At the Behest of the Dead

by Long, Timothy W.

  The creature rolled to its side then came up growling. I didn’t have a glyph prepared so I relied on another potion. I tossed a simple concoction of mushrooms and frog venom. It struck near him, so I asked the wind for help. A puff of a breeze, something you might barely notice unless it was trickling down your neck, was all it took to carry the gaseous smoke upwards, seeking the creature’s face.

  It tried to jump out of the way of the nauseous gas and smashed through a plate glass window. Shards exploded as the werewolf tumbled into the shop. Tables were tossed aside as the hulking form attempted to maneuver in the small space. A pair of customers dove to the ground. One, a man in his early twenties, grabbed a laptop bag and held it to his chest like a talisman. Sorry to say that even if it contained a laptop the device would be little use against the angry changer, whose five inch claws would cut through it like a hot knife through butter.

  The beast got a glimpse of Detective Andrews and her gun. It snarled and dropped to all fours, oblivious to the piles of broken wood and shards of glass. It wavered and I almost cheered as the potion took effect. Then I cursed as the beast shook its head and howled.

  Frank dropped from the sky with a scream. He tucked his wings in close then dropped into the portal left by the shattered window. The werewolf’s flank was the target and Frank tore into it with a screech. It rolled in pain and smashed into the man with the laptop clutched to his chest. His face wore a look utter fear. Hey, barista, I didn’t order two pumps of a Hollywood horror movie with my latte.

  Frank came screeching in again, wings arching, and feathers flying. His massive talons extended and then sliced into the changer.

  With the overhang, he didn’t have room to maneuver and disengaged right after the strike. He hit the ground and hopped back and screamed loud enough to stop any passersby that weren’t already looking in at a seven foot tall werewolf.

  Andrews was through the door and yelling for everyone to get down. They were slow to react, most looking on in confusion. A woman did hit the floor, but a pair of Asian tourists looked on with mouths gaping. Good lord, hadn’t these people ever seen an action movie? When a guy bursts in with a gun and yells “Get down!” you kiss the goddamn floor.

  I tried to prepare a glyph, got it mostly formed, but lost my concentration for a second when I got a look at the barista behind the counter. She was staring at the beast and she appeared terrified. I did a double take and realized it was Ashley, whom I’d badly flirted with not an hour ago.

  I cranked up another shape and decided that I had a clear shot and unleashed it with a whip of splayed fingers. Then I accelerated it with a word and the net was loosed. It tangled the beast’s feet, making it fall over in a heap. It howled for all it was worth, the sound making people on the ground cry out in fear.

  Frank changed before us and stood as naked as the day he was born. Andrews didn’t know which to focus on--the naked Indian with two feathers streaming down his back from his long black hair, or the creature we’d brought down.

  Frank picked up part of a chair and smashed it onto the wolf’s head. Wood splintered and Frank was tossed across the room. He veered into his hawk form and ended up flapping his wings until he settled on the ground, kicking up dust and debris as his wings steadied him.

  The beast surged to its feet and razor sharp claws lashed out to tear into a young man trying to back away from it. Hot chocolate and whipped cream spilled down his jacket and he screamed in fear. The claw tore into his leg, low near the calf, and his mother was suddenly pulling him back, probably saving his life.

  The werewolf struggled to its feet but fell over again as I approached, hand held out with the last vial as I waited for my turn. It hit the counter and the pastry display was crushed. Pieces of glass and wood exploded in every direction as the hulking beast struggled to get away.

  The net wouldn’t hold long and his claws were still slashing. There was a grunt and then a scream as someone behind the counter tried to avoid being slashed. I glanced up to see it was Ashley. She stared at the horror on the floor and then at me, her emerald eyes going wide. Then she picked up a plate and hurled it at the beast, striking it between the shoulder blades.

  “Go old man,” Frank croaked.

  He beat his wings once in the small space and jumped in to tear at the werewolf’s eyes. Before the creature could snap at Frank and tear into a wing, the great hawk was away. Frank jumped to a counter, wings popping out and snapping up to get a little lift. Then he took flight and dove in for attack again.

