Earl found the little ink drawing she was talking about. Aksel Kerkonen hadn’t been much of an artist, either. “It looks like a pointy blob with a hand in it.”
“That’s what I thought when I first found this after he died, but look at the line around the back. But if that’s a claw, then it’s what I was asked about earlier. Now I’m thinking that line means it’s supposed to be a necklace.” It could be the amulet. After all, Earl hadn’t got the best look at it while it had been ripping him to pieces. The claw in the picture was also short a finger. “And check this out.” She moved in close to him and turned the page. “What’s that look like to you?”
There were a bunch of stick figures, one of which had a gun, a couple of directional arrows, more words in Finnish, and a very cartoonish picture of an explosion. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. The stick figure’s actions were numbered. “These are instructions.”
“Bingo!” Heather said excitedly. “The prisoner said Grandpa stole their amulet, and I’m betting this is about how he did it. Maybe it can help us get it back, and I can get cured.”
Earl realized that she was standing uncomfortably close, close enough to feel the feverish warmth coming from Heather’s skin. Distracted by the book, she brushed against his chest. Her hip touched his leg. Earl stepped back politely.
Heather caught his uncomfortable reaction and frowned. “Chill out, Harbinger. I’m not going to eat you.”
Though it was a possibility, it actually hadn’t been what he’d been thinking about at that particular moment, but Earl Harbinger had been raised to be a gentlemen. He tried to get back on task. “Know anybody who reads Finnish?”
“A bunch of the old timers will. We’ve got a pretty big immigrant community here. There were a few at the gym.” Heather placed the archaic Mosin on her bed. “Let’s get back.”
Earl noticed something gleaming in the case. “Hang on a sec.” There was a stripper clip loaded with five rounds of ammunition. He picked up the clip and examined it under his flashlight. It was 7.62x54R for the Mosin, but there was something extremely odd about the projectiles. “Strange. These are sabots.”
“He had a box of those with the rifle. What’s a sabot?”
“An undersized bullet that doesn’t fit the rifling, so it’s held in place by a cup that falls off in flight,” he explained. Heather shrugged; that meant nothing to her. “Pure silver bullets are junk. Stuff’s too light, too hard, and a pain in the ass to make right, so I’ve seen Hunters improvise things like this before. These are silver, but it doesn’t look quite right. They’re too shiny.”
“Let me see,” Heather said, the impatience obvious in her voice. She held out one hand and Earl dropped the stripper clip onto her palm. As one of the bullet tips touched her skin, there was a flash of orange sparks and an audible snap. Heather jerked away and cried out. The ammo went flying. She clutched her hand to her chest. “It shocked me!”
“Let me see,” Earl said. Heather stuck out her injured hand hesitantly. There was an obvious burn mark where the bullet tip had touched her skin. Heather withdrew her hand and put it to her mouth, wincing. Earl picked up the old ammo. “That ain’t normal. Just touching silver should irritate a werewolf, maybe burn a little, but nothing like that. It don’t mess you up unless it’s put inside you, usually at high velocities. What is this stuff?”
Heather took her hand away from her mouth long enough to say “Electric-shock death bullets.”
Earl gathered up the strange ammo. It could come in handy. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Chapter 19
It got dirty from then on. I would change and hunt. Nikolai would respond with a new challenge. I’d kill his side, and then he’d kill mine. The body count climbed. He’d hit a village on our side and arrange the bodies like they were posing for a portrait. I responded by crawling into a tunnel complex and painting it red. Months passed.
He was goading me, pushing me to dark places that I’d thought I’d long ago controlled. I was transforming constantly. It was beginning to change me, to affect my judgment. Santiago would have been very disappointed in my behavior.
But I had to stop him. Nikolai was terrifying. He was everything I was not. He had no reservations, no hesitation, no mercy. Nikolai had to be defeated; otherwise it was like saying that my way was wrong and his was right.
What drives such a man? One part logic and one part savagery. I could not catch him. I couldn’t outwit him, and in order to match him, I found myself doing things that I’d never thought I’d allow myself to do.
I’d not let the animal out to play like this since the island jungles hunting the Japanese. I was enjoying myself far too much. I was free, and I felt justified. Pride made me stupid. I was walking too close to the edge. I would shortly pay the price.
Look at those pathetic slugs. Let’s kill them.
Nikolai crouched in the shadows behind a shed, dressed in clothing stolen from the dead, watching the civilians as they continued their search for survivors. “What would that accomplish?”
They just deserve it. You want a reason? You used to not need a reason. Look where your reasons have gotten us. Fine. They’re weak, they’re stupid, and they’re made of delicious meat. We’re the top of the food chain. It’s our job to eat them.
The voice continued its rant as Nikolai concentrated on the potential threats. There were three trucks working as a convoy, with humans in the back of each and more in the cabs, all armed. Two groups of four were moving between the houses on both sides of the street. He could parallel those, take them out quietly as soon as they got out of view of the vehicles. Then they could pick off whoever they sent after the missing, then kill the remainder at his leisure. It wouldn’t be very hard.
He shook his head to clear out the red fog. Feeling a burst of anger, he once again couldn’t tell if it came from him or the Tvar. Reasoning was difficult. His other half was pushing, becoming more and more demanding. Nikolai knew from long experience that he had to put his foot down or risk losing everything. Killing these men would serve no purpose. “No.”
We’re weak. We’re hungry. They’re right there! Kill them! KILL THEM! DEVOUR THEM!
“Quit shouting at me.” That further enraged the Tvar. Nikolai grimaced against the sudden pain in his head. It was fighting to assume control of their body. It took all of his will to resist the fresh bloodlust pounding in his veins. Three years in desolation had tamed the Tvar, or so Nikolai had thought. He’d been fully in charge for so long that he’d forgotten just how forceful his other half could be. The bones in his hands cracked, and he clumsily dropped his rifle into the snow. Fingernails lengthened into claws. Nikolai curled his hand into a fist and drove the sharp edges deep into his own flesh. “I refuse.”
Don’t deny me. You owe me. Get up. Get up and fight!
Shuddering against the pain, he concentrated, just as his mentor, Koschei, had taught him. Giving in to the Tvar made it stronger, and each time he let it take control he’d be that much more likely to lose himself forever. He never should have let it free, but he’d been so desperate after Harbinger had murdered his wife. Rage had overcome intellect and the Tvar had come back with a vengeance. Being chained had angered it. It would not be put away quietly this time.
The images flashing before his eyes were of slaughter. The Tvar was excited. The delicious hot taste of blood could coat his mouth and quench his thirst. Swallowing hard, Nikolai made himself picture Lila’s face as he’d last seen her alive; eyes as blue as the summer sky. She stood in the doorway of their home, waving, until he was over the hill and out of sight, just as she did every month, proud of his sacrifice yet eager for his return. The image jerked violently to that of her torn corpse. Logically, Nikolai knew the Tvar had done that to anger him, to goad him into changing.
The mission came first. Nikolai’s breath hissed out between his teeth. The cloud of steam clouded his vision just as the Tvar’s anger had clouded his thoughts. He gathered all his strength and pushed the Tvar away from his conscious mind, but it was winning the battle for their body.
It had been a long time since he could think clearly-since Lila’s death, in fact. Blood welled between Nikolai’s clenched fingers. Twitching, he forced his hand open, grasped his rifle, and dragged it against his body. His jaw ached as it began to extend. Teeth ground and cut through gums as they sharpened and grew. He maneuvered the
