by Declan Finn
“Her” eyes lit up. “Oh, more than that. I intend to use you.” The image of the young, redheaded “witch” bounded off the bed and bounced over to Marco’s side. “Her” voice was low and conspiratorial. “You don’t believe in your own limits, so they don’t apply. You make your own pathetic reality. Then you enforce this reality on the rest of us.”
Marco rolled his eyes. Bosley and Amanda had talked about him doing something similar. “It’s called adapting.”
“Oh no,” the image said, “that’s where you’re wrong. You had it right the first time, when you said you are whatever you need to be. You are. That’s been our problem. And soon, it will be everyone else’s problem.”
Before it could say another word, Marco charged out of his room, rammed the door with his shoulder and swept down the stairs, gym bag in hand. He drew the weapon and leveled it at the door of the brownstone seconds before it broke open.
Marco stood at the top of the stairs and fired.
The first bullet went through the minion’s shoulder and slammed into the chest of the one behind him. That impact knocked the second minion into the third.
Marco readjusted and fired again, the bullet passing through the shoulder of the second minion, obliterating the collarbone of one, and crushing the one behind him.
The fourth minion shoved them all aside, coming up with an Uzi. He wheeled around the door to the brownstone, pressing himself up against the wall just between the door and the stairs.
Marco fired through that as well, punching through the walls and slamming into the minion’s body armor. It knocked him back, spilling out onto the stoop outside.
Marco leaped over the railing, landing on one knee on the floor of the hall. He fired again, dropping the final minion.
Marco lowered the gun. At his side dangled a fifty-caliber Desert Eagle semi-automatic with a sound suppressor attached.
Chapter 15
Dark Knight of the Soul
Amanda flew down the stairs and stopped halfway down. She stared at the love of her afterlife and gaped. He stood in the doorway, gun pointed straight down.
Instead of being horrified at the bodies on the floor, or anything clichéd, she stared at the hand cannon and said, “Where did you get that!”
Marco looked up. “Oh, this?”
Before he could say anything more, several figures burst from the living room entrance down the hall.
Marco nearly whirled on them and started blasting, but paused. “Damn it, where the hell have you people been?”
The three men rolled their eyes and put away their guns. One wore a police uniform, another a three-piece pinstripe suit, and the third the dark blue and green of the Vatican Ninjas.
Enrico, the mafia enforcer, thrust his suit jacket over his shoulder holster. “Next time, can we shoot him?”
The Vatican Ninja, Captain Hendershot, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and face like it was chiseled from rock, gave a simple nod. “Ja.”
The police officer, a tall black man named Donald Tolbert, shook his head. “Don’t even joke, fellas.”
Hendershot looked at the cop. “Who was joking?”
Marco scoffed. “He’s Swiss. He has no sense of humor.” He looked down at the minions again and holstered his gun. “Come on, we have a problem.”
He kicked the guns away from the minions before he grabbed the first minion by a wrist and an ankle. He dragged him outside, and, with strength born of adrenaline and his werewolf bite, hurled him into the middle of the street.
Even Amanda furrowed her brows, confused at what he was doing. Marco came back inside and grabbed another minion. “The minions in San Francisco were so overcharged by their vampire that they literally exploded when they died.”
Amanda was immediately by his side. She hurled two of the bodies into the middle of the street like they were flowers.
Officer Tolbert looked over Marco’s head, looking out into the street. “Should I even ask why—” Tolbert was cut off as two of the bodies started to glow internally, and erupted into a white-hot ball of fire that consumed the middle of the street.
Marco turned back. “And I’m serious, where were you people? Whenever the ninjas are here, this house is like a fortress. I was attacked outside.”
Hendershot gave him a look like a dead fish. “There was a disturbance in a nearby graveyard. I sent my men to recon.”
Marco and Amanda shared a look that quite clearly said, “Oops.”
