Hair of the Wolf

by Peter J. Wacks

  “Yef,” Van Helsing spoke around the half masticated hand.

  “Spit that out!” Bathory chided. “If you keep eating fingers you’ll spoil your appetite.”

  Van Helsing dropped the forearm. Wincing, he rooted around his mouth, and then spat out a wedding ring. “I’m hungry. When do we hunt?”

  “In just a moment.” She tossed him the shotgun.

  Van Helsing stood, shoving the shotgun under his rain cloak, and paced. Evil bitch!! You must fight her!! Kill her!! Something inside him screamed, but the Blood laughed at the voice. It had no power here.

  The penthouse was filled with things he didn’t understand. The last century had been spent in a cage in the basement of a castle, then in more recent years, in an odd room with very bright walls and a lot of extremely polished metals. A powerful elder had done things to him.

  None of that mattered now. He was free. So free that he even thought of himself as a he, rather than an it. And he was going to be able to hunt. Finally.

  Elizabeth Bathory turned from the mirror motioning to Van Helsing. “It is time, tonight we hunt.” She held up a picture of a group of teenagers. “These are the ones master Kaine says we are to hunt.” She pointed at a Cherokee youth in the center of the picture. “This one is the next inheritor of Loki. Attack his friends, and he will respond. He must die. We are to make sure of it, even if all else fails. Understand?”

  Van Helsing nodded. The food’s faces were etched into his memory. He would find and eat them.

  Elizabeth took a step towards the door when light exploded around her. Loki bowled into her screaming, “Leave my family alone you bitch!” Both of them impacted—then smashed through—the 35th floor penthouse window. Elder vampire and trickster god vanished, plummeting into the stormy night.

  Van Helsing stared quizzically at the shattered glass and rain filled sky. He shrugged. Turning around, he walked out of the penthouse door and took the elevator to the ground. He looked around the street. Nothing but water.

  Grinning, Van Helsing sped into the Night. No one would be there to stop him from having real fun now. He knew who his dinner was, and the hunt was on.

  ***

  Winston Bartholomew Smith

  Winston glanced over to Jenny. “Are you sure this is the right way? This rain is killing my velvet, Jen.”

  She shook some of the rain out of her hair. “Winnie … If you had brought enough money for parking we wouldn’t have to walk all the way across downtown to get to the party. And Spyke wouldn’t be getting soaked.” Frowning, she reached into the pocket of her trench coat and felt her little black Chihuahua shivering.

  Winnie grinned, his braces flashing in the dim light. “Yeah, but if I blew my whole allowance tonight my parents would so know that I had snuck out. Sowwy.”

  Jenny stopped and grabbed his shoulders, swinging him to face her. Winnie was six feet tall, lankier than a string of Christmas lights, had too many pimples, and flashed silver every time he smiled. But through all that … she smiled and straightened his shoulder length hair. “I know, Winnie, and thanks for covering tonight. I appreciate it.”

  He grinned and shrugged, embarrassed by the sincerity of her tone. “Like I would come without my best friend. Duh. Let’s get moving. This alley gives me the creeps.” He shivered as a third figure became visible in the space ahead of them.

  The night’s unnatural silence was ominous, with the usual sounds of a city being dampened by the steady slapping of water falling on concrete. The two teenagers moved to the side to edge around the indistinct third figure in the alley. Lightning flashed and they saw him clearly.

  He was an older man, wearing a Victorian era British rain cloak. The parting darkness revealed a white beard, with rivulets of red running down from the corners of his mouth. His eyes, half closed, were lazily watching them and his smile showed fangs. Though the stranger was a couple inches shorter than Winnie, he seemed to take up twice the space.

  He stepped forward slowly, forcing Winnie and Jen back, and a low growl rumbled from his throat. “Dinner …”

  ***

  Robert Crowley the 3rd

  Deep music thrummed through the nightclub, making the red and violet lights seem to vibrate in time to the music. Purple glowed on Robert’s chest, his poet’s tunic glowing below his Victorian cassock. Emotion thrummed through the air around him, bouncing between the people packed into the nightclub.

