“Here they come!” shouted Malcolm in a voice that boomed through most of the house. A horde of werewolves broke from the darkness and swarmed through the mazelike hedges like an onrushing wave. Simon’s hand slapped the wall beside him and his skin smoldered with wisps of greenish smoke. Within fifty yards of the house, runic symbols flared to life on the ground under the charging beasts. Explosions sounded on all sides of the house as the traps were triggered. The werewolves were flung up into the air as the runic bombs exploded. The surprised pack retreated and milled together back at the edge of the forest.
“God Almighty,” Malcolm whispered with a quick glance of amazement at Simon.
Beads of sweat appeared on Simon’s brow as he controlled the magic of the runes outside. His intense stare never left the window. “There’s our girl.”
From the edge of the woods, a figure stepped forth into the moonlight and Malcolm exhaled sharply. The giant creature’s light grey fur shone almost white, as did the enormous battle-axe clenched in her right hand like a banner of war. It stood almost as tall as she. Her howl of rage shook the glass in front of Simon. An exclamation slipped unintentionally from his lips. Simon took in the heavily scarred leather armor that Gretta wore and the huge helmet adorned with a terrifying wolf’s head.
“She won’t stop till she gets what she wants,” Malcolm warned.
“That won’t happen,” Simon stated, his mouth drawn to a thin line.
Gretta threw back her shaggy head and howled again, loud enough to make Simon wince. Suddenly the werewolves all darted forward. They crossed the garden quickly, vaulting the torn bodies of their comrades. Simon placed his hand lightly on the doorframe beside him, his demeanor unflinching as five huge, slavering werewolves rushed onto the brick walkway, charging at him with nothing but a pane of thin glass to protect him. His muscles strained as primal aether surged through him.
Malcolm stepped back to raise his weapons but held his fire, his eyes narrowed to determined slits.
The werewolves launched themselves at the two men, but instead impacted something hard. Amidst a bright flash of light they were thrown back violently into the others rushing forward behind them.
Malcolm gave a shout of victory. “Losh!”
“I’m surprised it held.” The sheen on Simon’s forehead grew more pronounced. “Not my most elegant casting.”
Werewolves gathered themselves and rushed the barrier again. The light flashed hot and more of the creatures were bloodied and killed. Still Gretta drove her pack forward.
Another horde of werewolves tore out of the darkness and threw themselves at the barrier. They tore against the runic protections with tooth and claw, screaming in pain but refusing to quit.
Gretta fixed Simon with an icy glare through the glass. She snarled at him with stark hatred, knowing full well who was responsible for the deaths of so many of her soldiers. She lifted her massive axe and threw it tumbling end over end straight at Simon’s head.
It crashed directly in front of Simon’s face and embedded itself in the wall of magic. It was an attempt to break his concentration. It failed. He shouted defiance in a hoarse roar and the runes held with another flash of bright light. His own body echoed the flare as the tattoos all rewrote themselves furiously over his skin.
Most of her pack was flung back, either dead or quivering hurt. Gretta stood rooted to the ground and roared in anger, bearing the brunt of the blast. Her weapon was heaved back toward her with tremendous force and she caught it in one large, fearsome, clawed hand. Then she sprung straight at Simon.
He tried to reconnect the runes again, but his body was spent. He felt his muscles weakening.
“Let it go!” Malcolm shouted.
Simon knew he was right. His meager protections would be useless now against the fury of this werewolf, and he would need his reserves. At least he had winnowed the pack. He released his hold on the wall, his fingers contorted with rigid stiffness. Malcolm grabbed his waistband and hauled him back into the room.
Gretta crashed through the glass. Four werewolves rushed in behind her. Around the house more crashes could be heard. A sliver of light traced a rune on Simon’s forearm and he knelt. The scribe put his hand down and a violent rumble of earth swept the smaller werewolves off their feet.
Malcolm stepped out from behind Simon, both pistols firing rhythmically, all the shells slamming into Gretta, forcing her back with each impact. The silver seemed to have little effect on her, but her scream of pain was so massive that spittle sprayed over both men.