Enrico nodded. “And when you said there was a problem I came over immediately. So did Officer Tolbert. We’ve been here for hours.”
Marco winced. He had sent those texts around 10 o’clock. If they had shown up immediately, they really had been waiting for hours. “Why didn’t you guys text me back?”
“We texted Amanda,” Tolbert answered. “She can hear the texts arrive even when the phone is on mute. Didn’t you get any of them?”
“My phone is now slag,” she answered. “Destroyed after Misha showed up.”
“Who?” Enrico asked.
“Long story,” she answered. She looked back to the gun in Marco’s hand. “Again, when did you get that? How did you get it here?”
Doctor Robert Catalano walked out of the living room, polishing his glasses. “I would like to know that as well.”
Marco gave a happy little finger wave. “Hi, Dad.”
Robert slid his glasses back on, and narrowed his gaze at Marco, pointedly ignoring the bullet holes in the wall. “Don’t ‘Hi, Dad’ me, young man. You were attacked hours ago, you called in the cavalry, and then you disappeared. I thought you were dead.”
Marco winced. “Sorry.”
Robert sighed, and shook his head. “The gun?”
Marco shrugged. “I asked the ninjas and George send me some supplies. I was hoping to keep it a surprise. Mikhail’s brother was chatting with me. I figured he would strike before anyone could react.” He shuffled uncomfortably and moved his holstered weapon to the small of his back. “He’s obviously got more minions.”
“Uh huh.” Marco’s father looked down at fire consuming the middle of the street. “Can we close the door before we let all the heat out?”
Marco moved to close the door when two more men in combat gear jogged up to the front door. The first one was tall and redheaded, and the other was Persian.
Marco grinned. “Hey, Bram, Tim.”
Ibrahim “Bram” Javaherian nodded at Marco as he came up the stairs, and stopped when he saw the bullet holes. “Huh. You guys start the party without us?”
Timothy Dougherty frowned, and said in a lyrical brogue “Well, that wasn’t very nice, now was it?” He jerked his thumb down the street. “Though it explains the werewolf we found impaled on a fence. Is there a reason no one finished it off?”
“No silver,” Marco answered. “Also–”
“A werewolf?” came a new voice behind Marco.
The PA student didn’t even look over his shoulder. “Yes, Father Rodgers, a werewolf.”
The old priest laid a hand on Marco’s shoulder, and tugged gently so that Marco would face him. “You were bitten by a werewolf?”
Dougherty and Bram stopped halfway up the stairs, and everyone else became still. Even Enrico winced.
Marco looked around at them as though they were all crazy. “Guys, it’s not like I just got a terminal diagnosis. George is a lycanthrope. He seems to be doing okay. And unless I turned into Godzilla, locking me up three nights a month shouldn’t be that bad.”
“But that’s him,” Rodgers said by way of an explanation. “Maybe we should take this in another room.”
Rodgers guided Marco into the front room, and Marco took a seat at the coffee table. He leaned back in the chair and watched the priest move into the room. Rodgers closed the door behind him, taking the couch.
Marco could only ponder the dire news that would be coming his way if the priest felt he had to separate them from the rest of the household.
“So, tell me ho
w bad you think this is?” Marco asked.
The ninjas and the Vampire moved the corpse outside, into the backyard, so that no one could see the human side of the dead werewolf.
As they wandered into the primary living room, the mafia enforcer just hung up his phone. He looked to them with his calm brown eyes and said, “I’ve got some people coming over who specialize in body disposal. The werewolf will be fertilizer shortly.”
Bram nodded. “Thanks.”
The ninja-sniper took a seat in one of the cloth-covered chairs. “It’s nice to not have to bury more of those guys. Nuala’s minions were tough enough as it is.”
Enrico scoffed. “No kidding.” He settled onto the couch off to the side of the room. “How did he get bit by a werewolf?”
“It jumped from off the roof,” Amanda explained. “And landed right on him.”
