by Ethan Proud
Swain Ramek was going to face justice tonight.
Chapter Thirty-nine
The lock on the Ramek Manor gate dropped to the ground after the bullet cleaved it in half and Sheriff Ruckstead rode through to the front door. He didn’t bother tying Wineae to the hitching rail, he wouldn’t be here long enough to worry about the animal wandering off. He kicked the door open and found Swain and De’lune in the kitchen, the daughter making her obviously drunk father another drink.
“Come to finish the job?” Swain slurred, his eyes unable to focus on the sheriff. “I hope Artemisia crafted another of her silver bullets for you.”
“De’lune, leave us,” Ruckstead commanded.
“No.” She straightened as she stood up. “You have caused our family enough strife already.”
“As if your rabid brother and father had not caused the strife of many more families. Can you be so selfish?” Ruckstead challenged her.
She collapsed inward but had no response.
“It is fine, leave us,” her father said, and she excused herself meekly. Swain continued, “I suppose this means that you will not be obeying the mayor’s orders?”
“The mayor is dead,” Ruckstead said blandly.
Swain guffawed loudly. “We are not as different as you would like to believe,” the Ramek said. “We both just want to protect the ones we love.”
“If I had a nickel for every time a criminal said that to me, I would be a rich man,” Ruckstead countered.
“Then maybe you should look in the mirror, I don’t believe that any decent man of the law would gun down a boy in the streets,” Swain growled and rose to his feet.
“I did not come here for a battle of wills or words,” Ruckstead said, drawing his pistol for a second time that night and discharging it right into Swain’s guts. De’lune screamed from somewhere in the house. Swain fell to the floor, gasping like a fish as he clutched his stomach. Ruckstead crossed the room and stood over the werewolf.
“I will not make any mistakes this time,” the sheriff promised the businessman as he grabbed a carving knife from its rack on the counter. Ruckstead crouched down and dragged the blade across Swain’s neck, a weak spray of blood spurting up to meet him. Swain convulsed for a moment and pressed his hands weakly against Ruckstead’s face before his head was separated from his torso after minutes of back and forth sawing. He stood back up and held the head aloft, staring into Swain’s dead eyes.
“Nobody will be returning from the dead this time.” Ruckstead grabbed the corpse by the collar and dragged it to the fireplace. He opened the door and tossed the head in and kicked the embers over the body. He added more wood to both the stove and the pyre before it.
He heard a frenzied screech as De’lune came running into the room. Ruckstead caught her around the waist and hoisted her off her feet. He carried her from the house as flames raced across the floor and licked at the walls. She struck his chest with her fists as she sank against his body, sobs wracking her small frame.
Despite the rain, the house went up in flames. Satisfied that there was nothing De’lune could do to save her father’s corpse for reanimation and its return as a vulkodlak, Ruckstead released her.
“I am sorry that you had to be involved in this. Hopefully your life will be better without the stain of your father and brother,” Ruckstead said as he swung his leg over Wineae’s saddle.
“You will pay for this!” De’lune screamed into the night as Ruckstead spurred Wineae back towards the gate.
“I’m sure I will,” Ruckstead murmured. Undoubtedly, Kerfield would be arresting him tomorrow and a trial would find him guilty of double homicide. He would admit to it and face the noose, but at least Gertrude and Benjamin would be living in a safe Northgate… free of demons and monsters who murdered with abandon. Ruckstead would have laughed had his mood been less dire. He had circumvented the law and was no better than the creatures he had murdered.
Chapter Forty
Vahrun concluded his search for the vulkodlak and found it hiding in its lair beneath Mimbry Peak. Artemisia was preparing for the hunt, pulling on a knit hat, gloves, and an overcoat when there was a knock at the door. She opened it and welcomed Ruckstead in, who looked particularly wretched. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in years, heavy bags under his eyes and his hair and mustache disheveled. His face was drawn, and he looked at least ten years older.
“You look like hell. You should have stayed home,” Artemisia said tactlessly, though kindly.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Kerrick and Swain are dead,” Ruckstead said as he pulled a chair up to the table.
