Hair of the Wolf

by Peter J. Wacks

  “Oh, my. I think you may have hurt my feelings.” Elizabeth glided forward disco platforms of shadow. “So, what have we here? Another wolfling?” She sniffed the air, then frowned. “Wait … What? How?”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Foolish of you to assume the wolves were protecting me, when it was the other way around. You think of yourself as a great hunter, but sometimes you really miss the obvious, hunter of children.” He gently rocked the child. “They are refugees. You’ll not harm them. What you have done to her,” he nodded towards Tabitha’s supine form, “is as far as you will take things tonight.”

  Elizabeth’s stance became guarded as her hands evened out before her, making her look as though she was holding an invisible ball. As her gaze drifted down, firmly watching his belt buckle, and her left foot slid forward as she backed away, toe digging into the ground. Concrete cracked. Her knees flexed, centering her balance. “You will die, Unblooded. I’ll not meet your eye, and your physical prowess is not that of any full blood.”

  “You think so?” He sounded curious. “How many of my kind have you fought? And I don’t mean exterminated as they were born, I mean fought once we have reached maturity. We do not labor under your curse of the Night. We do not have the constant fight of the blood as do you. I know you, Lady Bathory. But you do not know me. Come, test me. See what I can do.”

  He spun in place, still gently cradling the child, foot lashing out in a kick that landed on the back of the already claw-marked Dumpster. Metal crumpled inwards as the six-foot long canister shot forward. Elizabeth swirled her hands in a circular motion, catching the brute force of the Dumpster mid-flight, and redirecting it into the wall beside her. As it struck, the pre-stressed metal erupted, splattering trash against the bricks like a giant foul-smelling snowball. What was left was a heap of scrap metal and refuse. Elizabeth was crouched after the motion, one hand up in the air shielding her face, trying not to gag on the stench.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Disco kung fu vampire, eh?” He danced back a step, still protectively embracing the child. “Let’s do this. Come on, Lady of the Night. You are young, and weak.”

  Bathory rolled back, closing her fingers over Tabitha’s throat. “I think not, asshole. I’ll rip her throat out.”

  “And spoil your fun? I see into your heart. You don’t want her dead. You want her to suffer a lifetime of doubt. A lifetime of pain.”

  “True, whoever the hell you are. Very true. But even more than that, I will do so on my terms, at my time. And I think that tonight, you are not worth the trouble. Very much not worth the trouble. Or the risk. So back up, against the wall. Back at the dead end.”

  The man backed himself up till his shoulders touched the brick wall.

  “Good. Now sit down.”

  He sat, still smiling. “You think that you are the only one who can bring a lifetime of pain and uncertainty on someone?”

  “You must think you are a hell of a lot more than you are. I will come for you, Unblooded. I have your scent now, and nothing will stop me.” She vanished.

  Elizabeth didn’t stop running till she was several blocks away. Ducking into another alley, she grabbed a fire escape railing and flipped herself up onto the metal balcony, climbing till she got to the roof. If she had a beating heart, it would have been racing.

  It is rare for an elder vampire to get shaken to the core, but the speed with which she had found her role of hunter reversed to prey was beyond unsettling. Never before had she felt hunted, like she was the one in mortal danger. She stood on the edge of the rooftop, a white silhouette against the dark night, watching the stars in a vain attempt to calm herself—but she was feverishly thinking.

  There was a war on between the supernatural powers that be. She was one of those powers. And her side had been winning for a century. At least, they thought they had been. But the existence of a powerhouse like this unblooded … and they hadn’t even known. What other surprises didn’t she know about? She ripped a chunk of brick from the edge of the roof she was perched on and ground it to dust in frustration.

  She had never heard of an unblooded vampire who had survived any length of time. It was chilling to think of one so strong in themselves that they could resist making a compact with the blood for so long that they could become that physically powerful. The unblooded were powerful mentalists, but they were easy prey for full vampires because they didn’t develop the same speed and strength. Unsettling, and worse. New York was fun, it was a playground; but meeting a creature like this changed that; it changed everything.

