Hounded By The Gods

by ST Branton

  I guess there were plenty of women her age who were completely capable of handling themselves in the days of the Roman Empire.

  “Damn straight.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’d feel a lot better if we could find a way to cop an advantage here. Those werewolves aren’t playing.” I hadn’t quite been able to scrub the images of the bodies from my mind.

  Beware of placing too much trust in legends, Marcus warned. Modern humans have a way of causing more harm than good by believing fictions are the truth. That way lies inevitable disappointment and failure. You must continue to trust in the almighty power of Kronin’s blade. It will carry you through every trial.

  I stopped dead in my tracks as an idea popped into my head. “Maybe, but it never hurts to be extra prepared, right?” My head swiveled, surveying our direct surroundings. “That means we need silver. Where would we get silver?” Turning in a circle in an attempt to get my bearings, I spotted a map tacked up on the board hanging on the outside wall of the general store. “Hold up.”

  Our current location was marked by a dot, and I could see icons indicating the diner, the post office, even Maya’s clinic. On the very edge of town, just below the bold scribble of the forest, was a horseshoe.

  I checked the map legend: BLACKSMITH.

  “Here,” I said, tapping it with my finger. “I think we’re good to go.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The blacksmith’s shop sat in the shade of a small copse extending from the forest proper. An open shed housed a set of bellows beside a rustic, hulking furnace which was in the process of belching smoke. All kinds of shiny pieces of metalwork littered the space, including strange twisted hunks of steel. It was like a mix between a hipster bar and a torture hut.

  “Hello?” I called, stepping up onto the flagstone floor. “Anyone home?”

  “In the back,” someone answered. “Be right with ya.” There was a doorway leading to what looked like a supply room. I waited, inspecting the quality of the workmanship.

  A talented artisan, Marcus observed. I had assumed such skill had become obsolete among modern humans.

  Frankly, I was surprised too, but pleasantly. I just hoped this blacksmith would have what I needed.

  In a few minutes, the owner of the disembodied voice emerged from the back room, and I recognized him immediately. It was the old man who’d driven Wade out of the diner. “Well! Didn’t take you long to find me in my natural habitat, did it?” he said. “How can I help you, madam?”

  This is a foolhardy plan, Vic. The familiar note of suspicion crept into Marcus’s voice. Your werewolves are creatures born of fairy tales. Do not put stock in simple lore.

  I tugged at the chain to get him to shut up. In this instance, his professional opinion didn’t matter so much to me. By admitting that he knew little to nothing about these creatures, he had forfeited all right to intellectual superiority. Teenage me always wanted to be a werewolf hunter, and there were rules to follow. Everybody knew that.

  This time, we were doing it my way.

  “I have kind of a strange request,” I began.

  Smitty stopped examining the newborn blade on the anvil and straightened up to look at me. “Those’re my favorite kind.” His eyes twinkled. “Fire away.”

  “Do you have silver?”

  He eyed me keenly. “Sure do. Where do you think this town gets its name?” I stared at him blankly for a second until a wide grin crossed his face. “You’ve managed to find your way to our little town, but you don’t know the name, do ya?”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t exactly arrive via conventional methods.”

  He nodded wisely. “I reckon there ain’t much conventional about you. And welcome to Silver Banks, by the way.”

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Always,” he said with a grin. “But to be fair, it’s been a long time since anyone was digging up silver around here. I do keep some in stock for special occasions though.”

  “Can you make a knife out of it?”

  A smile twitched to life in the depths of his beard. “Knife is a broad term. What kind of blade are we talking here?”

  “Um.” I reached down and grabbed an eight-inch blade from his table. “About like that would be good, I think. But I need it to be functional, not decorative.”

  He gave me that strange look again. “You want a functional silver dagger. Planning on attending some high-class knife fights?”

