"... I don't know! He's been acting so strangely lately!"
Stuart and Nadine exchanged glances over Rose's head. Nadine opened her mouth to speak but her mate's expression caused her to close it again. Now was not the time for explanations.
"Rose." Celluci came out of the office and walked quickly across the kitchen, until he could gaze directly into the girl's face. "This is important. Besides the family, Vicki, Mr. Fitzroy, and myself, who did Peter talk with today?"
He knows something, Henry thought. I should never have let him take that call.
Rose frowned. "Well, he talked to the mechanic at the garage, Dr. Dixon, Dr. Levin - the one who took over from Dr. Dixon, she was at his house for a while - um, Mrs. Von Thome, next door to Dr. Dixon, and somebody driving by up on the road, but I didn't see who."
"Did you see the car?"
"Yeah. It was black, mostly, with gold trim and fake gold spokes on the wheels." Her nose wrinkled. "A real poser's car." Then her expression changed again as she read Celluci's reaction. "That's the one you were waiting for, wasn't it? Wasn't it?" She stepped toward him, teeth bared. "Where's Peter? What's happened to my brother?"
"I think," Stuart said flatly, coming around from behind his niece, "you'd better tell us what you know."
Only Henry had some idea of the conflict Celluci was going through and he had no sympathy for it. The question of law versus justice could have only one answer. He watched the muscles on Celluci's back tense and heard his heartbeat quicken.
Everything in Celluci's training said he leave them with an ambiguous answer and take care of this himself. If werewolves expected to be treated like the rest of society, within the law, then they couldn't act outside the law. And if the only way he could do his duty was to fight his way out of this house... his hands curled into fists.
A low growl began to build in Stuart's throat.
And Rose's.
And Nadine's.
Henry stepped forward. He'd had enough.
Then Daniel began to whimper. He threw himself on his mother's legs and buried his face in her skirt. "Peter's gonna get killed!" The fabric did little to muffle the howl of a six-year-old child who only understood one small part of what was going on.
Celluci looked down at Daniel, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for bringing the focus back to the important matters, then over at Rose. "Can't you let me take care of this?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, panic beginning to build. "You don't understand."
"You can't understand," Nadine added, clutching at Daniel so tightly he squirmed in her grasp.
Celluci saw the pain in the older woman's eyes, pain that cut and twisted and would continue far longer than anyone should be forced to endure. His decision might possibly keep that pain from Rose.
"Carl Biehn was an Olympic marksman. His nephew, Mark Williams, drives a black and gold jeep."
Rose's eyes widened. "If he was talking to Peter this afternoon... " She whirled, her sundress hit the floor, and Cloud streaked out of the kitchen and into the night.
"Rose, no!" Unencumbered by the need to change, Henry raced after her before Stuart, still caught in challenge with Celluci, began to react.
Jesus Christ! Nobody moves that fast! Celluci grabbed Stuart's arm as Henry disappeared into the night. "Wait!" he barked. "I need you to show me the way to Carl Biehn's farm."
"Let me go, human!"
"Damn it, Stuart, the man's got guns. He's taken Henry out once already! Charging in will only get everyone shot. We can get there before them in my car."
"Don't count on it." Stuart laughed but the sound held no humor. "And this is our hunt. You have no right to be there."
"Take him, Stuart!" Nadine's tone left no room for her mate to argue. "Think of after."
The male wer snarled but after an instant he yanked his arm free of Celluci's hold and started for the door. "Come on, then."
After? Celluci wondered as the two of them charged across the lawn. Mary, Mother of God, they want me there to explain the body...
"What is taking him so long!" Vicki shoved at her glasses and turned away from the living room window. With the sun down she could see nothing past her reflection on the glass but that didn't stop her from pacing the length of the room and back then peering out into the darkness again.
"He has to come all the way from Adelaide and Dundas," Bertie pointed out. "It's going to take him a few minutes."
"I know that!" She sighed and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I had no right to snap at you. It's just that... well, if it wasn't for my damned eyes, I'd be driving myself. I'd be halfway there by now!"
Bertie pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. "You don't trust your partner to deal with it?"