“MacFarlane,” she roared. “I’ll eviscerate you! What you did to my wulfsyl killed too many of my pack.”
Malcolm grinned wickedly in response.
Simon leaned against a chair, breathing roughly, trying to tap into any energy he had left. A werewolf leapt for him. He reached out for his walking stick on the table. Spinning around and pulling out the sword, he stabbed the beast. He said a single word and the blade glowed. The werewolf suddenly went rigid, and its slobbering jaws snapped shut so hard that it bit through its tongue. The werewolf convulsed and lay still.
Malcolm sprang back to Simon’s side, and together the two men faced Gretta and two werewolves climbing back to their feet. The third one lay struggling across the jagged teeth of the broken French doors. Glass jutted up through its neck. Bright red blood sprayed the floor. The little silver dust coating the panes worked well enough on the rabble.
“Gretta’s mine,” Malcolm snarled.
“By all means,” was Simon’s reply with a weary wave of his hand.
Gretta swung her massive axe toward Malcolm’s head. The Scotsman ducked just in time to hear the weapon whistle over him. It was followed by a swipe of claws that Malcolm barely dodged by flinging himself over a couch. The furniture disappeared in a flurry of horsehair stuffing and oaken splinters. Malcolm rose over the shambles and swung out with a claw of his own. The blade of his knife struck her deep in the shoulder just shy of her chest. Her cry was agonizing since the man’s blade was laced with pure silver.
An explosion abruptly rocked the house and dust shook loose from the ceiling. Penny, no doubt. The sound of musketry came from various directions as the men of Hartley Hall laid into the enemy. Simon’s heart pounded with pride. That was all the contemplation he was permitted as two more werewolves sprang at him. With a whisper on his lips, he dug into his reserves once more for strength.
Simon stabbed his sword deep into the throat of the first one. It fell into him, but he didn’t stagger, his feet rooted to the floor. His hands dug deep into its fur and he threw its limp body into the path of the second one. They collided and crashed in a heap. Another creature entered the room so Simon hefted one of Kate’s fine sofas and flung it at the newcomer. Its attention was on Gretta and Malcolm so the hurtling furniture took it full in the face, driving it back on its haunches and out of the room. By then the other werewolf had disentangled itself from its dead brethren and was stalking Simon with a slavering roar.
There was a fire glowing in the fireplace. Simon maneuvered so that he crossed close in front of it. His hand found a symbol he had scrawled previously on the hearth. With a word, he threw himself to the side, just as the jaws of the werewolf closed on the meat of his biceps. The fireplace belched a furnace of flame, engulfing the werewolf. The heat washed over Simon, making his skin prickle. The escaping hiss of the flames caught Gretta also, but Malcolm managed to dart aside at the last moment, separating them momentarily. The stench of burnt hair and flesh filled the room. Gretta’s leather harness smoldered. The bottom of Malcolm’s coat flickered with flame.
Simon gained his feet unsteadily and staggered at Gretta. Her attention was on Malcolm. The Scotsman was breathing heavily and bleeding from a number of wounds. Simon ran her through with a whispered word.
Gretta screamed and struck out. Her large, clawed hand slammed against Simon. His chest constricted in agony, then he was flying through the air. He impacted against the wall. Simon held on
to consciousness by an act of sheer will, nothing more, but his body didn’t respond beyond that. His breath was a wheezing attempt. He raised his head with trembling neck muscles to see the massive werewolf stalking toward him. Her leather armor sizzled and her fur was singed black as coal.
Suddenly Malcolm leapt into view with pistols firing another barrage. Gretta staggered, but then surged forward in a berserker rage so fast that Simon couldn’t see her. Her massive head snapped at Malcolm and he barely had time to drop his pistols and hold her jaws at bay. She shook her head free and battered Malcolm across the head. He flew back into the unsteady Simon, and the Scotsman collapsed into unconsciousness. Simon struggled to raise his sword.
Gretta’s clawed hands crunched through plaster behind them. To Simon’s amazement, the wall shifted. She pulled back, creating a shuddering rain of dust and a deafening creak of timber. Gretta vanished amidst a deep rumbling sound and an avalanche of bricks and timber. Simon raised his hands but there was no stopping the side of the house and part of the floor above from coming down on top of them.
