Others appeared from several directions.
“Why are there werewolves here?” Rachel asked. “Why aren’t they fighting with the-Donald, what the fuck is going on?”
“How should I know?” Donald shot back. He tried to scramble away, less from Rachel than from the predators now forming a ring around them. Rachel held him in place.
Her mind raced. She couldn’t trust Donald to help, but she couldn’t count on him to run, either. The vampires presented more than enough of a danger to the mortals all by themselves. A pack of werewolves this large made for a much greater threat. If they were actually working together as it appeared…
The pack had their scent. The ones in wolf form reared up on their hind legs and grew into monstrous humanoid shapes. Those already in such a form crouched low as if ready to pounce.
She couldn’t take herself out of the fight by pinning Donald down, but she couldn’t let him run free, either.
“Time to be a guardian, Donald,” she grunted. Rachel heaved him up and yanked him around again.
“What-wait, what are you-?”
Donald let out a shriek of helpless terror as she literally threw him to the wolves. He tumbled into two of them, who turned on him with teeth and claws.
Rachel’s sword of flame erupted from her palm. The rest of the pack saw her immediately and shifted their focus on the new prey.
* * *
“Dammit, Wentworth, give the order!”
“No,” the other vampire murmured, his head slowly shaking. “No, we mustn’t rush in. Something is… strange here.” His gaze drifted all along the building façade. Questions and concerns teased at his mind. Details of the plan flitted out of his memory. He couldn’t remember the names of his companions.
“You heard the gunfire inside,” pressed the man beside him. Wentworth knew the man’s name-or knew he should. The brace of black-powder pistols in his fat leather belt seemed familiar. Wentworth imagined him in ancient sailor’s rags, but those would have fallen apart long ago, which must have led him to this ridiculous set of cut-off black jeans and his tight shirt. “There was more on the other side of the building just now, and-are you even listening to me?”
“Hm? What?” Wentworth blinked, tearing his gaze off the sailor’s shoes. “Of course I am listening! I am trying to listen for clues as to what transpires inside, if you don’t mind.”
“There!” blurted out the fallen Catholic priest to Wentworth’s right. Wentworth couldn’t quite remember his name, either. The priest pointed, somewhat melodramatically, to the front of the building as the main entrance flew open. A single figure staggered out, carrying one body and dragging another with him. Wentworth frowned. Didn’t they send five people in? Or more?
Rosario. That was her name. Rosario and… Rupert? Where was Rosario now? Wentworth saw a great deal of blood smeared across Rupert’s chin, neck and chest. So sloppy. And those bullet holes through his shirt and jacket did him no credit. “What have you to report?” asked Wentworth.
“Stronger resistance than expected, sir,” said Rupert. “Unferth ran off alone in defiance of orders, and then we got into a scuffle with these ones and some others.” He dumped the bodies of Nguyen and Lanier at Wentworth’s feet. “They have a SWAT team or some such inside, sir. I’m not sure how large. We lost Francois and Rosario ran off after one mortal who escaped the fight. She ordered me to bring these two out as she ran off.”
“This much trouble from mortals with guns?” sneered the priest.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Rupert frowned, “but if you’d like to experience a firing squad like Francois met, I’m sure it could be arranged. I’d be in awful shape myself but for the three freshly dead inside there to drink from,” he added, nodding back to the building.
“This does present something of a problem,” Wentworth mumbled. “We should-er-that is…” His voice faltered in tandem with his mind. Why was it so hard to concentrate?
“We should go in there and slaughter them all!” snarled the sailor.
“He’s right,” nodded Rupert. “They can do a nasty number on one of us with focused fire, but with enough numbers their guns won’t make much difference.”
“Yes, we should-wait. Let’s not be hasty,” Wentworth said.
“Wait for what?” demanded the sailor.
“It could be a trap.”
“A trap?” snorted the priest. “How? We know their numbers.”
“There’s still the angel to worry about,” noted a pale girl in a black flapper dress.
“Yes,” Wentworth nodded in sudden thought, “that’s absolutely right, erm-miss,” he agreed. Damnation, but why couldn’t he remember names? “We must not rush in and be left facing the angel.”
“That’s why we brought Diana and her mongrels,” sneered the sailor.
“Diana?” blinked their leader. “Ah, yes, but, you see… we haven’t seen them in action yet. We must wait and make sure they can do the job.” That sounded good enough, he figured.
“The wolves and the angels are engaged,” growled a familiar voice. Heads turned as another vampire approached from the shadows off to Wentworth’s left. Unferth emerged from under the trees looking filthy and wet, but what caught everyone’s eyes was the broken bone jutting out through the skin of the vampire’s left forearm.
“Where in the hell did you go, mate?” snapped Rupert.
“After my brother, as I said.” He pulled on his left arm with his right hand, wincing with the effort and some degree of pain as the bone gradually returned to its rightful place within his flesh. His eyes turned back to Wentworth. “The werewolves fight with two angels now, both on the other side of the building. It seems like an even match, but that gives us time to act.”
“What of your brother?” asked the sailor.
Unferth shook his head. “I freed him, but we ran afoul of the demon before we could get outside. Bjorn died in battle with her.”
“Hrm. The demon,” Wentworth frowned. “We’ll have to consider that complication.”
“Consider my ass!” the sailor pressed. “Send a group around back and hit the enemy from both sides!”
Wentworth almost took him up on his suggestion, but hesitated. Everyone else seemed to have something to say, too. It all seemed like good advice, but much of it contradicted the rest.
He wished his people would stop confusing him.
* * *
Amber made it up to the second floor, out of the stairway landing and a few precious yards down the hall. She didn’t even know where to go. She simply knew there were other prisoners up here, perhaps ones that could help fight off the monsters-if she could figure out where Hauser had locked them all up. Amber slowed only to reload her pistol.
She ran and stumbled in the shadows, wishing a few of the lights would come back on. Bad enough that her ears rang so badly from the fight downstairs, but finding her way around in this darkness would be next to impossible.
A hand caught her arm as she ran, heaving back and bringing her to the floor. A brutal kick to her side drove the wind from her. The same foot to deliver the blow then kicked her gun hand hard, knocking the weapon from her grip.
“Fucking whore,” Rosario barked. She spat blood onto Amber’s face, looming above her with a facial wound that would have incapacitated if not killed any ordinary person. “I’ll rip out your heart and fucking eat it for doing this to me,” she shouted, much louder than necessary, as she pointed to her cheek.
Amber wheezed out a defiant reply, or at least tried.
“What the fuck ever, bitch,” said Rosario. “I can’t fuckin’ hear shit right now ‘cause of you, anyway.”
Looking around for her weapon, refusing to simply give up, Amber saw only shadows, Rosario’s feet-and a pair of sneakers behind the vampire.
An obsolete computer monitor crashed down on top of Rosario’s skull, enveloping her whole head as glass and internal components shattered. Jason twisted and heaved on it, putting one leg behind Rosario’s to worsen her loss of balance.