It was a little after nine when we arrived in Idaho Springs. The highway dumped us out at the mouth of downtown, which was really just one long street filled with trinket shops and ice cream parlors. I directed Opal to go left toward the hot springs. There was an empty lot just before Grizzly, with a couple of picnic tables and a small abandoned building—probably an old trailhead or some kind of failed tourism business. We parked there, and the werewolves got out of the car and began to strip. Jamie and Dunn left their boxers on out of modesty, but Mary unzipped the minidress with one long arm and shimmied out of it, revealing nothing but smooth, pale skin underneath. She stepped out of the heels and swooped them up gracefully, stalking over to me in her bare feet. “Here,” she said, piling the shoes and dress in my arms. She was completely nude, but couldn’t be less bothered by it. “Take care of these. They’re Christian Louboutin.”
The three of them disappeared behind the empty building to shift into wolf form. Opal and Simon waited in the car—Simon still frantically scanning the old journal he’d brought, and Opal drinking a little blood bag she’d brought “as a pre-fight snack.” I was too nervous to sit still, so after securing Mary’s stuff in the vampire hidey-hole, I got back out and paced in front of the Jeep.
We weren’t in Boulder anymore, so who knew how long it would take the werewolves to shift. I berated myself for not having them shift before we’d left. Timewise, we were within the Unktehila’s killing window now, and it would be horrible if we found out it was eating someone fifty yards down the road while we were standing around doing nothing. The groaning and whimpering I heard from behind the building made me feel an unexpected jab of sympathy for the werewolves.
Needing something to do to distract myself, I got the sword out of the Jeep and swung it around a bit, getting used to the unusual weight. As long as it was, the whole sword weighed maybe four or five pounds. I knew a little bit about swords: I had taken foil fencing classes in high school, and my cousin Anna had once talked me into doing an eight-week course of tai chi with wooden practice swords. This Danish sword was a completely different animal, though. It was two-handed fighting, with a double-edged blade, and I spent some time attacking one of the picnic tables to get used to the feel of it. I’d seen a demonstration of Western martial arts a few years earlier, and I did my best to mimic those movements. Lucky for me, it didn’t have to be pretty or perfect. It just had to be effective.
After ten minutes of me warming up, the three wolves came loping silently around the corner. I was bowled over again by their size: the smallest of the three looked like it could eat Cody and Chip for breakfast. That one was black, with amber-green eyes—Mary. I was able to differentiate the two males by their eye color: the wolf with the white undercoat and black overcoat had sky-blue irises like Australian Jamie, and the biggest wolf, who looked entirely gray on top but white on his legs and tail, had Dunn’s dark eyes. They stood there staring expectantly at me, and I led them over to the hood of the Jeep, where I’d left out the steaks. Dunn had told me earlier that each change cost them energy, and it would be hard on everyone if they tried to cooperate with us on empty stomachs. I took out the raw meat and tossed one to each of them, being careful to keep my fingers well away from those teeth.
While they ate, Simon got out of the Jeep and came over to us. “I found it,” he said, pleased. “The concealment spell.”
“Well, thank God,” I said. “I didn’t think we could pass all of them off as guide dogs. Is it ready?”
He nodded, looking confident, but his hands clutched the old journal like he was afraid one of us might try to snatch it away. I gestured for him to go ahead.
When they had all finished eating, Simon asked the wolves to sit down, and one by one he approached each of them, carefully touched their heads, and murmured a few words. And that was it. I was watching closely, but I didn’t see any difference. I waited until he’d gone all the way down the line before saying, “Um, Simon? Are you sure this worked?”
He smiled, maybe a tiny bit smug. “Oh, it worked. You’re just seeing through it because of your witchblood. Magic doesn’t work against magic, remember?”
Oh. Duh. I’d gotten so used to things being twisted around in Boulder that I’d forgotten one of the cardinal rules of the Old World. “Besides,” he added, “you’re expecting to see werewolves. Humans expect to see a guide dog, or a rolling suitcase, or even a small child, so that’s what they’ll see.”
