by S. L. Eaves
Jiro is Japanese and fluent in multiple languages; dead or alive, there is no language this guy can’t master. This twenty-something with an affinity for neon hair dye and video games is gifted. And that is an understatement.
Xan assisted in his journey to England and it is my understanding that Jiro hasn’t left the castle since his arrival a few decades back. He shares Xan’s passion for invention. They bonded instantly. Watching the two putt around the tech room, fiddling with gadgets, finishing each other’s sentences, debating algorithms was equally as cute as it was nauseating.
His ingenuity brought us comms that allowed him to beep in with intel updates, and allowed us to communicate with base. They also doubled as tracking devices; apparently one was not enough.
Crina explains all this to me on our little road trip. I have questions, but this doesn’t seem like the time. Crina keeps checking her GPS screen and occasionally throws in tidbits about the region. I listen politely, taking it all in, trying to read her mannerisms.
“Who is the target?”
“Man, middle aged, lives alone in a house he got in a settlement with his ex-wife. He has recently been identified as the assailant in several attacks around town.”
“Werewolf, right?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Is he working for someone?”
“Not directly, at least I couldn’t connect him to anyone, but he’s aware of the cause and is making his own contributions toward the war.”
“He’s turned others?”
“Infected. Yes. He’s bitten several but leaves them fairly mangled. And vulnerable. I’ve taken them out. It’s how I’ve come to determine him the common denominator. We often target wolves acting independently because they are the most vulnerable. It stops them from forming their own pack and it won’t typically attract retaliation from an existing pack…Though if it does, we’re more than happy to deal.”
“Makes sense.”
“Catch tell you how many we’ve lost?”
“In the fire?”
“No. Since. After the attack, Adrian surfaced. He had not been in The Covenant when it burned. No one had seen or heard from him in over a century. When he did emerge, it was at Marcus’s request. Marcus wanted revenge and Adrian permitted Marcus to turn who he saw fit. To begin anew.
“And he did. For a good decade. But they were untrained, novice fighters and fell fast. We didn’t have good artillery. Or strategy. We’d go in blind and get mauled, often underestimating their numbers.
“Adrian was infuriated with Marcus’s reckless actions, his ‘abuse of power.’ Marcus is no longer permitted to turn, to pass his lineage. Pollute it, as Adrian accused.
“That’s when Xan went to Japan to retrieve Jiro, who eagerly stepped in to help. Shifted our focus to technology, to intel and weaponry. We’ve been doing a lot better since.”
“What are their motives?”
“Control. Power. World dominance. Your typical ambitions. What they want are humans. We’re just standing in their way.”
***
We park at the end of the street. According to Crina’s GPS, the werewolf is residing about seven houses down to the left. Crina pops the trunk and removes a long thin bag, which she throws across her back like a bow sling.
The neighborhood is quiet. A dog barks in the distance. We are in the suburbs of Bristol, walking down a sidewalk weakly diffused by dirty street lights. We approach casually, casing the neighborhood for signs of life.
Crina stops, breaks the silence.
“That’s it. Across the street. Glance over casually.”
“Several lights on downstairs,” I confirmed. “Someone’s home. Does he live with anyone?”
“No. Alone.”
I whisper, “So how do you get this intel? Jiro? Other sources?”
She smiles coyly.
“Xan and Jiro assist during major takedowns or anytime an extra set of eyes and ears are necessary. We are responsible for the hunt. Once we identify a wolf we look into their background, tail them, place bugs…all sorts of ways to learn about them. We learn what we can from the wolf, but ultimately the goal is to keep him from spreading his…condition. You want to do it without witnesses. Discretion is key.
“If it’s a pack, you want to catch them in the act, while they are distracted. Right now, in the woods somewhere, there’s a pack of wolves chasing their next victim. There’s some poor sap getting bit in a crowded club. There’s any number of scenarios. Every night we take one down and a dozen more are infected. It’s a losing battle. But we keep at it in hopes that we’ll find a bigger lead.”
“Cut off the head before it grows any more tails.”
“Yeah exactly.”
“Any clue who’s at the head?”
“There was a man a few decades back. He was young, naïve, and wild as they come. He formed a pack and mounted an attack on a clan of vampires. It was the first time in recent history that the wolves came after us. It was an offensive move as to my knowledge we weren’t hunting them at the time. I was part of the clan that defeated them. If we hadn’t killed him and his followers back then, I would link it to him. Then again, this time they aren’t directly going after our throats; it’s the humans they are targeting. So no, while this reminds me of that attack, it can’t be the same wolf at the helm.”
We reach the end of the street, then cut back through neighbor’s yards, weaving around shrubbery and sticking to the shadows. Eventually we end up on the roof of the house directly across from the target’s.
She continues as she unpacks her bag.
“You go after a target, you want to know everything you can…did he shatter his knee in a car accident? Deaf in one ear? Severe allergies? Any weakness you can exploit could prove key to your success. Make the job that much easier. ’Cause at the end of the day you’re left with a dead body. And as I’m sure Catch told you, we cannot risk exposure. No trail. Certainly nothing as telling as bite marks.”
