“Salih told me of your assassination gone wrong.” There was arrogance there, as if the accuser wouldn’t have made such a thoughtless mistake.
“Perhaps Garrick should’ve recruited you then,” Timothy said, “instead of relying on a bunch of peasants to get the job done.”
“That wouldn’t be possible,” Salih said.
“Enough,” the priest said. “You would tell him more when he already knows too much?”
Salih ceased speaking and peeled back the traitor’s bandages, revealing that Brother was covered in symbols that had been tattooed on his chest and arms. He unsheathed a garroted blade and carved the markings away like turkey slices. He flayed the strips of protected flesh and tossed them to the altar’s floor.
“He is no longer entitled to our refuge on his journey.”
That protection was how Garrick had been able to avoid the necromancer’s spell in the salt mine. It could’ve been Timothy that the strigoi viu had fixated on, but Sebastian’s injuries must have made him a more susceptible target.
That memory, less than seven days old, felt like it belonged in another life.
“Today,” Salih said, “you are witnesses as our brother takes the void.”
The priest offered a miserable grumble. Timothy supposed he understood. The mark of the wolf stained this brother, and no one could understand what part he had truly played in that.
Salih walked around the altar and stood beside him, a buffer from the hostility. “You and I depart the city at first light. We make haste for the village of Rodica.”
Timothy’s mouth dropped as the priest covered the slain man in white fabric once more while offering a mumbled prayer.
“You didn’t expect us to take what you had to say at face value, did you?”
Timothy shrugged. He should’ve been glad for the chance to leave this judgment chamber. How long until the order returned and one of the accusatory faces shivved him to death when he least expected it? But the prospect of going back through Devil’s Row loaded him with dread. He couldn’t know the future, but recalled his mutilated face from the dream and had a pretty good idea how this ended.
“You remain our guest tonight,” Salih said. Timothy thought the word guest sounded a lot like prisoner. “Rodica is a two-day ride. If we can corroborate your story, and the Vatican confirms the existence of a warder called Garrick, you will be compensated for the part you played in this.”
Timothy obsessed over everything that could go wrong. In a heavily forested town like Rodica, woodland animals had likely made meals of the corpses already. If the evidence has been disposed of, could he kill Salih in a fight? What if Raven picked them off on the way?
Timothy tried hiding his anxiety with a miserable sounding, “Of course.” What else was he supposed to say? Resist now and they’d assume him a liar, sentencing him to die without a civilized trial.
“This way then,” Salih said.
Timothy followed him and the priest trailed behind, making sure he didn’t escape. He knew the unspoken drill. They went into the hallway off the altar and ducked immediately down a winding stairwell.
The air cooled as they slipped beneath the ground. The bottom was a chamber of wooden tables and chairs. Along the left wall were rows of doors that extended all the way down its length.
Salih cut across the opened space and walked to the last of those doors. He pulled it open and stepped aside. “Please,” he said.
Timothy glanced inside and refused to go any further.
It was a cell.
***
The wolf ran and the men followed.
She didn’t fear the fight, but knew it was best to take them separately. They were humans, and humans got tired. Vulnerable. Fatigue chomped away at her, too, but it was secondary to the hatred. These were the ones who could hurt her, and if she didn’t kill them, they’d do it again.
Elisabeth was through being weak.
The wolf led them into the city, her shoulders scuffed the alley sides as she twisted and turned through brick corridors. A peasant curled against the wall in front of her, blanketed by a threadbare cloth. He noticed her charge but shuffled too late to avoid it.
Realizing there was no time to dodge, he kicked the sheet free and curled up to shield the stampede. She didn’t bother navigating around, mauling his body beneath her muscular legs. Claws pierced and tore, leaving him mortally maimed and run red.
The crusaders continued their chase in the face of fading diligence, banging into one another and grunting hoarsely as they funneled into the alley in pursuit. The disorganized mob dashed with desperation, stumbling forward. Their clumsiness made her contemplate a final stand, but the alley offered limited maneuverability and had the potential for flanking.
