Hair of the Wolf

by Peter J. Wacks

  Black lightning started to crackle around the edges of Lilith’s eyes.

  Loki stood up and walked over to his slice of floating pizza. “Careful. Your tell is showing.” He deliberately left his back exposed as he took a bite.

  Lilith took a deep breath and her eyes returned to normal. “I just want us to win, Loki. Your actions better not derail us from our path, or I will end you. Do not forget that almost a third of humanity believes in me, on some level. Can you claim that much power?”

  “You know I cannot.” She couldn’t see his smile.

  ***

  Skid

  The two blades slid against each other, throwing off sparks as each of the edges tried to cut into the other. The ringing clash echoed through the warehouse. Vast glass windows on the upper portions of the walls flooded the space with sunlight. Other than the two men sparring, it was empty, a vast cavern to house their dance. One was blond, in his late thirties, the other bald, in his teens still.

  The younger of the two grinned, twisting his hips and throwing his right shoulder’s strength into the mix. The resistance against his blade vanished as Wells spun low, and Skid’s weight went over his top.

  The younger man laughed as he felt himself start to pinwheel, and tucked his body into a tight ball, sliding his long sword across his back for protection. Wells’ katana bounced off with the ringing of metal striking metal.

  Skid finished his roll through the air, landing in a crouch and bracing himself with his left hand. Sweat flew from his brow as he twisted his right wrist around, sending his blade out in a long slash behind him. It bought him a second as Wells hopped back to avoid the strike and he rolled forward, regaining his feet, spinning to face his opponent.

  Wells leveled his blade. “What is your purpose?”

  Skid charged forward. “To … avenge.” He brought up the sword in a quick slash, only to have it deflected.

  “Ten years you have answered that question the same way. Why?” Wells slid into Skid’s guard, catching his wrist and locking the young man in place, with their blades forming an X.

  “Because it is the truth. It is why Uriel bonded with me.” He dropped the blade, kneeing Wells’ hand. He caught his own dropped blade with a toe flick, sending it sailing up and back. He sprang back to catch it.

  As he jumped Wells lunged, slashing his shirt open but missing skin. “Uriel’s cause failed him. To pursue it will bring you the same results. Think outside the box, child. Time and space are the purpose of mortals. They define it, breathe it, live it, and create it. You are meant for something more.”

  Skid caught the blade, backpedaling further as Wells followed the first slash with a second. “I don’t understand. A mortal’s purpose is to define time and space? That isn’t a purpose, that’s just what they do. Right? By existing, mortals define time and space. And why should that change my purpose?”

  “You are defining yourself by something that can be completed. Your purpose is not something achievable. No one’s is.” Wells grunted as he blocked a strike at his head, weaving under the blades to pop up inside Skid’s guard again.

  He looked the young man in the eyes. “What you are saying is your purpose, is actually a goal. Were it your purpose, completion of it would leave you purposeless.” He slapped the flat of the blade, deflecting an incoming strike. “That can never happen. Our purpose is at the heart of our souls. Without it, we would decay. Our minds and hearts would rot within us. Life is just a way to keep meat fresh, without refrigeration, and move it about a bit. Purpose is our soul and being.”

  Skid continued slashing with quick precise movements as he pushed Wells back. “You have had,” he grunted while moving, “me reading philosophy for ten years now, honing my mind. I understand your words, but not your meaning.”

  He pirouetted while moving forward, slashing in a broad arc at ankle level. “Why would my purpose be different from my goal? If I complete my purpose, I’ll just find another, right?”

  Wells raised one foot and slammed it down on the incoming blade, trapping it below his heel and leveling his sword at Skid’s throat. “A goal is achievable. Something to be completed. A purpose never stops. A very mundane example might be that a musician has the goal of creating an album, or singing a song, but their purpose is to compose. To create.”

  He backed off, wiping his brow, and flicking his sword to the side, at rest position. The sparring was done. “So Skid, your goal is to seek vengeance, but it is not your purpose. What is your purpose?”