  The beast had its eyes on Ashley. It struggled to its feet and swung at Frank with the back of its paw. My friend was tossed to the side, hitting Andrews, who was trying to get a bead on the beast with her gun. It was far from the ideal weapon but it would buy us a few seconds.

  Frank went down in a heap of feathers. He was hurt, wings flapping as he tried to right himself, but he got back to his feet and stumbled away, one wing bent in pain.

  Ashley fell back, struck the giant metal oven, and gasped in pain. The werewolf spun on her and extended a claw.

  I had to do something!

  As much as I had lamented the gun, I reached for the lead shards and found them buried deep in an inside pocket. I drew them forth and blew on them. Then I flung them in an overhand throw that would have been about as powerful as a child tossing a tennis ball.

  Ashley screamed in horror but slapped his paw away.

  Even with breath and a few spoken words, the distance between the beast and I wasn’t enough to reach any real velocity. For every piece of magic in the world, there is a little thing called physics that prevents things from getting out of hand. You won’t ever see a warlock rocking across the sky at Mach 3. He would be torn from his fork and left flailing as he fell from the skies.

  But the lead got the creature’s attention. It struck his head and actually made a sound like thumping a coconut. If I’d had more time and a lot more room, I might have made a real knot back there. Instead I made him angrier.

  The werewolf turned on me, raised its head, and howled like there was a full moon.

  I wanted to turn around and run until I hit tomorrow, then scrape the dirt out of my old sarcophagus and sleep until next week.

  It dove toward me, one claw a blur aimed for my face.

  I ducked and rolled forward, my back colliding with a chair. I ended up on my ass with a table falling toward my crotch. I crab walked out of the way as the edge crashed between my spread legs.

  The wolf was back, and I had to wonder at the crazy circumstances that had found me running from a demon the night before to facing off against a blood-mire influenced changer the very next day.

  Andrews came to my rescue. She rose and emptied her gun into the werewolf’s back. Blood sprayed and fur flew. Frank hopped away and found a table to hide behind.

  The wolf screamed in anger and pain then turned on the detective, who was popping her magazine loose.

  I propelled myself forward and slammed the vial onto the great beast’s head as hard as I could. The tiny jar broke and quicksilver spread. There was a roar of pain and I was hit hard enough to send me flying into a table, over it, and into a chair.

  My body screamed in pain and my head exploded, making me see stars as the back of it smashed into a crushed laptop.

  Struggling to all fours, head swimming and breath coming in ragged gasps, I ran my hand over the back of my head but didn’t find blood. Just a lump that throbbed under my touch. It would be much larger before the night was over.

  I staggered upright and Frank was there to help me to my feet.

  “Not bad for an old man,” he said in that pedantic voice with its slow measured pace. He kept one of his arms close to his side and rubbed at his elbow.

  “Who you calling old?”

  “I just call them like I see them.” Then Frank copied me by falling into a chair.

  Andrews slid forward, her long jacket sweeping the floor. In a way, she reminded me of some action hero. Well,
an action hero that would be filling out paperwork all night.

  The werewolf thrashed on the floor, smoke rising from its head where the deadly fluid had stuck. I didn’t want to kill him. I really didn’t. I just wanted to secure him, ask a few questions, maybe make a formal request for the council to step in and investigate the case.

  He was half man shaped now, pale legs kicking as the quicksilver ate into his brain. Red and frothy blood tinged with grey spilled onto the floor.

  Its eyes fixed on mine, one blue and one a dull black. Some intelligence remained behind those eyes when it spoke words that chilled me to the bone.

  “Phineasssssss.” And then it coughed blood from its half snout, half nose.

  I reeled back in shock. Again he said my name and it surprised the hell out of me. How could he know me, let alone know I would be hunting him? Had he planned to kill me?

