"Who are you sending?"
"Fontaine. He's on a job in Philly. Said it's winding down fast. He expects to be en route tomorrow. He'll be in Berlin, New York for rendezvous. I don't want you heading back to Greifsfield until that happens, Church."
"Believe me, I won't."
"Good. I'm not going to lie to you, girl. You're trudging through a pool of piss. The good thing, though, is that you know what you're dealing with. And that means you know how to put those rabid dogs down. Fontaine is helping you carry out your task...you're in charge. Plus, the padre is looking into a few things back here. Expect a call once he finds whatever it is he's looking for."
"Yay."
"Put this to rest and get back here, ASAP. Just know that I'm putting you on mandatory vacation once you've been debriefed. You've got about six months stacked up, time for some PTO, Church."
"We’ll see..."
He hung up without so much as a 'bye'—part of his charm.
The cab went silent as they drove from Greifsfield, with one question hanging heavy over her.
Have I already passed the point of no return?
***
For Rory, the surprise visit had been unwelcome. He sat in silence listening to their footsteps fade.
This bothered him.
Freelance reporter my ass.
They disappeared from earshot before their scent dissipated. Once they were gone, he dialed Anton Fane.
"What now?" Fane's tone was derisive, like taking a call from an ex-girlfriend who wanted to go out for coffee.
Rory knew that Fane didn't like him much, and he didn't care. He was necessary if Fane wanted a foothold in Greifsfield.
Bringing Anton Fane to town, to the Sarandon House, had been the start of their partnership. Now it was Rory's job to make his money legal. Couldn't go buying up property all over town with that wealth. Not even Fane would say where it came from. It had to pass through Rory's businesses so that it could be legitimized. Fane was free to hate him all he wanted, though it didn't change the fact that they were partners.
"You have to hear about the visitors that dropped by my office...asking questions."
"If I have to hear about it, then tell me."
"One was a woman I'd never seen before. Not a guest here...claimed to be a freelance writer. They were looking for Lucy."
Fane was quieter than death.
"My guy at the front gate has the make, model and license plate of the girl's truck."
"Give it to me."
He did.
"I’ll look into it," Fane said. "I'd like for you to drop by my place tomorrow for you-know-what. We'll discuss everything then."
Then he was gone.
For Rory, the beauty of living in Greifsfield had been the lack of real estate competition. When Fane had showed up with a desire to dabble in his arena, he thought it best to make him an ally and partner rather than go head-to-head in opposition.
Rory had a great instinct for these things, and Fane was content to abide once he acquired the Sarandon place. So happy was he that he came back with a proposition—an exchange of services, really. Rory allowed Fane to use the Big East, along with several other Greifsfield locales, for recruiting purposes.
He didn't know what that had meant at the time and didn't care. Not when Fane expressed his gratitude by sending that white-haired little number, Julianna, sauntering into his office wearing nothing but a pair of crystal stilettos. He'd been eyeing her since their first meeting, hardly able to contain his excitement, thinking that his time had finally come.
But it hadn't.
Instead, she grew into a white wolf and took half his shoulder off, opening his eyes to the way things really were: women, money, the prestige of sitting inside Anton Fane's inner circle.
Best of all, no more consequences.
Fane had gone so far as to turn the county sheriff's office. People disappeared from this trendy tourist trap, and so the investigations needed to be contained. They had always been careful, taking drifters, single people, and newlyweds, it didn't matter so long as they'd disappear without much of a trace.
When there was a little blowback, it was all hearsay. Without guest logs the local police didn't have a leg to stand on. And they were on his payroll now anyway.
It was all so very smart of Anton Fane.
They recruited outward from there, snatching up some of the more important townsfolk who were content to join their ranks. Some people tried to run, but Fane never allowed that to happen. They were shown no mercy and their fates were quickly forgotten. Greifsfield, like Rory, had changed. It was pointless to fight.
Nine
In a rare display of humanity, Amanda looked at Jack and laughed. It was a light, infectious sound, and the first time he felt like he was speaking to an actual human being. Up until now, he'd been fairly certain she was some sort of hard-boiled cinematic cliché.
"Something funny?"
"You. You almost look like a hardass."
Jack looked at the pistol in his hand and hoped he wouldn't have to use it. A 70s décor chair was positioned between the motel door and the large window with drawn blinds.
"Excuse me for being a good guy and letting you nod off for an hour or two."
Amanda stretched out on the hotel bed, wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of sweat shorts that showed off toned and tanned legs. Her gun rest beside her, six or so inches away, but always within reach.
"This feels good," she said, barely comprehensible behind a long yawn.
"Bet you're glad you didn’t send me away. Never stopped to think I might be able to do some good."
"Don't push it, Jack. I still don't think I'm making the right decision."
"Of course you are, otherwise you'd be narcoleptic."
"I worry about lack of sleep like I worry about my cholesterol. There's bigger problems out there...it's something that comes with the job and I've learned to deal with it. It's like being a customer service rep and experiencing the worst of humanity day in, day out."