"Celluci's not a partner, he's a friend. I don't have a partner. Exactly." And although Henry could be counted on to keep Celluci from doing anything stupid, who would save Peter, or watch the wer, or grab the murdering bastard - Vicki always saw him with Mark Williams' face, convinced that he had been the reason for the deaths even if he hadn't pulled the trigger - and... and then what? "I have to be there! How can I know it's justice if I'm not there?"
Realizing that some questions weren't meant to be answered, Bertie wisely kept silent. Questions of her own would have to wait.
"Damn it, I told him it was an emergency!" Vicki whirled back to the window and squinted into the night. "Where is he?" With an hour left in the shift, and Colin already back in the station, it hadn't been hard for Vicki to convince the duty sergeant to release him for a family emergency. "Why the... There!" Headlights turned up the driveway.
Vicki snatched up her bag and ran for the door, shouting back over her shoulder, "Don't talk about this to anyone. I'll be in touch."
Outside, and effectively blind, she aimed for the headlights and narrowly missed being run down by one of London's old blue and white police cars. She grabbed for the rear door as it screeched to a stop and threw herself into the back seat.
Barry slammed the car into reverse and laid rubber back down the length of the driveway while Colin twisted around and snarled, "What the hell is going on?"
Vicki pushed her glasses back into place and clutched at the seat as the car took a corner on two wheels.
"Carl Biehn was an Olympic marksman by way of Korea and the marines."
"That grasseater?"
"He may be," Vicki snapped, "but his nephew... "
"Was charged with fraud in '86, possession of stolen goods in '88, and accessory to murder nine months ago," Barry broke in. "No convictions. Got off on a technicality all three times. I ran him this afternoon."
"And the emergency," Colin growled, teeth bared.
"Peter's missing."
Grasses and weeds whipped at his legs; trees flickered past in the periphery of his sight, unreal shadow images barely seen before they were gone; the barrier of a fence became no barrier at all as he vaulted the wire net and landed still running. Henry had always known that the wer were capable of incredible bursts of speed but he never knew how fast until that night. Making no effort to elude him, Cloud merely raced toward her twin, not far ahead but far enough that he feared he could never catch her.
With her moonlight-silvered shape remaining so horribly just out of reach, Henry would have traded his immortal life for the ability to shapechange given to his kind by tradition. All else being equal, four legs were faster and more sure than two.
All else, therefore, could not be equal.
He hadn't run like this in many years, and he threw all he was into the effort to close the gap. This was a race he had to win, for if one couldn't be saved, the other had to be.
Spraying dirt and gravel in a great fan-shaped tail, Celluci fought the car through the turn at the end of the lane without losing speed. The suspension bottomed out as they drove into and out of a massive pothole and the oil pan shrieked a protest as it dragged across a protruding rock. The constant machine gun staccato of stones thrown up against the undercarriage of the car made conversation impossible.
Stuart kept up a continuous deep-throated growl.
Over it all, Celluci kept hearing the voice of memory.
"You're willing to be judge and jury - who's to be the executioner? Or are you going to do that, too?"
He very much feared he was about to get his answer and he prayed Vicki would arrive too late to be a part of it.
By the time Cloud reached the open door of the barn, Henry ran right at her tail. Another step, maybe two and he could stop her, just barely in time.
Then Cloud caught the scent of her twin and, snarling, sprang forward.
As her feet left the packed dirt, Henry saw with horror where she'd land. Saw the false floor. Saw the steel jaws beneath. With all he had left, he threw himself at her in a desperate flying tackle.
He knew as he grabbed her that it wasn't going to be quite enough so he twisted and shielded the struggling wer with his body as they hit the floor and rolled.
Two traps sprang shut, one closing impotently on a few silver-white hairs, the other cheated entirely of a prize.
From the floor, Henry took in a kaleidoscope of images - the russet body lying motionless on the table, the mortal standing over it, covered neck to knees with a canvas apron, the slender knife gleaming dully in the lamplight - and by the time he rose to a crouch, one arm still holding the panting Cloud, he knew. Anger, red and hot, surged through him.
Then Cloud squirmed free and attacked.
