Demon Accords 10: Rogues

by John Conroe

  With one last thought of the young warlock, she put him from her mind, along with everything else, and concentrated on the Change. It came, as it always did, easily and in a sudden rush.

  She knew that Changing was painful for most weres, but it had never been more than a minor twinge for her. And her transformations were fast—faster and easier than any were, even the Alphas, that she had ever met. She was absolutely certain it had to do with Chris’s blood mixing with her werewolf wound the night she’d been bitten.

  Falling forward as her body flooded with power, her hands were fully formed paws by the time she hit the ground. Bones and muscles writhed and reformed in the blink of an eye. Declan told her that it happened so fast that she actually blurred.

  She stretched new muscles and then shook her thick fur. Her senses, so much more than a regular human’s, were now twice as sharp. Odors flooded her nose, sounds of the active darkness filled her ears, and when she trotted around the corner, the red and orange outlines of the humans lit up her vision.

  “Holy shit!” one of the deputies said. “She’s fucking huge.” The rest just sucked in sharp breaths, as if to oxygenate their lungs in the face of a fight-or-flight situation. Luckily, none of them chose either the fighting or the flighting. Which was good, because her wolf was in control and it had instincts that would be… difficult to constrain.

  She watched the humans for a moment, her head tilting sideways, then trotted to the garage door, ignoring the big leader as he stepped hurriedly out of her way, and forced herself to ignore the smell of blood flooding from the garage. Sniffing, she found the scent of the other were and growled slightly as it filled her nose and brain with information. Here he had been wolf, there he turned to man, and here, as a man, he had run off into the night. With one last glance at the frozen cops, she put her nose down and followed the trail, quickly leaving the blood-scented kill site behind.

  “Mother of God, I didn’t expect her to be that big,” Buck said. “She was bigger than that bear that your hunter shot last year, Short.”

  “That was her? That was really the girl that was just here?” Deputy Bruce Devany asked, his camera forgotten around his neck.

  “That was her. Just like on TV,” Shorty said. “Although she was mostly filmed in the two-legged form. I think that would be scarier.”

  “You’re shitting me? That wasn’t her,” Devany said, turning to disbelief in the face of something he couldn’t wrap his mind around.

  The sheriff took a couple of steps forward and shined his light around the corner of the house.

  “Yup, there’s her clothes piled right there,” he said.

  Devany and the other deputy started forward, as if to look.

  “She can smell if anyone goes near or through her stuff. You go pawing at her delicates, Bruce, and she’ll know it,” Shorty said, letting the mental image of that circumstance play out in their heads.

  Devany settled for flashing his light at the pile of clothes with a brown wig on top, and if he had any observations about the bra and panties in the pile, he kept them to himself.

  “What do we do now, Sheriff?” Deputy Hampton asked.

  “Our jobs, Vince. We do our jobs. Let’s finish processing this scene,” Sheriff Grable said, turning back to the grisly garage. “The coroner should be here soon.” They shook off the last few minutes of their lives and settled into work.

  She came around the corner of the house twelve minutes later, buttoning the bottom buttons of her flannel shirt. Shorty, who’d been leaning against the house as far from the garage door as he could get, stood upright.

  “She’s back,” he said loudly.

  Buck was the first one out of the garage, followed closely by the sheriff and his other deputies.

  She nodded at them and then tossed an object to Buck. He caught it reflexively.

  “Dumbass shifted forms just inside the woods. That must have fallen from his pocket when he ran back and grabbed his clothes,” she said with a smile.

  Buck unfolded the cordura nylon wallet, colored in green and brown camouflage. “Ken Spitzer,” he said, reading the driver’s license, absently wiping wolf saliva off his fingers on his pant leg.

  “David Spitzer’s son?” Deputy Hampton asked.

  “Yeah, he graduated a few years behind me,” Deputy Devany said. “That makes a lot of sense. Gary used to terrorize that kid. His old man, David, got disabled at the mill years ago and became a mean drunk. Kenny was the class wiseguy. Always pranking and joking. Between his father and Gary, he had it pretty rough. Heard he was living in a trailer with some of his school buddies on Bleakman Road.”

  “Let’s get over there,” the sheriff said.

  “Ah, sheriff, if I might make a suggestion,” Stacia said.

  He nodded a little grudgingly.

  “He’ll be hopped up on adrenaline and testosterone, if he’s even gone back to his home. It might be better to go first thing in the morning, catch him after first light when he’s come down from his kill rush. And I’d like to go with you. In fact, I highly suggest it. He isn’t the same kid that any of you remember. He’s a werewolf,” she said. “You’ll need to figure out where to keep him. A normal cell probably won’t do it.”

