by Hunter Blain
The long coat flapped in the frigid breeze as I twirled around, careful to not trip over the plethora of bodies around me. After having their bodies drained of the warm blood, the snow was already adhering to their faces, blurring the features of the men. I continued to dance to the music in my mind, feeling the rush of power and elation flood over me. I may have giggled once or twice in my blood-induced delirium.
After a few more minutes of unabridged delight, I focused and brought myself back down to reality, though a much more enjoyable one.
I gave myself a once over and removed the medals, sleeve, and anything else that identified the wearer as a Nazi.
“Wonder how long you’ll last, Mr. Coat,” I said while running my fingers down the fine leather. I felt the ridges and appreciated the craftsmanship involved.
An unfamiliar smell snatched my focus, and PS immediately sprang to attention. It was blood, but something was wrong with it. The aroma of metal intermixed with something…powerful. I closed my eyes and sniffed the freezing air, trying to get a fix on the location. A fresh gust of wind brought an intense concentration, and my head turned into the wind. Predatory eyes opened and sought a heat signature.
Going against the wind, I quickly crept through the snow with my head on a swivel. With each gust, the scent grew fresher. Whatever I was hunting was hurt, and I had to restrain PS from completely taking over. The blood was intoxicating and not like any I had ever smelled before.
Dense snow started falling with a relentless vendetta against the ground, threatening to swallow the world. Fierce winds ripped through the trees, tugging at my new trench coat while teasing my nose with the alluring aroma. My hair was whipped unrelentingly behind me; I could feel the strands slap my ears at random intervals.
In the distance, my preter-eyes saw as a red blur came into view. Still in predatory mode, I crouched down and started crawling on all fours, using the trees and growing snowbanks as cover. As I neared, the blur focused into a man sitting against a tree. He had something in his hands and was lifting it to his mouth every few seconds. I could see him breathing heavily from the steam that escaped his mouth and nose.
Charting a path, I started circling around the perimeter, trying to remain out of sight. The wind started blowing against my back, threatening to lift my coat and wave it like a warning flag.
The man stopped moving and his head shifted toward where I hid behind a fallen log; he appeared to sniff the air. I closed my eyes and listened from where I hid. It was tough to make out any sound through the raging winds. Opening my eyes again, I slowly raised my head and was met with scowling eyes a few inches in front of mine. A tiny yelp of surprise escaped my lips as I fell backward into the thick snow. A large man stood straight up with a puzzled look on his face. He sniffed the air again while keeping his gaze locked on me.
The goliath of a man was covered in deep slashes that had cut through clothing and skin. Blood leaked out of the fresh wounds, staining what was left of his shirt and pants.
“What are you?” the huge man asked in German. My eyes flicked to his hands and I froze in place. He was holding an arm that had been torn off at the elbow. Ribbons of flesh and tubes of veins hung out; but that wasn’t what had caught me off guard. There were obvious bite marks in the flesh of the forearm, with chunks of meat missing. With an open mouth, my gaze shifted back to the face of the man who had a vast ring of maroon around his lips. Some dripped down his chin and into the white snow, staining it crimson where it hit.
“What am I?” I began with an uncertain voice. “What are you?”
In response, the lumbering figure kicked the fallen log that separated us. By pure instinct, I kicked my feet at the ground and flipped backward into the air, letting the log fly under me. Landing on my feet, I let PS take the wheel, and prepared for a fight with my unknown opponent.
My fangs grew, and I hissed a warning at the cannibal in front of me.
“Vampire!” he cried while still speaking German. Letting go of his lunch, my knowledgeable friend reached for his belt to a long blade inside a sheath. I chuckled to myself and let him pull the weapon, knowing no mortal blade could pierce my skin.
A feeling of uncertainty built inside me, washing away my smirk, as the metal cleared the leather sheath. It hummed with unseen power, causing PS to squirm in my mind.
