“Jesus, man, you’re a mess! This is what happens when you slum it, you know.” The Euro-wolf turned his gaze on Sam, leering at her. “Of course, she is attractive.” He licked his lips lasciviously, and Sam fought the urge to vomit, feeling the chunks rising in the back of her throat. She could hear the little subconscious prayers starting, that natural reflex when raised in a Faith, and told that in times of trouble and danger one must put it all in God’s hands. Awful as it would no doubt have sounded to her grandmother, God rest her, Sam would have felt a lot better if this situation was in Vincent’s very capable hands. She tried to reach out with her mind, hoping she would sense him, feel him, but instead feeling nothing.
The two construction wolves ran into the alley behind them, and the lead Euro-wolf held up a hand toward them and made a half-whistle, half-bark sound that evidently told them to heel. Two more Euro-wolves joined them, entering from the bustle of the Bowery, and flanking the lead Euro-wolf.
“John?” Prutzmann turned to her, his eyes full of... Sam wasn’t sure what. “These are your guys, can’t you just call them off?” He looked down at the ground, shaking his head slowly.
“Not anymore.” Prutzmann looked up at her, a look of resignation and resolve on his face. “Whatever happens, stay alive... and tell Alice... tell her...” His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over.
Eyes moist with tears, Sam nodded quickly, “I will.”
10
PRUTZMANN QUICKLY MANEUVERED himself between Sam and the two construction werewolves coming up behind them. For a moment, Sam wondered what the use of that was, since it left her to deal with three, but the three Euro-wolves were not nearly as large. The construction wolves were also considerably more irritable after the run she’d put them through, and, now that they’d recovered a bit, they were itching to fight.
And fight they did, coming at Prutzmann quickly, barely giving Sam time to avoid being slammed against the dumpster. She squeezed out of the way, and into the grip of the lead Euro-wolf. He held her tightly by the shoulders, and Sam felt like he was going to crush her like a fortune cookie. She could feel her feet leave the ground as he lifted her and threw her small frame across the alley into the opposite wall.
The hit was hard, the pain in her shoulders nothing compared to that in her head and back from hitting the wall, or her hip from slamming to the ground. She could hear flesh hitting flesh as the construction wolves, and now one of the Euro-wolves as well, pinned Prutzmann down, and laid into him. Punches, kicks... it was brutal, and Sam could feel her tears overflowing from her eyes as she looked on. Get up! Get up! She screamed at herself and struggled to get her legs under her again. Her hip really hurt, but she got to her knees, then lunged at the exterior bar on the smaller dumpster nearby. She almost made it, stumbling to the ground, and banging her shoulder against it, the metal making a resounding clang. She winced, gasping slightly at the pain the hit caused, but quickly threw her arm up to grab the rail on the side and pull herself up to standing.
Suddenly, Sam was dragged backwards by her hair, pulled along the ground by the lead Euro-wolf.
“Now, now, darling girl,” He began, yanking her by her hair to her feet and turning her so she could see the werewolves surrounding Prutzmann. “I want to make sure you have a good view for this. Move! I want her to see!” The two werewolves blocking the view stepped aside, and Sam gasped, tears flowing freely.
There was blood everywhere, and Prutzmann’s long coat was covered with it, torn and dirty, nearly pulled off of him. He was still alive, Sam could hear his ragged breathing, the gurgling sound as at least one of his lungs was undoubtedly punctured. She’d seen the body of someone stomped before, but this was beyond anything Sam had ever witnessed as a cop. His shoulder was dislocated, and possibly a hip as well, and he lay on the ground, his limbs at odd angles. His face... Sam felt the urge to vomit again as she looked at what had been only moments ago a very attractive face. Now, his nose crushed, his right eye swollen shut and the cheek bone beneath obviously shattered. The other eye was nearly shut, but there was movement, and Sam could tell that Prutzmann was looking at her. He grunted and tried to move as he saw Sam, dragged up and held by her hair. Prutzmann struggled, trying to speak, but his jaw was broken, nothing but a harsh, grunting hiss coming out. His blond hair was caked with dirt and blood, a gash in the back of his head the clear source.