For the second time that night Mark Williams looked death in the face; only this time, he knew it wouldn't pause. He screamed and fell back against the table, felt hot breath against his throat and the kiss of one ivory fang then suddenly, nothing. Self preservation took over and without stopping to think, he grabbed for the shotgun.
Henry fought with Cloud, fought with his own blood lust. She's a seventeen-year-old girl, barely more than a child. She must not be allowed to kill. The wer no longer lived apart from humans and their values. What point victory now if she spent the rest of her life with that kind of a stain on her soul? Over and over, as she tried to tear herself out of his grip, he said the only words he knew would get through to her.
"He's still alive, Cloud. Storm is still alive."
Finally she stilled, whimpered once, then turned toward the table, muzzle raised to catch her brother's scent. A second whimper turned to a howl.
With her attention now fixed on Storm rather than death, Henry stood. "Stay where you are," he commanded and Cloud dropped to the floor, trembling with the need to get to her twin but unable to disobey. As he lifted his head, he came face-to-face with both barrels of the shotgun.
"So, he's still alive, is he?" Both the gun and the laugh were shaky. "I couldn't feel a heartbeat. You sure?"
Henry could hear the slow and labored beating of Storm's heart, could feel the blood struggling to keep moving through passages constricted by poison. He allowed his own blood lust to rise. "I know life," he said, stepping forward. "And I know death."
"Yeah?" Mark wet his lips. "And I know Bo Jackson. Hold it right there."
Henry smiled. "No." Vampire. Prince of Darkness. Child of the Night. It all showed in Henry's smile.
The table against his back made retreat impossible; Mark had no choice but to stand fast. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dribbled down the side of his nose. This was the demon he'd shot in the forest. Man-shaped but nothing manlike in its expression. "I - I don't know what you are," he stammered, forcing his trembling fingers to maintain their grip on the gun, "but I know you can be hurt."
One more step would move the barrel of the weapon around enough so that Cloud would be out of the line of fire. One more step, Henry told himself fueling the hunger with rage, and this thing is mine. He raised his foot.
The barn door slammed back, crashing against the wall and breaking the tableau.
"Drop it!" Celluci commanded from the doorway.
Stuart snarled a counterpoint beside him, the effort of will it took to hold his attack while Cloud remained in danger sending tremors rippling across the muscles of his back. Her howl had yanked him from the car before it had quite stopped and pulled him unthinking into the barn in human form where the clothes he wore confined his shape.
The shotgun barrel dipped then rose again. "I don't think so."
"What the hell is going on out here?" Carl Biehn demanded, rifle covering the two men standing in the open doorway. He'd heard the car race down the driveway; heard it stop, spraying gravel; heard the howl and known that Satan's creatures were involved. It had taken him only a moment to snatch up his rifle and he'd arrived at the barn just behind the men from the car. He still didn't know what was going on, but his nephew needed his help, that much was obvious. "Put the safety on and toss your revolver to the ground." He gestured with the rifle. "Over there, away from everyone."
Teeth gritted, Celluci did as he was told. He couldn't see as he had an option. The snap of steel jaws closing as the gun hit the floor startled everyone about equally.
"Traps," Stuart said, pointing. "There and there." The dirt floor just beyond his bare foot had been disturbed. "And here."
Mark smiled. "Pity you don't take longer strides."
"Now move over there," Carl commanded, "by the others so I can get a... " As they picked their way between the traps and into the lamplight, he recognized Stuart and his eyes narrowed. All day he had prayed for an answer to his doubts and now the Lord delivered the leader of the ungodly into his hands. Then he saw Cloud, still crouched behind Henry, ignoring everything but the body on the table.
Then he saw Storm.
He lowered the rifle from his shoulder to his hip, holding it balanced by the pistol grip, finger still resting on the trigger. Keeping the muzzle carefully pointed toward the group of intruders now clustered together at one side of the barn, he moved to stand beside the table. "What," he repeated, "is going on here? How did this creature die?"
"He's not dead!" Rose threw herself into Stuart's arms. "He's not dead, Uncle Stuart! He's not."