  Skid was still crouched in the low sweep. “I …” he thought hard. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how there can be a purpose beyond this. Beyond avenging the Angels? Beyond that is … I don’t know, I can’t see anything.”

  “So long as you don’t know it, you will not find your true power. Angels are beings of creation, of purpose. The make history move forward. Yet the Angel in your soul is dormant. It is healing from centuries of corruption and decay. It is you that must rise above and seek enlightenment.” Wells looked around the warehouse they were in, stepping back into a beam of light and closing his eyes while tilting his face upwards. He let the warm rays of the sun soak into his skin. “You’ll find it. I have faith in that.”

  ***

  Vlad Tepes

  He stared at the shears, carefully stroking the dull outer edges. It had become a habit over the last decade to study them while he thought. When he touched them, he could feel faint echoes of the future and past. Not enough to clearly see anything, but he did get faint impressions.

  Right now he was getting the impression that Elizabeth was getting ready to put in motion something stupid. The shears would have to be given to her when he returned to Kaine. For a time. But not yet. She was still acting out, being childish.

  The problem with being immortal Lords of the Night was that when a vampire put a plan into motion the outcome might not become visible for decades, or even centuries. He sighed.

  Putting the scissors into their hiding spot, he brushed his hands off and walked out of his house. Standing outside, a short man with wild hair leaned against a black limousine parked in the center of the expansive driveway. Trees and well-groomed lawns framed a driveway that led to an impressive twelve-foot wall surrounding the estate.

  The little man scuttled around the limo, opening the back door for his master. “Take me to the Ritz Carlton, Renfield.”

  Vlad slid in.

  ***

  Elizabeth Bathory

  Sponging the blood slowly over her skin, Elizabeth relaxed in the oversized bathtub. The bodies of sixteen virgin girls were littered around her suite’s bathroom at the elegant Ritz Carlton, now lifeless meat who had contained the fluids Bathory bathed in.

  “I wish you would let go of this outdated belief, my dear.” Vlad dipped a finger into the bath, then raised the finger to his mouth and then licked it clean. His face twisted in a grimace. “Bathing in food is kind of gross.”

  Raising a leg out of her sanguine crimson bathwater, she daintily slid the sponge over her calf. “Dear cousin, how would I maintain my immortal beauty if not for my little rituals of caring for myself?”

  He snorted in reply.

  Frowning, she shifted in the tub to look at him better. “I assume you are interrupting my bath because we have made progress in finding the Unblooded One?” Her eyes narrowed. “Well?”

  Vlad kicked one of the dead girls forcefully enough to slide the body across the floor until it hit the wall. “Don’t forget who made you, Elizabeth. I am the King of the Night, and I will unmake you, if need be.”

  Immediate frustration crossed her features, but she looked demurely down. “Yes, My Lord. I am sorry.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “That is better. As it happens, yes, my network has uncovered certain things. I’ve found Jonathan again. I believe he can lead us to the Unblooded.”

  She blinked in surprise. “It’s been over a century. How did you find him?”

  Vlad stepped back ov
er to the tub, crouching down to lean against the side of it. “Luck, mostly. One of the watcher families spotted him. We need to discuss what to do.”

  Exposing her fangs, Elizabeth spat venomously, “Kill them. He and Mina are ungrateful little vamplings. Though I do miss her little diversions.”

  Vlad shook his head. “As always, your hot-blooded nature is controlling your mind. And tongue. Think about it, Liz. I believe we should watch him. Your fascination with the werewolf family will inevitably draw him to them. We can use him, so long as he remains unaware of us.”

  Stopping and thinking, she eventually said. “Okay. But what about Mina? You said they found Jonathan, but what about her? I miss the … pleasures of her company. If we spare them, can I have her again, My Lord?”

  Vlad smiled. “The other shoe has dropped, I see. She is not with him. None of the watcher families have seen her. Should we find her, I will gift her to you.”

  “What? I thought those two were inseparable?”

