by Tim Waggoner
“Do you think she had second thoughts about joining your pack?” Dean asked.
“Maybe,” Garth said, “but like I said, she’s running toward town. Away from her family.”
“Do you know where she might be going?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure,” Garth said. “But I have an idea.”
Several moments later, they were all in the Impala, heading toward town.
“You really think she’ll go to that jakkal boy?” Dean said. “I mean, they just met today.”
“Weren’t you ever young and in love?” Garth asked. “‘The heart understands before the mind starts thinking.’”
“Spare us the greeting card wisdom, oh great werewolf guru,” Dean said.
“Garth might have a point,” Sam said. “Crowder said he wanted to attack the jakkals tonight. Maybe she’s trying to warn them.”
“Maybe,” Dean said grudgingly.
“Why are you having a hard time accepting the idea that Morgan is on the side of the good guys?” Garth asked. “Is it because you don’t believe in love at first sight? Or don’t you believe that monsters can love at all?”
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but when he realized he didn’t have a good answer, he closed it again.
“Bess and I are in love,” Garth reminded him.
“That’s different,” Dean said.
“How so?” Garth asked.
“Because… Because you were both adults when you got together,” Dean said.
“We weren’t any different than Morgan and the jakkal boy. Bess and I knew we belonged together from the first moment we met. It was… instinct, I guess you could say. She told me it’s like that for Purebloods sometimes. Love at first smell, she called it.”
“That sounds disgusting,” Dean said. “But even if it works that way for Purebloods, why would it apply to a werewolf and a jakkal? Seems to me that their people aren’t too fond of one another.”
Garth shrugged. “The heart wants what it wants. You know what your problem is, Dean? You don’t have an ounce of romance in you.”
“I’ve got plenty of romance in me,” Dean said. “I’ve got romance coming out the wazoo.”
Sam grinned. “Better get that checked by a doctor.”
Garth laughed.
Dean scowled but didn’t say anything. He remembered driving past Happyland when he and Sam first came to Bridge Valley, and he headed for the abandoned amusement park now.
Sam grew thoughtful. “It’s possible werewolves and jakkals are related somehow. They both transform into canine-type creatures, and they both eat hearts. They’re more alike than not.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “Let’s say Morgan is going to her boyfriend. What are we supposed to do when we get there?”
“See if she still wants to come with me back to Wisconsin,” Garth said.
“And if she doesn’t want to anymore?” Dean asked.
“It’s her choice,” Garth said. “I won’t force her.”
“What then?” Dean asked. “Do we kill the jakkals, wait for Crowder and his family to show, and kill them, too?”
“We shouldn’t need to fight the jakkals,” Garth said. “Not as long as they don’t think we’re a threat to them. They’re scavengers rather than hunters, so they’re not as aggressive as werewolves. They aren’t normally dangerous. Remember, they feed on human hearts, but only ones taken from people who are already dead.”
“What’s to keep them from killing people and then taking their hearts?” Dean asked.
“They don’t do that,” Garth said. “Not based on the stories I’ve heard from my pack, anyway. Apparently, it’s some kind of religious thing with them. They won’t eat the heart of a person they’ve killed themselves. Something about it not being respectful to death. To be honest, I don’t really understand it.”
“If they don’t kill humans, that explains why there’s no lore on them,” Sam said. “If they’re not a threat, there’s no reason for hunters to go after them.”
“All right,” Dean said, “so jakkals aren’t exactly at the top of the scariest monsters list. But let’s say for some reason that you had to gank one. How would you do it?”
“The same way you kill werewolves,” Garth said. “Except you have to use gold instead of silver. I’m not sure why. Some kind of connection to ancient Egypt, I guess. The pharaohs were entombed with all kinds of gold goodies, right?”
Dean was glad to hear the jakkals had a weakness. He hated it when he and Sam came up against some monster that could only be killed with some kind of super-rare object, like a spear made from a meteorite that landed in China six centuries ago on the eighth of August at exactly three o’clock in the afternoon. They kept blades made from various metals in their trunk armory, and they had a couple of gold ones. If the jakkals turned out to be not quite as harmless as Garth made them out to be, he and Sam would be ready.