“Okay,” I said, deciding to trust him. When he was finished, he came over to me and put the same spell on my extremely conspicuous sword and the Desert Eagle attached to my thigh. “It’ll wear off by dawn,” he advised, “but that sword will be back in the exhibit way before that anyway, right?” He blinked pointedly.
I nodded and stepped up to address the werewolves, who looked at me with a keen intelligence and maybe a little menace. They looked ready for a fight. It should have felt silly to stand there talking to giant wolves who sat in a patient line, but surprisingly it didn’t. It was like talking to soldiers.
“Go into that building,” I said slowly, pointing to the spa, which was just across an empty lot, “and look for any sign of this thing.” I held out the scale, walking down the line so they could all sniff it. “When you find it, howl.” I was about to add that they should come running if they heard one of the others howling, but realized it was pointless. They’d do that no matter what I said. They were a pack.
In response to my nod, the wolves turned and slunk into the shadows, always keeping an eye on their leader. If you really watched them, it was obvious that they were staying a little behind and below him, allowing him to be the biggest. Dunn, for his part, had a relaxed loping swagger that was entirely absent from his human form.
“What about us?” Simon asked, indicating himself and Opal. “Where do you want us?”
I turned to face them. “Opal, you’re in charge of crowd control. Go around to any humans who look confused or suspicious, like they might be on to the wolves, and press them. If this all goes to hell, head to the main entrance and press people who are leaving.” She nodded and took a few quick steps backward, disappearing into the shadows.
I turned to Simon. “You and I are going to take a self-guided tour. If you’re going to be the bait, we gotta get your smell out there for the Unktehila to find. Come on.”
I led the way toward the spa entrance. Inside, there was an old-fashioned wooden reception desk staffed by a bored, overweight teenager. Her eyes were glued to a cell phone in front of her.
“We’re closing in forty-five minutes,” she said blandly as she heard us approach.
“That’s okay,” Simon said brightly. “We just wanted to get in a quick soak before bedtime.” The teenager looked up. I could see the interest spark in her face as she took in Simon’s lean frame and boyish glasses. I was betting the surfer-hippie look worked wonders on his students, too. Simon paid the spa admission fee, chatting amiably with the girl, and then we ducked down a flight of steps into his-and-her dressing rooms. I had no intention of trying to fight the Unktehila in a bathing suit, but we’d agreed to abandon our shoes and roll up our pants, as though we were just there to soak our feet. I figured bare feet would probably fare better on slippery pool tiles than sneakers would anyway.
I had no bars at all down here, so I left my cell phone in the locker too. Like it or not, I figured there was a pretty good chance I was about to get wet.
Simon and I met up outside, where we took a quick walk down to the geothermal caves. It was divided into specific areas by gender, so I checked the women’s room and Simon checked the men’s. From the title, you’d expected something natural and imposing, but the women’s “geothermal cave” was just a big concrete room with low lighting and what looked like a sunken Jacuzzi. It was empty, this late on a weeknight, and I found myself shying away from the murky-looking water. I’ve never been afraid of clear pools or bathtubs, but I can’t stand being in water that isn’t transparent. In my
defense, though, I did drown in some when I was a teenager.
The adjacent women’s mud room was equally unimpressive: it was nearly identical to the geothermal caves, but with an enormous bowl of soupy mud in the middle instead of a hot tub. Two women in their sixties had rubbed some of the mud on their nude bodies and were stretched out on deck chairs chatting. They looked up in confusion when I stepped in wearing my T-shirt and rolled-up jeans—thank God they couldn’t see the sword or the massive sidearm—but I just made a show of looking around like I was there to meet someone and ducked back out. To my relief, Simon was just stepping out of the men’s area. “Any signs of it?” I asked him. He shook his head. “But remind me to really start working out when I hit fifty,” he said gravely.
“Well, let’s—”
But I was interrupted by a chorus of terrified voices. It wasn’t the wolves, though.
It was screaming.
