Van Helsing positioned himself near the liming station on top of one of the two chimneystacks. He gave thanks to God that it was Sunday; the facility was shut down for the day. Knowing he posed no danger to others, he had loaded his explosive ballista with the glass-tipped Demon Fire bolts. This might be his last chance to kill the Vârcolac. He would not fail again, even if it meant burning through the underbelly of the city.
The vantage point gave Van Helsing a clear shot anywhere in the massive underground cavern. But he had his sights trained on the point where several water channels combined before dropping down in a roaring falls. All of the tunnels opened at that one point. This is where the creature would emerge.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared near one of the sludge tanks. He swung the ballista around and fired. The bolt screamed towards the target—then froze in midair. Van Helsing remembered the demon he had once slain with the ability to stop a man in his tracks, turning his own muscles against him. He was just about to fire a second bolt when a long knife came to rest at his right side, just above his liver.
“Take your hand off the trigger, slowly.” A beautiful dark-haired woman dressed in tight-fitting black trousers and a dark leather vest had scaled the back of the ventilator to get the drop on him. If he had not been so intent on the falls, he might have sensed her approach. She looked like she knew how to use the weapon.
Van Helsing slid his hand away from the firing mechanism. Then he grabbed the naked blade with his left hand, holding it fast as it cut into his skin. He spun, pulling a throwing dagger from his cloak and prepared to plunge it into the woman’s throat.
“That’s enough of that,” a woman’s voice from below literally stopped him—cementing every muscle in his body. A demon!
The voice came again, as though from inside his mind. “Majaris, step away.” A woman stepped out of one of the tunnels and approached them. His attacker stepped back, slicing his frozen hand deeper as she pulled the blade free.
The woman on the ground carefully scaled the service ladder, soon joining them at the top. “He is an ally. I have seen it.” She spoke a curse and waved her hand.
Despite her words, Van Helsing expected his death. Instead, he felt a tingling in his hand.
“My name is Sage,” said the shorter, thinner woman dressed in riding breeches. “I will release you, but you must hear us out. We are hunting the werewolf as well, should we not help each other?”
Van Helsing was suddenly free. He looked down at his hand. She healed me. Why would a demon do that? He was about to continue his attack, but something about this Sage seemed…good.
He bowed. “Doctor Nicolai Van Helsing, at your service.” Maybe she could help him. “You have skills, it is true.” Van Helsing eyed the two women warily. “But the Vârcolac is not a natural creature. Have you killed their kind before?” He saw recognition in Sage’s face at the Romanian word.
“We have not—” She shook her head, “but it is my fault this creature exists and I will see it ended.”
“So you are a demon then?” Hands itching for his longsword, Van Helsing tensed in spite of his curiosity.
Sage laughed truly and deeply.
“She is Shuvani,” said Majaris. “What are you?”
Van Helsing’s eyes darted back towards the falls. “There isn’t time for this. The creature could come at any moment.”
Sage caught the look. “Yes, the werewolf will arrive from there, but not for some time yet. Why are you hunting it?”
An image of his parents torn bodies flashed through his head. “I am a son who has sworn vengeance for the senseless killing the creature relishes in. I am a Wolver who dares to hunt werewolves. I am Lupări.”
“I have heard of Lupări,” Majaris said with contempt. “They are best known for drinking and carousing.”
“Perhaps now,” said Van Helsing through gritted teeth. “There hasn’t been a true Vârcolac for two hundred years. Yet I have killed two with my own hands. If I were to call, there are still honorable men among the Lupări who would answer.”
“Is that what caused this?” Sage approached, lifting her hands towards his face.
Van Helsing drew back from her touch.
Sage’s eyes filled with pity. “I might be able to heal your face.”
He doubted her words. Van Helsing’s heart had closed to the possibility of ever seeing his face unmarred ever again. Yet, a flicker of hope stirred in his breast.
“Sage, no. You must save your power to fight.”
And it faded just as fast. “The girl is right.”
“Girl?” Majaris lifted her knife.
“We must not hold back anything if we are to stop this monster.” Van Helsing flexed the fresh scar on his left hand. “If we are to kill it, I will need help from both of you…”
Fetid water splashed into the air as the black werewolf dropped from a vertical tunnel into the channel below. Its pelt was covered in excrement and sludge. Van Helsing had thought the creature oblivious to such things, but the smell must have been too much for it to ignore. With a mighty leap, it launched itself into the cleansing water of the falls. Partially concealed by the streaming water, it was anything but an ideal shot. But the creature had nowhere to go.
The first bolt dropped short, bursting into flame upon contact with the water. It set the surface alight with a dark blue flame. The creature roared as the second projectile struck the Vârcolac’s shoulder, spreading orange fire like a wave of crimson across its upper torso. But even the incendiary might of Demon Fire was soon extinguished as gallons of water fell upon it. Van Helsing kept firing anyway. Bolt after bolt ripped through the Vârcolac’s body, turning the channel red with blood.
With a low growl, the creature dove under the water. Van Helsing scanned the waterline, trying to predict where the beast would surface—and failed as it shot five feet in the air before rolling behind one of the large storage tanks. Van Helsing shot his last Demon Fire bolt into the tank, causing the trapped gasses inside to explode.
