The Wereling 3: Resurrection

by Stephen Cole

  Suddenly, Kate felt coarse hair bristling against her flesh. Claws raking against her skin. She opened her mouth to cry out but Tom’s writhing body crushed the air from her chest, pinning her to the bed. She could feel her own latent ’wolf-spirit – that dark potential she’d sensed only in her worst nightmares – answer the call of his sweat, his saliva, his hands on her body. His claws pressed harder, puncturing her skin, and she laughed at the sweetness of it as the blood started to pour and pour …

  She awoke with a choking scream, her bedclothes drenched with sweat.

  ‘Kate?’

  Tom’s voice sounded urgent and concerned.

  ‘Keep away from me!’ she hissed.

  ‘I’m right over here!’ he protested from his bed across the room. ‘You must’ve had a bad dream.’

  ‘I guess I must’ve,’ she said, clutching the bedcovers close to her. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘’S’all right. I haven’t had a great night myself.’ He paused. ‘What was it about?’

  ‘Nothing. Forget it.’

  ‘Uh … would a hug maybe help?’

  ‘Just go to sleep,’ she snapped, pulling the blankets right up to her neck, trying not to shake. ‘I’m fine.’

  g

  ‘God, you can really wolf it down, can’t you?’ observed Blood at breakfast. ‘No pun intended.’

  Tom gave him a brief glare but decided he couldn’t really get mad at the man who had snatched them from the breadline and placed them in the lap of luxury. It was only seven o’clock, but hunger was winning out over tiredness.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much food!’ he said cheerfully through a mouthful of bacon, fried eggs, pancakes and syrup.

  Kate was pushing a forkful of scrambled egg sullenly around her plate. She looked pale and drawn, Tom thought, and was clearly scraping the bottom of her laundry basket with an old thrift-store T-shirt that screamed ‘Make-Out Junkie’ in red letters. Maybe that was why she looked so uncomfortable this morning.

  ‘Right then,’ announced Blood, glancing around the vast, opulent breakfast room to check they weren’t being overheard. ‘We’ve lived to see another day, so let’s decide what to do with it. We need a plan of attack.’

  ‘Maybe we should start by checking out the Bane Gallery,’ Kate said without much enthusiasm. ‘See what we can find out about this private viewing of the peat bog man.’

  ‘Good idea, Trolly,’ said Blood approvingly.

  ‘And if we’re going to try to stop whatever Takapa’s planning for Christmas Day, we should check out this industrial building you said he’s got,’ Tom suggested.

  Blood nodded. ‘I’ve got the address written down somewhere …’ He searched his wallet and passed Tom a piece of paper.

  Kate put down her fork. ‘Maybe you should go check out the building, Tom. I’ll go with Blood to the gallery.’

  ‘OK. Fine,’ Tom agreed, a little surprised.

  ‘I was thinking of going to the Bane Gallery alone, actually,’ said Blood. ‘If there are ’wolves there, you’ll be more of a target than—’

  ‘I want to go, OK?’ Kate insisted.

  Blood made a face at Tom. ‘Knows her own mind, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Guess she does.’ Tom felt himself turning red. ‘Well, no time like the present,’ he said, pushing his plate away. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘You’ll need some cash for the subway, I suppose,’ said Blood, removing his wallet from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Round here, they call it the El,’ Tom informed him.

  ‘Do they? Bloody ’ell.’ Blood chortled as he handed Tom twenty bucks.

  Tom pocketed the cash. ‘After that joke I feel better about taking this. See you both back here later?’

  ‘By two o’clock,’ suggested Blood. ‘If one party hasn’t returned by then, the others can come looking. After a bit of lunch, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Tom held up his hand in parting. ‘See you, then.’

  ‘Take care,’ Kate said quietly. She didn’t look up from her uneaten breakfast.

  g

  Tom took the El and rode the green line to Ashland out in the stolid urban sweep of the West Side. The clean, cold metal shell of the train carriage rocked him to and fro. Through the window the glass and metal skyline caught the sunlight and reflected it at onlookers in coruscating bursts. The sky was a beautiful shade of deep uninterrupted blue, and beneath it the pristine snow covering cars and sidewalks was slowly melting to mush.