“How?” Artemisia demanded while she poured him a cup of ginger tea.
Ruckstesad took a long drink before answering. “I shot them.”
“Swain will return as another vulkodlak…” Artemisia started, but Ruckstead waved her off.
“I cut his head from his shoulders and burnt the body. If anything more than the frame of Ramek Manor is still standing, I will be shocked.” Ruckstead took another draught of the tea.
Artemisia nodded, as she mulled over the information. “Before we decided that you couldn’t kill Swain as you would be the suspect. What changed?”
“Kerrick had a warrant that ordered your hanging, stating that you were responsible for the werewolves. So I killed Kerrick and rode to the manor,” Ruckstead said miserably. “Bruna, Kerrick’s servant girl, saw me murder him, and De’lune was at the house when I killed Swain. My time is limited, and yours might be as well. Beatrice Axel wrote the warrant, she will know that foul play was involved.”
Artemisia grimaced. “That is a problem for another time. I can’t express my gratitude to you, but I will help prove your innocence once we defeat Hugh.”
“Once we kill Hugh, I will turn myself in. I am not innocent. And we will never be able to prove that the Rameks were the werewolves,” Ruckstead argued.
“Do not be brash, you have a wife and boy who need you,” Artemisia said and placed her hand on Ruckstead’s shoulder.
“No one needs a criminal sheriff, but alas, I mope too much. We have a werewolf to kill,” Ruckstead said as he finished his tea and stood up.
Artemisia started to say something else, but Vahrun stopped her.
“I agree with the sheriff, the sooner I can leave this disgusting plane of existence the better,” the demon growled.
Artemisia assented and they exited her cottage. Ruckstead climbed into Wineae’s saddle, and Artemisia swung into Newt’s saddle. With a sigh, Vahrun clambered up onto the horse’s rump behind the saddle. It was a long ride across town and everyone who caught sight of them exchanged hushed whispers. Those who had heard of Beatrice’s account of her rescue looked on at Vahrun in admiration. Those who had heard Bruna’s story of the murderous sheriff slammed their shutters and muttered unkind words.
They couldn’t cross Northgate quick enough, but they made it. As they began navigating the steppes towards the vulkodlak’s lair, the only green they saw belonged to the evergreens and lichens. In anticipation of winter, the perennial forbs, biennials, and deciduous trees had gone dormant. The annual grasses and weeds had completed their lifecycles and the seeds of the next generation lay dormant in wait for spring. Winter annuals like cheatgrass were a distant promise of the rejuvenation of spring.
“That way,” Vahrun said and pointed.
Neither Ruckstead nor Artemisia needed their guide to find the lair, they both vividly recalled their first outing as a team.
They found the den with the cedar tree perched above its mouth easily enough. Hugh would be somewhere within.
“I believe this is you,” Artemisia said and pushed Vahrun backwards and off Newt.
The horse pawed the ground in irritation and Vahrun sidestepped before the animal kicked him. He entered the cave and came out only a moment later holding the pelt of a man. Hugh’s naked, empty skin was a testimony to the eternity as a wolf that fate had promised him.
“He’s n
ot here,” Vahrun said.
A growl reverberated from the trees and the vulkodlak leapt from behind a stand of desiccated fireweed. Vahrun ducked, but he miscalculated and the paws rolled him across the ground effortlessly. The wolf ignored the prone demon and sprang at Ruckstead. His eyes emanated hatred for the man who had already killed him once. In the span of a heartbeat, Ruckstead fired a shot straight into the werewolf’s forehead. The beast dropped in midair and rose a moment later. Its skull was fractured and opened like a flower, but the creature was far from dead. It picked itself back up from the ground and padded towards the sheriff.