The Vârcolac was thrown into the air in the explosion, bouncing off the boiler room wall, before landing on a paved walkway, a smoking heap. Van Helsing slid down the chimney stack ladder. He drew his sword and jumped down to the walkway. The creature was already rolling to its feet as he approached. Already, the Vârcolac’s ability to heal was slowing. If he could inflict enough damage, the creature would fall.
Van Helsing spun as he swung his blade with savage force at the werewolf’s front leg. It was not so easily taken and jerked backward before leaping towards the wall. It intended to change direction and jump at him. But he had seen that trick before and extended the curse in a wide field before him. The creature slipped on the wall, mistiming its jump and slid down the wall. Barely had it ducked under Van Helsing’s sword as it gouged out a crevice in the brick, when the Vârcolac’s claws shot out, striking only the hunter’s cape as he dove to the side.
At that moment, Majaris fired a barbed harpoon bolt from Van Helsing’s crossbow—which struck the werewolf in the chest with a wet thud. Suspended behind it was a white rope that had been dipped in liquid metal. Van Helsing had prepared for this encounter for some time. The rope was attached to the base of a massive water tank. The werewolf immediately tried to dislodge the head, but Van Helsing stabbed with his blade into the creature’s side. The Vârcolac bellowed in rage and struck the sword with a powerful blow, knocking it to the ground. It tried to slash at the rope, but even its sharp claws could not cut it.
“Fight me, Vârcolac. Or is that fear I see in your eyes?” The werewolf advanced as Van Helsing retreated, the metal lodged in its upper torso forgotten.
Majaris tightened the rope and ran with the crossbow to a tank on the opposite side. She reloaded with a second harpoon bolt and fired into the creature’s back. The metal head shot through with a spray of blood and hooked on a rib. Roaring in pain, the werewolf struggled to free itself. Its bloody paw clawed at the foreign object.
Van Helsing did
n’t give the creature a moment. One throwing knife after the next sank into the Vârcolac’s flesh.
“Sage, now!” he cried.
The ground was wet with blood as the creature lunged at him, but Majaris pulled hard on the rope and tied it securely around the second tank. Then she stumbled forward, pausing to reload a Demon Fire bolt. The killing shot. The creature lashed out as it struggled to free itself. Van Helsing fell back, just out of reach. They had it. Sage emerged from her hiding place and began to chant.
Prin sânge și fier și voință,
Contractul acestor mușchi,
Strângeți îmbinările—
Before she could complete the incantation, the werewolf surprised them once more. It pulled out two of the knives with a gush of blood. Throwing the first knife at Van Helsing, it forced him to dive to the ground. The creature used the second knife to saw at the metal-dipped rope. In seconds, the steel blade penetrated the metal covering, allowing the werewolf to shred the rope free. It wrapped the rope running from behind around its upper leg and braced itself.
Van Helsing lurched to his feet. “Majaris, get back!”
Sage looked over at Majaris, her spell not yet cast. She was right in front of the tank.
Majaris started to move, but too late as the creature pulled the rope with a terrible snarl. The base of the tank jerked forward and bent, toppling the cistern forward and onto Majaris. With a loud creak it crashed to the ground, pinning her legs and dumping a torrent of water and lime over her. Sage saw a sudden image of them leaving the cavern together and knew that somehow, she would survive long enough to be healed.
The rope snapped free of the tank, freeing the creature. Van Helsing rushed the Vârcolac, but a vicious backhand sent him flying. It turned to Sage and howled. The creature began to charge, but then suddenly stopped. It sniffed the air in confusion for a moment, then whined. It was as if it recognized her.
Coughing as he rose to his feet, Van Helsing couldn’t believe his eyes. The two stared at each other like long-lost cousins reunited at last.
Sage extended her hand. “You knew me once. I raised you from a small pup and fed you meat from my hand.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I was your mother.”
The Vârcolac’s tail wagged twice. It seemed to recognize Sage, but didn’t move any closer. Then it spoke. “Mmmooottthhheeerrr?”
Sage took a step closer. “That’s right. Remember how we would play and wrestle?”
The werewolf looked away. Van Helsing swore he saw shame in its eyes. “Theee Mmmaaasssttteeerrr maaade meee kkkiiilll yooou.”
“I know. It wasn’t your fault, none of this was. I forgive you.” Sage inched even closer.
The creature cocked its head to the side. “Fffooorrrgggiiivvveee?”
“Yes, to make everything right. But you have done bad things. It is time to stop.” She extended the fingers of her hand. “Time to come home.” One more step and she would be close enough to touch it.
The werewolf’s tongue licked over the tip of its snout. “Hooommmeee?”
Sage took the final step forward. “Will you let me help you?” Her fingertips brushed the tip of its nose.
The creature pulled back and bared its teeth. “Hooommme isss fooorrreeessst. Yooou arrre nooot mooottthhheeerrr. Yooou arrre mmmaaan. Maaannn kkkiiillleeed mooottthhheeerrr. I kkkiiilll yooou.”
