so I hit my butt.
Because I was suddenly so tired. The after-bite crash had come. If I’d had to raise Grief in that moment I’d have said, “To hell with it,” and hoped for an asteroid impact to do my work for me.
We waited for an eternity. Stars came to life and died in the time I sat there trying to decide if I was already too old for this gig. I began to think I could sense the earth revolving while I remained in one place, like a chess piece that could only be moved by the hand of the universe. Then I realized I was dizzy.
Vayl, where are you? Reach me, dammit!
I closed my eyes, but that only made the vertigo worse. Instead I focused on the fat-headed nails that held the walls of the water tower together. They blurred into a rust-colored mass, like the bricks on a fog-shrouded building. And then I realized I was standing. Not in Wirdilling, Australia, at nearly four in the morning. But in London under a full moon, long before garbage trucks and sewage plants, if the stench gave any clue.
I began to walk, each step bringing my situation more sharply into focus. I had never been so strong. I felt like I could single-handedly tear the bridge I currently strolled upon from its very moorings. And part of me wanted to. It yammered inside of me like a mad dog straining at the end of its chain. Because my boys would never draw breath again.
Oh, fuck.
I glanced into the water. Saw a tall, broad-shouldered man whose shoulder-length curls were held secure by a band at the back of his neck. He wore a long black coat buttoned over a red waistcoat and black breeches. His white stockings were stained with mud, his black buckled shoes needed to be resoled. But I could never mistake those high cheekbones, slanted brows, and fierce, kaleidoscope eyes.
I’m Vayl. Or he’s me. How—?
I stopped, raised my nose to the foul night air and scented something that did not belong, even here on these careless streets. Werewolf!
I ran, still new enough to the power that I exulted in the speed I could gain and maintain. Within moments I had reached the abandoned building where the wolf hunted. Pulling my dagger from the sheath at my waist, I crept after it, the freezing river that now fed each of my humors rising quickly to a flood. It took all of my will not to release it upon the city itself, like a rain of razor-sharp ice. But I had freed the deluge once before. Some actions should never be repeated.
I found it upstairs. A shiver ran up my spine at the sound of its claws raking across the grime-laden floor as it battered its shoulder against the bedroom door. Its final blow caused a rupture that made the wood crack like the shots that had taken my sons. I jerked as if hit, my mind tearing as it tried to evade memories too fresh to bury. But I could never turn from their faces, their dark lashes brushing their cheeks as if they had simply stopped beside the road to take a nap before coming home to supper.
A scream jerked me from my nightmare and pulled me into hers. I leaped through the doorway to find the wolf crouching, grinning at the child as his distorted features and dripping fangs caused her to writhe with fear.
I know those eyes! Where have I seen that Were’s face?
“Trespasser!” I cried, speaking the only word I had heard from other lips since my travels began.
The wolf spun. His scent hit me fully, causing my gorge to rise. It smelled as if his last meal had been dead for quite some time before he had indulged. He growled as he came for me, his yellow eyes intent on my throat.
I let my arms hang limp, as if his charge had petrified me. At the last moment I spun aside, burying the dagger deep into his chest. Now he screamed, more from rage than pain, since my weapon contained no silver. He staggered into the wall and turned for another charge, but could not find me. I hovered above him, hanging from the ceiling, my hands and feet anchored to the boards that had been uncovered when chunks of plaster had fallen during the building’s decay.
Having lost sight of his latest quarry, the wolf stalked toward the child, his low-bellied rumble raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The moment he walked beneath me I dropped, landing prone on his back like a trainer of wild horses. But this beast would never be tamed. And so, as he rolled and snapped, clawing at me over his shoulders, I buried my fangs in his neck.
His blood tasted foul, and I did not sup. Only summoned the cold fury that rode me every waking moment and pushed it into the wound I had made. It felt… delicious. I found I could not stop. I wanted him to choke on my sorrow. To die again and again since I, damned father that I was, could not. I shoved the ice of my undeath into him until his eyes bulged and his ears cracked.
“Is he dead?”
Such a small voice. And miraculously steady for what she had just seen. I raised my head.
“Perhaps. Werewolves are notoriously difficult to kill, however, so you must run home.” She looked around at the filthy, curtainless room with its corner full of papers and four distinct marks where a bed had once stood. “I am home.”
“How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
I dug into my pocket and gave her a pouch containing all the money I had left in the world. “Go find another home. One that is clear of both dirt and monsters.” She looked at me with wide blue eyes. “Will you come with me?”
“I… cannot. My time for homes is past.”