Kicking up snow toward my attacker’s face, I lunged with an overhand right and landed a solid blow to his solar plexus, sending him tumbling several yards. The cry of victory bellowed from my core quickly morphed into one of intense pain. My fist, which was still in front of me, quickly retreated to grab just above my neck in instinct. Fresh, steaming blood coated my fingers as I lifted my hand to my face. I could feel warmth spreading down my neck and into my new coat. My eyes grew wide and my brow furrowed at the realization that he had actually fucking cut me, and deep. Fingers trembled, and my breath came in ragged bursts.
A war cry pulled me out of my daze, and I looked straight ahead to see the man charging, his bloody weapon poised and ready to taste more of my blood. He should be dead. No mortal could have survived an attack of that magnitude.
I threw my hand out and aimed at the rushing man, sending a dagger attached to a bloodchain from my palm. The supernatural man dodged my impossibly nimble attack, forcing me to pull the blade back with a snap. As it flew back toward me, the blade barely nicked one of the giant’s shoulders, which protruded from his stressed shirt. No blood emerged.
Shit! I said to PS. His skin is tough like ours!
The man continued his charge. I was vaguely aware of blood reaching my waist. He slashed the air at stomach level, and I leaped backward several yards, sliding in the snow to a stop. A curse snuck out between gritted teeth as I couldn’t force my wound to close. Precious blood continued to seep out at an alarming rate.
Now I was pissed. I threw the blade with enough force to create a shock wave, and the beast of a man deflected it with the side of his glinting blade. As it came into contact with my blood manifestation, power was evaporated where they touched. This stunned me for a moment, but the feeling of self-preservation kept me focused. Plus, he had only taken a fraction of my energy.
Willing the weapon back into my palm, I strode over to an adolescent sapling and ripped the trunk from the frozen ground. It was about a foot in circumference and perhaps fifteen feet tall.
Letting the attacker draw closer, I lifted the tree until I was holding the roots and then swung with all the might of a pissed off vampire.
It hit home and the man went flying, the tree breaking on impact. His blade tumbled to the ground, and I walked over to where it lay and inspected it. Reaching down, I lifted the weapon by the handle to my face. It hummed loudly to my ears and promised unyielding pain should it bite me again.
“Silver…” I said to myself. Shifting my focus from the weapon, I leaped to where the man had fallen. He was attempting to right himself when I landed in the snow in front of him, blade pressed to his throat.
“Do it,” the man said in English, his eyes meeting mine. With my peripheral vision, I could see the man’s left arm was broken where the tree had impacted. His wounds still oozed on his torso.
“How did you know I spoke English?” I asked.
Wincing, the man said, “Heard you say ‘silver.’”
“You heard me whisper from way over here?” I asked, unbelievingly.
He nodded weakly. I noted his skin was losing color.
“What are you?” I asked.
“A werwolf,” he responded.
“You mean a werewolf?” I corrected, using the English phrase.
“No,” he said, “I’m German. We prefer werwolf.” I noticed he had emphasized the first “w” as a “v” sound, but not the second.
“Very well, Mr. Wolf,” I said as I extended my hand out to him. I was taken aback when he took it without hesitation.
“Why did you attack me?” I asked.
“Thought you were a Nazi,” he said. “T
hat, and you smelled…off.”
“Seems reasonable, Mr. Wolf. I am, in fact, not a Nazi. I just like their coats.”
“Please, call me Depweg,” he said, a smile forcing its way on his pain-stricken face.
“John,” I said, sticking my hand out for a proper shake. He grabbed my forearm, Viking style, and we shook. I wondered at that moment how old he was.
Chapter 23
Present day
“Okay, seriously, when the hell did we get an iPad?” I asked. I had it on my to-do list to purchase one of those X-boxes the cool kids went on about, or maybe a smart TV. Film was a big part of who I was and it was near painful to no have ready access to the newest content.
“Oh, this old thing?” He pushed the sleep button and closed the case.