“So we’re driving to an abandoned amusement park to save monster versions of Romeo and Juliet from their warring families.”
“Pretty much,” Sam said.
“Sounds about right,” Garth said.
“Okay,” Dean said. “Just wanted to get things straight.”
* * *
Deep in the woods—so deep that few humans had ever set foot there—the Crowders regrouped in a small cave set into a hillside. Years ago, a black bear had lived in the cave, but Alan’s father had driven it out, and ever since the Crowders used the cave as an alternate den. No animal would come near it, since the werewolves’ unnatural scent lingered there. The cave wasn’t big enough for the Crowders to stand upright, so they sat on the ground in human form. Alan had taken a silver bullet to the shoulder, and Spencer had been sliced across the ribs with a silver blade. Alan’s hand was also bleeding from when he’d caught the wrong end of the silver blade. Sylvia was the only one who hadn’t been wounded.
“Where’s Stuart?”
Spencer’s voice was small and afraid. Normally Alan might’ve struck him for displaying such weakness, but after what they’d just been through, he decided to let it pass.
“If he’s not here, he’s dead,” Alan said. “You know that as well as I.”
Spencer drew in a sobbing breath, and for a moment Alan thought his son would start crying. If he did, Alan would have no choice but to strike him. But the boy managed to maintain control of himself, and while his eyes were full of grief, no tears fell.
Alan’s face remained expressionless, but inside he struggled with his emotions. Chief among them was rage. Rage at the hunters for besting them and killing his son, yes, but mostly rage at himself for allowing it to happen. He was pack leader. It was his job to safeguard and provide for his pack. Tonight he’d failed to do either. His family would’ve been justified to challenge his leadership. But it seemed that neither Sylvia nor Spencer had the heart for it right now. As angry as he was at himself, he wished one of them would challenge him. It was no more than he deserved.
Sylvia spoke for the first time since they’d fled from the hunters. “What of Morgan and Joshua? Do you think…”
“It’s possible the hunter and Garth killed them both when they escaped from the basement,” Alan said, “but I doubt it. I detected her scent on the two we left chained at the house, but I didn’t smell her blood or Joshua’s. Garth and the hunter couldn’t have gotten free without help.” He didn’t want to say this next part, didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only explanation. “Morgan had to have set them loose.”
For a moment, he thought Sylvia intended to defend their daughter, but she said nothing. What could she say? It wasn’t the way of their people to deny the truth, no matter how much it might hurt. To do otherwise would be to show weakness.
“So where is she then?” Sylvia asked. “Where’s Joshua?”
“Maybe she went with Garth,” Spencer said, “and took Joshua with her.”
“I think that’s most likely,” Alan said. “We have to go after the hunters and get them
back. And if Morgan refuses to come with us, we’ll take Joshua from her and teach her what it means to betray her pack.” He would take no pleasure in killing his daughter, but it was his duty as pack leader, especially after tonight’s failure. He could not afford to spare her.
“No,” Sylvia said.
Alan thought she’d decided to challenge his authority after all. He would have to attack her now to put down her challenge. He didn’t want to harm his wife, but he had no choice. He began to change, but before he could finish, she said, “Morgan isn’t with Garth or the hunter brothers. She’s with him.”
At first Alan didn’t know what Sylvia was talking about, but then he realized what she meant. Morgan was with the jakkal boy, the one who had wounded Stuart at Happyland. And with this realization came the certainty that Sylvia was right.
“You weren’t there when the two met,” Sylvia said. “Do you remember what it was like when you and I first caught scent of each other? As much as it disgusts me to say this, that’s exactly what it was like for them.”
Alan remembered. When he had first met Sylvia, the sensation had been electric. It turned his stomach to imagine his daughter feeling that way for a carrion-eater.