  Glowsticks, plastic vampire fangs, leather, silk, and the occasional bright colors adorned the ebb and flow of humanity in the giant church-turned-nightclub’s basement; and between happy people projecting sad, sad people projecting happiness, indifferent people projecting interest, and lonely people projecting disinterest; tense and dark sexuality permeated the air.

  On the walls, clipped scenes from old horror movies played on sheets hung to catch the projections, adding to the ambience with scenes of carnage interlaced seemingly at random with romance. Robert mopped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he navigated towards the dance floor and he smiled, enjoying being a Goth boy.

  “There's a crack in the window

  “and blood is on the walls …

  “There's a crack in the window

  “and blood is on the walls …”

  Robert spun in place and stepped forward, letting his black silk skirt billow around him as the music reached into his soul and guided his feet.

  “I was a vampire and lover

  “You’re the lusting dead …

  “I was a vampire and lover

  “You’re the lusting dead …”

  Black strands of hair fell down in front of Robert’s eyes as he stopped mid-step. Something was wrong. He had always been very sensitive to his environment, and to his friends, and RIGHT now, his two best friends needed him. The necklace his grandfather had gifted him felt warm against his chest.

  Smoothly turning his spin into forward momentum, he started darting between dancers, fighting against the rhythm of the floor to get out of the club. He grabbed his cellphone and texted his boyfriend while he fought free of the floor. Chad should be over at the bar, grabbing them waters.

  Robert slipped between two last dancers and was free. He found his way to the stairs and darted up them, only to find his way blocked by a group of colorfully clad ravers.

  A short, skinny, and too bouncy boy stepped out in front of Robert, giggling as he flung a handful of glitter at the Goth. He was obviously the leader of the three, and dressed outlandishly in shiny silver tight-pants, a red, blue, orange, and green tight long sleeved shirt with silver vest over it, and a two-foot tall floppy red and white hat.

  Motes of light settled all over Robert as the boy pulled his cat-in-the-hat headgear back from his eyes and said “I heart boys that sparkle!”

  Robert ground his teeth together and pulled back his fist, “I don’t have time for this crap.” With a single swing he dropped the raver, jumped over him, and sprinted out into the rainy night to find his friends.

  A girl with long black hair, a dainty figure, and an impish smile delicately stepped over the stunned raver and followed him outside.

  ***

  Jonathan Harker

  The Watcher flew through the Night, his leather coat flying out behind him despite the torrential downpour. The presence was close now. Ice pricked at his spine and goose bumps danced along his forearms, guiding him towards the Hunter.

  A lamppost took a heavy dent as he cornered too hard and his foot slipped out from underneath him on the rain-slicked pavement. Snarling a curse, he kicked his foot down at the concrete base of the lamppost. It cracked, making the post sway drunkenly in the rain, but it also gave him enough of a boost to his velocity to hurl forward again at a full sprint.

  It was luck, he knew, that the downpour was so intense. Normally the streets in Capitol Hill and downtown Denver would be awash with pedestrians and cars. Everyone was out looking for a better party most nights, but the rain ensured that tonight the best party was
anywhere that was dry.

  He grinned, exposing two fangs, as he thought to himself. Only an idiot would be out here, catching their death of cold. He was a block away, and closing fast.

  ***

  Winston Bartholomew Smith

  Winnie put his hand forward and pushed Jen behind him. “We don’t want any trouble, man.”

  Jen could feel his hand shaking, but his voice held steady. It was almost in synch with Spyke’s shivering in her trench coat’s pocket.

  “Ha. You won’t be any trouble, children.” The stranger’s voice was deep, full chested. His words were human enough, but there was an odd quality to them, something guttural. It was like listening to a bear roar in a way that happened to come out as complete sentences. “Just a late night snack.”

  In the dark shadows of the alley, his hands looked like claws as he raised them towards the two teens.

  ***

  Robert Crowley the 3rd

  Robert paused at the corner of Thirteenth and Sherman, ignoring the rain to kneel down and place his hand on the grass. Listening to the voice under his fingertips he felt a slight nudge to go down Thirteenth.

