Megan and the commando she grabbed had hit the ground and rolled once. Only she got up. The wolf was snarling, rending the man who had dropped the urn. Gunfire rained down from a commando who must have been high up on the severed rope, hitting the wolf and spraying the ground around it.
One of the witches lunged forward to stop the urn from breaking the pentacle, and Mrs. Brewer screamed for her to stop. The rogue witch continued, holding her hand out to stop the rolling urn. At the moment she crossed the circle, her body went rigid and began to levitate. The cowl slipped backwards, revealing Lacey’s stunned face and her long blonde hair.
I made it up to where I could see up the dome. I aimed at the commando who was hanging forty feet off the ground firing down at the werewolf. I missed, and he redirected his fire at me. I dived as rounds slammed into the floor and splintered the pews around me. I heard firing from behind me, and realized Bryan must have followed me in and opened up on the guy. I heard a couple of screams.
I ejected a clip, slapped home a new one, and then popped up. Bryan must have hit the commando because he was on the floor in a crumpled heap, but that wasn’t the source of the screams. The troll had rappelled down the rope to land next to Lacey. He saw the urn and as he lunged at it, a massive wolf rushed at him from behind the altar. Megan was closer, though, and got there first. The troll saw her and whirled, catching her in midair by the throat. She grabbed his arm and desperately tore at it with her nails. I was pretty sure even a vampire would die if you popped off its head.
The wolf hit the troll in the back, its massive jaws closing onto his neck. The troll tossed Megan into the front row of pews, then bent down to grab the wolf and throw it over his head into a marble statue of Saint Peter.
I fired a burst, hitting the troll in the chest and getting his attention. Bryan started toward Lacey. The remaining four witches were trying to maintain their ritual while Lacey laughed at them, speaking in a language I didn’t understand. The fight had broken the circle in more than one place, and Lacey moved toward the others, ignoring its boundaries. They recognized what had happened and gathered together to face it.
Father Allen was still lying on top of his assistant. Dozens of shards of glass had stuck into his body, and a pool of blood slowly spread across the dais.
The troll grabbed the urn again, not noticing that it was missing its lid or that the nearby witch might be levitating a foot off the ground because the urn’s contents had left home. Bright he was not.
Apparently, neither were the werewolves, because one of them bit the troll’s wrist, shaking its head like a dog playing tug of war. The attack worked, though likely not as intended. The urn fell from the troll’s grasp as he slammed a fist on top of the wolf’s skull. He hit its head with such force that the wolf was smashed to the ground, where it lay twitching.
I fired at the troll again. It turned toward me as dozens of holes erupted from it. The second wolf had extracted itself, bleeding and battered, from the pile of rubble that had been Saint Peter, and came at the troll again. Bryan approached Lacey, trying to get her attention. She ignored him, focusing on the huddled witches before her.
This time the troll reached into his jacket to pull out an automatic, bringing it to bear on the charging wolf, but Megan was on him before he could draw a bead. She landed on his back and reached over his shoulder, ripping into his upper arm and sending his aim wide. Bullets ruined a mural of Jesus and Mary. I reloaded the AK, moving forward to get a clean shot.
The wolf jumped up and bit him, grabbing the troll’s throat in its teeth. The troll fell backwards, Megan barely avoiding being crushed beneath him. I ran up as the troll and wolf rolled on the ground. Blood pumped out of the troll’s neck, spraying me as it rolled. The troll finally dislodged the wolf, throwing it hard into the altar with enough force to break off a large chunk of marble.
The troll started to get up when I finally got wise and unloaded the AK into its head at a range of five feet. It was lead, not iron, but it was a lot of lead. In just over a second, fifteen rounds reduced its skull to pulp and bone fragments as the body fell back down and convulsed on the floor, its muscles having not received the message that it was dead. Whatever magic it had used to mask its appearance faded, revealing the troll’s true shape: huge, twisted, and definitely not human.
I looked over at Lacey. Mrs. Brewer was smiling now, holding out her amulet, the familiar symbol glittering.
“No!” The thing in Lacey roared, as she jerked like a puppet held by a puppeteer who was playing the air drums. Mrs. Brewer advanced on her, eyes gleaming and chanting in a language I wasn’t familiar with. The familiar pentacle on her amulet glowed bright orange, like super-heated iron. Lacey jerked a couple more times and then the demon inside her let out a final roar as something insubstantial tore out of her and slithered into the amulet. Then it was over. Lacey fell, dropping hard on the floor.