“If she’s bonded with him,” Sylvia said, “she would want to warn him that you planned to attack his family tonight.”
Alan knew Sylvia was right. Garth and the hunters could wait, at least for now. They would try to get Morgan and Joshua back, and if she wouldn’t come with them, she could die with the filthy jakkals.
Alan smiled grimly. They’d been cheated out of the kill at the end of tonight’s Hunt, but there would be other bloodshed. And when the jakkals were dead, Joshua was recovered, and Morgan had been dealt with—one way or another—then they could track down Garth and the hunters and deal with them as well. When they were dead along with the cursed jakkals, the pack’s honor— Alan’s honor—would be restored.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Without waiting for Sylvia or Spencer to respond, he transformed and began running toward the house. A moment later, he heard Sylvia and Spencer running to catch up with him. They would check the house and if it was empty, they’d head for Happyland.
And once they arrived… well that’s when the fun would really begin.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dean pulled the Impala up to Happyland’s front gate and opened the trunk, lifting the false bottom to reveal their mobile armory. Right now, what they were most interested in was the selection of edged weapons. There were silver blades, of course, but also steel, iron, copper, titanium, and gold. There were only two of the latter—the brothers didn’t have much call for them—and after handing one to Sam, Dean admired the remaining blade. To be honest, it didn’t look much different than a regular knife in the dark. Shame they didn’t have any gold bullets. The knives would have to do.
Dean turned to Garth. “Sorry we only have two,” he said.
“No biggie. I got my gun, and I got these.” He held up his right hand and the fingers lengthened into claws for a moment.
“Don’t do that,” Dean said. “It gives me the creeps.”
Garth grinned.
Dean and Sam tucked silver blades into their belts and made sure their guns were loaded with silver bullets. Dean liked this part of a hunt. Choosing weapons and preparing yourself mentally for the battle to come. It was when he felt most at peace. He sometimes wondered if these kinds of moments would form the basis for his personal Heaven— assuming he ended up there after he died, of course. Naw. His version of Heaven would be sitting behind the wheel of his Baby, cruising down an endless stretch of deserted highway, window down, classic rock blasting on the radio. That, or sitting at a table in a stripper bar, a never empty and always cold bottle of beer in his hand. Either or.
He closed the trunk as quietly as he could, and then the three of them walked up to the gate. It was chained and padlocked shut. Dean got their lockpick tools from the car, and a moment later, the lock was open. He slid the chain free—carefully and quietly—and then opened the gate just wide enough for them to slip into the park.
High overhead, the moon gave enough light to see by, but did little to illuminate the dark shadows around the abandoned attractions. As monster lairs went, Dean thought this was one of the coolest. A closed-down, long-forgotten amusement park? This place couldn’t have been more sinister if it tried. The only thing missing was a psychotic clown or two. Wouldn’t Sam just love that? he thought.
Garth led the way in werewolf form, his superior senses functioning as perfect scouts. He’d smell, see, or hear danger long before either Dean or Sam could. Who knew having a werewolf for a buddy would come in so handy? Even though Dean knew Garth’s senses were far stronger than his or Sam’s, he still kept his weapons ready and his eyes and ears open. He liked hunts that were clear-cut, with easy-to-identify good guys and bad guys. That way, you knew who to kill and who to protect. But this case was anything but simple. There was Morgan and her baby brother, both werewolves, sure, but both of whom they wanted to save so they could go live happily ever after with Garth’s pack. Then there were the jakkals—which he’d never heard of before coming to Bridge Valley. Hell, he hadn’t even seen one yet. Supposedly, they were non-threatening monsters, a kind of cross between werewolves and well-behaved ghouls. The Crowders intended to kill the jakkals for no other reason than the werewolves were douches. So he, Sam, and Garth had three main objectives: rescue Morgan and her little brother, help the jakkals—who might think the human hunters were coming to kill them— and kill the rest of the Crowders. That was too many moving parts as far as Dean was concerned, which meant there was a lot that could go wrong.