Best to get away from here. If she hovered any longer, the fresh-spilt beggar would prove too much of a distraction for what had become tormented hunger. She’d gone days without eating, and here lay a fresh carcass topped by a bared neck and running blood. An irresistible meal any other time. Now, her blood had thinned to the point where rage guided her, demanding she finish this tonight. Food was of no concern.
Once this was over, there’d be plenty of time for that.
She knew that she could take these men. They were brash and arrogant, as most were, and the waterfront battle had sapped most of their will. Even now, their stride slackened. Their hearts roused with a final burst of excitement, but they couldn’t keep pace forever. Just as she wouldn’t surrender hers. She had to get behind them and pick off the stragglers.
At the next street, she banked a left and trotted toward the docks once more. A gunshot tore the sky apart, and she knew that they’d shot the vagrant dead. It might’ve been a mercy killing, though it was more likely they couldn’t be bothered to check for a bite, and had assumed the worst.
Behind wolfen eyes, Elisabeth was amused. Nobility was a convenience, a façade that masked selfishness and fear. She wanted this city to see the truth about its protectors, and feel afraid.
She twisted through the terrain until her hunters had no line of sight to her. She scampered back over her steps, her nose following the spilt beggar blood. The mauled body was there, leaking from a single bullet through the eye.
She ignored this to focus on the figure standing just beyond it.
One of them.
His back was to her, looking out at the barren street, posed with his rifle at the ready.
The wolf’s first instinct was to charge, but human Elisabeth reined in that urge. The creature let it go and rose to her haunches. Her nails clacked across the stone-laid street, and her front arms flexed to strike.
Her claws cut straight through the back of his neck. The sound was a crack, like an axe on wood, and the creature moved with grace, sliding her arm from the body cavity and pushing her mouth against his neck. She ripped it clear with a simple tear, and then dropped the gargling mess.
Next, she headed to the merchant quarters, hugging wall-thrown shadows while moving low against the ground. Her underbelly dragged against the cool street as she crawled, frustrated that her nose couldn’t sniff out the rest of them. These men weren’t so stupid to split up entirely. Her nose puffed the ground as she searched out the soldiers, wondering why there was no sign of their perspiration.
It was likely they moved in smaller groups. The loose soldier back there must’ve been assigned clean up, making sure the wolf-mauled body didn’t change. But why leave him on guard alone?
Her nose stole another sniff, returning only caged dogs somewhere close by. In that moment, she knew that they hadn’t abandoned one of their own.
Before she could turn, she realized why she hadn’t picked up on the presence of others. Barking dogs wiggled her ears, creatures offering hesitant growls at her back. Three of them stood in the alley mouth across from where her victims lay splattered. They bared their teeth, snarling displeasure over her intrusion on their turf.
Behind them, a dark-skinned man clutched an
axe in one hand and held a leash in the other.
Elisabeth admired his quick thinking. The dogs could overpower and mask a human scent. Breaking three of them from their alley pen had been enough to fool her.
They were all bark, though. The wolf stood firm. She puffed the fur on her face to inflate her size, summoning her best roar to assert her dominance. The dogs whimpered beneath it and their terrified steps floundered in all directions, overwhelming their master, who dropped the leash and made a few indecisive motions of his own. Whether he ran or stood his ground, it didn’t matter. He was as good as dead.
He chose to try to live.
The wolf read his sudden retreat as a taunt. She snarled and darted after him, closing the gap with just a few quick bounds. He didn’t fight, despite the weapon. She leapt through the air and her front paws pierced his shoulders, knocking him headfirst to the ground, his axe tumbling beneath his chest. The curved silver blade burst through his back and scraped against her chin. Then death throes took him.