  The life faded from the beast’s eyes and I sat back on my feet, crouching beside the guy. His features were unfamiliar to me. He had blue eyes, but the irises were barely visible as his pupils dilated in death. Strange to see such dark eyes on a changer. Very expressive, which would give me something to think about when I hunted down the bastard that sent him after me.

  The act of changing really does channel the person into the beast they become. Frank, for instance was a very thin, wiry guy. He was also immensely strong, but carried himself with a gait I would call almost feminine. But not to his face, since I was fond of my nose and didn’t like the idea of getting punched in it.

  The wolf man had broad shoulders, long arms, and a chiseled chest. He had to have spent years in the gym to maintain such a look. Nearly every inch of his body was covered in dark hair.

  His face was contorted in pain and most of the top of his head was gone. Melted by the quicksilver concoction I had smashed there. I rubbed my hand on the side of my robe.

  He was still warm, and I almost cried out when I touched him. Hate radiated from him like a furnace. Whatever he had been in life was gone, nearly sucked into the animalistic need that had consumed his existence.

  Andrews stepped to my side and started to say something. She had the barrel of her gun pointed at the man and I motioned for him, a gesture that hopefully conveyed my sentiment that “We couldn’t make him any deader.”

  “You okay?” she asked with genuine concern. I suppose I looked a mess.

  “Yeah ... no. Give me a moment.”

  I hurt. Every inch of my body felt like I’d been put through a ringer. My head was the worst, from where the back of my neck had impacted with a chair. Bruises would mark my back and I would have to salve the old wounds where the cruel metal pentagram bit into my chest. It was not as constricted now, since the spell had worn off.

  Andrews stepped back, long coat swirling around her shoes, dropping bits of dust and clumps of crap from our late night tour of the underground. A siren peeled in the distance, the sound rising and lowering. Pretty soon this place would be swarming with cops. How in the world were we going to explain this? I would just have to work under the assumption that Andrews would back up my story, and more importantly my activities during the investigation.

  But before any of that could take place I needed answers.

  I touched the man again and dove deep.

  His soul was a mess, shredded and hurt. Like an abused child, it shrunk from me. But souls didn’t feel pain. This one was trying to depart, to escape from me or run from whatever had caused it so much anguish. I held on, delving, feeling around the confines of its prison. There was something there, in his chest. I could feel it like an anchor that wouldn’t let him go.

  Then an angry force ripped through the body. It felt like a red hot blazing hand raked my innards from chest to groin. I reared back in shock then howled as pain flooded my body. I thought to say a word, just one. Something powerful, but then it was gone and I was flying backwards. I was thrown onto my back, the air exploding from my body. But that wasn’t the worst of my problems, as I felt like my entire form was suddenly on fire. I howled again, but it was a wordless cry. For a few seconds I swam in a haze and stared at a mural on the ceiling. Angels and demons made up animated figures that fought. They struggled against each other, ripping and tearing. Demons with feet and talons. Angels with swords and shields. The ground was covered in blood that made it slick, but they continued to dance across the sea of crimson. No, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. I was in a coffee house on good old earth. Not some plane of existence where the forces of good and evil constantly faced off.

  The hand had been red hot, glowing, evil with intent. If it was real, and not some malevolent apparition, I had no doubt it would have killed me. It would have reached into my chest and torn my heart from it like a man tearing the wings off a fly.

  A demon spirit had somehow possessed the changer.

  I tried to take a breath but it was so hard. Then Andrews was there and leaning over me. She put her hand over my chest and recoiled when she felt the metal pentagram affixed there.

  “I’m okay,” I croaked between dry lips.

  “You don’t look okay, partner. You look like you just got dropped from about twenty feet. What the hell was that? I mean I thought I saw a giant red hand going at you.”

  “I don’t know. Something reached in and …” I heard a whoosh. I thrashed to the side because my body was in flames. A conflagration that coated my body from head to foot. I rolled, desperate to smother the blaze.

  Andrews moved fast. She tore her jacket off and jumped on me, smothering the fire. I thrashed beneath her but she held me down. To be honest, I had about as much energy left as a tired puppy.