  “Something like that.” I frowned, suddenly worried. “It’s not too big a job, is it?”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asked, chuckling. “Frankly it will give me a nice break from my normal fare hammering out coat racks and bannisters. If you want it to be functional, I’d recommend making it silver tipped rather than silver all the way through. And it’ll take a couple days to make it right. You planning on hanging around a while?”

  “Yeah.” I tapped my fingers on the edge of the low wall. “I’m waiting on some other stuff, too. I’m sure I’ll be here a few more days, at least.”

  Smitty nodded. “That’s good. Be careful if you go out near the woods, though, you understand? There’s some strange stuff happening out there.” He cast his eyes out toward the black line of the forest, his expression unreadable.

  “You mean like the body in the river?” I asked, keeping my voice casual. I hadn’t had the chance to talk to Smitty about it yet, but he must have had something to say.

  “Yeah.” He turned his gaze on me again searchingly. “Just like that.” Clearing his throat, he went back to the blade cooling on the anvil. “Got a phone number? I’ll let you know when your order’s ready.”

  “Oh, sure.” I gave him my cell phone number. “Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.” I also appreciated his lack of probing questions. “If you need to find me for whatever reason, I’m staying at the Dark Horse Inn.”

  Smitty shook his grizzled head. “Inn’s a waste of money if you ask me. They hike up the prices real high because visitors come so seldom to our little town.” He hefted a hammer. “Tell you what. I got a room up top in the house back there. If you’re interested, it’s yours for cheaper than you’re dishing out now.”

  I thought about it for a few seconds. “Okay, sure. I’m all for saving a little money.” Plus, it struck me as a good idea to be as close to the forest as possible, just in case. “Can I move my stuff over right now?”

  “You can do whatever you like,” Smitty said. “This way, I can keep a better eye out for that scoundrel Wade Stevens if he comes sniffing around for you again. Rotten apple full of bad seeds, that kid. If he’s picking on you, it’s always better to have someone watching your back.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Smitty. I owe you one. What’s his deal, anyway? Does he just enjoy treating other people like shit?”

  Smitty scratched his beard. “It’s a bit of a story, that. Go get your stuff, and I’ll give you a town history lesson when you get back.”

  I was still smiling as I trotted back down the path toward the main street. Yeah, this town was screwed up in a major way, but it wasn’t all bad. I liked the idea of a cozy home environment, even if it was only for a day or two. And even if it stood in stark contrast to the work I’d be doing at night with the blade Smitty was making for me.

  My life was always going to be full of glaring contradictions. It felt like I had finally begun to come to terms with that.

  I must reiterate my reservations, Victoria. This plan seems both unnecessary and expensive. The Gladius Solis is more than equipped to dispatch these monsters.

  “Oh, relax. I know you’re probably right, but I want to indulge for once. If I’m going to be stuck doing this crap for a while, I might as well have a little fun with it. I promise the glowy fire sword isn’t going to rust from disuse.”

  It is immune to physical degradations.

  “See? There you go.” I ran up the steps to the inn and took the carpeted stairs two at a time. “I just want to see if this works, Marcus. You w
ouldn’t understand. But don’t worry, okay? The job’s gonna get done either way.”

  Very well. If you insist, then I concede.

  “Thank you.” I picked up my meager belongings, made sure the door locked behind me, and turned my key in at the desk. Then I retraced my steps back to the smithy at the edge of the trees. The furnace was roaring, tossing sparks out into the cool air. Smitty poked at the fire. I waved.

  “House is down that path right there.” He raised his voice to be heard over the flames. “Door’s open; go ahead and let yourself in. Your room’s at the top.”

  The short path beside the smithy opened on a scenic clearing that contained an equally impressive house, a three-story vision handmade of wood and stone. Wisps of smoke curled from the high chimney, and inside, the smell of wood smoke filled the rooms. I carried my stuff up to the bedroom a half-step up from the third floor and opened the door.