Elisabeth felt mild disappointment in seeing him killed by his own clumsiness. She left him thrashing and continued her search of Constanta’s back alleys, rushing to beat the rising sun. It wouldn’t be long now.
She found them once more on the water and was insulted by how foolish they thought her. The entire order lined the wooden dock as far as it would go, silver weapons glinting in their hands. Two men stood atop the largest ship in the harbor, rifles slung across their chests. Their vantage point afforded a clear line of her only possible approach.
Once they saw her coming, they’d retreat until they were all aboard the ship. They’d trap her there or do something more destructive, like set it ablaze and watch her burn. Either way, she wouldn’t indulge their ambush. Atop Nightfall, contentment had dulled her edge, making that trap possible. She hadn’t been content since, and would never be again.
Putting this waylay attempt out of her mind, she set off to find the Survivor. It was better if they stood out there a while longer, wondering about every passing shadow. This while Elisabeth employed her cunning to do what she’d come here to finish. The wolf liked the strategy, too. For the first time in what felt like forever, their thoughts were synchronized, welded together by the beauty of the evening’s carnage.
The wolf dashed against dwindling night, heading inland. Survivor’s week-old stench made him easy to follow. Little nuggets of sweat took her right to the church doorstep, where human Elisabeth felt like laughing.
Of course, they would hide here.
The wolf had no interest in stealth, considering the majority of her enemies were still waiting for her at the water. She smashed her fists through the wooden entrance, and stepped into the narthex. Wood-chipped haze swirled around her as she stepped through the hole, offering a growl that signaled her arrival and carried her inside without fear.
Kill Survivor, and then wait for the order’s defeated return. Take them here, by surprise. She’d have all the time necessary to create an appropriate offense against them, and asked the wolf if she could regress so that her human hands could perform the tasks necessary to do this.
The creature didn’t protest the suggestion.
“She is here,” a voice called from across the nave. Disbelief mixed with hopelessness. She never tired of that melody.
Elisabeth froze, but the time for caution had passed. A priest pointed at the fast-galloping wolf. He was undeterred by the unholy sight and refused to surrender his movement. He ran across the altar, ducking beneath an arched doorframe.
The wolf squeezed through. Overhead, rickety stairs creaked and groaned beneath the holy man’s weight.
She tilted her head to the side and watched. He moved with more speed than she would’ve thought possible, considering his age. The stairway was cramped for the wolf and her feet were too large for the treads. Her movement was steady, but slower than she liked.
The confined space gave way to the human’s heavy breath. It echoed throughout the tower like a heartbeat, antagonizing the wolf as she climbed.
Pushing against the stairs gave her muscles a workout, and her ascent hastened as she reached the first landing. Somewhere overhead, the priest showed no such slowdown. He moved as if his life depended on it.
A bell started to ring and Elisabeth knew why the rush.
She dropped onto all fours and scrambled for the top, her nails carving grooves into the stairs as she went.
The priest stood at the top, a blade tucked into his fist. With his other hand, he made the sign of the cross and spoke frantic, dribbling Latin.
The wolf cocked her head as human Elisabeth tried processing the order’s arrangement. They wore the dress of several different faiths. It might’ve been confusing if she didn’t understand the bottom line: the world had united against her kind.
The Latin grew louder until the priest raised the dagger high and descended. Behind him, the bell continued ringing, even as its momentum slowed.
The others would be on her in a few minutes and then it’d be Elisabeth who was trapped.
She tucked her shoulders and kept her snout low as she took steps to meet the full-on charge. The knife stabbed down with surprising force, eliciting a whoosh. Before it could land, she pushed her shoulders high and lifted her snout, knocking the priest off balance. He dropped the blade and smashed his back against the stairs. The constricted space stunk of blood then, but the priest refused to be dazed. He kicked at her with fury, screaming in his foreign tongue, words so desperate they were almost hateful.
