"We can't hurt them," I said. "They're innocent."
"They might be innocent," said Kingsley grimly, "but they look like they mean business."
They also looked like zombies.
Already many of them were appearing at the cave entrance, compelled by forces they might not have entirely understood.
Edwin was there, and so were his many cousins. There was Tara, too, just behind him. Old and young, all the Thurmans looked confused. Most were shivering from the cold, drenched, unprepared for the weather.
The dark cords that bound them - that cursed them - were all engorged, filled with hate, with venom. The cords pulsated and rotated and twisted through their otherwise beautiful auras.
Somehow, the entity had possessed them all, simultaneously - and it was a heinous, horrible thing to see.
In that instant, Edwin charged, baring his teeth, dashing supernaturally fast through the short tunnel. Kingsley leaped in front of me and, with one mighty swipe of his meaty arm, sent Edwin flying hard into the stone wall to our side.
A dull thud...and now Edwin was slumping to the ground, bleeding from a head wound. He was alive, but unconscious.
Kingsley looked at him only briefly, and immediately turned his attention to an older gentleman, an uncle, who next made his own charge. The result was similar, although Kingsley, I noted, didn't hit the guy quite so hard.
"They're stronger than they look," said the werewolf.
"It's him," I said. "He's making them stronger."
Kingsley nodded as the older gentleman shook his head and picked himself up. I suspected that if all of the Thurmans attacked at once, things would to get very ugly. "Are you sure we didn't step onto the set of a George Romero movie?" he asked.
"Sadly, no," I said.