There was a gaping hole in the library, smoke curled from the edges, and dust was still settling to the ground. Four werewolves lay dead, the silver slivers embedded in their fur glinting in the dim lights still flickering in the wall sconces.
Kate strode with sword in hand to the hole and threw a vial through the entrance. A plume of golden dust billowed, then began to solidify into what appeared to be a large slab of amber. The orange crystal filled the gap in the wall.
“That’s a keen thing there, that amber.” Penny rose from behind an overturned table, dusting off her breeches. She raised her powerful blunderbuss to her shoulder.
“Just an old alchemy experiment that never came to anything,” Kate remarked. “Use another one of those bombs inside and you’ll bring the house down on us.”
“On your left!”
A werewolf entered the library from the inner door. Penny dodged a savage swipe as Kate stabbed her sword into the exposed chest. Her aim was off, but still the beast curled inward over the pain. She fell back and Penny let fly with the heavy gun. A flash of flame and smoke accompanied the earsplitting boom. The werewolf was pounded into the wall, smashing against portraits and knickknacks. It tumbled awkwardly to the rug and shuddered. Its chest was littered with a collection of silver knives and forks.
“The family silver is finally worth something,” Kate said with a measure of pride and exhilaration, nodding toward a pile of silverware on a table. “Fresh batch?”
“No time!”
Another werewolf streaked through the door. Kate and Penny both raised pistols and fired. The silver balls ripped through the werewolf. It stumbled, then flopped hard to the ground.
“My ammunition is almost spent.” Penny hastily reloaded her pistol.
“Then let’s retreat and hold the line downstairs.” Kate hated to think how many of the beasts were already inside and how many humans they could have killed on the way in.
The two women made for the door to the wine cellar, stepping over the numerous carcasses. Behind them, a trio of werewolves snarled their way through the tight doorway into the library, back on their haunches with their hackles on end. Their claws dug deep into the wooden flooring as they inched forward. Kate threw her last amber vial. The three creatures couldn’t avoid the golden fumes and immediately became encased in a sticky ocher resin, unable to move, trapped like insects from a bygone age.
Kate and Penny raced down a staircase to a wide landing, where Hogarth waited outside a single door. He carried a massive war hammer in his hands. He moved up a few steps to provide cover. Kate took a set of keys from Hogarth. “Inside!”
She unlocked the door and they rushed into the chamber. Kate swung the thick door shut, throwing the bolt. Hogarth and Penny pushed a heavy rack of oaken barrels in front of it. The wine cellar was huge, easily stretching under half of the house. It had a high-vaulted brick ceiling. The walls were stacked with rack after rack of wine bottles. Flickering lamps created terrifying shadows.
Imogen sat in a simple wooden chair. Her face was blank, but there was a cold terror in her eyes. Her hands were clutched in her lap, wringing with worry. “You have to go.”
Kate replied, “Hush, dear. Everything will be fine. We can’t go just yet.”
“You, Kate. You have to go.”
Kate stared at her sister, mystified by the remark. She came forward and embraced her.
The door abruptly shuddered. Hogarth and Penny braced themselves against the desk.
“We’re safe here.” Kate stroked her sister’s arm. “I won’t leave you. Ever.”
Imogen slowly looked up, directly into Kate’s eyes. Her lips quivered. “They’re not here for me.”
Before Kate could reply there was another earsplitting crack against the door. Hogarth exclaimed, “They’re coming through!”
The door broke apart as a massive blade cut through the thick mahogany wood like it was paper. Gretta Aldfather ripped the door to pieces and smashed her way inside, shoving the rack and barrels easily out of the way.
Hogarth swung the great hammer in a wide arc, striking the side of a werewolf’s head with a loud crunching sound. Before he could bring his maul to bear again, Gretta swept Hogarth and Penny aside like toys. The werewolf’s gaze fell on Kate.
The blood in Kate’s face fled. The presence of the werewolf leader here meant she had gotten past Simon and Malcolm. She swallowed back her fear for the two men. She drew her resolve inward and steadied her wildly beating heart.