Robert Catalano, seated behind his desk, leaned forward, fingers interlinked, elbows on the table. He looked at Amanda with dark, piercing eyes. “Now, before anyone goes any further, I want someone to tell me exactly how bad this werewolf thing can get. I only know what I read about and see in the movies.”
Enrico held up both hands as though surrendering to the police. “Don’t look at me, I have no idea what’s going on with that. Closest I’ve ever gotten to a werewolf is the movie theater. Or, as Miss Bosley would say, the cinema.”
The doctor looked around the room, and not even the ninjas wanted to volunteer information. Dougherty hadn’t entered the room yet. He deliberately hung back in the hallway so he wouldn’t have to answer. Even Bram, who had the best relationship with everyone, inched away. Hendershot, strangely enough, started looking at the walls, floor, and ceiling, deliberately avoiding the doctor’s gaze.
After another beat, Robert leaped to his feet, slammed his fist on the desk, and bellowed, “What is going to happen to my son?”
Everyone in the room jumped, and Enrico’s hand instinctively went to the butt of his gun.
Amanda looked at Robert, seeing only a tiny glimmer of Marco’s temper. She sighed and took a deep breath. This was going to be a difficult conversation no matter how she spun it. Even the best case scenario was fairly hairy, and she didn’t even think of it as a pun.
“He may not turn into a wolf,” she began.
Robert’s eyes locked on her. “Explain.”
“This isn’t a specific medical condition. It’s mystical, magical, metaphysical. The infected host modifies the disease.”
Robert settled down, slowly lowering himself into his seat. “Much like the virus that makes you a vampire.”
Amanda raised her hand parallel to the floor and waggled it. “A little. My actions form who I am, and makes my powers grow or lessen depending on how I act. Lycanthropy manifests differently.”’
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously. You don’t uncontrollably turn into a four-legged beast.”
Amanda braced herself. She was obviously obfuscating. “The point is that lycanthropy doesn’t turn you into the type of creature that bit you. I believe George Berkeley—one of Merle’s people—was bitten by a feline were of some sort. He changes into an Irish wolfhound. From what I have seen, a very well-behaved one.”
Robert’s mouth tightened. “So what does matter?”
“The creature the infected changes into is the one that best reflects the person’s dark side.”
Robert’s eyes widened for a moment, then he grimaced. “Oh. I can see where that might be a problem when it comes to Marco. Are we sure we can’t just lock him in a silver cage every full moon?”
She flinched. “It is not that simple.”
Father Rodgers lit a cigar and patiently drew on it. He let it out slowly, blowing the smoke away from Marco. This was going to be delicate, no matter what Marco thought he knew.
“You know you’re not going to turn into something soft and cuddly like George,” Rodgers began.
Marco’s little Scaramouche smile lengthened a bit. “No? You think?” he drawled sarcastically. “Again, lock me up three nights a month. I’ll live.”
Rodgers sighed and shook his head. He had to stop being delicate about this. “You only think this is easy because it is for George. I presume he hadn’t told you about his own experience.”
Marco shrugged. “Never asked. I figured it was his personal issue, and I wouldn’t pry unless invited.”
Rodgers nodded. “Do you know how long he had been infected by the time you met him?”
“Months.”
“He had the time to get this under control.”
Marco gritted his teeth together, and his fists clenched. “Get what under control?”
“To start with, it’s not just the full moon. This is going to affect your behavior all the time.” His eyes narrowed, looking at Marco’s tense posture. “Starting with limited to no impulse control.”
Marco winced. He forced himself to relax, and his smile finally faded. It stayed gone, and he frowned, thinking it over. “This,” he said thoughtfully, “could be a problem.”
“It gets worse.”
The little smile returned. “But of course it does,” he snarked. “Now what? I get this uncontrollable urge to bite people?”
“No. But you’re subject to control by other lycanthropes.”