"I know, Rose. And we'll save him." He stroked her hair, glaring at the younger human who stared at her as though he'd never seen skin before. She needed comfort but, if they were to save themselves and Storm, too, better she have the use of tooth and claw. Silently he cursed the clothing that held him to human form. "Change now," he told her. "Watch. Be ready."
"Stop that!" The rifle swung from Stuart to Cloud and back again. "You will do no more devil's tricks!"
Cloud whined but Stuart buried his hand in the thick fur behind her head and said quietly, "Wait."
Carl swallowed hard. The pain in the creature's eyes as it, no, she, gazed up at him added itself to the cry of the creature he had wounded and the weight of doubt settled heavier around his heart. The work of the Lord should not bring pain. He turned and gazed down at Storm with horrified fascination. "I asked you a question, nephew."
Mark put a little more distance between himself and Henry before he answered - coincidentally moving himself closer to the door, just in case - fighting the silent command that called him to look at me. "I assume," he said with a forced grin, "that as we've been assured my guest isn't dead you want to know, how did you put it, 'What the hell is going on here?' It's simple, really. I decided to combine your policy of holy extermination with a profit-making plan of my own."
"You do not find profit in doing the Lord's work!" Suddenly unsure of so many other things, this belief, at least, Carl held to firmly.
"Bullshit! You reap your rewards in heaven, I want mine... Hold it right there!" He gestured with the shotgun and Henry froze. "I don't know what you are, but I'm pretty damned sure both barrels at this range will blow you to hell and gone and I'd be more than willing to prove it." White showed all around his eyes and he was breathing heavily, sweat burning in the scratches on his back.
Celluci glanced at Henry's profile and wondered what the other man could see that had him so terrified. He wondered, but he really didn't want to know. In his opinion their best chance lay with Carl Biehn, who looked confused and somehow, in spite of his unquestionable ability with the rifle, fragile and old. "This has gone too far," he said calmly, making his voice the voice of reason, laying it over the tension like a balm. "Whatever you thought when you started this, things have changed. It's up to you to end it."
"Shut up!" Mark snapped. "We don't need your two cents worth."
Carl lifted his hand from where it lay almost in benediction on Storm's head and took a firmer grip on the rifle. "And what do you plan to do now?" he asked pointedly, desperation tinting his voice, the question echoing prayers that had remained unanswered.
"You said yourself the devil's creatures must die. That one," Mark nodded at Storm, "has been taken care of. This one," Cloud whined again and pressed close to Stuart's legs, "I could use as well. Pity we can't get the big one to change before he dies."
Stuart snarled and tensed to spring.
"No!" Henry's command snapped Stuart back on his heels, furious and impotent. With both weapons pointing at them from different angles, an attack, whether it succeeded or not, would be fatal to at least one of their company. There had to be another way and they had to find it quickly for although Storm's heart still fought to survive, Henry could hear how much it had weakened, how tenuously it clung to life.
"You keep your goddamned mouth shut," Mark suggested. His hands were sweating around the shotgun but even with his uncle covering their "guests" he dared not wipe his palms. He was well aware that the moment the shooting started and it no longer had anything to lose that creature would charge. This had to be carefully choreographed so that he and his pelts came out in one piece. And if he couldn't bring Uncle Carl around... Poor old man, he wasn't entirely sane, you know. "All right, the lot of you, turn around and line up facing that wall."
"Why, Mark?"
"So that I can cover them and you can send them back to hell where they belong." With a sudden flash of inspiration, he added, "God's will be done."
Carl's head came up. "God's will be done." It was not for him to question the will of God.
"Mr. Biehn." Celluci wet his lips. Time to lay all the cards on the table. "I'm a Detective-Sergeant with the Metropolitan Toronto Police Department. My badge is in the front left-hand pocket of my pants."
"You're with the police?" The rifle barrel dipped toward the floor.
"He's consorting with Satan's creatures!" Mark snapped. The cop would die by a rifle bullet. Poor Uncle Carl...
The rifle barrel came up. "The police are not immune to the temptations of the devil." He peered at Celluci. "Have you been saved?"