She hands me a scope. I look at her quizzically.
“Did Xan teach you nothing? Infrared monocular. Detects heat signatures. Just tell me if you spot him.”
I oblige.
“So what’s this guy’s story?”
“Rogue as far as I can tell. But it’s just a matter of time before a pack gets to him or he starts one in Bristol. This city has been quiet and I aim to keep it that way.”
“I think I got something. He’s in the back.”
I watch as Crina removes a sniper rifle, loads it and attaches a suppressor.
“Xan show you how to use one of these?”
“Yes. And he emphasized the need for using a suppressor in public.”
“Good. That’s something at least.”
She gestures for the monocular and snaps it neatly onto the rifle.
“Locked and loaded,” she says, making some adjustments.
‘So we wait till you get a clear shot?”
“Well I’m thinking of something a little more…efficient.”
“Like throwing a rock at the window?”
“Close…Whaddya say you go down and knock on the door?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, say you were mugged on the street. You need to use his phone to call the cops. When he comes to the door, I’ll have a perfect shot. Bam. Piece of cake.”
“Sounds simple enough. I’m in.”
No sooner had I said that then she lands a right hook square on my jaw.
I stumble backward, but somehow manage to stay on my feet.
“What the hell!”
My hand goes from the cut on my lip to Crina.
“It has to look believable. You have to look like you were really attacked. Relax, it’ll heal fast.”
“Give a girl some warning, damn.”
I spit blood on the roof.
“Figured it’d be easier if you weren’t prepared. You’re already healing.”
I crack my neck. “Okay, go ahead, throw another.”
S
he obliges. This one lands on my nose.
I pinch my nostrils in pain, blood oozing from between my fingers.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Stings a bit.”
“Well hurry up before you heal. And calm down already; he can’t see your fangs.”
I drop down and cross over to his house and knock quickly, not allowing myself time to think about what I am doing, to think about turning back. Though panicking would have helped my story.
A tall, broad man of about forty opens the door.
“I—Help—I was mugged!” I stammer.
He regards me with a confused look, then something in his expression changes.
“What? You were, uh—mugged?”
He watches blood trickle down my face with hungry eyes. Nostrils flare.
“He hit me and grabbed my bag.”
I continue with the farce, holding my nose, trying to sell it, wondering why Crina hasn’t taken the shot. She is positioned to the left of the house. I am standing back from him and to the right, allowing her an opening. Though I got the impression she’d shoot through me without a second thought.
He glances around. His hands are shaking and, more importantly, looking less human by the second.
“Uh—you better come in then. You can use my phone.”
Fur begins sprouting from the seams of his clothes. His nose and ears start transforming. I step back nervously.
“On second thought—“
I didn’t have a chance to finish.
There is a faint whiz. His head snaps back.
Smoke rises from his burnt eye socket.
He staggers backward. I duck instinctively and look up as puss oozes down his cheek.
Another whiz. This bullet strikes him through the heart.
A gasp, then a thump as he hits the doorframe. I bend over him, watching the hair recede from his jaw line, claws retract as human hands re-emerge.
“Whoa.”
“Let’s drag him inside before someone sees.” Crina is at my side, predictably calm.
“Why’d you drag it out? And why’d he start to change like that?”
“He was a werewolf. What’d you expect?”
Recapping those past few moments in my head, I remember how he’d looked at me.
“It was the blood wasn’t it? It set him off? And you knew it would.”
“He was newly turned, knew he’d react to the blood; human or demon.”
“That’s cold.” I turn my attention to the corpse in the doorway. I bent down and pull him inside. She closes the door behind us.
“I wanted you to see what we’re up against.”
I go to his fridge and remove a beer. She follows me in and hands me a towel for the blood that’d sprayed my face.
“In your state, you’d continue viewing us as evil if you saw me taking out a human. I’m trying to make you see the truth behind our facades…It’s not like I let him attack you.”
“Well I should be thanking you then,” I say sarcastically.
She glances around his place. “You did well. Now help me make this look like a robbery gone bad.”
“I’m guessing him living alone makes this a lot easier?”
“Yes. Particularly in that we can now enter to cover our tracks and extract intel without having to create a bigger mess.”
“That’s how it works? You can enter their home after death?”
“Yep.” She nods.
“You could’ve at least armed me.”
Chapter 15
After thoroughly ransacking his house and taking all the cash we can find, we make a hasty departure. Robbery victim to the police; casualty of war to the wolves.
Crina drives us into Bristol. Feeling chatty, she talks mainly about wolves, but I am just glad for the conversation. But it isn’t long before the topic turns to Catch.
“If you don’t mind my observation, you and Catch seem to have grown awfully close awfully fast.”
Crina’s eyes do not stray from the road and I can’t read her tone.
