The Baron Blasko Mysteries (Book 3): Claws

by Howe, A. E.

  Blasko turned to Etheridge. “We should go up and tell Josephine what has happened.”

  “Yes. We’ll need to decide what we can do for young Molly,” Etheridge said with a frown.

  “Stand by the door. Answer her questions if you can. Try to calm her. If anything goes too badly, send for Grace and have her come find me,” Blasko told Anton in Rusyn. The man nodded and staged himself by the door to Blasko’s bedchamber.

  Once upstairs, Blasko was concerned to find Grace alone.

  “She’s still not back yet,” the maid told him.

  The séance got underway again with François channeling an old friend of Commissioner Copeland, a child who had been struck down by polio.

  “We were such good friends. I’m sorry that I never came to see you,” Copeland said to the spirit.

  “I was scared,” said the high-pitched voice.

  “I would have come, but Mother wouldn’t let me. She told me I would catch it and be paralyzed like…”

  “Like me?” the voice moaned.

  “Yes, forgive me,” Copeland said, his eyes cast down at the table.

  “I wanted to see you before I died. I waited for you to visit for weeks.”

  “I know.”

  “We will talk again,” the voice told him.

  “Forgive me!” Copeland suddenly cried. His wife reached out and put her hand on his arm, but he shook it off and stood up. “I have to go,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. His wife followed him to the door, offering apologies and picking up their hats and coats.

  Everyone at the table seemed at a loss until François calmly said, “We shall continue.” He put his hands out and everyone joined hands again as best they could across the gap left by the departing couple.

  The next voice to come out of François’s mouth sent a shiver down Josephine’s spine.

  “Josie, I fear for you!” the voice cried.

  Josephine’s emotions battled with her logic. The voice had an eerie resemblance to her father’s. She ground her teeth, angry that François had ignored his promise not to use her father at a séance. But then she wasn’t surprised after the conversation they’d just had on the porch.

  “I’m listening,” she said, trying to keep her voice as neutral as she could.

  “The monster living in your basement must be destroyed,” the voice intoned. There were gasps from the mayor and his wife while Alice looked up, her eyes wide.

  “He’s no danger to me,” Josephine said.

  “You have always been stubborn. I remember when you were twelve and you wanted to go riding. I told you that it was going to rain, but no amount of persuading would convince you to wait another day. By the time we got back, we were both soaked. I made you clean and dry all the tack. This time you have to listen to me. You’ve chosen the wrong ally.”

  Even knowing what she did about François, it was difficult for Josephine to deny the voice. It sounded so much like her father. The pacing, the tone. In order to combat her confusion, she gave way to her anger.

  “Stop this!” she shouted, no longer caring what the others thought. She’d had enough of this emotional abuse. “You, sir, are a liar.”

  François looked up at her and an evil grin spread across his face. “Josie, my love, all I want is your happiness,” he said in her father’s voice.

  “I said stop it!” she snapped.

  A hand reached out and took her forearm. She whipped her head around, prepared to slap whoever had dared to restrain her. But the hand belonged to Matthew, who was shaking his head slightly back and forth. The mayor and his wife stared at Josephine in disbelief. Slowly their heads swiveled to François for guidance, but it was Alice who spoke next.

  “Now we all need to take a moment to catch our breath. It’s no wonder that hearing your father has upset you,” she said to Josephine with a sad tilt of her head.

  “This man is a dangerous charlatan.” Josephine pointed at François, unable to stop her anger now.

  “That is enough,” François said and stood up. “I will not sit by and be insulted.” His voice carried an equal mix of hurt and anger.

  “I don’t know what tricks you use, but you are playing a cruel hoax on these people,” Josephine said, waving her hand toward the mayor, his wife and Alice.

  “Now see here,” the mayor said. “I’m no fool. This man has genuine power. I’ll vouch for him.”

  “He has power, all right.” Josephine jerked her arm violently away from Matthew and walked around the table until she was face to face with François. “How is the trick done? How do you know so much about all of us?”