Elisabeth wound her neck and watched his feet flail. The wolf was like a dog captivated by torchlight shadows. Her jaws reached apart and darted out, catching a leg. With a snap, her teeth took it off, and then she dodged spurting blood.
Even so, the father wouldn’t be incapacitated. He pulled along the railing, attempting to stand on his good foot. It was tiresome. Elisabeth took that ankle in her claws and twisted. The skin rolled up onto itself looking like a corkscrew. With a yank, it popped free. A human whimper boomed as she tossed the foot off the rail.
A deterrent for those coming to challenge her.
“Up there!”
Voices from below.
The wolf glanced over the ledge. If she could’ve smiled, she would’ve. The stairwell was much too narrow for them to traverse it any way other than single file. At first, she thought they were going to be foolish enough to do that.
“Light it, brother.”
Another command from the darkness. This as five men wound their way up to face her. Elisabeth was about to start down to greet them when she saw a series of dancing flames reach through the arched doorway. She flexed her eyes to see one of the warriors holding two torches. He lit the stairwell, but the fire was slow to catch.
Those rushing headfirst were guaranteed death.
Elisabeth loved it when men threw their lives away for the greater good. Though she supposed she might have to rethink her claims of insincere nobility. If she didn’t want these bastards dead so badly, she might’ve been impressed.
Her growl fell down the belfry with enough acoustic force to sound like twenty wolves. Her steps dropped like thunder. The impending battle dominated her focus. All that mattered was getting the first strike. Get that, kill the first, and the others would die without challenge.
The bottom stairs caught flame, and it looked as if the men were charging from the fires of hell. She hit the landing as the first man reached it. A saber rattled through the air and caught her between two claws, cleaving inward through her paw. Elisabeth had another hand though, and her nails dove through the warrior’s armor and lifted it upward.
His innards rushed to escape the vertical splits and they plopped across the stairs. Elisabeth took the sword in her hand and yanked it free. Just in time to stab it straight through the nose of the next in line.
The wolf had never taken a life with a weapon before. She watched the blade with curiosity as the head tipped back and the body became an obstruc
tion to the advancing men. She wasted no time in diving for them with her mouth wide. Her teeth shredded the neck of number three, tearing ligaments and muscles free as a patch of blood slapped her across her nose and eyes. She swallowed the unpleasant tissues as two bullets fired off and struck her, one in the shoulder and the other in the neck.
Elisabeth slipped and fell against the stairs.
There was commotion and screaming, but nothing was as loud as the roaring flames. Two crusaders came forward, one holding a smoking single-shot gun, while the other balled a six-shooter in his fist. She rolled to her side, shielding her face from the inevitable sting. Three shots boomed and her ribs erupted in pain.
The wolf clawed her way up to the next landing, over the blood-run bodies that clogged the steps. Her claws closed around the embedded silver blade and yanked it from the demolished face with a slurp.
She braced herself for two more stings of silver as she spun back around, but they never came. The wolf kipped, lunging forward with the sword and plunging it through the heart of the eager gunman, whose reflexes had failed him in the end.
The last of the assassins dropped his spent pistol, choosing to wield a cleaver because there was no time to reload. The blade chopped her limb, leaving a runny hole the size of a mouth on her forearm. Her newfound sword dropped from her claw with shock.
A whimper slipped from Elisabeth as she reached out for his weapon hand. She took a step and flashed her teeth. They stretched and dripped with eager saliva as she pulled wide. In her outlying vision, he fumbled for something else. Another weapon.
Elisabeth howled and then chomped down on his face. His bones cracked as she opened her mouth and swung them shut once more. One of his eyeballs broke in her mouth, but the awful taste of puss didn’t deter. Her jaws opened and shut until there was nothing but a stump of broken, mealy bone and runny pulp.
The fire approached and threatened to take the landing upon arrival. She let him drop from her relaxed grip. The only escape was back up, although it was hard to tell what good that’d do. These fools had given their lives to trap her here.
DEVIL’S ROW Page 19