  As the El kept up its steady progress, fellow passengers jostling on and off at each stop, the whole sprawling, brawling city seemed just a little more carefree.

  It would be so good to feel a part of that world, thought Tom, stomach starting to churn at the thought of what could lie in store for him this bright, crisp morning.

  Emerging from his station on to the street, Tom pulled on his woollen hat and buttoned up his denim jacket. Then he found the street he needed on the foldout city map he’d grabbed from the Drake’s lobby.

  The landscape seemed to grow drearier the further west he walked. Tom kept his eyes down on the sidewalk, hoping he wouldn’t stand out; he knew there were some nasty neighbourhoods on the West Side. Then again, he doubted they came much nastier than the one he was headed for. Big cliché though it was, Tom couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

  For about the hundredth time, his thoughts turned to Kate. She’d seemed so distant this morning. More than three months had passed since their lives had been flung together. He’d thought at first he had some passing crush on her, his emotions intensified by the extremes they were living through. But the feeling had only gotten stronger. He was totally crazy about her – but how could she possibly think of him as boyfriend material with all this shit going on around them?

  He knew that he couldn’t tell her how he felt until the ’wolf had been driven out of him for good. But with a sinking feeling, he wondered if she’d already guessed. Maybe she was pissed at him for even wondering if she might be interested in him in that way. Maybe that was why she’d been so aloof today, holding herself out of reach.

  Finally, his feet stiff and cold inside his snow-damp tennis shoes – about the only footwear he had left – Tom turned left on to some nondescript street and saw he’d arrived at his destination.

  He trudged past, head down, shoulders hunched, casting furtive glances at the building. At first sight it was just a three-storey pile of mouldering red brick, interspersed with squares of glass so caked with filth they failed to catch the slightest sunlight. Then he saw that the ground floor was very different – it had clearly been restored, the windows fitted with thick reflective glass. Etched on a tasteful metal sign was the legend UNITED LABORATORIES. As if in apology for the shabby state of the rest of the property, a builders’ sign pinned above announced that redevelopment work was in progress. Tom shuddered to imagine just what kind of redevelopment was taking place within.

  He sniffed the air. Though not in his lupine form, his senses remained heightened. An acrid, invisible pall of chemicals had settled over the warehouse like a shroud, but beneath it he could faintly detect human sweat mingled with the familiar musky scent of ’wolf.

  He discreetly skirted the building, looking for a way inside. A high chain-link fence marked its perimeter and surrounded a large yard at the rear. In amongst the slushy tyre treads and footprints leading up to the yard, Tom saw what looked to be great, heavy paw prints. ‘Bit of a giveaway,’ he muttered under his breath.

  The fence was rusting and in bad repair, but Tom could scent sentries guarding the obvious entrances and exits. Perhaps his best bet was to try and enter from above – the neighbouring warehouse was taller, and it looked abandoned. If he could get up on to the roof …

  The main door of the warehouse was stiff but not locked, and Tom was able to force it open quite easily. He found himself in a cavernous storage bay. It was dank and stank of urine and old, musty fabrics, despite the chill breeze
blowing through the cracked windows. Rolls of carpet as long as a train car lay abandoned in rotting stacks.

  There were no signs of life, but again, Tom felt he was being watched. His nostrils twitched as he caught the faintest trace of leather somewhere outside. ‘Mess with the Dark Chapter and you’re meat, kid,’ he reminded himself somberly. He sighed. ‘Let’s see how far I can get.’

  The elevator was dead, so Tom started climbing the mouldering concrete steps, heading for the roof.

  g

  As Blood drove steadily through the thick traffic to the River North gallery area, Kate pretended to be asleep so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. Kind of mean, considering he’d just blown almost two hundred dollars on her in Banana Republic as part of his plan to gain them entry to the Bane Gallery … but she just needed some time alone with her thoughts. She was feeling bad about insisting that Tom go off on his own. What if something happened to him, and she never saw him again?