The Vârcolac opened its jaws and leapt for her throat.
Imobiliza.
With the last word, Sage froze the creature in place. Unable to move, the werewolf’s eyes began to dry and burn. Its lungs stopped contracting and expanding and its limbs slowly began to die with no fresh blood being pumped from the heart. Somehow, the Vârcolac’s body continued to heal. The spell had frozen its muscles and joints, but the microscopic cells were still repairing the damage, still struggling to live.
Sage strode forward and placed her hand on the creature’s sternum. “I’m sorry. Goodbye, my little Dorian Grey.” Then she cast another spell.
Prin sânge și fier și voință,
Dezactivați acest formular,
Scoateți-l din lumină și umbre,
Niciodată să nu mai fi văzut.
By blood and iron and will,
Unmake this form,
Remove it from light and shadow,
Never to be seen again.
A hole opened up in the werewolf’s chest and the flesh from its neck melted down into it. With tiny contractions, its bones compacted and its body began to shrivel. The muscles and tendons separated and began to dissolve. The rest of the hair and skin sloughed off and flowed into the expanding hole. It was as if its form was being swallowed up from the inside. Agony filled the creature’s eyes as it cried out in a frozen and silent scream.
The Vârcolac was sucked into a shadowy ball ringed with light. It slowly faded into nothingness. Sage was no longer able to stand and fell to the blood-soaked ground. She was breathing hard, her face contorted in a strained grimace. Van Helsing was at her side at once.
“I’m fine. Just need rest.” Sage said. “Help Majaris.”
He ran over to the tank and to her prone form lying face down. Bracing his back against the metal tank, Van Helsing lifted with his legs and dragged Majaris free. Rolling her onto her back, he breathed a sigh of relief as she drew a shallow breath. He grunted at the sight of her skin. The lime chemical, Calcium oxide, was used by the Metropolitan Board of Works to purify the sludge that ran through the sewers before releasing it back into the River Thames. It had burned her skin giving rise to white ulcers that now covered her face. The girl was beautiful no longer—at least not to other men.
“It’s alright now.” He cradled her in his arms and smoothed her hair back. “You fought well. We won.”
Majaris struggled to speak, but Van Helsing silenced her. If she swallowed any of the acidic mixture, it might have damaged her vocal chords as well. “Sage is fine…she just used too much of her power and needs to rest. I will splint your legs while she recovers. Blink twice if you understand.”
Majaris blinked twice and he set to work on her legs. He tore a clean piece of his shirt for bandages and used two sections of broken pipe to make splints.
CHAPTER 17.
L
UNA UNLEASHED
Another full moon had come and passed. Inspector Clarke sighed and rubbed his temples as he stared at the map on the wall for the hundredth time. It showed the layout of the city in intricate detail. A pin marked the spot where they had found James Brook’s body. Another sat in the train tunnel coming from Westminster. Several others dotted the map.
After receiving Van Helsing’s testimony that he had dispatched one of the creatures, the Inspector’s hope hoped flared that the number of attacks would diminish. Yet, now there were even more. The profile of victims had changed drastically. Before, there had been a murder every few days. The target was usually a solitary young woman, the hunting preference of a predator.
Now, the killings seemed to occur only during the full moon, but with multiple attacks on groups of businessmen, usually as they gathered in a pub or private club to share drinks and debate trade or economic policy. At the George and Vulture Tavern, every soul inside had been mercilessly massacred, their blood painting the walls red. This werewolf was not hunting for food, but for sport or…something else maybe.
A pattern was beginning to emerge. The area in the center of the pins was large, but it could be the territory of one of the werewolves. It stretched from Westminster north to Somerset House and ranged from Hyde Park on the west to the River Thames on the east. The killings had taken place in wealthier districts. Did the creature have a taste for the upper-class?
He flipped through the descriptions of the victims again. What common traits did they have? Each of the men killed owned a business that was heavily involved in trade. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore.
He opened a ledger containing all of the recent trade permit applications. Scanning the list, he spotted Jame
s Brook along with the names of a dozen other victims. There were several other names present, but one appeared more frequently than the others: “Lady Eleanor Wotton”.
“Constable!” yelled the Inspector. “Come quickly!”
Cunningham appeared outside the door, his uniform askew. It was clear the man had been sleeping instead of standing guard.
The Inspector scowled. “Straighten your uniform, Constable.”
“Yes, sir!” Cunningham made an attempt to correct the misaligned buttons and brush his uniform clean. “Was there anything else, sir?”
“Assemble a squadron of men,” commanded the Inspector. “They are to be heavily armed. If I am right about this, we will need all the firepower we can get.”
A few hours later, the Inspector and his twenty constables arrived at a flat owned by one of the late Lady Helena’s shell companies. Upon her death, ownership had passed to her heiress, Lady Eleanor Wotton. After some inquiries, the Inspector had learned of her meteoric rise to power, often directly benefitting from several of the recent deaths. The old Wotton estate was being renovated in preparation for a return to the mansion. After a small bribe and a large threat, the Inspector had convinced the foreman to reveal where his payments were coming from. The paper trail had led them here.
Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3 Page 39