"What customer service did you ever work? Kind of hard to imagine you lasting anyplace more than a day, considering your 'go fuck yourself' attitude."
"Go fuck yourself, Jack. I never worked that shit...my friends did."
"Do you guys swap work stories often? Bet yours are more interesting."
Amanda's face dropped. Normally, she wasn't easy to read, but everything was pinned to her sleeve tonight. She didn't volunteer any further information and he decided against asking.
"I should get some sleep," she said to spite the leaching silence.
"Sorry." Jack offered. "I didn’t mean to..."
"You didn't know. It's okay...long time ago and all that. I just don't normally open up to strangers."
"Strangers? You mean partners."
She laughed. Her smile was warm, lightening her features and bringing a hint of rose to her vacant cheeks. She should do it more often.
"We are not partners."
"You see me sitting here with this gun. I'm keeping watch for you so you can grab a few winks. If that doesn’t make me your partner, nothing will."
"You’re right," she said, swinging her legs onto the stained and nappy carpet. "I don't know what I was thinking, letting you keep watch. You're no gunfighter."
"Hey, hey, hey-I wasn't insinuating that. Lay back down. Sleep. Seriously. If things are as bad as you say, you have to grab some sleep before it gets too dark out. You don't want me on watch once the sun sets."
Amanda sat for a minute, wrinkling her mouth and staring at the floor. She looked up as if to say what the hell and got back into bed. She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her feet together.
Jack's eyes fell to bronzed ankles and then to her feet; they were somewhat large for a woman of her stature. Dark nail polish stained her toes, bringing out the baked tan of her skin. Her feet stroked one another with teasing rhythm while the muscles in her legs flexed in conjunction each motion.
Jack looked up to find her staring, smiling.
"You got some kind of foot fetish?" A giggle escaped her lips but she caught herself and wiped the grin gone before she could finish. Nevertheless, it was an odd and attractive sound coming from her!
Jack's cheeks reddened, feeling like a pervert. Like a bad partner. "I wasn’t being weird or anything..."
How do I claw myself out of this hole?
"...I guess it's weird seeing you like this, that's all."
"I'm making you uncomfortable?"
"No." Jack was quick to respond. He liked this view of Amanda Church. It wasn't her intention, considering her baggy attire and frizzy hair, but the casual way that she sprawled before him, showing her impeccable legs and feet, got to him in just the right way. She hadn't been anything but a soldier since their first meeting, but now that her figurative and literal hairs were relaxed, he was forced to see her in a different light.
A feminine light. Or something.
"You've been a total badass since we met. Now, I'm looking at your painted toenails. It's sort of a reminder to me that you’re still a woman."
She laughed again.
"I'm serious."
"You're flattering, let me tell you."
"Truth, yo."
"'You've been a total badass,'" she laughed again while mocking his voice.
"Okay, okay. Forgive my phrasing. How should I describe you, then?"
"I don't know. You shouldn't. And definitely not as a badass. Badasses are for comic books, right? Action movies. This is neither."
"I wish it were. Whenever I stop to think about what's happening, it seems so improbable. I question everything now, but what bothers me more is how quickly one can accept the impossible. It's like learning 2 + 2 = 4. After a while, werewolves just...exist."
She nodded.
"Tomorrow, when my partner gets here, I want you to head back home."
"Not until I find Lucy."
"Jack..."
"Go ahead. Waste your breath. We agreed, I wouldn't get in your way again and you wouldn't stop me from finding Lucy."
"You realize how bad things are going to get in that town?"
"Sure. But you've handled things like this before, I assume."
"Uh, not exactly like this, no. This is worse than anyone thought."
"So why are you bothering to stay and fight if the odds are so impossible?"
"I don't have a choice. I have to do this. You still have a choice. That's what I don't get...you could run. A person can only step so far into this world before the door closes behind them forever. Get out while you still have a normal life to get back to."
"I can't walk away from Lucy. What kind of 'normal life' can I have knowing that I left her to die. Allen? He's a lost cause...I know that now. But Lucy could still be alive. I'm already going to have nightmares about the things I've seen, but dreams I can deal with. It's guilt, and the possibility that I could've done something to help her, that will kill me."
Amanda studied him with a cocked head, her eyes blinked with admiration. "And she's not your girlfriend? She's lucky to have a friend like you."
"She's a friend. And I'm scared. But I'd rather be scared than spend the rest of my life wondering what I could've done to save her."
"Tonight, right now, is pretty much the point of no return. Once we move past this, those things are going to be everywhere. I will barely be able to protect myself, Jack."
"But you know how to handle yourself...I've seen you."
"Against one or two. You can get the drop on them by sneaking up, catching them in the daylight, or sending a hail of silver spraying into their chests. What you can't do is sneak up on an entire town. They'll know we’re there for extermination, and they'll be all over us."
"Then don't do it. How can you be expected to do this yourself?"
"That's the job...there isn't an army that handles these things. A congregation of this size is rare...unprecedented."
"Your luck sucks."
"Worse than you know."