“Looks like Quasimodo, doesn’t he?” The Euro-wolf grinned with satisfaction. “Well, don’t you worry. We’re going to put him out of his misery soon enough. Afraid it won’t be merciful, though.” The smile faded, and he looked positively vicious as he growled. “Finish it!”
The Euro-wolf closest to Prutzmann stepped in and raised his foot above Prutzmann’s head. A loud pop rang out... and the Euro-wolf fell back away from Prutzmann and began to convulse on the ground. Everyone that could turned toward the source of the shot, as another echoed through the alley, nailing one of the construction werewolves in the head. He hit the ground hard and joined the other werewolf in violent spasms as the mercury released into their system.
The lead Euro-wolf pulled Sam closer to him, then suddenly arched his back, his hand pulling her hair nearly out. Sam screamed, and suddenly Vincent was there, releasing the Euro-wolf’s hand from her hair, and shoving him away and into the wall. The Euro-wolf hit hard, slamming against the wall, and then to the ground where the convulsions commenced.
Vincent pulled Sam into his arms and clutched her tightly against him with his left arm as he raised the H&K with the other, pointing it at the other construction werewolf that was trying to escape. Vincent aimed at the werewolf as it ran for the far end of the alley, and Kenmare Street...and fired. The construction werewolf collapsed immediately, and Sam could see the tremors start seconds after he hit the ground.
The final Euro-wolf looked around at the mercury-saturated carnage, its gaze settling on Prutzmann. He moved on him, getting two punches to the face before Ronne managed to pull him off and drag him away. Vincent aimed for the wolf.
“Francis! Drop him!” Immediately, Ronne released the werewolf and stepped clear as Vincent fired a single shot, nailing the werewolf in the forehead.
Vincent exhaled as the werewolf begins to seize. His eyes surveyed those he’d already shot, all in various stages of the process. Finally, his eyes went to Sam’s, and he smiled weakly, touching her cheek gently with his fingertips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Sam replied, more tears threatening to spill out as she buried her face in his chest.
“Vincent!” The tone in Ronne’s voice drew both their attention, and they hurried to him... and to Prutzmann. Ronne’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he struggled to speak. He’d obviously never seen the like himself. “Do you... need to... take care of him?”
“Is he dead?” Vincent’s eyes never left Prutzmann’s form as he asked the question, or as Ronne reached forward, trying to find a spot on the neck to feel for a pulse. He finally did, and pressed... then let go, shaking his head as he looked up.
“He’s gone.” Sam gave a small gasp.
In the distance, the first notes of sirens signaled their approach. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the Bowery, and this spot.
Vincent shook his head. “There isn’t time. He wouldn’t be... gone... before they got here.” Vincent took a knee beside the body. More than a decade of rivalry and battle, and it ended like this... John Prutzmann was dead.
“Vincent, we have to get out of here.” Ronne looked nervously at the street, and the beginnings of a crowd gathering. He hoped nobody had telephoto lenses out there... “Vincent!”
Vincent heaved a ragged sigh and got quickly to his feet. He holstered his gun, then scooped Sam into his arms. “Let’s go!” The three quickly ran down the alley, back toward Kenmare, and the long way home.
VINCENT FINISHED WRINGING out the dishcloth and hung it over the towel bar to dry. The apartment was dim and quiet, which suited him a
nd the mood he was in. Ronne had stayed for a while before deciding two nights away from his own home was two too many. It had been a couple of hours since he left, and Vincent had managed to get some soup into Sam and get her bathed and put to bed. The events of the day had hit her hard, and she was hurting emotionally as much as her body hurt physically. The swelling and bruising were bad, and Vincent had tried not to show his shock as he bathed her. It was usually something he preferred to do with her, but under the circumstances he thought the last thing she would likely want is himself in the tub with her.
Vincent peeked into the bedroom, and hoped she was asleep. It was very dark in the room, only the barest hints of setting sunlight peeking through around the edges of the blinds. Sam was sitting up in the bed, her legs stretched out straight in front of her, her hands in her lap. Staring straight ahead, not even seeming to blink, she looked catatonic, and Vincent hoped he wouldn’t have to call Hudson... Really didn’t want to owe him for anything if possible...