  The barista, Ashley, came to the rescue with a pitcher of water, most of which ended up on my face. I beat at any spots that still seemed warm and looked down. Smoke rose from Andrews’s jacket but at least the flames were out.

  The same could not be said for the man I had killed.

  I rolled out of the way again as I got a glimpse of the changer. He was on fire as well but the flames were white hot. His body crackled and the smell of burning hair made me want to gag.

  “Ah Christ!” Andrews yelled and grabbed anything that looked wet and poured it on the body.

  I rolled over and patted at the flames as well, but I didn’t have a potion ready that could possibly help. Where was all that water from my trip in the river the night before?

  “Does this kind of stuff happen to you all the time?”

  “Not until you showed up.”

  “How was I to know Lon Chaney Junior was hiding underground waiting to wreck havoc on half the city?”

  “I distinctly remember asking you to stay out. Remember? I clearly said ‘This is very dangerous.’ But you followed anyway.”

  “And it got your ass saved.” She finished the argument succinctly.

  I lay on my back for a few moments, reveling in the aftermath of the battle and the fact that I was still alive. Then the shakes set in and I had to roll on my side and pull my legs up to stop from throwing up. I must have been a sight. It was a wonder the detective didn’t laugh at my bravery.

  “Is he okay? I have more water.” A familiar voice chimed through my thoughts, which were going in at least fifteen different directions.

  “I think I’m good,” I muttered and wished for a pair of Percocets. I supposed I could have gotten snarky and asked the detective for some.

  Andrews didn’t stick around for our conversation. She rushed to the man that had been injured and leaned over to talk with him. The detective crouched by his side and looked the guy over. I had a tincture in my kit. Something I could use to help him stay lucid until the ambulance arrived. I should’ve probably been using the stuff on me as well.

  I sat up and attempted to stand, and then I landed on my butt again. Ashley patted my shoulder like I was a kid, but she stared at the body on the floor. Her hand slipped and she almost fell down. She landed next to me, putting on a show as if she meant to do that.

 
“Are you okay?” I asked.

  She turned her eyes on me but didn’t smile. Her face was a mess, covered in soot, with a piece of wood stuck in her hair. She looked shell shocked, almost in a daze. I didn’t feel much better, but I still reached out and plucked the chunk from her curls.

  “What. Was. That.” She stared into space.

  “Changer. A very very angry changer.”

  “He looked like a … a dog.”

  “Werewolf,” Detective Andrews said. She was back at our side, looking me over this time.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  “I wish it hadn’t been real too.” I said matter of factly.

  “Me too. He was dangerous. Made a real mess in here,” Andrews said.

  “That’s not it.”

  “What?” Andrews asked.

  “Second one in two days,” I muttered.

  “Second what?”

  Andrews found a pile of napkins that had been scattered across the floor and picked up a handful. He shook them out then handed them to me. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to cry into them or wipe the water off my face.

  “Second time someone’s tried to kill.”

  “Now why would someone want to kill you? You’re so charming.” The detective scoffed.

  “I wish I knew,” I said, then leaned against Ashley. If she was going to sit next to me, I was going to take advantage of the situation. Detective Andrew eyed us but I couldn’t read her look. For some reason, I got the feeling that she didn’t like seeing me with the other girl.

  Chapter Six

  My kit was still in one piece but the leather was singed. Shame. I loved that bag. Salazar had given it to me when I was just a kid.

  I applied a salve to a small cut on Ashley’s chin. It wasn’t deep but there was a small trail of blood. I dabbed at it with a fresh piece of cotton that was miraculously dry. She kept her chin tilted upwards. Her teeth bit and pulled her lower lip up so her skin pulled taut. Ashley’s complexion was unblemished, skin smooth and so soft I wanted to do a little more touching than with just the cotton. Her eyes stared down at me as I worked at the wound. It was a job that only took a few seconds but I managed to stretch it out.