  She sighed. There was nothing for it but to go back to the old country. Researching, training, and focusing on her strength would have to replace her current plans. This creature could be a threat to the entire Nation of Night and their seat on the cabal of the Gray Ones. He would want to know about this too. Perhaps she could return to the States after a few years.

  But first, she would have to track the wolf pup. Find out how she had found this creature. How the wolves had secured its help. Then back to the old country. Yes, that would work for her. She turned and walked across and off the rooftop, and vanished into darkness.

  ***

  Loki the Coyote

  The events between Skid and the old man were locked in now, and Loki needed to make sure everything else was on track with the werewolves in New York. Lilith was more powerful than him, and monitoring the minor details he needed to keep going to ensure his survival was exhausting and nonstop work. Luckily travel between these two particular locales was fairly quick.

  London to New York was a simple step for him. The human mentality was so close in both cities that the travel time for a god was that of a fleeting thought, stepping from idea to idea.

  Loki emerged on a rooftop, quietly so as not to alert Lilith. Events unfolding the way they were meant she would be watching closely. All Gods had a fascination with the Strings of Fate. There was a time, long past, when they would gather in Greece and play games to alter those strings. These days those same skills had to be employed to fight their own Divine Fates. It was all rather droll to him, despite the implied threat to his existence. Throughout history the gods had played games with mortals. The only difference these days were that they had to use themselves as pieces too.

  Once he was sure he hadn’t been noticed, the Trickster blinked, re-focusing his attention half a city away to the two Vampires. Like Loki, the Gray Ones hunted them. Watching this was important to him, more important than the Angel’s Fate, which had been sealed sixty years previously. The two he was watching were beneath Lilith’s notice.

  They were great-grandchildren of the Vampire, Kaine. Kaine was not beneath Lilith, though these two were. Loki had helped them free themselves from the shackles of Elizabeth Bathory and Vlad Tepes a century before.

  Besides, he had a full fifteen minutes before he needed to be back in London.

  ***

  Mina Harker

  Mina watched Elizabeth Bathory, Dark Bitch of the Night, walk across the nearby roof and disappear into the night, leaving only a brief trace of white from her suit. “What do you think, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan Harker, looking every bit the Vampire of legend, dressed in an elegant black suit, with a black silk shirt and black cravat, looked at Mina for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Eighty-four years of marriage had taught him that he was usually wrong, and not capable of winning arguments. He had looked forward to an eternity of wedded bliss, now he tried not to even look as far as the next day. One night at a time.

  It wasn’t that he was hen-pecked. He really wasn’t. It was more that they had been married in a different age, and as the world changed each of them did as well. Both of them were waking up, and discovering that the people that had gotten married were very different from who they were now. And, frankly, eighty-four years of the same jokes got stale. Despite these feelings, he had made a vow and he didn’t want life any other way.

  He sighed. “We have to follow her, and t
hen deliver the information of her whereabouts. An alliance with the wolves would be most fortuitous.”

  Mina was far more modern, and had embraced the times. She wore bell-bottom jeans and a wide collared orange cotton shirt. She chewed her lip while she thought about what Jonathan was proposing. Elizabeth Bathory was a bundle of badass evil. The odds were good that they would be discovered. Mina and Jonathan both were able to sense when they were being followed. It was something in the intent of the follower that triggered the vampire awareness. Bathory was much older than them, and her powers had had a lot more time to grow.

  They needed to know where she was going, but was it worth the potential cost of being captured by her again? Life had been hell living as her slave, and Mina didn’t dare risk that again. She, forever young, slender, beautiful … to be the Countess Bathory’s progeny, trapped in Vlad Tepes’ castle ... Never again!

  She glanced at Jonathan, licking her fangs. “I’m sorry, dearest. We can’t. We can warn the wolves, but we can’t follow her.”