Marco’s eyebrows arched, and he gave an amused scoff. “Seriously? It’s hard to imagine that I’m not going to be an alpha.”
Rodgers shook his head. He was going to actually have to penetrate Marco’s ego. Marco didn’t usually express one so much that it was actually a problem. “You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with what animal you are, or how strong the animal is. It takes months for new lycanthropes to gain enough control over themselves to resist the slightest impulse or resist commands given by older, more experienced lycanthropes. You may be an alpha wolf, but even a beta with experience could give you commands.”
Marco steepled his fingers and frowned. “I’m in trouble.”
Robert Catalano held up a hand as he looked at Bram and Amanda, who had both finished telling him about the various and sundry problems of lycanthropy.
At this point, Enrico was the first person to speak up: “Your boyfriend’s got an attitude that makes my hitmen look calm and relaxed, and he’s going to turn into a creature that reflects that? And until he gets everything under control—something that takes months—he’s going to be more impulsive, and subject to taking orders from other furries? And, oh, our bad guy has his own furries? Is there any other way this can get worse? Because I’m thinking there’s nothing much worse than a powerful, supernatural monster with poor impulse control, who can be subverted by the other team at any point.”
The entire room went quiet.
“That’s not going to happen.”
The room turned to look at Marco, standing in the doorway, Father Rodgers right behind him. He stepped into the room, his smile back in place. He stepped over to the couch, bent down, kissed Amanda on the cheek.
He breathed deeply, inhaling her scent … then cupped her chin in his hand, and kissed her deeply, right on the lips, in front of everyone.
Enrico shrugged and looked to Bram. “At least that’s finally out of the way.”
Marco slid in next to Amanda on the love seat. “That wasn’t the lycanthropy talking, that was my announcement that we’re together.”
Robert smiled, despite himself. “Yes, we’re all happy for you, but what about your new problem?”
Marco nodded. He was clearly happy that his father had asked the question. “Before we have that discussion, let’s begin with a blessing. Monsignor?”
Rodgers nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a book.
Tolbert blinked, confused. “Wait, is that a thing now?”
Marco calmly explained, “Twice, this vampire has manifested an illusion in my room, once in San Francisco, once here. It was a full audio-visual interactive hologram and could listen as well as see. Which means that this guy could be eavesdr
opping on us right now. I figure a blessing is an easy jamming device. Call me paranoid.”
Rodgers said a quick benediction. Then did another one, just to be safe. He slid the book away. “That should do it.”
Marco nodded. “Step one, if I can be jerked around by an Alpha, it should be one of our alphas. I’ve sent Merle Kraft a text message, and we’ll see how fast George Berkeley can get here.”
“That’s one solution,” Bram agreed, nodded. “And the impulse control?”
Marco opened his mouth to speak, then looked at Amanda, closed his mouth, and looked embarrassed. Amanda furrowed her brows, looking at him. Embarrassment wasn’t one of Marco’s typical traits.
“Everyone here has seen me survive a lot of things that I shouldn’t have?” he asked.
Some nodded, some didn’t. Enrico shrugged. “Not that I recall. Why?”
Marco sighed. He hated having to explain a concept that was so familiar to everyone else. “You had a run in with the minions last month, right?”
Enrico gave a humorless laugh. “They shot up my living room.”
Marco nodded. “Exactly. Minions take more punishment, they survive more, they’re stronger, faster, almost like fighting a vampire, only without the problems. Part of this involves a human being ingesting the vampire virus without actually being close to death—or without ingesting enough of the virus to turn them.”
The mafia knee-breaker frowned. “What’s that to do with you?”
“The virus is present in vampire saliva. Every time a vampire bites someone, the victim gets a fraction of the virus. It’s why more people aren’t killed when bitten by vampires—the more of the virus the victim absorbs, the more the victim can survive. Most of the time, I’ve had Amanda sample my blood before combat. It’s probably the only reason I’ve survived half the stuff I have.”