followed me. I asked him if he was an expert on werewolves as I used sand to scour the ink from my skin.
“Why, yes, actually. I am.”
I paused and sniffed the air. He wasn’t like me. That was obvious. “Keep talking.”
“My name is Father Santiago. I was not always a simple parish priest. As a young man, I held a special assignment at the Vatican. Were you aware that the church has its own group of Hunters?”
For the record, I was raised Southern Baptist at my mother’s insistence, but me and religion hadn’t ever paid each other much mind. There were other rival organizations, even back then, but we’d never run into any churchy ones. Everybody we’d ever competed with had been in it for the money, same as us. “Makes sense, I suppose.”
“Your organization started in 1895. Ours started in twelfth century,” he continued. “I was an archivist, so I know a few things about werewolves.”
I betrayed my lack of schooling. “What’s an archivist?”
“Someone who keeps records. But as I was saying, I know werewolves. For example, I know that you are certainly an oddity.”
“Why’s that?”
“Most would be sitting in that luska ’s belly, but not quite so comfortably as you were. I do believe that luska should be digesting you, not the other way around. Also, most young werewolves are extremely erratic and easily provoked into rages, and you have not even attempted to kill me once.”
“Eh…I’ve been busy. I figured I’d get around to it.”
Father Santiago was carrying his shoes to keep from filling them with sand. He put his toes in the water. “What if I were to tell you that I know of a few cases in history where a lycanthrope with similar strength of character was able to control their curse enough to live a long and productive life?”
Nobody had ever accused me of being a quitter. “I’d say I’m listening.”
The cell phone had lost its signal. Agent Stark glared at the display. He had managed to call his office and do his mandatory check-in for the night, but it had cut off when he’d tried to get his wife. She always got bitchy when he didn’t check in. She said it was because she worried, but he knew it was because she was a control freak who wasn’t happy unless she was nagging him to death.
“Probably interference from the storm,” Agent Mosher supplied helpfully.
“Think so, Einstein?” Stark gestured out the front window of the Suburban. The snow was pounding down. The other cars in the hospital parking lot were quickly beginning to resemble white lumps. He would have sworn that it had dumped two inches in the last ten minutes. The wipers were going full blast just so he could still keep an eye on the parking lot. Stark tried his phone again, but it had gone from three bars to a big fat blinking No Signal.
A minute of uncomfortable silence passed. The junior agent could tell that his boss was in a bad mood. “Shouldn’t we head to the hotel?” Mosher suggested. “Why’d we come back here? You said the test was negative.”
“Intuition,” Stark lied. He was just waiting for Briarwood or MHI to show up. If it was Briarwood, he could go get some sleep. If it was Harbinger, he was going to go shoot himself a deputy. “Trust me, kid. I’ve been doing this a long time. Sometimes an agent just has to trust his gut.”
Mosher just nodded. The junior agent knew that Stark had been trained by the legendary Agent Franks, so if Stark said that was how it was, then you’d better believe that was how it was. There were certain bragging rights in the MCB that came from serving with Franks. That dude had killed everything. The new rumor was that he’d actually used some gizmo built by Isaac Newton to blow up an actual great Old One, but Myers was keeping the details of the New Zealand op top secret.
The deputy was on the top floor. Some of the lights were on up there. Stark could see a few people moving around, but overall the place seemed pretty quiet. This might not be so bad after all. Maybe the cops would have gone home for the night. Hospital staff were far easier to deal with, and there wouldn’t be too many of them. Stark scowled. However, there did seem to be some activity in the room directly above them. The blinds were partially open, and there was definitely movement. If he was remembering the layout correctly, that would have been the deputy’s room.
Stark checked his phone. Still no signal.
Mosher managed to stifle a yawn. “So, we’re here. What do you think is going to happen?”
“Something…I guess.” Stark returned his attention to the window just in time to watch it explode outward in a shower of sparkling glass as a man wearing blue scrubs was launched through. He tumbled wildly through the air, face-planting onto a car parked in the front row. The body came to a sudden stop hard enough to bend the roof.
“Did you see that?” Mosher shouted.
“Kind of hard to miss.” There was no way. It was too early. The full moon wasn’t for a few days, but the limp body staring at him upside down, turning the snow pink, wasn’t lying. “Come on,” Stark ordered as he opened his door.
“Damn, sir, you are good,” Mosher exclaimed as he followed.
Heather couldn’t back any farther into the corner, but she wished that she could. The doctor had tried to do something to Buckley, but Buckley had just swung at him and the doctor had just been gone. She looked up, following the trail of blood splattered across the ceiling and tracked the trail with her eyes to where it terminated at the shattered window. The blinds were hanging in tatters and a freezing wind pushed snow into the room. He’d swatted poor Dr. Glenn right out the window.
Buckley was sitting up in bed. The screaming had ceased. He was still panting, but he seemed calmer somehow. His golden eyes locked on hers as tears of blood rolled down his cheeks. “Kill me…please.” It was as if his tongue was too big and he had a hard time forming the words. His hospital gown was torn, and his body was covered in hair. Buckley looked down at his hand. It was dripping, and each of his fingers ended in a red point. “Please…” His mouth opened too wide, as if it was hinging farther back.
Deputy Temple was too shocked to move. The nurse took two steps back, tripped over something, and fell on her rear. Heather drew her pistol. “Joe?”
“Do it!” he roared. Another wave of pain hit Buckley, only instead of a normal human scream, out came a terrible howl. His entire body was rippling, skin pulsing. Heather couldn’t believe her eyes. The howl tapered off. Then the lights flickered twice, and they were plunged into darkness. The wailing of the machines stopped. An ominous silence fell as the background noises of the hospital died.
The only light was an eerie reflected white from the broken window. Heather raised her gun. Buckley’s bed rattled hard. “Joe?”
There was no answer, only heavy breathing. Heather had a painful knot in her stomach. It took all of her conscious effort to take a step away from the wall. A few seconds later, the emergency generator turned over. The fluorescents flickered to life at half strength. The light was dim and twitchy.
Buckley was gone. Something had taken his place in the bed. He-it-was staring at her. Her mouth tried to form words, but no sound came out. It was still Buckley, sort of…Skull cracking, his face had twisted into a horrific snout. Yet as he looked at her again, she somehow knew that it was no longer Joe inside there. Joe was gone. He rose from the bed, twisting and gasping, his gums stretching past his splitting lips.
The nurse cried out and started crawling for the door. The noise caught Buckley’s attention. His lengthening head whipped around, attention fixed on the woman. The attempted flight set something off. He leapt from the bed.
“Stop!” Heather cried, but she was already pulling the trigger. She didn’t even remember aiming the Beretta or flicking the safety off, but the glowing front sight was right there on his center of mass, just like she’d been trained. She pulled the trigger again as his feet hit the floor and then again as he pounced on the nurse. The woman screamed as Buckley’s teeth sank into her chest and his fingers into her neck. Buckley shook his head back and forth. The nurse was flung about helplessly, limbs flailing, crying, as Heather kept on shooting.
Buckley jerked as Heather shot him repeatedly in the back. He released the nurse, head rising, mouth spraying blood in a wide arc, and Heather shot him in the throat. Buckley got up, made it a few steps toward the exit, and then collapsed in a heap into the hallway.