  Sheriff Grable studied her for a moment, thinking it through. “You have a point. Buck, you got enough of the expensive ammo you bought for all of us? I want every man packing silver,” he said. Buck nodded as the sheriff went on. “Hampton, call Miles and have him ask his brother if they left the old pay vault in the furniture mill he’s renovating.”

  “Vault?” Stacia asked.

  “Not a full-on bank vault, but a heavy-duty reinforced concrete room with a heavy-duty barred gate and a pretty strong door,” he explained. “The old factory used to keep money on hand to pay the timber guys and their own workers. I know for a fact it’s still there ‘cause Miles was complaining about how they had to redraw the plans around it. Too expensive to take it out.”

  “Alright. Let’s talk about how to capture and restrain werewolves,” she said. The men exchanged glances and then drew closer. Overhead, a small cloud that had occluded the moon moved across the sky, freeing the bright orb to relight the night with a cool, silver glow.

  Chapter 9

  Dawn broke over the russet leaves at the top of the big maple tree that cast its shadow on the rundown brown trailer in the clearing below. The golden light also illuminated a hovering object. Seen from a bird’s eye—or in this case, a drone’s eye—dark shapes were visible moving slowly through the woods around the clearing.

  “I can’t believe you have your own drone,” Devany whispered to Shorty Kane.

  “Cabela’s in Scarborough had ‘em on sale last time I was there. Had a gift card to burn up so I grabbed it. Just a basic model, but handy for scouting deer,” the little guide said.

  “All units, fox’s den is clear. Repeat: the fox’s den is clear,” Devany keyed into the mike attached to his shoulder.

  “Devany, quit the tommy tactical talk and just use real words,” Sheriff Grable’s voice came back.

  “Coast is clear, sheriff,” Devany said, chagrined.

  “Everyone look sharp. Sergeant Thompson, approach the door,” the sheriff ordered.

  Buck, with Hampton and one other deputy, both packing short barreled shotguns, stepped up the rickety steps and rapped on the door with his left hand. His right was holding a Taser, but it was a much larger, bulkier model than he was used to, a loaner from Stacia.

  “Ken. Ken Spitzer, this is the sheriff’s department. Open the door please,” he said, rapping again.

  Instantly, the sounds of sudden and furious activity came from within. Something fell and smashed inside the trailer, feet pounded down the length of the singlewide, and a door slammed open, the sound echoing over and around the trailer.

  “Halt!” a voice yelled from the backside of the trailer. A grunt and a snarl, then something heavy crunching into dead leaves, more footsteps running, a second, highe
r-pitched snarl, brief sounds of a struggle followed by a yelp.

  Buck and his two companions ran around the trailer to find another deputy sitting up, clutching his arm, and further back, just on the edge of the woods, a slim female figure sat on a thin male form that held very still under her.

  “You alright?” Buck asked the deputy even as other officers rushed into the clearing.

  “He might have broke my arm. Skinny bastard threw me ten feet like I was a five-year-old,” the deputy said, more shocked by the outcome than the injury.

  Buck kept moving, coming up to Stacia, who sat on Ken Spitzer’s back, her right hand holding his throat. Ken was wild-eyed and actually whining like a whipped puppy.

  Looking closer, Buck realized the beautiful young woman’s hand on Ken’s throat was larger and more powerful looking than the one that clutched the teenager’s filthy gray sweatshirt. It also had long claws instead of painted fingernails, and little beads of blood welled up wherever they touched skin.

  “Got the restraints?” she asked calmly, as though she were sitting on a park bench instead of a werewolf’s back.

  He nodded back at Devany, who was already unzipping the small duffle bag Stacia had also provided.

  With silver-plated handcuffs in hand, she quickly cuffed Ken Spitzer, then spun around and clicked silver leg restraints into place. Only then did she stand up, dusting off her clothes while she watched the suspect.

  “I thought silver burned?” Buck asked.

  “It would, but the cuffs have a coating of clear fingernail polish over them. Weakens without burning,” she said.

  “You motherfuckers better let me go!” the man on the ground screamed, thrashing around. His voice started to deepen as he cursed and snarled.

  “Young, newly turned weres have exceptionally poor control over both their tempers and their Changes. Right now, he’s working himself up to the point where his body will try to change. Doing that while wearing silver cuffs is a major problem for him. Could totally screw him up,” she said. “Here’s a quick way to short-circuit his Change. Pepper spray?” she asked Devany, holding out her hand.

  The deputy frantically scrambled at his utility belt, and Buck was amused to realize it was as much to help the pretty lady as it was because the suspect was growing fur and claws.

  Squatting down in front of Ken like she was teaching a class on first aid instead of werewolf control, she shook the pepper spray and then leaned down and pointed it at Ken’s rapidly forming snout.