  “Back away,” he said through tight lips.

  “Fake!” she said, spitting the word at him. Josephine remembered his comments about his parents and guessed that this might be a way to get under his skin. Now that it was out, she had decided that a full frontal attack was the only way to proceed. Caution be damned, she thought. I’m done letting you screw with my town.

  “How dare you?” he said with such menace that everyone else in the room froze. Into the cold silence came a pounding from the front door.

  “What now?” Alice squeaked and started for the hallway.

  The pounding continued as she reached the door. Alice was flustered and irritated as she flung the door open, only to be knocked aside as a man pushed his way into the house.

  “Where is he?” the man screamed. “I can smell him.”

  Alice just had time to notice that the man was wearing the oddest assortment of clothes she’d ever seen on an adult. He wore a woman’s blouse, men’s trousers twice as big as he needed and no shoes or hat. With the speed of a cat, he dashed into the parlor.

  Everyone in the room had turned toward the hallway. As the man rushed in, each reacted in their own way. The mayor and his wife both shouted, the wife in surprise and the mayor in fear, for he recognized the man. So did François. Josephine also knew who it was and backed away from the table while Matthew stepped in front of her.

  “You bastard!” Charlie Parsons said, locking eyes with François.

  François stood up straight. “Parsons, what is wrong with you?”

  “As if you didn’t know. You told me I’d be stronger, better than before. All I had to do was control it.”

  François looked at the others in the room as though assessing the number of witnesses he’d have to kill. When he looked back at Parsons, there was a darkness in his eyes that transcended the world of light.

  “I gave you a gift. What you did with it is no mark against me,” François said in a tone so menacing that it even stopped Parsons.

  The man recovered quickly. “I killed the only person I ever truly loved.”

  “You did it,” François shot back.

  “Because of this gift you bestowed upon me,” Parsons said. Josephine saw his head make an odd twitching motion. François saw it too and squared up.

  “A thin line often separates a gift from a curse.”

  “I’m going to rip your heart out…” Parsons said, and Josephine watched transfixed as he changed into a terrifying wolf form. Before the change was complete, she thought she heard him say, “…and eat it!”

  What no one expected was François’s reaction. He laughed maniacally and, before their eyes, changed into a creature that was even more horrifying and powerful than Parsons.

  Parsons was determined and didn’t let the sight of the Beast of Gévaudan stop him from leaping at the creature.

  Splinters from the table flew at Josephine and the others as Parsons smashed into it on his way to grapple with the beast that was François. In a flash, François’s huge claws swiped out and blood flew from Parsons’s snarling face as he pushed past the reach of François’s arms to come to grips with him. Furniture flew as they smashed into the wall.

  Josephine felt a hand tugging her away from the flailing beasts and toward the doorway.

  “We’ve got to go now,” Matthew whispered urgently.

  Just as she
realized he was right, the two beasts fell apart. As François, larger and more powerful, scrambled to reengage with Parsons, whose fur was drenched in blood, they moved and blocked the way to the exit.

  Matthew looked for another way out. All of the windows were locked and he looked around for something to break one of them with. But before he could find anything, a shriek of pain came from the Parsons wolf. Blood spouted from his neck and chest as the François beast stood over the prone body in triumph.

  The horrible grinning snout that was François turned to each of the people in the room. He knew that they would all have to die if he was to stay in this town. He’d taken just one step toward the mayor and his wife when Josephine ran forward and shoved what was left of the table into his knees. The creature turned and looked with blazing eyes at Josephine. In that instant, she knew that her life was forfeit.

  The beast started forward, saliva and blood dripping from its huge canines. Unable to look away from her imminent death, Josephine saw a flash of movement to her right.

  “Not this time,” she heard Matthew say as he charged past her and straight at the beast.

  For just a moment, Josephine thought that Matthew might have a chance. The François beast was so surprised by the attack that Matthew managed to make it inside the reach of the monster’s claws and plowed like a lineman into its gut. The impact caused the creature to stumble back for a moment.

