Violina raised her drink, coaxing Maisie to do the same. “Let’s make Ysabella proud.”
* * * *
The deputy found himself both annoyed that the rockers essentially had taken over his house and touched that they had come to help him. “You guys aren’t gonna do anything kinky to me, are you?”
“You’re awfully particular for a murderous monster.” Dennis said. “Just count yourself lucky we don’t sell you to the circus.”
Pedro checked the tautness of the same silver-coated chain that had restrained Aura, now stretched over a quilt, handmade by Leticia Lott and Elaine Barcroft, that lay across the prone Yoshida and around the bed. “I bet you wish you were back in L.A. about now.”
“Nah,” answered Yoshida. “I never had any friends like you guys back there.”
Pedro and Dennis both looked at Yoshida to see if he was being sarcastic. It was Dennis who broke the silence. “In case you forgot, you hung with me more times than you should have when I was balls-out blitzed. Even held my hair when I puked, like a true sorority sister.”
Yoshida laughed for the first time since the night of Aura’s ritual.
“Me, I’m just lookin’ to get out of future speeding tickets,” added Pedro. “And believe this—there’s gonna be a lot.”
Yoshida no longer felt alone—or doomed. He felt like whatever was happening to him, there were friends who cared, who would see him through to the other side. “So you think your magical girlfriend and her buds can help me?” he asked Pedro.
“Hey, I’m really into her, so don’t jinx it, bro,” answered Pedro. “They got that biker chick declawed, so I’m thinking you should be a cakewalk.”
“Yeah, but…look how she wound up.”
“Shut up and comb your face,” said Dennis. “Sorry. Look, you might as well relax, ’cause, like Petey said, you ain’t going nowhere.”
“You want a lullaby, sweetie pie?” asked Pedro.
“Just promise me, you…won’t let me hurt anybody.”
Pedro reached for the tranquilizer rifle Yoshida had taught him to use. “Don’t blame me if you wake up with a sore ass cheek and a hangover.”
The Outlines stepped out of Yoshida’s bedroom. Dennis gave a thumbs-up before easing the door nearly shut.
Yoshida closed his eyes—and felt a now-familiar tingling sensation radiate from the bite location and out though his body.
Chapter 16
Lupine Tooth
A short while later, Maisie stood behind Violina, watching her finagle the padlock to Saint Saturn Unitarian’s landscaping shed with a lock-picking set, as she had the front gate, never asking herself why her elder would have such a thing. She followed her down into the catacombs, a battery-powered lamp held at eye level.
“How far back in time can you go?” Violina asked.
“Infinitely,” explained Maisie, “but I have to align with the lunar cycle.”
“It’s a three-quarter moon now,” whispered Violina. “Does that mean you can only travel to a time of the same cycle?”
Briefly, Maisie felt apprehensive about divulging such sensitive information. But she knew Violina could learn it easily enough on her own. “That’s right. I just have to fall into the InBetween and search for early human contact with this region.”
“How do I help you?”
Maisie’s answer was simply to take Violina’s hand. “Can you remember the things I describe?”
“Oh, I won’t forget,” Violina said. “I promise.”
* * * *
With Yoshida’s pantry and fridge well raided, Dennis and Pedro set up the keyboard, bass and a small amp in the living room, Pedro keeping the tranquilizer rifle close.
As Dennis presented Pedro with a fresh, clean copy of the new material, Pedro suggested “Let’s try something by, say, Psyclon Nine or Rammstein, dude. Then we’ll get, you know…dronier.”
“Petey, my boy, I think you’re starting to get it,” praised Dennis. He cracked his knuckles and pinged the D on his new keyboard, cycling through several instrument settings before settling on musical saw. Pedro plugged in his bass, keeping the volume set at low, in consideration of their host.
They would not get a chance to play another note.
From Yoshida’s bedroom a low growl alarmed them—then a violent crashing. Both leaped to their feet and bolted down the short hallway, Pedro grabbing the rifle.
Dennis yanked open the door—and ducked, pulling Pedro down with him. A piece of the headboard flew over their heads and smashed into the hallway wall behind them.
“Dart him!” shouted Dennis. Pedro didn’t hear him, but he rose and tried to aim, nonetheless—a daunting task. The shadowy figure in the darkened room was fast, erratic and loud.
Dennis reached for the light switch. He was snatched into the dark before he could find it. As he cried out, Pedro fumbled around on the wall. Sensing the mêlée coming closer, he pointed the rifle at the murky movement but stopped short of aimlessly firing. There was only one dart.
The snarling and screaming painted a horrifying mental picture. When Pedro finally found the light switch, the reality was only mildly better—a wild-haired, fanged, misshapen mockery of Yoshida, straddling Dennis.
Not as wolflike as the bikers, not as man-like as Yoshida, the man-strosity snapped at Dennis’s face with teeth too big for his mouth. His hook-clawed fingers stretched toward the singer’s eyes.
The silver chain they had wrapped around Yoshida lay slack and meaningless in a heap of wood, cloth and foam that had been a bed. Pedro realized that they should not have wound the chain under the bed. It gave the beast a weak point, uncontacted by the chain, that allowed him to break free.
Pedro quickly raised the trank rifle and fired at center mass.
For a split second, Yoshida’s head was a blur. Then he was facing Pedro with furious, feral eyes, the dart clenched between his teeth.
“Holy shit!” Dennis and Pedro locked eyes for a moment, exchanging a look of astonishment.
Yoshida tossed his head to the side, pitching the dart away. By the time it flew over his dresser, bounced off the wall and fell behind the dresser, the wolfman had resumed trying to tear Dennis apart.
“PeteeeEEEY!” cried Dennis, pushing against Yoshida’s chin with one hand, blocking the killing claws with