  To the part of my heart that had always fantasized about wiping the slate clean and running away, it was love at first sight. I adored the steep slant of the ceiling, the tall, narrow window with a seat built in, looking out on the glen below. The mattress sank luxuriously beneath my weight and the thick down comforter. It was a damn shame I wouldn’t get to sleep in it that night.

  I stared through the window at the long green grass. “I think I could live here if it weren’t for all the damn werewolves.”

  Better than your magnificent city?

  “Well, that’s hard to say, I guess. The people are, well, a little different.”

  True. They would never be accused of being cosmopolitan. But the pastoral landscape can shape one into the salt of the earth.

  “Wade seems salty enough.” My eyes scanned the low-hanging boughs of the treeline beyond Smitty’s yard. “But in some ways, hell yeah, it’s better than the Big Apple. There are so many stars out here, it’s crazy. The air is like, actually breathable. I can sleep without a million horns in the background.”

  I would think it is too quiet for you.

  I chuckled wryly. “Yeah. I’ve been getting into trouble for so long, I’m almost addicted to it now.”

  The quiet contemplation lasted until I heard the front door open downstairs and Smitty’s heavy work boots walking over the floor. I went down to meet him, eager for him to make good on his promise of a local history lesson.

  Though it was impossible to pretend that shit wasn’t getting immeasurably more real as time passed, there was something infinitely more satisfying about the way this particular mission was playing out. I felt like I was genuinely unraveling some big important mystery, not just running from breadcrumb to breadcrumb until it was time to whip out the sword.

  “How’re the accommodations?” Smitty asked without turning around. He had taken off his hat, revealing a wild, mountain-man mane of thick white hair. “To your liking, I hope?”

  “This whole house is incredible. Did you build it?”

  That made him turn just to grin at me. A gold tooth winked from the back of his mouth. “With my own two hands. That was the best summer of my life.” He took a mug off the rack above the counter. “Coffee? This batch is nice and strong. Been sitting in the pot for a couple hours.”

  “Absolutely.” I took a seat at his sturdy kitchen table. He brought two mugs, a sugar bowl, and a little metal pitcher full of cream. “I really can’t thank you enough, Smitty. This is so generous of you.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe this isn’t something you want to hear, but I’m looking after you the way I’d want someone to look after my daughter if she were in your place.” He glanced away. “I’ve got a granddaughter now. She’s all I have left. I think she might finish growing up to be a little like you.” We were both silent for a moment. He cleared his throat. “But you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about just anything, did you? You want the primer on Wade Stevens.”

  “Not that I think he’s extremely significant in any way,” I clarified. “I just want to know why he thought he could get up in my business this morning.”

  Smitty stroked his beard. “Should come as no surprise to you that this was a logging town, once upon a time. It was founded by a group of pioneers over a hundred years ago who basically cut a hole in the forest and decided to set up shop. One of those founding fathers was a guy named Ezekiel Stevens. Wade’s great, great granddad.

  “The long and short of it is that Wade’s family started out with a whole mess of money, but as it turns out, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Wade’s daddy was a scoundrel, and so was his granddad, and probably so was his granddad’s granddad. They wasted their whole fortune on stupid, greedy shit. Gambling, mostly, but they got swindled a time or two to boot. Nothing left in those coffers now except false confidence and shame.”

  “Whoa.” I sipped my coffee and added another lump of sugar—he wasn’t kidding about its strength. “Do people know this, or do they let him get away with acting like an ass because they still think he’s rich?”

  Smitty laughed. “Oh, no, everyone knows what happened to the Stevens clan. Wade’s the one who acts like his family legacy isn’t all torn up to hell. Maybe he doesn’t think it is. I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t know he’s dirt poor. If so, it’s gonna be a real nasty shock to his system after his old man finally kicks the bucket.” He shook his head. “He’s got dreams of rebuilding, you know? Reliving his family’s glory days. But as long as he keeps drinking his money, that won’t happen anytime soon.”