"Mr. Biehn, I'm a practicing Catholic, and I will recite for you the 'Lord's Prayer,' the 'Apostles Creed,' and three 'Hail Marys,' if you like." Celluci's voice grew gentle, the voice of a man who could be trusted. "I understand why you've been shooting these people. I really do. But hasn't it occurred to you that God has plans you're not aware of and maybe, just maybe, you're wrong?" As they were still alive, it had obviously occurred to him; Celluci attempted to make the most of it. "Why don't you put down that gun, and we'll talk, you and I, see if we can't find a way out of this mess." And then, up out of the depths of childhood when his tiny, black-clad grandmother had made him learn a Bible verse every Sunday, he added, " 'For there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known.' "
"St. Luke, chapter twelve, verse two." Carl shuddered and Mark saw that he was losing him.
"Even the devil quotes scripture, Uncle."
"And if he is not the devil, what then?" A muscle jumped in the old man's cheek. "Would you murder an officer of the law?"
"Man's law, Uncle, not God's law!"
"Answer my question!"
"Yes, answer him, Mark. Would you commit murder? Break a commandment?" Now, Celluci used his voice like a chisel, hoping to expose the rotten core. "Thou shalt not kill. What about that?"
Mark had escaped death twice already this night. From the moment he'd recognized the creature that had attacked him in the woods, he'd known that escaping death a third time would take more than luck. In order for him to live, everyone in the barn would have to die. And he was going to live. This goddamned bastard of a fucking cop was manipulating the one thing he needed to pull his ass out of the fire and still be able to make a profit. The old man as a live stooge was preferable to the old man as a dead excuse.
"Uncle Carl... " Stress the relationship. Remind him of where the blood ties lay, of family loyalty.
"These are not God's creatures. You said so yourself."
Carl looked down at Cloud and shuddered. "They are not God's creatures." Then he raised his tormented eyes to Celluci's face. "But what of him?"
"Condemned by his own actions. Willingly consorting with Satan's minions."
"But if he is a police officer, the law... "
"Don't worry, Uncle Carl." Mark didn't bother to hide the sudden rush of relief. If the old man was concerned about repercussions, then he'd already decided to take action. It was in the bag. "I can make the whole thing look like an accident. Just be careful when you kill the white wolf - dog, whatever - that you don't ruin the pelt."
Just a little too late, he realized he'd said the wrong thing.
The old man shuddered and then straightened, as though he were shouldering a terrible weight. "So much I'm unsure of, but this I know; whatever happens tonight will be for the grace of God. You will not profit from it." He swung the rifle around until it pointed at Mark. "Put down the gun and get over there with them."
Mark opened his mouth and closed it, but no sound came out.
"What are you going to do?" Celluci asked, voice and expression carefully neutral.
"I don't know. But he isn't going to be a part of it."
"You can't do this to me." Mark found his tongue. "I'm family. Your own flesh and blood."
"Put down the gun and go over there with them." Carl knew now where he'd made his mistake, where he'd left the path the Lord had shown him. The burden was his to bear alone, he should never have shared it.
"No." Mark shot a horrified glance at Henry, whose expression invited him to come as close as he liked. "I can't... I won't... you can't make me."
Carl gestured with the rifle. "I can."
Mark saw the death he'd been holding off approaching as Henry's smile broadened. "NO!" He swung the shotgun around at the one who drove him to it.
Carl Biehn saw the muzzle come around and prepared to die. He couldn't, not even to save himself, shoot his only sister's only son. Into your hands, I commend my spir...
Cloud reacted without thinking and flung herself through the air. Her front paws hit the middle of the old man's chest and the shot sprayed harmlessly over the east wall as the two of them hit the ground together.
Then Henry moved.
One moment, almost ten feet between them. The next, Henry ripped the shotgun out of Mark's grasp and threw it with such force it broke through the wall of the barn. His fingers closed around the mortal's throat and tightened, blood welling around his fingertips where his nails pierced the skin.
"No!" Celluci charged forward. "You can't!"
"I'm not going to," Henry said quietly. And he backed his burden up; one step, two. The trap snapped closed and Henry released his grip.
The arm that stopped Celluci was an impassable barrier. He couldn't move it. He couldn't get around it.