  If she was honest, she knew that he was the reason why she felt so screwed up right now. She wasn’t used to all this weird emotional stuff. Her dream last night had left her starkly aware that her life was completely out of control, and her first instinct had been to shut down, cringe away from all this messiness. Be self-contained like she used to be, isolated in her bedroom back home, living through the Internet and shutting out the horror of her lupine family and their bloody, nocturnal outings.

  The thing was, though, some stupid, reckless part of her knew that what she was feeling right now … what she and Tom were going through together, despite all the fear and the uncertainty … it made her feel alive. Really alive. Why couldn’t she just give up to it? It wasn’t like she couldn’t kiss Tom. There was so much they could do without going all the way …

  But then, with him being ’wolf, with her own lupine genes designed to respond to him – she couldn’t risk letting herself go with Tom until the ’wolf was gone from him. And by then, would he even be interested?

  Would she even stay alive long enough to find out?

  Jeez, life sucked.

  ‘All right, Trolly,’ said Blood, ‘you can pretend to wake up now.’

  Kate opened a guilty eye and found Blood was somehow cramming the car into a tiny parking space in a leafy avenue. She checked the address on the invitation, ignoring his remark. ‘This is the Bane Gallery? Didn’t take us long to get here.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Lots on your mind, eh?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank bloody Christ for that,’ said Blood, pretending to wipe his brow. ‘Felt I should offer, but I’m reliably informed that I’m crap at being a shoulder to cry on.’

  Kate smiled. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘No patience with whingers, you see,’ he said, killing the engine. ‘Pee or get off the pot – that’s what I say. If you want something bad enough, go and get it, whatever it takes. And then, if you find you don’t want it after all … well, nothing’s undoable.’ He opened the car door and got out. ‘Just walk away.’

  ‘I’m so glad we had this little heart to heart,’ Kate said wryly. She slipped the invitation back in her purse and climbed out of the car after him.

  Blood wedged a handful of change into the parking meter and surveyed the building in front of them. ‘As for when you’re faced with something you don’t want to do, running like hell would typically be a good plan.’ He sighed. ‘So why am I still standing here?’

  Kate grinned. ‘How do I look?’ She opened her long black coat to show off her grey fitted trouser suit.

  Blood made no attempt to disguise where his eyes were lingering, and when he finally spoke again, it was in the upper-class English accent he used for business. ‘I think you look like every top realtor’s dream assistant. Now, just follow my lead.’

  Together, suited and booted, they walked up the steps to the smart gallery. With a shudder, Kate wondered just what they would find waiting for them inside.

  g

  g

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There was a chain on the door that led to the roof of the old carpet warehouse, but it was so old it had almost rusted clear away. A few well-aimed blows with a lump of concrete pulverised the links. Shoving the door open, Tom crept cautiously through it, back into the cold daylight.

  What he found didn’t please him. There had to be almost two metres between the warehouse and Takapa’s building – and a dizzying drop down to the roof on the other side. You’d have to be out of your mind to try and jump it.

  Or out of your body. Maybe if he turned ’wolf …

  No.

  Tom clenched his fists. He refused to rely on that side of him to solve his problems. He pushed out a deep breath. It got so tiring sometimes, fighting the craving to change – to feel that animal strength and power flow through his body …

  He sprinted towards the edge of the roof, knowing he couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t doubt himself for a second – then leaped.

  Suddenly he was plummeting through the air. He caught a glimpse of the quiet alley far below him as he swooped through the freezing air like a cut-price Spider-Man.

  He landed badly. Pain tore through him as he crashed on to the concrete lip of the neighbouring roof, his fingers scrabbling through snow for something firm to hold on to. At last, he heaved himself over and to safety.

  He stared up at the cold sky above, trembling all over, heart pounding and temples throbbing. He felt sick as he thought of the risk he’d just taken.