“So, all those times I said out loud that I missed TV…?” I asked, hands outstretched toward the iPad.
“You were mentioning your night?” he segued.
“Dude! I’ve had the craziest day.”
“Night,” he corrected.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to tell the story that happened to me and not you?”
He didn’t respond, only glared in annoyance.
I recapped the past few evenings, with Depweg basically saving my life, the demon terrorizing downtown, and Locke showing up. I left out the part where I was swindled into getting a tanning membership so my car would be ready in time—which hadn’t even mattered in the end! I needed a watch.
“Let me get this straight, John. While being filmed, by an officer no less, you showed off your supernatural speed?” He paused, considering. “The other members of the supernatural society are not going to take this lightly, you realize.”
“It crossed my mind. But honestly, almost all of them have fled to different planes.”
“So, it’s true.” Da looked at the ground in deep contemplation.
“What’s true?” I asked.
He continued to stare at the ground, not answering.
“Da, tell me what’s going on. Now!” I demanded.
“I must go.” He folded in on himself and retreated to a different plane, leaving behind a micro-shock wave as the air rushed to fill the void.
Staring at the place where he had just been, I said, “Abra-ca-fucking-dabra.”
One of these nights, I was going to get Da to teach me that trick. Damn faeries.
I decided to take the rest of the night off and catch up on some reading. Climbing into my iron Fortress of Solitaire, I felt it best to read some more Sandman Slim, where the hero got to do whatever he felt like, good or bad, and didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. Helped relieve the stress of the night.
It was a well-known fact that the best sleep came from procrastination. Have a report that’s due in a few days? Take a nap!
It didn’t take long before I drifted off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 24
Germany, 1945
Helping Depweg walk, we found an abandoned shack on the edge of a lake that had probably been used for fishing. As we crossed the distance to the small building, a black cat darted from the porch and into the bushes at the shoreline. Poor fella must be freezing.
We entered and I set Depweg down on the cot in the corner of the room. Noticing that he had begun to shiver, I went to the small cast-iron furnace and threw in some pre-cut logs. Crouching down, I focused on a small portion of wood and ignited it. The flames slowly grew, bringing with it heat that slowly edged most of the cold out of the tiny shack.
“I’ll give it to you Germans, you know how to build stuff,” I said while looking around at the structure and nodding. “Speaking of, why did you try and kill me if you thought I was a Nazi?”
“They are evil, and I have sworn to stop those who harm the innocent.” I was beginning to like this guy.
“Why don’t you have an accent?” I asked, squinting at him.
“Why don’t you? Your red beard indicates Irish or Scottish de—” he started.
“Irish!” I corrected immediately.
“I stand corrected. However, my point is still valid.”
“We all have our gifts, I suppose,” I said while nodding and casually looking at the ground, letting what he’d said set in my mind. I had never met another supe before.
Depweg moaned and reached for his oozing torso. I stepped closer to him and said, “Let me try something.” I extended my hand and touched his skin. It was cold, and that worried me. Letting blood flow out from my hand, I focused on his injuries. As the blood inched its way to his cuts, I was met with a bolt of lightning that coursed through my arm, making it go numb for a moment.
“Lilith damn it! What was that?” I asked while shaking my arm out, letting the feeling seep back into it.
“The…silver,” Depweg said weakly, as if he were out of breath. “It left a residue. You’ll…have to burn it closed.” As he finished, his eyes shifted to the furnace. I turned my head, following his gaze, then nodded in understanding.
I grabbed a quartered log and opened the furnace grate. I stuck in the end of the log and let it catch fire. Once it was sufficiently blazing, I stood and walked to Depweg. He took his shirt off and then rolled the fabric, sticking the lump between his teeth. Looking me in the eyes with full knowledge of what was about to come, he nodded once.
I stuck the end of the log to the bottommost wound and left it there for a few seconds.