  He rose from his crouch and ran forward. As he crossed the mouth of the alley, a bicyclist shot out and slammed straight into him, resulting in a two person-one bicycle tangle.

  “Dammit,” Robert shouted at the rain, trying to untangle himself without hurting the cyclist. He roughly shoved the bicycle away from himself. The cyclist, a young man in cargo shorts and a tie-dye shirt, despite the soaking rain, got tangled in the bike again and fell back onto Robert.

  “I am so sorry, man. I, like, totally didn’t see you there!” He carefully pushed himself up and offered a hand to Robert.

  Robert saw his friends Jen and Winnie peel out of an alley a block away and start running in the opposite direction. He grabbed the biker’s hand and pulled himself up. “It’s okay man, but I’m trying to catch up to my friends over there. See ya.” He sprinted off as he saw Winnie collapse.

  ***

  Winston Bartholomew Smith

  “Look, back off!” Winnie gently pushed Jen back, trying to walk them backwards out of the narrow alley.

  The stranger cocked his head to the side, staring quizzically at them. Another flash of lightning revealed fangs, exposed by the evil smile spread across his lips. Winnie shivered; this person was an animal. Winnie could feel his hindbrain screaming Predator! Run!

  He lunged forward with a snarl. Winnie stumbled backwards, and something, moving so fast it was a blur in the rain-swept darkness, smashed into the stranger. The man crashed into a Dumpster and ricocheted into the alley wall.

  Winnie’s jaw dropped. Behind him he heard Jen say “Holy …” Whoever their mysterious benefactor was, he was faster and stronger than any human.

  The man, now standing between them and the fallen attacker, spun around to face them; his huge leather trench coat flaring out in the darkness and slicing through the rain. He pointed at Winnie, who couldn’t see anything of his face beneath the derby atop his head, and shouted, “Stop gaping like an idiot and run!”

  All three of them heard a click, and for just a heartbeat, the world froze. Rain stood still, frozen mid-fall. The night emptied of sound. Winnie felt his heartbeat.

  Thump. Thump.

  Jen shifted slightly behind him, trying to look around him. Everything snapped back into focus with an eruption of light and an impossibly loud roar.

  The man’s chest bulged outwards and then exploded in a spray of blood. The force of it spun him in place. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet. Blood splashed all over Winnie and he could see the first man, the one who had been about to attack them, was standing with a shotgun raised to his shoulder.

  He slid back the stock with a loud chunk, and chambered another round. Winnie snapped his jaw shut, gulped in bug-eyed fear, then grabbed Jen’s hand and legged it out of the alley. Rounding the corner of the building, the two of them sprinted out onto the street and they heard the shotgun roar behind them as it spat out another shot.

  Jen scooped Spyke out of the pocket of her wildly flapping coat, holding him tightly against her chest. She could hear his muted whimpers, barely audible over the rain’s steady assault on the city. They made it thirty more feet before Winnie stumbled to a halt and turned to face her.

  Recoiling with a gasp, she pulled back. Through the tattered remains of his shirt, she could see his wounded flesh. Streaks of red were washing down his chest, running in rivulets guided by the rain. His entire face and chest were covered in red. “Oh Jesus … Winnie …” She reached forward to help him steady himself, but not in time.

  “My mouth tastes funny.” He mumbled, wobbled in place, then collapsed to his knees, clutching at his stomach.

  Hurts he managed to think, through a swirl of fragmented impressions. He felt like his stomach was a bowling ball, and someone was wantonly throwing it around the glass house that was the rest of his body. Vaguely, he was aware of a girl.

  A name he should know. Such a pretty girl, too. Oh yeah, Jenny. His best friend. She was saying something, but he couldn’t understand what it was, even though she was so close to him that he couldn’t see anything past her face.

  Tears mixed with rain as Jen clutched Winnie with one arm around his shoulders and her other hand gently cupping the back of his head. “Please,” she cried, “please don’t die, Winnie.” She could feel his breath growing fainter as he gasped to get air into his lungs. “I love, you stupid … stay with me Winnie.”

