by Tim Waggoner
“And we will need some silver,” Nathan said. “To set traps with.”
Greg thought his family was acting insane. He had successfully performed the Rite of Renewal, and even though he was the youngest, he was now considered a full adult. Still, it was not his place to contradict his elders, as much as he might like to.
“The girls and I will go out to procure some silver,” Efren said. “There are several pawn shops in town that are open late.”
“Marta and I will inspect the traps we already have in place,” Muriel said, “and ensure they are in working order.”
Jakkals were quite skilled at building traps. They had been ever since helping to create elaborate—and usually deadly— precautions to deter tomb robbers in ancient Egypt, back when their kind was known and respected by humans as servants of the great Anubis.
“Good,” Nathan said. “Then Greg and I shall see to the neteru. We shall not run. We shall stay and fight!”
The rest of the family cheered, but Greg knew that by choosing to make a stand, they were committing to a battle that they might not win. Or survive.
TWENTY
“Chains? Seriously?”
Sam and Dean sat on the basement’s concrete floor. Aside from a furnace and a water heater, the room was completely bare. Their backs were to the wall, wrists still cuffed, ankles encircled by heavy chains secured with padlocks. Duct tape had been wrapped around the chains as an additional measure—as if they weren’t enough. Garth lay unconscious on the floor nearby, also in chains. Sylvia Crowder hadn’t put a silver bullet in his head, but whatever they’d done to him, it looked to be having a lasting effect.
“I guess they don’t want to leave anything to chance,” Sam said. Like Dean, he’d been struggling to get free of his bonds, but the brothers’ efforts had proved useless. “They probably keep chains around in case they need to use them on other werewolves.” Sam nodded toward Garth. “Or if one of the pack members disobeys Crowder’s orders and needs to be punished.”
“I doubt the basement’s empty because they haven’t finished moving all the way in,” Dean said.
“Yeah. It’s their own personal jail, and they don’t want to put anything down here that prisoners might be able to use to escape.”
“Or fight back,” Dean said. He jerked his arms and legs. “Not that anyone this side of Houdini could get out of these damn things.”
Garth moaned then, and without moving or opening his eyes, he said, “Man, this place stinks!”
Garth rolled slowly onto his back, sat up and opened his eyes. The basement was lit by a single weak bulb on the ceiling, but Garth winced as if he were staring full on into the sun.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice started out soft, his words slurred, but his speech became stronger and clearer as he went. “Last thing I remember I was in the dining room, trying to convince the family—” His eyes widened then, and he winced once more. “She hit me on the head with my own damn gun!” He looked at Sam and Dean.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Your head’s got so much blood on it, you look like you ran full speed into a brick wall, then backed up and hit it a few more times,” Dean said.
“Your skull had a dent in it when we were brought down here,” Sam said. “But that healed. I take it you’re better now?”
“I don’t know about better,” Garth said, “but I’m functional. Still got a bit of a headache, though. I don’t know why Sylvia hit me. It would’ve been easier to kill me.” Before Sam or Dean could respond, he said, “Wait. I get it. They wanted to use me as leverage against you two—which is why you’re down here with me, inside of up there—” he raised his head toward the ceiling “—kicking ass.” He sighed. “I’m really sorry. Dean, you were right. Talking to them was a dumb idea.”
“Hey, you did what you thought was right,” Dean said. “If Sammy and I had a dollar for every time we did something that ended up turning around and biting us in the ass—”
“We’d be extremely wealthy men,” Sam finished.
“What’s done is done,” Dean said. “We’re just glad you’re alive. Now we have to find a way to make sure all three of us stay that way.”
Garth’s mouth and chin were wet with blood, and it didn’t look to Sam as if it was the result of any injury. Had Garth managed to take a bite out of one of the Crowders before being captured?
“You said it stinks in here,” Sam said.
“Yeah. Can’t you guys smell it? The whole basement stinks of body odor, desperation, and fear. They’ve kept other people down here. A lot of them.”
