Maddix. I’m looking to order some food to go, please."
"What can I get you? Some of the boys caught a fresh flock of venison this morning, got some thick steaks going with some roasted potatoes."
"That would be fine, two orders please."
"Coming right up," said Richmond, and he strutted through the kitchen door.
Maddix turned to lean against the bar, and he was greeted by the stares of over a dozen patrons. He could tell he was not too welcome in the pub. Not that he could blame them. There were plenty who accepted their fate in Malevolent, but there were those that viewed him and the prison with fiery contempt. Even more infuriating was the inability to unleash their instinctive aggression on their natural enemies. Humans were supposed to be cattle for the taking, not their eternal jailers.
"Overseer!" Richmond shouted through the kitchen door. "Gonna be a few minutes, how about I pop open a fresh bottle and pour you a drink?"
"Not tonight, I need my wits intact."
"I heard some things." Richmond stepped back to the bar. "Is it about the dead bloodsucker? Or them walking dead things?"
"What do you know about the Statsnys?" Maddix responded quickl
y. "I didn't know that was common knowledge."
"Word travels fast around here. I just heard that one of ’em was dead. Good riddance I say."
Richmond returned to the bar and placed both of his giant hands on the surface.
"Any of your customers say anything about it?"
"Nah."
"Any idea who would've wanted Statsny dead?"
Richmond let out a chuckle. "Look around, Overseer. You aren't exactly surrounded by friends and family here."
Maddix conceded to that.
"As far as the dead things walking around, the way I see things is anyone with a taste for eating constables can't be so bad, eh?"
Not for lack of trying, Maddix couldn't contain his laugh. "I have nothing to say to that, but I suppose they aren't winning many points with anybody here."
At that, the kitchen door swung open. The smells of venison cooking were mouth watering.
"Here you go, Overseer. Hot and fresh from the oven. Enjoy."
Maddix grabbed the steaming hot package from Richmond and thanked him.
It was exceptionally quiet in the streets that night, nothing but the crickets to give Maddix some company during the walk home. He was surprised to see no constables patrolling the street, considering all the action that afternoon. Not that Larouche gave two shits about the town or the people in it. There must have been a considerable compensation package for him to volunteer for a life that he considered to be so miserable. Larouche once described it as the 'unliving' hell, but Maddix didn’t mind it as much. He liked to think of what they did as a great sacrifice for the world and he was proud to do it. Granted, the lack of memory enabled such pride in him.
The smell of the wrapped meals in his hands tempted him as he walked down the street. He wanted just to grab a tiny bite of the delicious game but thought the better of it. Tara was waiting for dinner as well, so he wanted to get back as soon as possible. They both had a tendency to get a little cranky when they were hungry, and two cranky overseers trying to solve a mystery could end badly.
Muffled growling and thumping interrupted Maddix's empty stomach. He stopped and glanced around, but there wasn't any activity in the streets to explain what he had heard. He did his best to pinpoint from where the sounds were coming. Guttural groaning and slurping replaced the muffled noises, and Maddix looked to the building above him. Something was flopping around on the roof erratically like a dead fish. He couldn't get a good look at what it was, but it appeared to have long hair, whatever it was.
He approached the building with trepidation, slowly moving his hand toward his pistol just inside his jacket. His fingers began to slide around the smooth grip when heard a loud crack followed by silence. The mysterious figure on the roof had gone still. Perhaps it was dead? He walked closer to the building with one hand still on his gun and the other holding the warm deer meat.
A few seconds went by with no movement and so Maddix relaxed the grip on his gun. Figuring it to be someone drunk and passed out on the roof, he turned to leave. That's when it leapt out at him and pinned him to the ground. The night's dinner flew from his hand and spilled all over the street. Whatever had jumped him, it was big, furry, and smelled like dog. Maddix opened his eyes to see the large jaw of his attacker filled with a collection of shiny white teeth and deadly looking fangs. Its mouth was foaming profusely, and its eyes were clouded over like a zombie.
Maddix wanted to reach for his pistol but the werewolf was strong, and he could barely hold its head back with both hands. The situation was inconceivable to Maddix. Why was this werewolf able to attack him like this? It was just like the constables with the zombie attack. A wave of adrenaline surged through him, and Maddix managed to secure both hands around the creature's neck and jaw, giving him just the leverage he needed to push it back far enough to use his legs. With one sharp kick with his knee, he knocked the hindquarters off his midsection. He was now able to roll out from under the beast and go for his weapon.
Taking a quick second to look his opponent over, Maddix watched as the rabid wolf twitched and convulsed. Something was wrong with this one. Could it be a sickness? It didn't seem possible considering their contained environment. Whatever was going on, he was going to have to put this man down and figure it out later. Maddix reached into his pocket and drew his weapon at the crazed animal.