Mrs. Brewer clutched the amulet to her breast, her smile half sane, which didn’t inspire feelings of joy or relief inside me. At least the amulet had calmed down. Its glow had dimmed, leaving a simple brass disc engraved with a pentacle and other mystical symbols.
I ran over to Lacey, but Bryan and Megan got there first. She was still lying down, muttering something about needing a shower and a pizza. I decided she was okay and checked on Father Allen. Werewolf or not, he was in bad shape. There was so much glass and blood I didn’t know what to do. Then Rodriguez was at my side, naked and rubbing the back of his head. “Don’t worry about Padre; we’ll take care of him.”
“Is he going to make it?”
“Not sure, kid.”
Megan came to my side and placed a hand on my shoulder. I glanced over. She wasn’t in terrible shape, considering, but the dress was probably a lost cause; luckily she seemed to have an endless supply of them. She was looking at Father Allen. Her hand was slowly squeezing, and I thought it would be best if we both went somewhere else before either her nails became permanently embedded in my skin, or she decided to snack on the Father.
I retrieved the pieces of the urn, and put it back together. Then we made our way back outside. I didn’t even have to pull her along. Much. The werewolves were moving their dead and wounded. A couple of pickup trucks had arrived for the extra bikes. I could hear sirens approaching and was thinking this would be a great time to leave the scene of the crime.
As I turned away, I caught sight of Lisa carrying Toni. She looked pretty bad, and I think I might have started toward her, because the nails in my shoulder actually drew blood. I decided that for Toni’s own safety—and mine—I’d better check on her later.
Donovan was talking on his cell phone, and was obviously displeased with the way the conversation was going. He hung up, glaring at Amanda. Then he looked toward Megan and me expectantly. Megan retracted her nails from my shoulder. I winced. She watched Lisa settling Toni into a truck and didn’t apologize.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
She looked at me with a dangerous expression.
I sighed. “I have a couple of things I need to take care of.” I held up the urn.
She nodded, then sucked one of her fingernails clean and headed toward Donovan.
Lacey came out with Bryan, who was lending her some support. She looked okay, if a little queasy. Having a demon run around inside of you would do that, I’d imagine.
“You ready?” I asked her.
“She’s going to ride with us, dude,” said Bryan.
I had no idea how they were all going to fit, but I once saw seventeen students get into an old VW bug at a rally in high school, and figured that they could manage four vampires and two humans in a large Mercedes sedan. Anyway, not my problem.
I got in the Vette and headed away from the sirens until I found a quiet street to park and make a phone call.
Chapter 35
I met Detective Cassara just before dawn at a little diner near the police station. I had asked if he wouldn’t rather meet at a donut shop, bu
t he didn’t find that as funny as I did.
We had breakfast and I listened to him bitch about case loads, lack of resources, and the sorry state of things in general. But he said that he was glad to be working homicide, because apparently most of the others were stuck working a huge case of vandalism last night at a Catholic church downtown. Apparently it was a real mess, but somehow no dead bodies. Yet.
He told me it was going be a lot of paperwork for someone; a lot of PR work, too. He said that crimes were always newsworthy when churches were involved. Or movie stars, or good-looking blond kids. I finished my meal, and like most meals in places where cops hung out, it didn’t suck. I picked up the tab; I figured I owed him that. Then I got up and walked out, leaving the urn where I had placed it under the table when I first sat down.
I found a grocery store, grabbed a card and some flowers, and then headed over to the hospital to visit Toni. She looked better than I expected; werewolves must be fast healers. I wondered about police reports and bullet holes, but then the doctor came in to check on her and I knew he was a werewolf.
I stayed with her for a while, holding her hand as she flipped through stations and complained about daytime TV. Mike and Lisa showed up sometime later, and then a couple more members of her pack trickled in and things got a little too crowded. I told her I’d check on her tomorrow to see how she was. She said she’d hold me to that. I didn’t doubt her.
I was pulling out of the hospital when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, steeled myself, and answered it.
“Chance,” came Jonathan Powers’ voice.
“Yup.”
“It seems a Good Samaritan found my urn and turned it in to the local authorities early this morning.”
“Wow, that’s really great. I bet you’re glad to finally have it back.”
“It isn’t what it once was.’’
“I’m sure it’s nothing some brass polish and elbow grease can’t fix.”
“The urn is empty, Chance.”
“It’s three thousand years old—what did you expect? I’m sure whatever was in there is long gone by now.”