“Three guesses what they did with them,” Dean said. “And the first two don’t count.”
“They keep their victims prisoner until they’re ready to harvest their hearts,” Sam said.
“Clay Fuller was probably down here,” Dean said. “You think he escaped and they had to hunt him down?”
“Maybe,” Sam said. He turned to Garth. “Can you transform and break out of the chains?”
“I don’t know.” Garth gave his bound wrists a shake. “Crowder would’ve made sure these chains can hold me. It takes a lycanthrope to know how to catch a lycanthrope.” Garth’s face brightened. “Hey, that’s another fangism!”
“Forget that and see if you can break free,” Dean said.
Garth changed and tried to pull his arms and legs apart. His brow furrowed, his lips drew back from his fangs in a snarl, and his whole body shook from the effort. But the chains did not break.
Garth slumped forward and dropped his chin to his chest. When he raised his head once more, he was human again.
“No good. Maybe if I had some time to work on weakening them…”
The basement door opened and Crowder came down, boots thumping on the wooden steps. His sons followed, and Sam realized they were twins. One of them had been hurt, and his chest was wrapped in bandages. Sam was immediately curious. What could injure a werewolf in such a way that the wound wouldn’t heal almost immediately? Even an injury caused by silver would heal given enough time, unless the injury was to the heart, of course. Something else had to have hurt him, but what?
Crowder and the twins stood several feet away from Sam, Dean, and Garth. Crowder, it seemed, wasn’t a man who liked to take chances.
“It’s been an eventful couple days for my pack, fellas,” Crowder said. “First these two and their mother let Amos Boyd witness them killing Clay Fuller—”
“But, Dad, we told you it wasn’t our—” the uninjured twin began. But before he could finish, Crowder snarled, whirled around, and struck his son’s face with a clawed hand. The son yelped and clapped a hand to his bleeding cheek. His eyes filled with fear. He took a step back and lowered his head, still keeping his hand pressed to his wound.
“Sorry,” he murmured. Drops of blood pattered to the concrete floor, but they were already slowing as the wound began to heal. Crowder gave his other son a look, as if daring him to say something. The boy lowered his gaze, and Crowder turned back to face the hunters.
“And then, after bringing the media’s attention to our little town, they decided it would be a good idea to kill Amos so he couldn’t talk any further.” He shook his head. “ And without asking my permission. As I’m sure Garth knows, among my people, that’s about as close to a cardinal sin as we get.” He put his hands on his hips and regarded them for a moment. “And you three show up while all this is going on. I figured you were all hunters who’d come to investigate reports of the ‘animal people’ that killed Fuller. But it occurs to me that you might be here for another reason. Are you working with them?”
Sam exchanged glances with Dean and Garth. What the hell was Crowder talking about?
He went on. “They said they didn’t know there was a pack living in Bridge Valley when they moved here, but what if they were lying? Maybe they decided to get rid of us and hired you three to do the job. Considering the mess you’ve made of it, though, I hope they didn’t pay you ve
ry much. Whatever it was, you guys aren’t worth it.”
“You must’ve been hitting the wolfsbane too hard,” Dean said, “because we have no idea what you’re jabbering about.”
The twins started growling and took a step toward Dean, but Crowder held up a hand.
Garth frowned and inhaled deeply. “You three smell funny. I mean, you smell like lycanthropes, but you’ve got some other scent clinging to you. A weird one. It’s kind of like wolf scent, but not. And it also smells kind of like… garbage?”
Crowder looked at Garth for a long moment, his gaze intense. “You really don’t know them, do you?” he said.
“Enough with the cryptic references!” Dean said. “Who are you talking about? Are there even more of you furry bastards in town that we need to kill?”
Crowder bared his teeth, which—while not quite fangs— had grown sharper.
“Werewolves are nothing like jakkals,” he said. “We’re predators. They’re carrion-eaters.”