“We have this inexplicable connection. As though I knew him before I’d ever met him. And once I did, I…it’s been tough to stay away.”
I struggle for the right words to express my conflicted emotions toward the brooding Brit.
“I get it. I fell for the guy who turned me. It’s natural.”
“Yeah, I mean I guess it’s the blood. Honestly though once we did meet, it was like ‘hey what took you so long?’ Strangest feeling…as though we’d been together in another life. Ironic perspective now, I suppose. What’s your story?”
“I saw Dominique in my dreams before I ever knew he existed. Always as a figure looming in the background, haunting me. Then when we met, we carried on as if we’d known one another our whole lives. I told him of his uncanny resemblance to a ghost in my visions. He said he’d seen me in the same way, had been reaching out to me in his subconscious. Accused me of haunting him.” She grins faintly.
“Are you two still together?”
I haven’t heard his name before tonight.
“He died in the firestorm.”
“Oh. Damn. I’m sorry.”
“I should have been there, too. I was miles away visiting the grave of a mortal. Someone I’d known in my past. He died and I could never bring myself to visit his grave. But I needed closure, so with Dominique’s coaxing, I went. Eighty years without setting foot on my homeland…let’s just say my timing was horrible.” Her voice trailed off.
“Or perfect. He saved you. Unknowingly, but from what I gather no one survived, right? If you think the outcome would have been different, that you could have saved him, you’re delusional. And you’re just torturing yourself with that reasoning.”
Crina pulls the car into the darkest corner of a deserted lot.
“I was immersed in my past, while my present was being ripped out from under me. Take my advice and never look back.”
She kills the engine and adds, “Catch is like a brother to me. We’ve fought side by side for two decades. He’s saved me from precarious situations more times than I’d like to admit. As valiant a fighter as I ever knew.”
I nod.
She jumps over the driver’s side door. “Keep him fighting.”
We creep along the wall of a shopping mall. Tonight is a new moon and, in the absence of street lights, we are naturally shrouded. Crina stops suddenly, a few feet from the door. She points first to the camera above her head, then to the security code box by the door’s handle. She reaches up and pulls the wiring from the camera. The little red light flicks off. She removes the 9mm from her side holster and begins attaching a silencer. I tap her arm and walk over to the grid. She watches me curiously as I bend down and pick up a handful of dirt. I proceed to blow it over the grid and Crina observes over my shoulder.
The grime reveals oily finger prints on four numbers. I begin punching them into the keypad and three combinations later the grid beeps and Crina eases the door open.
“Clever, but my way is faster,” she jokes.
“True. But anyone can shoot their way in. I’m trying to impress you here.”
The department store greets us with eerie silence. Our enhanced vision helps us navigate, but I still manage to snag myself several times on clothes racks. This is not Crina’s first time. She tears through the aisles with whirlwind precision; clothes vanish from the hooks, some making their way into her arms, some to the floor.
“Are there cameras in here?”
“Yeah, but they’re decoys.”
She tosses me a couple shirts.
“Relax. Try these.” She ducks into the dressing rooms.
Hell with it. I go right to the one thing I’d always wanted but could never afford. A leather jacket. The designer’s names aren’t familiar, but their labels look expensive. I select the jacket with the most digits on its price tag. Once I nab the most luxurious leather jacket the store has to offer, it is easy to steal the little things like tees
and jeans.
I am at the register fumbling with the jacket’s pesky security tag when Crina bounds over.
“Here, this screams you.”
“What, does it have college letters on it?”
She laughs. “It’ll look hot under that jacket.”
“Yeah, if I can ever get this damn thing off.”
“Allow me.” With one quick sweep across the magnetic contraption, she pops it right off.
Smiling, she hands me the coat. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“You don’t think much of me do you? I mean as a prospect—trainee—or what have you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just sensed it.”
“Honestly, you have to earn my respect. And yes, I will test you. But look at it this way—if I don’t test you, it means I don’t care enough to bother.”
“So I’m worth it, then? I can deal with that.”
“Good.”
She stuffs a bunch of clothes into bags. It seems the outing has been a success. We pack the coupe’s tiny trunk and speed off.
“Wow, that was awesome.”
“That was nothing. We’re just getting warmed up.”
“Oh yeah?”
She points at my arm. “We gotta get you something to go with that jacket.”
Minutes later, we find ourselves standing outside a motorcycle dealership.
“No way.”
“Do your little fingerprints trick.”
The night is still and this area of Bristol doesn’t see much foot traffic after dark.
I hear the shrill of a train horn from somewhere nearby. I cautiously approach the intimidating glass doors. A few seconds later we enter a showroom full of beautiful sports bikes and ATVs.
“Catch said he was teaching you how to ride. Think you can handle one of these babies?”
His lessons had focused mainly on four-wheeled forms of transport. He’d shown me some basics, but I am no pro by any stretch of the mind. I don’t let that discourage me.
“I’m a fast learner.” I mount a black-and-blue Ninja.