  “You want to be accurate with your spray, getting it into his nasal cavity, and avoid his eyes. Werewolves noses are twenty times more sensitive than yours while in human form. In wolf form, it’s estimated at about a hundred times. Pepper spray up the snout will pretty much short-circuit his whole Change. But spray one in the eyes and you’ll just piss it off,” she said.

  “Have you been sprayed?” Shorty asked as he came up with the Sheriff.

  “At least once a week, usually with bear spray. Part of my normal training. Get doused with industrial-grade pepper spray, then fight the most dangerous people on the planet,” she said.

  “You ever beat them?” Shorty asked, fascinated.

  “Please. Chris alone has killed hundreds of rogue weres with just his hands and feet,” she said with a snort.

  “So you get beat up by all of them?” Devany asked.

  “They’re my instructors, so yeah. But I hold my own with the other vampires,” she said, just a trifle defensive.

  “What about the kid? The one you were carrying?” Shorty pressed.

  “Declan? Usually, if it’s just a physical fight, I win three out of four,” she said with a grin.

  “What do you mean just physical?” another deputy asked.

  “The kid she’s talking about was the one that preacher called a witch on YouTube,” Shorty said, speaking with confident authority.

  “You really do obsess about this, don’t you?” Stacia asked, eyebrows raised.

  “I study stuff till I know it. It’s just like learning the woods and animals,” he said, his turn to be defensive. “And I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “You’re talking about that skinny kid in the video?” Devany asked. “He does what? Magic tricks? Guesses your card?” he asked with a chuckle, looking at the other deputies.

  “That skinny kid can lift you one handed, Deputy, and he doesn’t do tricks. You asked if I ever beat Chris or Tanya. The only one who’s come close is that skinny kid. And he’s only nineteen,” she said. “Now watch,” and proceeded to spray the thrashing, growling, half-furred suspect with a healthy dose of pepper spray.

  Ken froze for a split second, then his whole body went rigid and his eyes squeezed closed, tears trickling profusely down his cheeks. His body, vibrating with tension, reversed its changes and settled back to pure human form as he howled in pain.

  Stacia looked around at the group and found Buck holding out a bottle of water. Nodding her thanks, she took it and poured it over Ken’s face and nose, making several applications while he sputtered and coughed.

  “Can’t we get in trouble for basically torturing a suspect?” another deputy asked.

  “Have you seen the pictures of what this suspect did to Mr. Ducar?” Sheriff Grable asked him. “Miss Reynolds is right. We need every advantage we can get in handling werewolves.”

  “Speaking of which, how do we take down multiple werewolves at the same time?” Buck asked.

  “You probably don’t. Chances of losing life and limb would be really, really high. You could call in DOAA, but even they mess up. The best answer is to call in another pack to handle it. My alphas wouldn’t hesitate to provide help in a situation like that,” she said, pouring a bit more water over Ken’s nose.

  “What about your God Hammer fella and his vampire?” another deputy asked.

  “Could they? Absolutely, but they can’t be everywhere and they still handle demon incursions on top of their business,” she said.

  “How do we handle this group?” Hampton asked.

  “Well, we talk to Kenny here and find out what we can. And DOAA will likely show up to save the day,” she said, making little air quotes around the word save. Then she stood up, reached down, and lifted Ken up one handed, gripping his belt like a shopping bag, leaning sideways against more than her own bodyweight. “Okay, where’s that transport van?” she asked the suddenly shocked and silent group of men.

  “I… I’ll go get it,” Devany said, backing away and then hoofing off to retrieve the van.

  Ken chose that moment to buck around a bit. Stacia just simply gave him a hard shake. “Stop it,” she said and the suspect werewolf went limp.

  “You an alpha too, Miss Stacia?” Shorty asked.

  “It’s just Stacia, Shorty. I’m told I have that trait, but frankly I’m not with my pack enough to claim a spot. Kind of leaves things unsettled when I’m at a pack event.”

  “So you spend most of your time with Mr. Gordon and Miss Demidova, don’t you?” Shorty pressed.

  “I’m the pack liaison to their team, so yes,” she said, frowning at his line of questioning.

  “Just wondering,” he said.

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re taking notes on all this?” she asked him.

  “Told you. I like to know stuff, that’s all,” he said, turning and moving over to his drone, which had touched down on the ground behind them.

  A white panel sheriff’s van came bouncing around the corner and two deputies moved swiftly to open the back doors. Stacia tossed Ken in like a sack of rice and then jumped in with him.

  “Sheriff, I’ll ride back here with him. That way if anything unforeseen happens, I can keep him contained,” she said.

  Eyebrows still raised at her casual strength, he nodded. “Good idea. Let’s get him to Dover-Foxcroft. Evidence team, check the trailer,” he ordered, directing the last part to a group of four men, who all nodded and turned to the run-down singlewide.

  The rest moved to
various vehicles and a small, official convoy headed out.