“Jackals?” Sam didn’t think Crowder was referring to the animals.
Despite the situation, Garth grinned like a little kid. “You’ve got jakkals in town? I didn’t think they were real!”
“They’re real, all right,” Crowder said, “and there’s a pack of them holed up at the old amusement park. So you’ve got nothing at all to do with them? No, of course you don’t. The creatures are cowards at heart. It’s not in their nature to fight back.”
Crowder’s gaze flicked toward the wounded twin for an instant before fixing once more on Sam, Dean, and Garth.
“Did you guys tangle with these jakkals?” Dean asked. “Did one of them take a bite out of Lon Chaney Junior over there?”
The son with the bandage on his chest growled and lunged forward, but Crowder grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled him back. Crowder snarled at him and he fell silent.
“Sounds as if jakkals aren’t quite as timid as you make them out to be,” Sam said. He’d never heard of jakkals before. Whatever they were, they either had to be rare, really good at keeping a low profile, or both.
Crowder sniffed. “Even a rabbit will fight if it has no choice. But it’s a moot point. Come sunrise, the jakkals will be dead. But before that, we’re going to have a little fun.” He grinned. “And we’re going to have a midnight snack.”
“Nice bloodstain on the uniform,” Dean said. “I take it cleanliness isn’t a top priority for the Sheriff’s Department.”
“That’s Melody’s blood,” Garth said. “The sonofabitch killed her.”
“And fed her heart to my boy,” Crowder said. He gestured to the bandaged twin. “Heart meat is the best medicine for my people.”
“And it was delicious,” the boy said. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
Crowder turned to Garth. “What did you think of the piece I tried to feed you? You might not have tasted it, but it sure looked like you wanted to.”
Sam was shocked to hear this, and from the expression on his brother’s face, he knew Dean felt the same.
Garth didn’t answer. He lowered his gaze, ashamed.
The three werewolves laughed, but Garth kept his head down, as if he couldn’t bring himself to meet Sam and Dean’s eyes.
Sam was relieved to hear their friend hadn’t tasted Melody’s heart, but he couldn’t imagine how Garth must be feeling right then. Not only had he been talking to Melody a short time ago, he’d never been tempted by human heart meat before tonight. Would it be harder for him to resist his more savage instincts now? Sam didn’t know.
Crowder turned to his sons. “Bring the tall one. We’ll save the other for another night.”
“What about Garth?” the unbandaged twin asked.
Crowder considered a moment. “We’ll keep him too. I’ve never hunted one of our kind before. It’ll be a nice change of pace.” Crowder looked at Sam. “I hope you’re faster than you look. It’s no fun if we catch you too quickly.”
He nodded to his sons to get to work and walked toward the stairs. The twins each took one of Sam’s arms and lifted him into the air as if he weighed nothing. They carried him up the stairs, following Crowder.
Sam realized what had happened to Clay Fuller. He hadn’t been food, or at least not only food. They’d hunted him before killing him. He’d been entertainment as well as sustenance. Dinner and a show.
And it looked like it was his turn next.
TWENTY-ONE
Morgan remained in the dining room while her mother went upstairs to change. On a hunt, Sylvia liked to wear clothes she could move freely in but which weren’t too expensive, since they always got ruined by the time she was finished. Joshua sat in his high chair, nibbling on bits of oat cereal. She stood at the sink, working on the dishes. Or rather, she pretended to wash dishes while she listened to what was being said in the basement. Her werewolf hearing was more than sharp enough to make out what her father and the other men said.
She knew her parents and brothers would want to hunt one of the humans tonight, but to hear that her dad planned to attack the jakkals afterward… She’d wanted to believe that he would give Greg and his family twenty-four hours to leave town, but she’d been foolish to do so. Alan and Sylvia Crowder were werewolves. They believed in solving problems with strength and action, not with conversation and compromise. She figured the only reason her father hadn’t tried to kill the jakkals earlier was because Stuart had been wounded. After eating the heart, he was likely strong enough to participate in a second attack on the jakkals, and naturally her other brother would want to take part as well. Morgan thought they might even make her go. Who was she kidding? Of course they would. Her father would want her to prove her loyalty to the pack by helping to kill the jakkals. Alan would likely command her to kill Greg as a way of punishing her for talking to him in the first place.