It took a moment for the pain to penetrate through the terror. With both hands at his throat, Mark pulled his eyes from Henry's face and looked down. Soft leather deck shoes had done little to protect against the steel bite; his blood welled up thick and red. He cried out, a hoarse, strangled sound, and dropped to his knees, pushing at the hinge with nerveless fingers. Then the convulsions started. Three minutes later, he was dead.
Henry dropped his arm.
Mike Celluci looked from the body to Henry and said, through a mouth dry with fear. "You aren't human, are you?"
"Not exactly, no." The two men stared at each other.
"Are you going to kill me, too?" Celluci asked at last.
Henry shook his head and smiled. It wasn't the smile Mark Williams took with him into death. It was the smile of a man who had survived for four hundred and fifty years by knowing when he could turn his back. He did so now, joining Cloud and Stuart beside Storm's body.
Now what? Celluci wondered. Do I just go away and forget all this happened? Do I deal with the body? What? Technically, he'd just been a witness to a murder. "Hang on, if Storm's still alive, maybe... "
"You've seen enough death to recognize it, Detective."
Fitzroy was right. He had seen enough death to know he saw it sprawled at his feet on the dirt floor; not even the flickering lamplight could hide it. "But why so quickly?"
"He," Stuart snarled, "was only human." The last word sounded like a curse.
"Jesus H. Christ, what happened?"
Celluci whirled around, hands curling into fists, even though - or perhaps because - he recognized the voice. "What the hell are you doing here? You're stone blind in the dark!"
Vicki ignored him.
Colin pushed past her, into the barn, desperate to get to his brother.
Barry moved to follow. One step, two, and the floor shifted under his foot. He felt the impact of steel teeth slamming into a leather police boot all the way up his leg. "Colin!"
Colin stopped and half turned back toward his partner, caught in the beam of the flashlight Vicki had pulled from her purse, his face twisted with the need to be in two places at once.
Vicki couldn't make him choose. "Go," she commanded. "I'll take care of Barry."
He went.
Dropping carefully to one knee, Vicki trained the light on Barry's foot. The muscles of his leg trembled where they rested against her shoulder. Tucking the flashlight securely under her chin, she studied the construction of the steel jaws. "Can you tell if it's gone through the boot?"
She heard him swallow. "I don't know."
"Okay. I don't think it has, but I'll have to get it off to be sure." Her fingers had barely touched the metal before Celluci slapped them aside.
"Poisoned," he said before she could protest, and slipped a rusty iron bar in at the hinge. "Hold his leg steady."
Both sole and reinforced toe had taken a beating but had held. Barry sagged against Vicki's arm, relief finally allowing a reaction. I could have died, he thought and swallowed hard. The heat had little to do with the sweat that plastered his shirt to his back. I could have died. His foot hurt. It didn't seem to matter. I could have died. He took a deep breath. But I didn't.
"Are you all right?" Vicki asked, playing the circular definition of her vision over his face.
He nodded, straightened, and took a step. Then another slightly less shaky one back to her side. "Yeah. I'm okay."
Vicki smiled at him and swept the flashlight beam over the interior of the barn. There was a body on the floor. Carl Biehn sat on a barrel of some kind looking stunned. Everyone else - Colin, Cloud, Henry, Stuart - was with Storm."
"Is Storm... ?"
"He's alive," Celluci told her. "Apparently Williams caught him in another one of those traps. Which are buried all over this place so walk only where I tell you."
"Williams?"
"Is dead." Celluci jerked his head in the direction of Carl Biehn and said to Barry, "Get over there. Watch him."
Barry nodded, thankful for some direction, and limped across the barn.
All the long way here in the back of the police car, Vicki had thought only about arriving in time to make a difference. Now she was here, it was over, and the flashlight showed her only broken scenes suspended in darkness. "Mike, what happened?"
For a second, he weighed the alternatives, then he quickly laid out the facts, attempting to keep them uncolored by emotions he himself wasn't certain of. He watched her face carefully when he told her what Henry had done but she let nothing show he could use.
"And Peter? I mean, Storm?" she asked when he finished.
"I don't know."