  She felt Spyke struggle out of her hand, whimpering, and snuggle between their necks as he licked at Winnie’s face, trying to make his human friend feel better.

  Weird, Winnie thought, feeling a couple of light raindrops hit his face. I never noticed how pretty she is. With a last sigh Winston Bartholomew Smith, aged seventeen years, closed his eyes as his heart stopped beating.

  With soaked hair creating a private shroud over his face, Jen cradled his and cried into the night.

  ***

  Robert Crowley the 3rd

  Robert splashed the last couple of steps to his friends and knelt down, gently holding Jen’s shoulder, trying to still the shaking sobs that racked her body. The talisman was burning against his chest. His granddad had warned him about this happening. Whatever the situation was, he was supposed to get everyone out of it and to his Gramps as fast as possible.

  With his free hand, he texted Grandpa Bob. “Friend is hurt, but necklace hot as hell. Call police OK?”

  “Jenny, hun. It’ll be okay. Robert’s here now. Chad is on his way. We need to get Winnie somewhere warm, and we’ll have my boy carry him, okay? He’s probably just in shock. But you have to lean back.” He gently stroked her hair. “You have to let me take a look at him. Help him.”

  Jen nodded and sniffled, carefully easing Winnie’s limp body down to the pavement. She leaned back and tried to wipe the tears from her face with a soaked sleeve. Robert delicately picked up Spyke, scratching behind his ears and murmuring “good boy” as he handed him across to Jen. “Here, Jenny. Your dog is traumatized, he needs you to reassure him. Give him cuddles.”

  She gratefully grabbed her little black Chihuahua, oblivious to the discomfort of his spiked collar digging into the tender flesh of her neck, and held him tightly to her. Spyke yipped once to his human to reassure her, then snuggled into her arms, closing his eyes and trying to find somewhere dry.

  Robert examined Winnie. Being very careful to not touch his wounds, he pulled back Winnie’s tattered shirt to expose the mess below. At first it looked like a mass of blood and damage, but as the rain washed his chest clean it became obvious that there was nothing more than light damage. Robert’s brow scrunched in confusion. This wasn’t right. Winnie shouldn’t be laid out from a couple of scratches. And where had all this blood come from?

  His phone vibrated and he glanced down. “No. Bring your friend to me. I can save him. Police cannot.”

  Chad walked up and immedia
tely hugged Jenny, looking questioningly at Robert. Robert smiled gratefully up at Chad. “Can you carry Winnie to the car?”

  Chad nodded and scooped up the limp form of Winnie. Robert admired the ease with which he did so. Chad, a six foot tall blond Adonis, looked like he was walking straight out of the studio of an ancient Grecian sculptor.

  Robert shook his head, putting an arm around Jen and walking them all back towards his car. “Don’t worry about your car, Jenny. I’ve got us covered and we’ll come back in the morning to pick yours up.”

  She nodded in acquiescence and let Robert guide her towards the car. As they fought their way through the rain they heard a gasp behind them. Jen and Robert glanced back to see Chad looking confused.

  He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “He just started breathing regularly again. Still not moving though, so come on, let’s get him somewhere warm and dry.”

  It was only a few blocks for them to reach the lot that Robert was parked in. The teens piled into Robert’s black Jeep Cherokee. Chad carefully and gently laid Winnie out in the back, wrapping him in blankets.

  Jen smiled bravely. “That’s convenient that you keep blankets in here, Rob.”

  Robert paused, choking, trying not to laugh, then glanced pointedly at Chad before looking her in the eye.

  “Oh!” She blushed.

  Robert fired up the engine, blasting the heat on full, then pulled out into the empty streets to take them all to his Grandpa’s house.

  ***

  Winston Bartholomew Smith

  Winnie swam in a sea of black. Echoes of his breathing reverberated around him, but he couldn’t feel any walls.

  A voice spoke.

  Give in to the darkness. Join us.

  With a shock he realized it was his own voice. Pushing against the impulse to follow, he thought instead. The Darkness. That didn’t sound promising. Pictures of Jenny flashed in his mind.