  Idly toying with his cravat, Jonathan thought for a moment before responding. “You’re worried about capture again?”

  She nodded.

  “I can understand that, and the associated fears which are stirring in your heart. We must face our demons someday though, and if we wish truly to stop them, we must grow till we can face her.”

  Mina glanced to her forever husband, her husband of the Night. “It’s not just fear, dearest. It was the living hell that I shall not repeat. Facing them in the light of night I can take. I just want to make sure that we are strong enough before such a time occurs. We are not even a century yet, after all.”

  He gently stroked her arms. “This I know. Yet still we are hunted by the elders. If we don’t track her now, we may have to wait yet another four decades, just like last time, before we happen across her again. Or worse yet, they may find us first next time. They would torture us and break our minds. That’s why we need allies. We’ve been hiding from them since we escaped.”

  “Should that come to pass, then we will deal with it. But until then, no. A thousand times no.” Mina looked deeply into Jonathan’s eyes. “I’m putting my foot down dear. No chasing the Evil Overlord Disco Vampire into the night.”

  He sighed. “As you say then.” Inside he jumped for joy. His recommendation to chase had worked, ensuring that they wouldn’t. The contrary nature of his marriage was too predictable.

  ***

  Skid

  Greed instantly overcame Skid’s panic, calming him. His hands stopped shaking and he stopped fighting the iron grip holding him in place. “All right. You got three minutes. Then I got work ta do.”

  Fifty pounds to listen to some dying old man rant for a few minutes? Hell, Skid could be generous and do him a favor. This was easily earned money for him, so why not? Besides, he was sure he couldn’t break away from the hand gripping his arm, clamping him in place.

  The old man faintly nodded. Skid had accepted the terms, a bargain was struck.

  “Thank you. You honor a dying old man.” His feeble voice spoke of weariness, but it was belied by a glimmer of strength hiding beneath.

  “How well I remember it all—looking at you humans in your youth. You were so weak and helpless. But you had such strong minds, willing to believe with a force even we did not possess. We decided to help you to emerge from the caves—to nourish you and give the gift of enlightenment. We saw a way to gain for ourselves a much richer life, with adoration to feed us, by ensuring the continuance of your race. By giving you something to focus that powerful belief on. Ah …” The man winced in pain. “How brightly the Morning Star shone for your sake. He defended you from the leeches, who would have used your belief without nurturing your race. How brightly … for it was his idea to help you—and his idea how to help you as well.”

  Skid didn’t understand what the heck this guy was talking about, and decided that he was seriously deranged—a total loony. He must think he was some alien or something. But then again a lot of the old farts, homeless and past their days, eking out a pitiful existence on the foggy streets of London, were delusional. Skid shifted his weight to make himself more comfortable and waited for the story to go on.

  The old man drew a ragged breath then continued. “First came the songs, praising us, then your paintings … such bright and vivid pictures … and how wondrously you sang our praises for us. But how very quickly clever you became as well.

  Skid saw a tear forming in the old man’s eye. “Why? Why? You could have given us forever, an eternity of worship … and we would have given you everything you wanted.…We would have gifted you everything you could ever hope for. Life immortal and every other desire your hearts had ever dreamed of …”

  Skid was growing bored with the old codger’s rant. He wondered in if this crazy dosser would ever let go? Bloody Hell! What if he died and rigor mortis set in? He’d have to cut his bollicky jacket and it was too bloody cold out to rip it up. He tried a couple experimental tugs, but the old man’s grip was like a vice.

  Skid sighed to himself, eyeing that sword again, and he managed to settle back down. The money made from pawning his treasure would more than pay for Skid’s troubles. He would go ahead and honor the rest of the three minutes. After all, there is a shifty type of honor amongst thieves and criminals. By Skid’s reasoning anyone the cops hassled was a criminal—and the cops hassled the homeless more than anyone else.