  I scowled. “Who would want it to? The guy’s an enormous dick. Sounds like the town’s better off without him on top of the food chain.”

  “Undoubtedly. But that doesn’t mean much if he doesn’t agree.” Smitty took a long pull of his coffee, which was undiluted black. “He’s gonna get himself in real hot water someday. He’ll be lucky if it doesn’t cook him alive.”

  I gazed down into the depth of my mug, slightly chastened for reasons I couldn’t fully understand. Talking to Smitty was a little like I’d imagined talking to my own father would be if he were still around. A lot of the things Smitty said to me, I had no trouble hearing in my dad’s voice. It made me sad, but also grateful that I had the chance to sit at this man’s table and talk with him a while.

  “Wade’s totally unredeemable, huh?”

  “Getting to look that way. But, who knows? Maybe no one is outside of the possibility of redemption.” Smitty looked straight at me. “Don’t forget what I said about being careful. That knife won’t be done for a couple days, at least. You might think you know what’s lurking out there, but the world is full of surprises, even when you think you’ve seen it all.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I muttered. “I’ll watch my step, Smitty. And if I totally screw myself over, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

  “Heh.” He drank again and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Well, I don’t know what kind of help I’ll be to you at this age, but I can sure try.” He pushed his chair back. “I better get back to work. You take care of yourself.”

  Upstairs, the window showed me lengthening shadows in the glade. I looked at the clock. Still an hour or two before dusk hit—just enough time for a quick nap to take the edge off. I needed to be on high alert for the upcoming expedition.

  Especially if I had Amber in tow.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The sun had just dipped below the horizon when I woke up, its light beginning to bleed streaks of color across the sky. I hopped out of bed, slipped into my gear, and left with the length of rope and the Gladius Solis tucked into the giant pockets of my new jacket. Smitty was nowhere to be seen as I hit the trail back toward town. I counted that as lucky; this wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with him. He had told me to be careful.

  I was being as careful as I could. Which is to say, not very.

  Night fell fast as hell in that little Pacific Northwestern town. I half expected the sidewalk in front of the general store to be deserted, but there was Amber leaning on the door,
picking her teeth and looking like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Hey, you made it,” she said, flicking the toothpick away. “I was kind of afraid you’d bail on me.”

  “Nah. I can admit when I need the help.”

  She leaned down and hoisted something that clattered. “Then you’re doing better than most of the people in this miserable place.” Noting my interest in her cargo, she lifted it higher to show it to me. A couple of fierce bear traps with teeth as long as my hand dangled from an iron bar. “Snagged these for us on my way out. Figured they might come in handy.” The girl grinned. “Don’t give me that look. I said I couldn’t sell them to you, and I’m not selling them.”

  I led her down the road toward the spot where the corpse had been recovered from the river. “I hope you’re not getting yourself in trouble for my sake.”

  “Not any more than I’d get into by myself,” she answered.

  I ran a hand over my face. “I forgot this was what teenagers are like.”

  “Aww, come on. You don’t have to keep pretending like you’re not missing your youth. I won’t judge you, I swear.”

  My eyes rolled intensely. “I’m only twenty-nine.”

  “Right. That’s like, almost thirty. You could practically be in a museum.”

  She was lucky she’d brought those traps.

  We set up the first one in the thick brush by the river in case anything decided to revisit the presumed site of the attack. Then we lugged the second trap downstream, doubled back, and parked ourselves within earshot of both. “You’ll hear ‘em if they pop, don’t worry,” Amber said. “Those things aren’t stealth machines, and you can bet whatever wanders into them isn’t gonna keep its mouth shut.”

  Just hanging out in the open made me uneasy. I found a tree with a big comfy fork in it and directed her to climb. Not too high, but high enough to give us some kind of advantage if we were surprised by an enemy. Amber scampered up into the branches like a natural born squirrel. That was when I noticed she had a gun strapped to her leg.