Depweg bucked and screamed through clenched teeth, the cloth dampening the noise. The smell of burning flesh filled the small room, reminding me of the girl back in London. She was long since dead now, but hopefully she had had a full life with a family. Maybe her puppy had had a litter of its own, continuing the cycle of life.
“It’s closed. It’s closed!” Depweg yelled. I was snapped out of my train of thought and moved the log further down the wound, careful to keep it in place only as long as was needed.
In short order, and after a lot of muffled screaming, all of Depweg’s wounds were closed. The skin blistered around the slashes. He let the cloth fall from his mouth and took in several ragged breaths. Snot hung off his chin, and he wiped it from his face with the back of his huge forearm. He looked at me and smiled.
“Your turn,” he said, smirking.
“What?” I asked, standing up and backing away.
He pointed at my jawline, right above my neck. I lifted my hand and was amazed to feel fresh blood still flowing.
“Look, ah, me and fire don’t really get along,” I said nervously.
“No choice. It will not heal on its own,” Depweg said while lifting himself into a sitting position with his good arm. I noticed his broken arm had already straightened. Interesting.
He stood up and reached out a hand, gesturing for the still burning log. With a mountain of reluctance, I handed it to him. I was fairly sure a whimper left my mouth at one point. Depweg’s smile widened. It was his turn.
I backed into the corner and Depweg followed. Turning my head, I closed my eyes and waited, hoping I wouldn’t explode into flames.
Ulric flashed in my mind, wailing in agony and thrashing his limbs while coated in merciless flames.
“Wait!” I said, placing a hand on Depweg’s massive chest. I manifested the sharpest blade I could imagine in my right hand, placed it at my jawline where my ear connected, and then sliced. I removed skin, muscle, and even most of my jawbone. Blood cascaded from the horrific wound, coating my torso in a sheet of crimson.
Depweg stepped back, wide-eyed and openmouthed.
“What are you doing?!” he almost screamed. Disgust morphed his features.
Closing my eyes, I sent all my will and focus into my face. I saw the artery stop gushing, then the bone filling out. Muscle grew over my jaw and skin started advancing from both fronts, meeting in the middle. A few moments later, I was as good as new. My beard finished the picture by sprouting to its former glory.
Depweg still stood holding the burning log, and wordlessly marveled at what
he had just witnessed.
“Can’t have any residue if you cut it all out,” I said with a smile. My fingers ran over my beard and the new skin underneath.
“You heal with incredible speed,” he said admiringly.
“Well, I had a big lunch,” I indicated by patting my stomach.
Depweg touched his own stomach, which seemed to growl its jealousy.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Always. But after sustaining these injuries, I must feed to gain my strength back.”
“Ooh, ooh!” I shouted while jumping up and down. “Can I drain the Nazis and you eat their flesh?”
“That, my friend, sounds like a plan.”
We headed back out into the night, coming across another small unit of SS soldiers.
“John,” Depweg said while stripping off his remaining clothing, “Want to see a magic trick?”
Having lived through the old-world era of magicians being regarded as royalty, I nodded enthusiastically.
He dropped to the snow-covered ground on all fours. Limbs popped and extended. Hair, no, fur started sprouting from every inch of exposed skin. His jaws cracked and grew out from his face. Teeth elongated into fangs that looked like my piercers, but it was all of them versus just my two.
After a minute or a minute and a half—I’m bad with time—the transformation was complete. Snow started collecting in his fur, and he shook his entire body, clearing it.
Lifting his head to the sky, a bellow erupted into the night that almost made me jump out of my skin. It was a howl unlike any I had ever heard any creature make. Hairs prickled on my skin, and I shuddered. It seemed, even to my ears, that there were multiple sounds emanating from his throat, and it was off-putting. It sounded like someone had used all their outstretched fingers to create a single chord on a piano, but the sound wasn’t unified. Some would argue it was minor, others would say it had to be diminished or augmented. Either way, it was unnerving as hell.