Chapter 39
Simon and I raced back the way we’d come, following the sounds of shouting people and snarling wolves. It was obviously coming from the main pool of mineral water, about half the size of an Olympic pool. We had to dodge eight or ten fleeing bathers: adults in various stages of undress who pounded past us, hollering about monsters. I hoped Opal was in place at the main entrance, or we were going to have a lot of cops to deal with in the very near future.
Just before a sign marked “Pool Entrance,” I spotted a familiar red box on the wall and reached over to pull the fire alarm. It only heightened the pandemonium, but hopefully it would keep any would-be Samaritans from running in to offer their help. With Simon on my heels I burst through the door, grabbing at my weapons as I took in the scene. We were in one long room fringed by rainforest-type plants, with a pool in the middle and a glass skylight taking up half the ceiling. They were going for a tropical theme, which was augmented by the enormous snake monster thrashing around in the water, its attention focused on the far left corner of the pool so its back was to me. The mineral water was tinged with red, and I realized it had already eaten or crushed at least one victim. There was an Unktehila-sized hole in the cheap plaster wall. I didn’t know if it had smelled Simon or the werewolves, but something had caused it to burst in looking for a fight.
I had the sword in hand by then, raised to the ceiling like a medieval lance, but I hesitated for a moment, gaping. The lighting was dim in here—probably the spa owners depended mostly on the skylight—but for the first time I was able to take in the sight of the Unktehila’s entire body at once. The full size of it was jolting: It was the length of at least one and a half school buses, and it had expanded to its full diameter of about six feet. My brain kept telling me that this was wrong, this was fake, that animals didn’t come that big. But the evidence was right there in front of me, paralyzingly scary and fast.
I crept forward to see what was making the Unktehila so angry, and realized that all the hissing and thrashing was directed at the werewolves, who were pacing the edges of the pool, in front of the potted trees. No, wait, it wasn’t just looking at the wolves—the pool was cordoned off into a little hot tub, and the creature had cornered someone in there. I couldn’t see the person behind the leviathan, but he or she must have still been alive, judging by the Unktehila’s desperation to get to them.
The wolves were trying to draw away the monster, and it was sort of working—every time it got close to its prey, one of them darted forward, snapping with jaws or swiping with claws, and the Unktehila would get distracted. It kept spitting venom at the wolves, but they were fast enough to jerk away in time to avoid its attacks. I saw Mary, the black wolf, dancing back a little, and I realized she’d stepped in some of the venom. The wolves only had seconds before the floor would be too covered in it for them to move.
The creature’s back was still to me, so this was my only shot at a surprise attack. I wanted to aim at its head—the throat, the eyes, something vital—but it would take me too long to run all the way around the pool.
Fuck. I was going to have to get into that water, wasn’t I?
Simon was already moving around the pool’s edge, so I shouted after him, “Get the people out!” He waved a hand in acknowledgment. Without letting myself think too much about it, I leaped into the four-foot-deep water, aiming my body straight for the Unktehila’s clubbed tail, which was only about as thick as my waist. The tail was thrashing around, but only a little, since most of the upper body was focused on attack right now, not movement. With a bellow, I swung the sword back over my left shoulder like a golfer and sent it straight into the tail, chopping at an angle to go under the scales. I was just trying to get its attention, but to my surprise, I actually severed a chunk off the tail.
Damn, that Mary sure could sharpen a sword.
The Unktehila raised its upper body straight up and screamed, a terrifyingly high-pitched sound that actually sent spiderweb cracks spurting across the glass skylight. The wolves cringed with pain—the sound had to be excruciating to their sensitive ears—and I began backing away from the red blood that was blossoming in the pink water all around me. I tried sloshing toward the side of the pool, but by then the Unktehila had finished its scream and turned on me, its cobra hood unfurling. Behind it, I saw Simon helping someone out of the hot tub—a twenty-something woman holding a toddler. I set my jaw.