Kate threw a crystal vial straight at Gretta’s face. The werewolf quickly lifted an arm and took most of the acid on her leather bracer. The armor began to bubble and dissolve. The alchemist rushed the monster, sword held tight, stabbing straight. Gretta slipped aside and the hardened cuirass turned the blade. A massive arm swung out and bashed Kate. She went flying into the wreckage of the barrels, her head slamming painfully against the edge. Her vision swam. Nausea and vertigo prevented her from rising. Kate let out a strangled gasp as Gretta seized her neck in a clawed hand.
“Give me the key!” came Gretta’s inhuman growl.
Kate wasn’t sure what she heard.
“The key.” The werewolf shook her in anger. “Your father’s key. Where is it?”
“She’s wearing it,” Imogen called out, still sitting in her chair. “Around her neck.”
Gretta ripped the leather bandolier from Kate’s shoulder and tossed it aside. Then she tore open the jacket and blouse and scraped sharp nails across Kate’s soft skin. With a quick snap, the werewolf tore the chain holding the gold key and held it up in front of her animalistic eyes.
Kate still couldn’t grasp why the creature was asking about the key. Or why Imogen was talking to the werewolf. Kate had hardly thought about the key in days. Gretta threw her down hard onto the floor.
The werewolf looked at Imogen. “You know its secret, yes?”
Imogen stared at the hulking monster with amazing clarity, as if she were conversing with a maid. “No. I told the pale man everything I know.”
Kate shoved herself up onto unsteady legs, grabbing her sword. The werewolf was starting to turn back just as Kate thrust the sword at Gretta’s side, now unprotected, her armor gaping in spots from splashed acid. Kate was still disoriented and so was her aim. Instead of hitting a vital area, the blade dug deep into the werewolf’s arm, piercing it all the way through to enter the torso. The point glanced off a rib and lodged tight. A single flex of Gretta’s arm snapped the sword in half. The werewolf snarled and Kate knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid the coming blow.
Suddenly, Hogarth smashed his hammer into Gretta’s spine. The beast crashed against the far wall hard enough to leave an imprint in the wooden beams before crumpling to the floor.
Gretta rose and grabbed a heavy barrel. She swung it with the force of a typhoon to club Hogarth, who tried to break the impact with the length of the hammer. His body went airborne and crashe
d into a wine rack, smashing bottles and spraying red wine. He dropped to the floor and didn’t rise again.
Kate was on one knee, trying to catch her breath. Penny was unconscious, slumped in a corner, blood trickling from her temple. Kate scrambled toward Imogen. Gretta seized her ankle and dragged her back, tossing her across the room. Kate’s breath left her in a rush and the world spun so that bile rose forcefully in her throat.
Kate fought one more time to stagger up on limbs that would not hold her. The room swayed sickeningly and finally she succumbed and lost her tenuous hold on consciousness and slumped to the ground. In her subsequent nightmare, she heard a terrible howl in the distance. Dark shapes streamed around her and out into the night, emptying the house, save the moans and wails of the remaining humans.
Then darkness.
Simon staggered into the library, taking in the smashed furniture and gaping hole in the wall. Dead bodies lay on the floor; all the werewolves had returned to human shape. He stumbled over wreckage and pushed through the door to the wine cellar. His rubbery legs carried him down the stairs, where he saw the shattered door.
He pushed inside to a scene of silent destruction. Splintered barrels. Overturned wine racks. Smashed bottles. Pools of dark liquid seeped across the stone floor. His heart twisted when he saw an object draped over the ruin.
Simon knelt and lifted Kate’s bandolier. His hands clenched around it. Blood dripped from the wound in his arm.
“Kate!” he shouted and stood, nearly blacking out. He steadied himself. “Kate, can you hear me? Are you here?”
He climbed over the remnants of crushed barrels, searching for her form amidst the detritus. Then he heard a groan and the tinkling of a rolling bottle. He saw an arm shift from under a pile of wood and straw.
Simon scrambled over and braced himself. He managed to lift heavy oak fixtures and shoved them aside. Hogarth’s face showed bloody and swollen.
The Shadow Revolution: Crown & Key Page 21