  ‘“As did we all.” He shrugged. “But it appears they have, in fact, separated.”

  “Well, now. Isn’t that interesting? So your command is that we watch Jonathan, My Lord?”

  Vlad raised an eyebrow. “Indeed it is.”

  “What of Van Helsing?” she questioned. “We’ve kept that feral dog caged for a century instead of letting him hunt and die, like all the other accidents of his kind. What’s the point if we don’t use him? If we unleash him, I am sure that he will flush out all of our quarry.”

  “No. We will not unleash him. You need to let go of your little vendetta, Liz. There is much more at stake here than your blood feud.”

  “The Magyari family, the Matthias family, and the Thurzo family imprisoned me in a tower, My Lord. Wolves attacked me, using their minister figurehead. I’ll not just let it go. To the end of time Tabitha and her line will pay for their machinations!” Her cheeks flushed with anger.

  Lightning fast, Vlad’s hand shot forward and he grabbed Elizabeth’s chin with enough force to crack the back of the bathtub. She squirmed in pain, splashing blood from the tub onto the floor. “Liz, you will not pursue this. This feud puts us all at risk. You could screw up the plan. Do you understand me?”

  “I do, My Lord,” she managed to speak through her grimace.

  “Good.” He released her chin. “Now be a dear and clean up the meat when you are done. I shall go set the chained Bwgan far-seer on Jonathan. We shall watch him from here.” Vlad strode out of the bathroom, leaving Elizabeth to her blood bath.

  She watched him go, then stood, seething with anger. Breathing deeply she fought to steady her shaking hands. “Asshole.” She muttered. One day, soon hopefully, she would kill Vlad Tepes and take his throne. On that day, the vampire nation would throw off the shackles of petty alliances, free to do what they wanted.

  Dripping blood, she daintily stepped over the bodies as she crossed the floor to the towel rack. She stewed, unable to let go of her anger. Vlad would die. The wolf family would writhe under her punishment. The Gray Ones would burn, unable to achieve their goals as the vampire nation turned its back on them.

  Elizabeth Bathory really had authority issues.

  ***

  Jonathan Harker & Robert Crowley Sr.

  “Dammit, Jonathan!” Robert limped across the room, his old ankle injury flared up every fall as the snow storms started to come. The Thread of Fate, bound in the talisman hanging on his chest, pulsed warmly. “I can’t do this alone. I need your help. I can’t even go to Tabitha, despite the fact that I’m head over heels for her, because I have to fight nonstop.”

  Jonathan frowned slightly, staring at the wisps of steam rising from the cup of chai tea between his hands. “You’ve been a good friend, Robert. A true friend. You look past what I am to who I am. But … you are asking a lot of me. Things just aren’t the same as they were a decade ago when we met.”

  Robert paced, favoring his bad ankle. He had been so high at the time of the fight that he hadn’t realized the Vampires had crushed every bone in his ankle and foot. Grandfather had been so pissed when Robert wouldn’t tell him how he had tracked the vamps that he had refused to fully heal Robert. A reminder that there is a price for stupidity. “Jon, you were a badass. Dark fucking Lord of the Night. That was you.”

  The vampire shook his head in regret. “No. That wasn’t me. That was us. But she left me.” The steam danced across the surface of the tea, beautiful for a moment, then gone as each wisp faded to nothingness.

  Robert limped across the room and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “So? My marriage fell apart because I was in love with another woman. I barely know my son, and I’ve only met my baby grandson twice. You can’t live in the past forever, Jonathan. What you two were, man, yeah it was special. But you were timid together. You just watched, never fought.”

  Jonathan’s fingers tightened around the cup of tea. “We did once. At the beginning. It didn’t end well. Vlad and Elizabeth tore us to shreds.”

  “Right. And now you have a chance to grow, to be something more.” Robert slapped the table. “Come on, man. Be a badass of the Night. I need you. If I try to stop them without you by my side, my grandson, and his friends, will die.” The talisman warmed at the words.

  Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t have it in me.”