  Josephine held her breath. Matthew’s luck lasted for a second before the beast recovered, then its jaws clamped down on Matthew’s shoulder, shaking and tossing him across the room to smash into a bookcase.

  François, the Beast of Gévaudan, again locked eyes with Josephine.

  Blasko and Etheridge were standing undecidedly in the hallway after Grace told them that Josephine still wasn’t home.

  “I’m going over there,” Blasko said. At that moment, he felt a wave of emotion flood through him that was so powerful he felt physically ill. “Something is wrong,” he gasped.

  “What?” Etheridge asked, confused by the sudden change in Blasko’s demeanor.

  “I don’t have time to explain. You’ll have to trust me. Josephine is in grave danger.” Blasko was already moving toward the stairs to the basement. Etheridge followed close behind him.

  Blasko never stopped. He went through his apartment, startling Anton. His hand reached out and grabbed his broadsword as he headed for the outside door. The colonel had to quickstep to keep up.

  “Do you know where Daniel Robertson lives?” Blasko asked without turning.

  “I do.”

  “Drive,” Blasko said, tossing his car keys to him. “We must hurry!”

  The colonel had the car started and was backing up before Blasko closed his door. The colonel had lived on adrenaline in his younger days and he felt the old surge come back with a vengeance as he stomped on the gas and the large car roared down the cobblestone street.

  Blasko sat in the passenger seat and unwrapped the sword, then pulled the leather sheath from the four-foot-long weapon. His hand ran over the blade, feeling the nicks and dings from hundreds of past battles. The bond that linked him and Josephine was telegraphing her fear and anger. Every fiber in his body demanded that he rush to her side.

  The colonel drove with the precision of a pilot. Twice he had to weave the car between other startled drivers. He stepped on the brake and turned the wheel as he approached the Robertons’ house, swinging the car up onto the front lawn.

  “To the house,” Blasko said, jumping out of the car with his sword in hand. Etheridge was slower out of the car, but was trying to keep up. He was pleased that he’d thought to put on his shoulder holster. He pulled out his old army revolver as he trotted up the stairs and followed Blasko into the house.

  There were cries of fear and pain coming from inside. Blasko burst into the parlor, broadsword held out. His eyes flashed around the room and locked on Matthew, blood oozing from his shredded shoulder. The mayor was holding his wife to his chest as she cried. Alice was just standing against the wall, staring vacantly at nothing.

  “Where are they?” Blasko said, pointing his sword at the mayor. With a trembling hand, he pointed toward the hallway. “Speak, damn you!” Blasko ordered.

  “I think… I heard them go up the stairs,” Harrington squeaked.

  Etheridge was standing behind Blasko, staring in horror at the carnage in the room. The naked, battered and torn body of Charlie Parsons lay close to Matthew.

  Holding his sword in one hand, Blasko grabbed Etheridge with the other. “Take care of Matthew.”

  The colonel nodded. “Take this,” he said, holding the revolver out to Blasko.

  “Keep it. You might need it,” Blasko told him as he headed out of the room.

  He rushed into the hall and up the stairs, listening as he went. There were faint sounds of footsteps far above him. When he came to the small third floor, he found a wrought-iron circular stairway that led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. He clattered up, his sword banging on the metal as he made his way toward the opening. Cautiously, he pushed through the small door and came out onto a twenty-by-twenty-foot widow’s walk. Around it was an old, rusted railing.

  “You needn’t have worried. I want this to be a fair fight,” said François, who stood on the north side in human form again, holding Josephine tightly in his grip. “I swear, if you bite me one more time I will simply hurl you off of the roof,” he hissed at her.

  Blasko could see blood running down François’s arm from the various bite marks she’d inflicted on him. He was proud of her.

  “Kill the son of a bitch!” Josephine screamed.

  “This is between you and me,” Blasko said. “Let her go.”