She didn’t want to do that. She couldn’t.
She had one thing going for her. Werewolves—or at least the ones in her family—couldn’t resist hunting. As much as her parents and brothers might want to fight the jakkals, they’d hunt one or both of the humans first. It was their nature. That meant she had time to warn Greg. With any luck, he and his family would be able to leave Happyland before the hunt—and the feast that followed—was finished.
Not for the first time, Morgan wondered what made her different from the rest of her family. She had the same instincts and drives they did—she loved hunting and she needed to eat heart meat to sustain herself. But she only ate animal hearts. She didn’t want to hunt humans. More than that, she believed killing humans was wrong. Alan and Sylvia had sneered at Garth’s offer to join his peaceful pack, but it sounded like the perfect life to her. She loved her family, but she couldn’t overlook or accept their cruelty. She’d leave tonight and take Joshua with her so he wouldn’t have to become a monster like the rest of their family— if she thought she could get away with it. But her parents would hunt her down before she could get very far, and punish her so severely she’d regret ever being born. Or worse, they’d kill her outright and bring Joshua back home, to raise him as one of them.
She turned to look at Joshua, tears in her eyes. He was happily chewing on cereal while playing with a couple of bits, maneuvering the crunchy little O’s through the air as if they were planes. Seeing him like this, she had a difficult time believing he was destined to be a monster. If humans had free will—if they could choose who they wanted to be—why couldn’t her kind?
Her thoughts broke off as the basement door opened and her father entered the kitchen. Stuart and Spencer followed, carrying one of the humans. So they’d decided to hunt just one tonight. Why not? she thought bitterly. That way they could make their blood sport last longer.
Sylvia came into the kitchen a moment later, wearing a pair of black leggings and an old T-shirt. Her feet were bare. She looked at Alan.
“You going to change, hon?”
“No, I’ll never get these bloodstains out of this uniform.” He patted his chest. “
Might as well keep it on.”
Sylvia turned to Morgan. “Sweetie, would you mind watching your little brother while we’re out?” she asked.
Morgan smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
* * *
The twins carried Sam outside, Crowder and his wife close behind. The boys tossed Sam onto the deck, and he landed hard on his left side. Crowder unlocked the handcuffs, the twins cut through the duct tape around Sam’s legs and Sylvia unlocked the padlock on Sam’s chains. They stepped back, giving Sam room to remove his chains and get to his feet. Both his wrists and his legs throbbed, but that was the least of his worries. All four of the werewolves gazed upon him with dark anticipation, and their nostrils flared as they inhaled deeply.
They’re taking my scent, Sam thought. Getting ready to hunt.
“I can’t tell you how much we’re going to enjoy this,” Sylvia said. “You’re so much healthier than the ones Alan usually brings home.”
Alan bristled. “I do the best I can.”
She reached out and touched his cheek. “Of course you do, love, and we all appreciate it. All I’m saying is it’ll be nice to hunt someone who isn’t already half dead when they start running.” She lowered her head and turned to Sam. She smiled, showing teeth grown sharp. “And he’s a hunter too. He should prove quite entertaining.”
Sam understood what was going on here. The Crowders’ prey needed to be people who wouldn’t be missed, or whose disappearance wouldn’t come as a surprise. People like Clay Fuller: a drug dealer who might’ve vanished because of an unsatisfied customer or aggressive competitor. As sheriff, Crowder had access to a never-ending supply of small-time criminals, and he could have his pick of the litter.
“So how does this work?” Sam asked. “You guys give me a head start, I haul ass into the woods, and after—what?—five, maybe ten minutes you come after me?”