“Sam?” Vincent kept his voice as low as he could, hoping it would keep her from being triggered in some way. “Sam?” She moved, slowly leaning over and turning the bedside lamp on. In the dim light, Vincent could still see the tears streaking her face, the overwhelming sadness in her eyes as she blinked, then looked at him.
“I just... don’t understand...” She buried her face in her hands, and Vincent rushed to her side, taking her in his arms and holding her close, his hand softly patting her head, smoothing her hair, rubbing her earlobe.
“What don’t you understand, love?” He waited patiently as she gasped, trying to catch her breath and steady her voice to reply. Finally, she calmed a bit, and looked up at him, her eyes shining in the light.
“Why am I crying for him? The things he did...” Vincent smiled, touching her cheek, tracing her cheekbone and jaw. He understood... God knows, he understood... But he couldn’t glory in this death, couldn’t find satisfaction in it. Vincent wasn’t crying, but it hurt him, too. He kissed Sam’s forehead softly...her cheek... her lips... then rested his forehead against hers as he spoke:
“It’s because we’re human, love. The LV...our bodies change, but not our hearts... Our hearts are human. We love, we sacrifice, we do the right thing... We’re just human... And, in the end, so was John... So was John.” Vincent’s voice caught for a moment, and Sam immediately embraced him, the two clinging to each other as night fell over the city, and, eventually, they fell asleep.
11
OLD CALVARY CEMETERY
Sunnyside, Queens
The day was destined to be scorching, with weather reports cautioning about the high heat index, and the usual concerns about power outages and dehydration being repeated on the TV and radio ad nauseum. On the hill that was Old Calvary Cemetery, though, there was a merciful breeze. Sam closed her eyes, basking in the feeling of the air licking over her damp skin. Between the ride on the multiple subway trains, and the walk to the cemetery, she felt like she’d sweated off ten pounds. She’d climbed the hill quickly, mostly because she knew at the top there would be blessed shade coupled with the breeze. It would be tough not to succumb to her heat-induced drowsiness and take a nap near Ivan’s grave.
Ivan. It had been a long time since she’d visited his gravesite... Since March, actually. Sam had made a brief stop before she and Vincent ran north, but since they had been back in the city, the search for Ben and the quest to avoid detection had been a priority. Now, it didn’t seem to matter... they knew she was back, and they knew she was nosing around... As she’d told Vincent that morning, they were going to come after them anyway, so why hide? As a former cop, she knew allowing the terrorists to intimidate, to make you change your life, meant they won. And these were most assuredly terrorists in their own way.
Sam leaned against the oak tree that stood steps from the Karolyi family plots. Everyone was there now... Grampy and Grammy, Mom and Dad... there were still three spots lying empty, to be used by others in the family. Of course, there weren’t any others in the family, except for her. Sam sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the breeze that swelled up, blowing in from out on Long Island, and heading for the city. The view from this spot must have been part of the reason Ivan purchased the plots. He’d bought them shortly after Sam’s father was born, that strange and morbid reflex that so many people have when basking in the glow of new life. He’d been one of the last to be able to pre-purchase plots here. Now, as the cemetery had expanded, and the total of dead interred here had surpassed 3 million, reserving a spot was no longer possible. No reservations... first come, first served, we’ll seat you as you arrive... Sam chuckled at that and walked over to the marker above Ivan’s grave. The grass had all grown in now, and violets carpeted the area in front of the headstone. Sam sighed, sitting down on the grass beside the spot where her grandfather’s remains now rested. It struck her how similar the position was to those moments before his death, as he lay in his bed at home, Sam sitting beside him...
How long ago it seems, Sam thought, blinking back the moisture that filled her eyes. And yet it had not been a year yet, barely time to truly grieve, and catalog memories, and learn how to be without him... It seemed as if every moment that Sam was reaching a beginning, or achieving a moment of clarity, something would happen that would distract her, or remind her, and either way she’d feel her mind disconnecting from the healing, focusing on something else and telling her, “yeah, we’ll get back to that, because this!” She sighed and patted the headstone gently.