  “The hell it is,” Josephine said, kicking at François.

  “He’s right,” François said, tossing Josephine at Blasko. She tumbled across the roof, landing hard despite Blasko’s attempt to break her fall.

  “Stay down,” Blasko told her once he was sure she wasn’t badly hurt. “If you get the chance, go downstairs.”

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll leave—”

  “Please do as I say,” Blasko said, surprising her with a tender kiss.

  François laughed heartily. “What a ridiculous pair you make!” he shouted. “This is going to be more fun than I ever imagined. I am so glad that I hunted you up, my old friend.”

  “You are the monster who killed the villagers in Romania,” Blasko said.

  “Of course. I made you look like a fool then and you haven’t performed a bit better this time.”

  “You bit Molly and Charlie so they would turn into werewolves and wreak havoc on the community.”

  “They came to me with petty concerns about lost loved ones. I told them I could give them the power to speak directly with their dead relatives. All they had to do was let the beast bite them.” He chuckled.

  “He’s using the chaos to grab power,” Josephine said.

  “Bravo. Exactly as I was doing in that Romanian village. And what I did so successfully in Gévaudan.”

  “Kill him,” Josephine told Blasko.

  “My pleasure.” Blasko moved forward, sword at the ready.

  François smiled and immediately transformed into his enormous wolf shape. Blasko was careful to stay balanced and focused as he approached him. It had been fifty years since he’d wielded a sword in combat. He let the weight of the blade swing back and forth as he judged the distance between him and François, who was snarling and shifting his weight between his powerful legs.

  Six feet away, Blasko determined that he could step in and have enough reach to strike a blow. He moved and swung, only to have François swat the sword away and duck under it.

  The monster counterattacked with a swing of its great claws. Blasko pulled back, but the claws snagged his clothes and ripped his vest. He stepped in with a mighty swing that managed to catch the beast in the shoulder, causing it to roar in pain and anger. It leaped at Blasko, knocking him down. He rolled
away, but was now on the defensive. The beast lunged at him again and all Blasko could do was scuttle away.

  Blasko kept moving until he managed to get enough distance to give him time to get in a blow. Up on his knees, he swung the sword as the beast advanced. The sword caught the creature in the thigh, just above the knee, and stuck in bone. As François fell he came down on the sword, pulling it away from Blasko, who lacked the leverage to hold onto it.

  “Run!” Blasko hissed at Josephine, who could see the precarious position he was in.

  She wanted to help him, but she couldn’t attack the monster with her bare hands. It would just fling her off of the roof. So she turned and rushed for the trap door that led back into the house.

  Blasko felt relief as Josephine escaped from the widow’s walk. The monster had been distracted by Josephine’s movements, which gave Blasko a chance to get back to his feet. However, he was still without his sword, which was on the ground near the wounded monster. François stood unsteadily on his damaged leg. Unfortunately, without his sword, Blasko wasn’t sure how to take advantage of the monster’s vulnerability. Blasko’s condition gave him strength and a high tolerance for pain, but it was nothing compared to the beast’s.

  Blasko could hit him at the right moment and drive him off of the roof, but the fall wouldn’t kill either of them. It would just take the fight to a new venue where others were likely to get involved and hurt. It is better to let the battle play out up here, Blasko decided.

  He slowly crept around the window’s walk, trying to draw the werewolf away from his sword. François moved with Blasko, but he cut the distance between them with each step. At last, there was a moment when Blasko was closer to his sword than François was to him. He leaped and grabbed the sword. Rolling over, he pulled the sword up in time to catch the creature pouncing on him.

  Blasko felt the satisfying sensation of the sword entering flesh. He raised his arms, plunging the sword more deeply into the creature’s side. François howled with a terrifying sound that rattled windows in all directions. Slowly, the monster looked down at Blasko. The sword had entered at his waist, but too far to the right side. Nothing vital had been damaged. The drooling jaws of the werewolf came closer and its yellow eyes stared daggers at the baron.