Behind the vulkodlak, Vahrun emerged from his human shell. His disguise split from the top of the head to the feet and the demon crawled out. All three eyes blinked open at once as he spread his arms and charged at the werewolf. Vahrun snapped all four arms around the wolf and picked it up off the ground. The wolf wriggled against him as the growths of teeth pulled out chunks of hair and flesh. Hugh screamed in agony and sank his teeth in one of Vahrun’s multiple of arms. The demon chuckled, despite being one of the goddess’ mongrels a werewolf was still bound to the first plane and infinitely weak when compared to the higher beings.
Effortlessly, Vahrun flung the wolf against a tree which shook and dropped its needles in a rain of turpentine. Hugh shook his body and struggled to rise, but Vahrun was on him in an instant. His teeth sank into Hugh’s back and the sound of bones cracking was heard over the werewolve’s pained cry. Vahrun picked Hugh by his neck and cracked his spine again. He dropped the prone form of the vulkodlak on the ground and began feasting.
For the better part of an hour, Artemisia and Ruckstead watched in horror as Vahrun consumed Hugh while he was still alive. He started with the feet and tail and worked his way up until all that was left was the head. He popped it into his mouth as if it was nothing more than a grape and crushed it within his jaws. As he consumed Hugh’s life force, Vahrun felt Artemisia’s bond to him dissipate. His bones rejoiced as their shackles fell off and his will became his own once again.
“It is done, now banish him,” Ruckstead said hoarsely.
Artemisia wordlessly dropped from Newt’s saddle and scratched a pentagram on the forest floor. Immediately it glowed with green flames and Artemisia jumped back. From the symbol, Glautous emerged. Vahrun lunged for Ruckstead and snapped Wineae’s neck between his four hands. He plucked Ruckstead from the saddle and shoveled him into his hungry maw. The sheriff crunched all the way down as the demon gobbled him up. His feet spasmed one last time before he was completely swallowed.
Artemisia stared on in abject horror as the man she had grown to call a friend was devoured by the demon she had summoned. She yanked on Newt’s reins to flee from the scene, but Vahrun snatched her horse by the muzzle and held him tight.
“Don’t worry, Artemisia,” he started, bits of the sheriff still clinging to his teeth and snout. “You don’t deserve an end so easy. I will let you live so you can watch as I destroy Northgate. I want you to see as I ruin all those you hold dear. Bear witness to my power.”
With that, Vahrun and his servant Glautous left Artemisia standing agape outside the vulkodlak den.
Chapter Forty-one
Sniveling, De’lune darted through the forest near her home. She tripped over the roots of the ponderosa pines and skeletons of the past season’s forbs. Her eyes were blinded with tears and snot ran down her face. The sun was blocked from sight by coalescing clouds and the first true snow of the season began to fall. Fat flakes fell to the ground, their crystalline structure visible to the naked eye. Within minutes, the first blanket of winter had arrived.
For the first time in her life, De’lune felt truly alone. The emptiness in her chest could never be filled. She had killed her mother through her violent birth and her brother and father had both been slaughtered in front of her eyes. She had been cursed by the goddess. De’lune felt her knees weakened and found herself crying on the ground. Wearily she wiped her eyes and saw a single henbane plant before her. A plant this vibrantly green did not belong in the fall to winter landscape. Half of the plant’s stems were covered in basket like pods, while the rest still held cream colored blossoms with mauve venation. De’lune felt a tangible hum through the air and knew that this was a gift from the Goddess Mond.
Distraught, she plucked it up from the root and ate it whole. Seeds, flowers, leaves, stems, roots, all, much as Vahrun just consumed the sheriff. She choked it back as the trichomes tickled her throat and her eyes watered even further. She began slavering and held up her hands to stop the trees from falling down on her. Her arms and legs felt a burning sensation that settled into her trunk. She looked down at her limbs and as the minutes passed a purple rash spread across them. Perhaps the plant had been an abnormality and she had made a mortal mistake. Nonetheless, she would meet her family soon in the afterlife. As she stared at her hands in desperation a mouth formed on her hand, a perfect reflection of her own tongue and teeth.