"Then help me find Lucy so we can all hit the bricks together."
"This is what I'm paid to do...dying's a part of that."
"You hunt werewolves..."
It sounded even worse when he said it out loud.
"Yup. Never stomped out an entire colony before."
"Lucy's lived here her whole life. How could she not know?"
"We'd have known about this had they been around for any substantial amount of time. Sooner or later, enough people go missing and the right eyebrows get raised."
"Great. Good timing on my part. 'Hey Luce, let me come visit you this summer. Year before senior year and all that. Now or never.' What a moron."
"Yeah, well, your luck sucks too."
"I'll drink to that."
"You really should've known that her hometown was a den of werewolves."
"Point taken. I'm flagellating myself for nothing."
"Are you sure there's no way to change your mind? I can't stress this enough...it isn't going to go well for anyone."
"I'm not forgetting Lucy, no. Besides, I can't just pat you on the back, wish you luck, and go my own separate way."
"No? You think you can do some damage if you get in the mix?"
"Maybe." He pushed the edge of the curtain aside with the butt of the gun and peered out into the parking lot. It was as deserted as it had been this morning. And the day before. He spied one dark figure stepping out of the lobby and disappearing into the nearest room—nothing suspicious or intimidating about it.
When he glanced back, Amanda was lying on her back with her eyes closed.
He didn't say anything more and neither did she. She slept and he listened.
Her constant negativity had riled him. More so since there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn't be scared away from this, whatever this was.
After another survey of the parking lot, he turned back to Amanda once more. Her breathing was minimal and her closed eyes offered a peaceful impression. Her face was softer, with faint breath seeping from the small pucker of her lips. A far cry from the blunt instrument he'd seen in action over the past few days—his head still hurt, and there was a fresh scab on the bridge of her nose to remind him.
It was both astounding and horrifying to recall the way in which she'd killed Elisabeth without hesitation.
Then there was Allen.
Was there any way to make amends for that? He took another quick glance outside before dialing Allen on his cell. Voicemail. Again. He sent another text that was sure to go unanswered, same as his messages to Lucy.
He paced the room and prayed for the next few hours to pass quickly. Allen was a changed man, sure, but he couldn't allow Amanda to put him down. Elisabeth's death was already on his shoulders, and Allen would never forgive it. He was not going to be responsible for the murder of his best friend, werewolf or not.
All that was left to do was find Lucy and get out of this town with their lives intact.
The best way to do that was by ensuring nothing came through that door tonight.
He reached into the mini fridge and pulled out a Red Bull before resuming guard.
***
"Dinner!"
Rory heard Rachel's shrill bitch of a voice all the way upstairs. He paid it no attention, poking his head into Lucy's room. The heaving mass of blankets rose and fell, timed to her hurried breath.
It wouldn't be long now.
He'd brought her from the isolated suite of the Big East, hoping the familiar environment would help the fever break. Feeling her limp, sweaty figure in his arms produced the greatest of all temptations, blotting out the few internal protests that managed to reach him. He hardened at the thought of fulfilling every fantasy, but forced himself to wait.
The most beautiful kind of torture.
Rory never considered himself a man of discipline.
Just a peek.
He slipped into her room, soft steps across the thick pink carpet she'd h
ad since a child. Wheezing buzzed his ears, something to do with the mucus in her lungs. A result of the wolf bite. If there was an infection, it would soon pass.
His tiptoes carried him without noise. Lucy's fiery red hair sprawled across the sweaty pillow, flowing every way possible. The thick blanket was pulled over the length of her face, leaving only a slightest bit of her forehead vulnerable to the tepid room temperature.
You’d better not be sick when you come out of this, goddammit.
Her health might prevent them from having a little fun on the eve of her turning. A thought that was enough to get Rory all worked up. He supposed he'd wanted her for years, never allowing the fantasies to settle. Always chasing them off like squirrels.
Ever since he caught her in bed with that son of a bitch Latham kid from down the block, he couldn't think of her as anything but a slut. If she wanted to behave like that, he'd have no problem indulging her. No amount of fever was going to stop him after he'd waited all this time.
No, it had to be now.
"Get well, sweetie." He pulled the blanket down to expose her cheek. He mashed his lips up against her sweaty flesh, holding his tongue against her jaw.
Salty perspiration was a delicacy on his horny tongue, and he licked her with excitement. There was an urge to take her here but Rachel, that bitch, might have a thing or two to say about that.
Rory closed her door behind him and went to the edge of the staircase.
"Honey, would you come up here, please?"
"Dinner's ready, didn't you hear me calling you?"
"Come here, please."
He went to the end of the hall, to their bedroom, and stripped off his clothes. While he waited for Rachel to hike her tired ass up the steps, his eyes locked onto Lucy's prom picture atop their dresser. She wore a low-cut black number that accented her D-cups, those big tits nearly bursting over. Her red hair was styled with curly bangs that matted her forehead.
Before realizing it, he was stroking his throbbing inches to the sight, degrading her as he soothed himself.
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