  But he had made it. Point proved.

  Whoopee.

  He looked nervously around in case anyone had heard his clumsy landing and come to investigate. But the place remained deserted and silent.

  Gingerly he stood up. One of his ankles hurt like hell. He flexed his foot. At least it wasn’t broken.

  He started to explore. Scraping the snow from a skylight, he peered through the grimy glass. It was just a storeroom; full of old bric-a-brac and clutter.

  He was considering using it to gain entry, when a strange, creepy sound carried to him from nearby. Part chanting, part singing – like some weird uncanny choir were warming up their cold, low voices.

  Tom limped over to the next skylight to investigate. He cleared the snow away with his stinging hands, then rubbed off the dirt caked underneath it. This window offered a very different view.

  The shadowy room was lit by many candles. A blonde girl, wrapped in a crimson blanket, lay huddled, motionless, on the bare wooden floor. She looked about Tom’s age. That creepy noise seemed to be coming from a group of sinister figures in the room, dressed in dark hooded robes. Tom listened, transfixed, as the strange guttural words, seemingly only half-formed, left their mouths and lingered in the smoky air. What the hell was going on? Was this something Takapa had organised, or just the way his followers got their kicks?

  A stooped elderly-looking figure came into Tom’s line of vision, also clad in a long dark robe – and clutching a curved knife in trembling hands. He began to intone another series of weird words and humming sounds, his voice booming with a depth and resonance that seemed at odds with his bent old frame. Even from up on the roof, Tom could sense the power emanating from him.

  The girl started to twitch and jerk, like a puppet on invisible strings.

  Tom felt his own heartbeat begin to jump erratically. The intonations seemed to echo and spin inside his head, making him drowsy. His eyes began to close …

  He shook himself awake – and saw that the girl was staring up at him. The old man was slowly advancing towards her, his knife outstretched. The girl’s desperate eyes seemed to be pleading with Tom to help her.

  Mind still buzzing, Tom yanked at the skylight, trying to open it. Whoever she was, he couldn’t just stand by and watch this happen. It wouldn’t budge.

  The sinister chanting grew louder still, more discordant. It filled his head, burning his nerves.

 
Tom punched the skylight in frustration – and accidentally caught his knuckles on the metal frame. Pain scorched through him.

  His gasp of shock turned into a slow howl of anguish as he felt his bones begin to burn white-hot. They began to lengthen, crack and re-form into lupine shape. The ’wolf-change had been triggered. Thick, dark hair sprouted from every follicle. It felt as though thousands of needles were pushing out through his skin. But as always, the agony was mixed with a delicious, heady exhilaration, impossible to deny. Now in its addictive thrall, Tom found it hard to remember his reasons for resistance. The world seemed real again, filled with stink and colour.

  He drooled blood as his gums were ripped open by the extending of sharp, curving teeth. His fingers grew thick and stubby; dagger-like claws extended from his bleeding nails. His tennis shoes split apart as his feet widened and thickened into monstrous paws.

  The transformation complete, Tom reared up and brought his front paws crashing down on the skylight. The dirty glass shattered into a thousand shards. Tom lowered his hulking form through the frame and dropped down to the chalk-scrawled floor.

  The hooded figures jumped back in alarm, but the old man with the knife remained still, his head cocked to one side, listening. Tom realised the man was blind. Seizing the advantage, Tom rammed into him, sending the knife clattering to the floor.

  There were shocked gasps and angry shouts from the other hooded figures. Tom bared his teeth and roared at them, but undeterred, three of them rushed over to shield the old man, while the other two fled through a door, presumably to raise the alarm.

  Like a corpse jerking to life, the girl screamed, a full-throated, agonised sound. Tom turned to her as she struggled free of the blanket. Beneath it she wore only a cropped white T-shirt and shorts. She smelled sweaty and musky, unwashed. Tom couldn’t help but salivate at the sight of so much soft flesh on display, at the thought of sinking his teeth into her pale, fleshy arm …