The lips on her palm opened and uttered, “Let go.” They began to sing Mond’s praise and De’lune felt the call of the goddess. Giving herself over to her deity she felt her astral being separate from her body like strings pulled from a sweater as she was elevated into the pantheon.
Devil Dance
Book Three
Chapter Forty-two
“Why did you summon me here?” Glautous asked of Vahrun as they marched down the mountain.
“Change of plans,” Vahrun said simply. His many mouths chattered angrily from seemingly impossible crevices.
“We aren’t killing the witch?” the minion asked.
“No, we are, but not before I have my brother back and Mission bound for torment on the fourth plane,” Vahrun explained. Seamlessly he morphed into his human form. The crown of sage and cloak of nettles had long since dissolved and he was free. “Your current form won’t work. We need to fit in.”
“I have too much respect for myself to assume a human body.” Glautous folded his arms to illustrate his point.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Vahrun said and snapped his fingers. Glautous fell to all fours, his long fingers binding together as goo flooded from all of his pores. His hands and feet became single hoofs at the end of extremely long and muscled legs, and his neck stretched until it resembled a stallion’s. His teeth clacked loudly together as his snout was stretched many times its original length. His eyes did cartwheels in their sockets before settling to stare at the demon balefully. The horse before Vahrun looked extremely healthy — keen eyes, powerful legs, and a well-proportioned face.
“You really have outdone yourself this time, Glautous.” Vahrun clapped and pulled himself astride the horse. With a gentle kick of his heels, the two demons were galloping towards Northgate.
The demon-horse navigated the rocky, tree strewn mountainside with ease. The scenery shifted from evergreens and dormant shrubs to sagebrush and bunchgrass as they approached the south end of Northgate. Vahrun worked a plan through his head. He knew that the sheriff and mayor were dead, leaving the town ripe for the taking. All he had to do was find the woman he had seen in the street earlier, and he would have his in. He regretted not asking her name.
With each of Glautous’ hoof beats, mud flecked his underbelly and Vahrun’s legs. Soon the dull thud and squelch of hooves in mud transitioned to the clip-clop of a cobblestone street. Vahrun surveyed the buildings — blacksmith, doctor’s office, butcher, apartments. What kind of work was the woman he had saved been in?
He spied the sheriff’s office and jail and cut a beeline for it. Chances were it was empty. Vahrun pulled on Glautous’ mane and the horse slowed to a stop. The demon easily slid from the back of his beast of burden and approached the sheriff’s office. He neglected to knock and pushed the door open and it slammed against the wall.
Much to his shock, he found that the jail office was very occupied by three persons. James Kerfield, Beatrice Axel, and the servant Bruna were gathered around the table. Beatric
e’s eyes lit up immediately.
“This is the man I told you about!” she exclaimed. “He saved me from the giant wolf!”
Kerfield nodded noncommittally. The sight of the man before him sent chills running down his spine. “Yes, yes. Do you have anything to report?”
“No, I came in here by mistake,” Vahrun said and made to excuse himself.
“The big letters saying Sheriff didn’t give it away?” Kerfield said scathingly.
“Perhaps he came in to ask for directions,” Beatrice chastised him. “Luckily your murderous sheriff wasn’t in here or he might have wound up another victim.”
“I refuse to believe that Ruckstead murdered anyone,” Kerfield spat through his teeth.
“Are you calling me a liar?” Bruna fumed and Kerfield looked at a loss for words.
“Your sheriff is dead,” Vahrun interjected. “Devoured by the witch’s beasts in the woods after he murdered Swain in the same cold blood as he slayed the mayor in.”
Beatrice and Bruna’s faces blanched at the thought of Ruckstead being a serial killer. Hugh, Kerrick, and Swain all died at his hands. Kerfield was more perceptive.
“Who said Sheriff Ruckstead killed the mayor?” Kerfield asked, suspicion creasing his brow.
“Small town. Word travels fast,” Vahrun said shrugging. “Especially when it is as scandalous as this.”
“Get out,” Deputy Kerfield growled. “All of you.”
“As you wish. I must find the inn,” Vahrun said and led the exodus.