You, the Unktehila roared into my head. It hadn’t bothered to adjust the frequency for our comfort, and I almost doubled over from the sensation of knives cutting at the inside of my skull. In my peripheral vision I saw that Simon, the woman, and the wailing toddler all did the same, but the wolves didn’t seem affected. You dare interfere with me again? I will—
With effort, I straightened up, bending against the wave of pain. “Yeah, yeah,” I shouted, waving the sword in front of the thing’s ugly snout. “You should have stayed asleep, asshole.”
Hissing with rage, the Unktehila reared back, the telltale sign that it was about to spit venom my way. I threw up my free arm in useless defense, ducking, but to my surprise, nothing happened. I looked back at the Unktehila, and we realized at the same time that it was all out of venom. Without giving it time to react, I dove forward, just managing to throw myself out of the pool before a heavy coil of muscle snapped toward me hard enough to break bones. It cracked tiles on the side of the pool instead, sending a splash of bloody mineral water over me. Gross.
On the other side of the pool, Simon had gotten the woman and her child through the emergency exit door. He turned back and threw out his arms, shouting something at the Unktehila. A short lance of fire, like a firework just before it explodes, arced through the air at the sandworm. It struck the creature in the back of the head, not really doing any damage, but it gave me an idea. As the Unktehila turned to deal with the new threat, I skidded along the side of the pool until I was just above the nearest coil, and plunged my sword into the thing’s flesh at a sideways angle, wrenching it to dig under the scales. The werewolves must have had the same idea as me, because they split up and began racing toward the coils nearest to them, so that the five of us were spread more or less evenly around the pool.
Seeing this, the Unktehila roared in anger and then screamed something into our minds, not even trying to communicate now, just to destroy. Simon and I both dropped to our knees in agony—I managed to keep my grip on the sword, but it was a near thing—and the Unktehila turned to attack Simon, the most vulnerable of all of us. Before it could get there, though, I saw the nearest werewolf—Jamie—dash forward and actually climb onto a wide chunk of the Unktehila’s tail. He gouged his two front paws into and beside the scales like he was digging a hole for a bone, and the sandworm shrieked in pain and rage, turning to snap its tremendous jaws at Jamie. I wanted to applaud as the werewolf leaped nimbly off the coil and raced away, skidding a little on the wet surface.
It can’t get into the werewolves’ minds, I realized, as my ability to think was slowly returned to me. They were on a different frequency.
We resum
ed the strategy, keeping more or less evenly spaced around the creature and attacking one at a time. When the Unktehila turned on one of us, another would attack all the harder, dividing its attention. This continued for what seemed like twenty minutes but was probably only two, until the Unktehila was worked up into a froth of wild animal rage and pain. At one point, it tried the psychic scream again to break Simon and me, but all three werewolves attacked with such viciousness that the piercing agony only lasted a few seconds this time.
We were winning—but suddenly the Unktehila seemed to realize our goal: to wear it out, or even bleed it out. Simon and one of the wolves were standing between it and the plaster hole it’d created, but its head abruptly ducked underwater with tremendous force. The ground seemed to shift suddenly as the creature rammed into the floor of the pool.
“It’s going for the tunnels!” Simon hollered. “It’s running!”
“Like hell!” I yelled back. We were never going to have a better chance than this, and we sure as hell couldn’t release it into the wild when it was worked into a frenzy.
The Unktehila reared back and shot forward a second time, butting the sharp point of its beak against the same spot on the bottom of the pool, and this time something gave way. I couldn’t let it escape. So I did the only thing I could do.
I jumped back into the water. Like an idiot.
I pulled the Desert Eagle out of the thigh holster and looked frantically for something to shoot. I did not want a .50-caliber bullet ricocheting off those scales. The water was already beginning to drain from the pool, and the Unktehila was starting to worm his way out through the small hole, contracting to fit it. Inspired, I looked around the bloody water until I located the thrashing stump of its tail—the open wound still oozing blood. Torn red muscle and a little bit of bone could just be seen as the stump flicked in and out of the water. I sloshed over as close as I could, watching the movement, and took my shot, putting two of the enormous bullets right into that muscle.
Boundary Lines (Boundary Magic Book 2) Page 26