There was a moment of silence. “The person who turned it in didn’t leave his name, and it is, as I mentioned, missing its contents. I’m afraid there won’t be a finder’s fee.”
“I’m sure whoever turned it in will be okay with that. The pleasure of a good deed will be enough, I’m sure.”
“It’s been an interesting couple of days, Chance. It’s too bad things didn’t work out this time. I like you. I still think you would make an excellent asset to my team.”
“I would have thought you’d be a little more upset with me, to be honest.”
“Well, yes, I am a little upset with you right now. To put it mildly. But one thing you learn in business is that you can’t win them all. And holding grudges is seldom profitable. With Eric gone, I find myself with an opening. I plan to fill it with brains rather than brawn this time. See if the results improve any. Do you want the job?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Pity. Well, maybe another time, then. You’d be surprised, Chance—things change. It’s the only constant. And when they do, we find ourselves making unexpected decisions.” I thought about a certain vampire and I knew he was right.
He hung up, and I called Bryan. When he didn’t answer, I called Lacey and asked her to get him out of bed. I swung by an hour later to pick him up and take him to his truck so he could head home, but it turned out Bryan had decided that he was going to stay in California. Too much “craziness and hot chicks” for him to pass up, he said. He asked if I could help him find someplace to live, and Lacey volunteered to come along.
The Corvette wasn’t going to work for the three of us, but Meriwether said we could use one of the sedans. Not the Mercedes, though; he hadn’t finished cleaning out the blood from last night.
When I switched cars, I noticed Megan’s Mustang was gone. I must have looked a little panicked because Meriwether assured me it was okay; after she got back last night Megan had taken it herself, saying she needed a vacation. I had a sinking feeling until a second later, when Meriwether corrected himself and told me that he had had the Mustang brought to a body shop to have the bullet holes repaired. The man was a regular laugh riot.
Bryan, Lacey, and I spent most of the morning and early afternoon looking at apartments. The prices were nuts, but eventually we found something reasonably affordable—which was to say, twice as expensive as back in Texas. But it was in an area of town that Lacey found acceptable, which apparently was a requirement. It was also, coincidentally, less than five minutes from her and Megan’s place.
The economy was still in a dip, so we were able to get an instant move-in date with a month-to-month lease. I had to put the place in my name, because Bryan didn’t have the references or employment history. It helped that I paid for three months in advance. My money was going fast.
We swung by the girls’ house to survey the carnage and change vehicles. Crime-scene tape still surrounded the place, but the police had released it back to Lacey and Megan that morning. Amazingly, Toni’s bike was intact. The inside of the house was not so lucky. It was going to take some time and money to get that sorted out.
I traded Donovan’s sedan for Toni’s Honda, and Lacey and Bryan followed me over to Toni’s condo in his truck. I dropped the bike off in an empty spot. I’d have to hand over the keys when I picked up the Miata later; it was being held hostage by her garage door.
The rest of the afternoon consisted of restraining Lacey as we shopped for housewares for the apartment, which, because of our budget, consisted of a futon couch, a mattress, a moderately-sized TV, a card table, four folding chairs, and some dishes, towels and other necessities.
We finally collapsed around the card table with a couple of pizzas and a six-pack sometime around dark. Bryan flipped through the newspaper looking for construction jobs. Lacey said he’d have better luck looking online. So, after dinner, went back to her place, clean up a little and look for jobs. The last thing I heard as they left was Lacey asking Bryan if he minded stopping at Baskin-Robbins on the way over.
I checked the time on my phone and realized I had missed a call: my mom. I didn’t want to spoil the evening with that conversation. I figured she could wait for me to call her back until the morning; after all, I had waited this long for her to call me. It was petty, but I was ticked off and worn out. I figured that if I drove non-stop I’d have a couple more days before I had to head back to Texas. So I placed a call to someone else instead.
Then I settled down on the futon to watch something mindless on TV, hoping to calm my nerves. I checked the time about a half dozen times before the knock came. I let out a breath, got up and hurried over to answer it.
Megan smiled up at me, a fern in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
I smiled back, stood aside, and invited her in.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A native of Northern California, Patrick Kampman moved to Central Texas ten years ago with his wife, daughter, and assorted pets. He is working on the second novel in the Chance Lee series and will soon be publishing The Haunting of Pico, a young-adult paranormal adventure.
When he is not writing, Patrick can be found reading, gaming or watching the St. Louis Rams lose games.
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