Then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t, he thought.
He gripped his weapons tighter as they continued moving deeper into Happyland.
* * *
When she’d first climbed the park fence with Joshua, Morgan had been surprised that so much of the park remained intact, especially the rides. Later, as she and Greg were leading the neteru to this spot, he told her Happyland’s owner had specified that everything in the park remain exactly as it was on the day it closed. The man had a crazy dream that someday the park would return to life, which of course it never had.
“The place is perfect for my family,” Greg had told her. “It’s kind of like a pyramid in a way—an ancient monument to a long-dead man.”
Now Morgan crouched alongside Greg off to the side of a rust-eaten ride called Verti-Go-Go! (exclamation mark included), behind an old ice-cream cart. It was large enough to provide cover for both of them, but only if they remained close together. Their arms, hips, and legs were touching, and the contact was at once exhilarating and terrifying. Here she was, helping a group of people she’d just met fight against her own family, and all she could think about was how natural it felt—how right—to be near Greg.
Well, that wasn’t quite all she was thinking about. There was the terrible guilt at betraying her family, even though she knew she didn’t have any other choice, and the fear they’d get Joshua back and raise him to be just like them. And she felt guilty for allowing her brother to become a hostage. Kayla was watching Joshua back at the offices the jakkals used as their home. She didn’t know if she could trust Kayla to take good care of Joshua—although Greg insisted Kayla would. She hoped Joshua wasn’t frightened. Greg’s family hadn’t let her go inside the office building to say goodbye and reassure Joshua one last time that everything was all right. She had the sense that they had something stored there—something important—that they didn’t want her anywhere near. This was fine with her, but she wished they’d let her say goodbye to Joshua. She wouldn’t have remained behind even if they’d insisted. It was her family coming, and this fight was just as much hers as it was the jakkals’. Maybe more.
Greg had ordered the two neteru he commanded to stand on opposite sides of the path. She was still getting used to the idea that jakkals could make their own zombies. One,
a woman in her thirties with long blond hair, stood concealed in the shadow of the ride. The other, a pot-bellied man in his forties with a shaved head and a salt-and-pepper beard, hid among a group of nearby bumper cars. In the dark, the dead man was so still that he looked as if he might be another piece of equipment. Greg had commanded both of them to shut their eyes so the crimson light emanating from them wouldn’t give the undead servants away. Morgan couldn’t get over how eerily silent and motionless the neteru were. They didn’t breathe, and she couldn’t detect the sound of their hearts beating since, of course, they weren’t. But there was no hiding their scent. They reeked of embalming chemicals. When she’d asked Greg if he was worried her family would be able to smell the neteru before the undead creatures could attack, he’d said, “Sure they’ll smell them. But they’ll have no idea what they’re smelling. Who’d ever guess it was a bunch of animated corpses? Plus, the neteru’s scent will mask our own.”
She hoped he was right. If her family was overwhelmed with rage and bloodlust, they would disregard the smell as not-prey. But if their human sides weren’t completely dominated by the wolf in them, they might recognize the neteru’s scent as something to be wary of.
They were waiting for an attack, and she was nervous, yes, but her mind wasn’t on the battle to come. She had planned to leave town with Garth, taking Joshua with her to join Garth’s peaceful pack. But doing so would mean leaving Greg, and now that she was here, she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that.
The air was split by the sound of an explosion then, not far from their position. She jumped—the animal part of her hated loud noises—but she remained by Greg’s side.
It had begun.
* * *
Alan landed soundlessly on his feet. As he straightened, he scanned the immediate area and detected no one in the vicinity. He’d chosen to climb Happyland’s fence nearly three quarters of the way from the main entrance, on the southeast side of the park where there had been no jakkal scent in the small stretch of woods. He wasn’t surprised the jakkals stayed out of the trees. They didn’t feel the same connection to the natural world that Alan’s people did. As far as he knew, they didn’t feel the pull of the moon, either. If they hadn’t been so disgusting, he might’ve felt sorry for them.