"Oh fuck," exclaimed Maddix as he drew his wooden stake from his coat. In the rush, he had reached for his weapon with the wrong hand. A split second went by, and the werewolf was on top of him again.
Reactively, Maddix jammed the stake as hard and deep into the gut of the wolf as he could. It gave no resistance and slid into the monster like it was melted butter. Wooden stakes wouldn't kill a werewolf but it would certainly cause a great deal of pain and the creature backed off him, jerking around and howling in pain.
Barely able to catch even half a breath, Maddix could see the wound was already beginning to heal, and the stake was being pushed out as the surrounding tissues repaired themselves. The healing abilities of werewolf were rapid and soon it was back on its feet. Maddix had already drawn his gun and pulled the slide back before it could even see what was about to happen. He fired three successful shots to the chest, dropping the monstrosity where it stood.
The yelping and howling slowly changed to the cries of a dying man as he turned. Maddix had never seen a werewolf turn before, and considering the circumstances he wasn't sure he ever wanted to again. The body continued to spasm in its human form; everything wolf-like was gone. Maddix took note that his eyes—despite his transformation—remained clouded and the foaming around the mouth persisted.
Once the movements stopped Maddix collected his stake off the ground. It was perfectly clean with no signs that it had ever been used to stab a werewolf in the stomach. It confirmed everything that he had read about them only being vulnerable to items of silver.
"Aye there, Maddix?" said a slurred voice from behind him. "Did your dog make a mess on the carpet?"
Maddix wasn't too surprised to see that two of the constables had decided to spend their patrolling night drinking heavily. He could smell cheap whiskey on both of them. Not that there was such a thing as fancy whiskey in Malevolent, but in his mind whatever whiskey the constables drank made it cheap by association.
"Go to hell! Where's your boss?"
"Probably at the station. Getting himself some beauty rest."
"Let's go wake him up." Maddix wiped the sweat from his brow. "Things are not under control anymore!"
Maddix's heart was beating so fast that his body temperature seemed to triple. This made the air around him so cold he felt like he was being locked in a freezer. He tried calming his nerves by drinking some cold water, but all that seemed to do was make it worse. Although he had felt scared before, he'd never felt this helpless. It was one thing being jumped by monster in the real world; it was another thing entirely to be trapped inside a cage with a whole civilization of them.
It was well over two hours since he had sent for Larouche and the elusive chief had yet to make an appearance. Although, he considered, that was probably not such a bad thing. Expecting Larouche to take anything he said seriously was a stretch but considering this latest attack, he would have to listen at least to reason if not act on it. Dead vampires, zombie attacks, and now werewolves? There needed to be some action taken, and it was now just a question of what the next steps should be. Violation of the pact between humans and the creatures of Malevolent has only one consequence … extermination.
Maddix glanced around the station watching all the activity going on around him. Mostly it looked like a lot of gossiping about what happened, but he could swear he heard a few jokes directed at his expense. He supposed it was kind of funny to see the overseer get caught with his pants down. It was assumed that someone with so much responsibility would be a little more alert to danger. That was a drawback of living in a prison where the prisoners can't harm you, though. You get soft.
The three drun
ken constables Maddix encountered were carrying the naked body of his attacker to the emergency first aid room. There wasn't any need for doctors or a morgue in Malevolent since no one ever got sick or seriously injured, and the prisoners took care of their own dead on the rare times they had any.
At least that's how it used to be.
It was like the whole world had changed the second Drahomira came into his office and reported her brother murdered. Maddix ran scenarios through his head to find a connection. Could this rabid werewolf have killed Havel Statsny? Something had to be sick in this wolf that attacked him, he could see it in his eyes. Could a werewolf even get rabies? And if they did, how did he contract it here? He supposed that theoretically it was possible. Magic and science didn't always work well together.
"Just got the word that the chief is rounding up some suspects and then he'll be here," said Constable Roberts with his head poking through the door.
"Suspects? Who?"
"I don't know, Colonel Mustard, and Professor Plum no doubt. They're always causing trouble around here," joked Roberts.
"Fine, whatever. Can you send someone to escort Ms. Cherane back here?"
"Oh yeah, already did. We figured you would want her here. Any case, we are always willing to accompany a beautiful piece like that to the station."
"Watch yourself." Maddix grew impatient. "You better show her some respect."
The constable's face went grim and his eyes narrowed. "Or what?"
"Prisoner escort coming through," shouted Larouche
Like a well-oiled machine, the constables in the station all stopped what they were doing and took positions by the entrance. Every man watched the three suspects closely as they walked in, followed by Larouche and four of his men. Maddix recognized the three of them immediately as Tanya, Eric, and William—the three werewolf pack leaders.
The expressions on their faces fluctuated between frustration and contempt. They didn't put up any resistance at all, but Eric and William refused any contact with the constables whenever they tried to lead them by the arm. Neither tried to touch Tanya, who displayed this reserved sense of calm, unlike her companions.