  Sighing, Robert backed up a step and shook his head, staring at Jonathan’s back. He wanted nothing more than to grab his friend and shake him by the shoulders, shout in his face, Stop being a jackass. You aren’t this morose, mopey, weak person! But he knew it would accomplish nothing, possibly even achieve the reverse of what he wanted. Somehow, he had to convince Jonathan to take arms and join the fight.

  Staring at the room, he thought. His eyes traced the ornamental furs and turquoise he had hanging from the walls of the sunken room. Fire crackled in the fireplace, taking the edge off the chilly fall night. He twined the hair of his pony tail, draped over the front of his shoulder, through his fingers.

  Jonathan broke the silence. “I appreciate that you let me live here. Having a safe harbor is a godsend. I just … I’m sorry.” He hung his head in shame.

  Robert twirled the talisman between his finger, feeling the vibrations of his Fate thread. “Hold on, Jonathan. Let me show you what happens when I do it without you.” He strode back to the vampire and clutched his wrist.

  ***

  Echoes

  Jonathan and Robert floated through the broken Web of Fate. Jagged strands floated in the spaces beyond the universe, barely holding together. All of history, past, present, and future, was held in that gossamer pattern.…Threads of a pattern which looked like nothing so much as a spider web after a rainstorm. Fate was in tatters.

  Images flashed around them, chaotic, scattered. They were remnants of a time the pattern was held together by more than chance. When all three sisters had still lived.

  Jonathan stared in awe, then looked over at Robert. “If what you have told me is true and the Spinner of Fate is dead, how does it work? How does it still hold together?”

  “Uh,” Robert glanced at his friend. “I have no clue. It should be completely broken. Maybe Lachesis and Atropos are holding it together somehow. Maybe humans are stubborn and are sticking to the plan. Who knows?” Just being here was a huge danger, so Robert focused on his talisman and whispered, Show us.

  Kaleidoscopic images flashed around them, a strobe lighting, seizure inducing, series of potential futures and pasts. Neither time nor space are linear. They are shaped by perception, full of hiccups, bumps, twists, turns, and every pitfall imaginable. Time and space are about as straight forward as the average politician. The images flashing at Robert and Jonathan were past and future, but all happening at the same time. Intertwined like two exhausted boxers, the two frames of time were one and the same, struggling against each other for the pivotal now.

  The futures that sparred for Jon’s attention was a picture of Van Helsing ripping the throat out of a pale yo
ung man, holding down a second that looked like a young Robert. A dead girl was at his feet, throat and stomach a mass of shredded meat.

  The vision at war was of Jonathan fighting Van Helsing, all the kids running away. Alive.

  Robert touched Jon shoulder. “That’s my grandson. Watch.”

  Images flashed by. The last of the gods dying. Robert’s family being killed. The slow fall of the daylight, until humanity lived in the shadows, fearing everything. Jonathan alone. Mina dead.

  The two watchers were thrust from the pattern with faint images and recollections, both struggling to hold them.

  ***

  Jonathan Harker & Robert Crowley Sr.

  Robert released Jonathan’s wrist and gasped as the teacup shattered, dropped from Jonathan’s numb fingers. Both men took a moment, composing themselves. Fleeting memories, questions and doubts, a million possibilities.…Robert knew the feelings Jonathan would be struggling with.

  “What the hell?” Jonathan wiped his hands on his coat.

  “It is fleeting. All the jumble going through your head will be gone within a day. All you will be left with will be vague impressions of why you make whatever choices you make.” Robert looked his friend in the eye. “Oh. And a slight sense of déjà vu anytime you actually do something you saw.”

  Jonathan grimaced. “So then, what we saw was …” he trailed off, unsure of his words.

  “What we saw was the future and past that create, together, the now in which you don’t change. Where you don’t embrace the struggle against your makers and fight. The now where you let your break with Mina rule you; where you let it break you.”

  “And because of it … the wolves all die?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yes, they do.”

  “And you do as well?”