  The old man sensed that whatever internal struggle Skid had been facing was resolved. Coughing, he continued. “But you are all fickle. Even more so than us.…And you wanted the one thing we couldn’t give. You wanted dominion, over all, even if you didn’t know it at the time. You’ve never known your own hearts, and your ambitions know no limits. Oh, Morning Star. You were brighter than any of us, brighter than all of us combined. Why did you have to die out? Oh, why did you have to leave us? We needed you.”

  The man bit back a sob. He seemed to be talking to someone out of the past, a ghost of someone only he could see. “You taught them to write, to read, to think. And they killed you.

  “We guided you through your lives, you know, your so short, but so bright, lives.…And in the end you betrayed us.…We gave you the gift of thought … a way to win the struggle against the beast within, and bring a light to the darkness of fear that hid in your minds … a way to know the universe and be a part of it. And you threw our protection away, by casting us out of your hearts.”

  Sorrow deeper than any Skid had known passed across the old man’s face. “All we ever asked was your praise and love—in such a way that we could find strength and will in it. We guided your kings and princes. We led those whose love flowed most freely to the greatest victories. The martyr’s and saints, the kings.…We allowed them to lead other men and conquer nations. They were allowed to inspire the hearts of thousands. Yet one of you wanted more. The first of you that wanted to take our essence from us. He killed his own brother, and one of my kin as well, to steal life immortal …”

  Skid felt goose bumps crawling up the back of his spine. The last thing this guy had said … hadn’t life spans been going up over the last few centuries? This guy was really starting to creep him out. He didn’t—and couldn’t—really understand what the old man was saying.

  But deep down, in Skid’s tarnished soul—a meaningless flicker that he held in deepest contempt, the words resonated with truth, and that scared Skid even more than when the old priests had told him about the little “games” they would be playing. These words spoke to him of a purpose and nobility to life. Everything that had always been so wrong made it terrifying that there could be a right.

  Numbness spread throughout his brain, but he heard his own voice quietly echoing in the space between them. “But what changed it all?”

  A deep chuckle came from the old man’s throat. He was seeing some grander joke in Skid’s words; he still retained his iron grip on Skid’s arm. “One of yours did it. Kaine! He shone
brightly, that one did. He had the fire and passion to rival any of us—with a mind to match. He almost burned as brightly as the Morning Star himself.…But young Kaine did not understand the depths of our love or the tenderness of our compassion. He told me once that he felt like a slave—destined to live by the decree of another. He could not understand the gift we gave him, that we gave all of you! We tried to teach him the ways of the universe—but the dedication we showed was invisible to him.”

  The old man began to cough. The fit seized him and racked his entire body, rattling deeply in his lungs, but he never released his vice-like grip. The old man only had a few moments left to live. Once the coughing fit subsided, the old man hungrily sucked air into his lungs and then continued with his rambling story. “So Kaine turned against us. He betrayed the ones who had taught him, empowered him–and we had shown him a reality greater than any of you ever has, or ever will, know. He left us.…He refused to bend his knee to us, and he hatefully recognized he couldn’t subordinate us, so used the fire and beauty of his vision to attempt to lead our children against us.”

  With memory filling his vision, he continued, blind to the present. “The holy men called him Kaine the Great, and he led them and poured a warped version of our truth into their ears. He used the very concept that we had created to benefit you—the greatest of beings who watched over all—against us. You were convinced that humanity could hear and interpret the raw voice of the universe. He tried to turn and warp that worship to himself, or at least away from us, to reap the rewards of ages of our workings and take it away from those that loved you all so much. He tried to destroy us to free humanity and never realized that so doing would eventually destroy humanity as well.”

  “But his own brother Abel spoke against him. He understood that we loved humanity. He fought to protect his clan from Kaine’s teachings. To no avail. Kaine slew his brother, and driven by his madness, with his own brother’s blood running from his lips and the flesh of Able’s throat between his teeth, he slew the Morning Star, as well. At least in spirit. But one of us gave his own essence to the brother, slain upon the ground. The ultimate sacrifice and the ultimate reward.”