Nepoata.
Sam smiled, the tears welling as she heard the endearment in her head. It was Ivan’s special name for her, nothing more than the Romanian word for ‘grand-daughter’, but it still was special, it still was hers...
My book... I think you know the one...Everything you will need to know about us, about our burden, is in that book... The time will come, I fear very soon, when you will have to let out the devil inside yourself in order to stop these...people... Do not be afraid of what comes...
Sam wiped her eyes and sighed again. It was coming... she could feel it coming... Not just the Full Moon that would be in a few days, and the usual pull of the tidal forces on her body. Even without the Lycanthropic Virus woven through her DNA, she had always felt the pull, as most people do. After all, humans are primarily made of water, so why wouldn’t the tidal pull of La Luna affect us?
This was more, though. She’d felt it when they were up north, she and Vincent... Sam never mentioned it to him, for fear he would take it wrong, or overreact, or even leave, but still it was coming... like a train barreling through the tunnels beneath their feet... Soon... very soon... Sam knew there would be no other choice... they would have to change. She assumed that Vincent had done it before, though how many times she couldn’t guess. While accepting of who and what he was, the Irishman loathed to talk about it, preferring to wink or smile, and change the subject. Hell, she knew more about him from Hudson than himself. As for her... Sam winced at the foggy recollections, the shadowy memories of those long, painful moments under a Blood Moon in October. Mostly that’s all she remembered...the pain...
Hollywood and books always painted the morphing from human to werewolf as sprouting some hair and squatting down, or some sort of instantaneous, explosive transformation that left you totally wolfed-out and ready to fight. The truth, however, was far less glamorous, and was all about searing pain, and the horrific sounds of cracking bones and tearing tissue. Sam could still recall how sharp the sounds were, how harsh the light, how the blood smelled when she ripped Diane Weber’s evil throat out... and Ben. Sam shivered, feeling suddenly chilled in the eighty-plus degree weather, and jumped to her feet. Ben had been there that day, had seen her change. He’d been different after that, and understandably so... who wouldn’t be a bit off after watching their best friend turn into a monster?
Something nagged at Sam, though, as she walked down the hill, and made her way to the gates of the cemetery. Something about Benny’s behavio
r after it happened was odd... odder than usual for him. He’d become enmeshed in that message board, The Underland, and Sam couldn’t help but wonder if his disappearance had more to do with that place, and the people he was associating with there, than Ronne had surmised. She stopped outside the cemetery, lit a cigarette, and pondered the traffic. She could hail a cab and brave the late afternoon crush, getting back to Manhattan... eventually... Or she could walk the distance to Queens Boulevard and catch the 7-train back to the city. A cacophony of car horns, and several shouted profanities from drivers in front of her answered that question. Sam waited for a pause in the traffic movement, then wove her way between the slow-moving vehicles and across Greenpoint Avenue, the roar of the Long Island Expressway above her.
12
THE WALK HELPED IMMENSELY, and by the time Sam had crossed Hunters Point Avenue, and was on her way up 34th Street, she’d warmed up considerably, inside and out. In fact, she thought as she stepped onto Queens Boulevard, a stop for something cool to drink before boarding the train is definitely in order. Sam turned left, searching the signs along the street, looking for a bodega or convenience store... hell, at this point, she’d go into a sub shop and buy food just to get something to drink.
It ended up being a pizza shop, and a few minutes later, Sam exited with a slice in one hand and a soft drink in the other. They’d only had fountain drinks, so that meant it couldn’t go on the train with her. Sam retraced her steps at a leisurely pace, enjoying the flavor of the pizza, which tasted better than it looked, and the refreshing feel of the cold soda going down her throat.
Sam spent her time staying out of the main foot traffic paths and looking at the signage of the storefronts she passed. It was close to the Queens Centre, so many of the stores were small clothing shops, camera shops, and other unique stores hoping to capitalize on those coming and going from the massive mall. Suddenly, Sam slowed, the sign just up ahead catching her eye:
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 51