The reek hit me as soon as we got the door open. This time, I didn’t resist the Change.
The rush of adrenaline and endorphins and other hormones blotted out whatever pain shrieking bones forced through evolutionary growth in an instant might bring. Nature wouldn’t be so cruel as to put this burden on us without compensation. The bloodlust didn’t hurt, either, and it was only Claud’s warning hand on my back that reminded me not to howl with the delight of it. Smith’s spoor was worse than any I’d ever smelled, overwhelming the traces of new linoleum, old wax, and textbooks. It was nearly unbearable to my vulpine nose, but one thought, a bloodthirsty, simple joy, cleared of all human doubt and fear, overwhelmed even that:
It was time to track and to tear.
I stepped out of my boots and glanced up at Claud, who was down on one knee; the reek was hitting her just as badly. It was always harder for her; vamps don’t have the same chemical buffer that protects wolves. Her skin took on a violet cast visible even in the shadows, and her eyes were wide and bright. Her facial features broadened, her nose receded, and her fingers lengthened.
She stood up, shook herself, and nodded. As she packed my boots into her backpack, I saw the gleam of her viperish fangs extending, the glint of a streetlight on the fine pattern of snakescale, an armor of supple, thickened skin. Snakes have always been associated with healing and transformation—there’s a reason they’re on the staff of Asclepius—but they’ve got a rep for danger, too.
I whined and stared at her neck. Her hand went up, and she found the pearls she’d forgotten to take off.
“Thankths,” she said, with a slight hiss. Still largely humanoid, fangs and a forked-tongue make speech awkward, but not impossible. She stowed the necklace in her bag, and nodded.
I led the way, as stealthy as a shadow. I cast around, stopped, panted, and tried again, but with no luck. There was no one single track to pick up. Smith’d been here long enough for the basement to be so saturated with his stench that I could barely breathe.
I couldn’t detect the children. I hoped we weren’t too late.
Claudia nodded. She pointed at the first door, and we both listened. Nothing.
She tried it; locked solid.
The next was an unlocked closet. The stink was there, too, but less. The bus driver was stashed in there. There was a pulse, faint and fading.
Claudia fanged down, called 911. We continued.
The next door opened silently; I could smell WD-40 recently applied to the hinges. No way to tell Claud, but she pointed to the duct tape across the lock, and I nodded. We went in.
The children were there. Even under Smith’s foulness, I could tell they were alive. I felt a surge of delight.
They were drugged, only half-awake; a light on the playground offered just enough illumination for a normal to see forms without detail. My nose told me of full diapers, fear, and baby shampoo.
Smith was nowhere around. We went quietly, just in case.
“Hang on,” Claudia said. She Changed back about halfway, just enough to keep her powers on deck, but not so far that the first thing the kids saw was a pale purple lady with no nose and very big teeth.
She went over to them quickly. “Hey, you guys? Let’s get you fixed up and we’ll get you home, okay? My dog Chewie is going to do some tricks for you. He’s really big, but he’s really, really friendly. Chewie, come!”
That was my cue. I knew to play it dumb and sweet over in the faint light so the kids would focus on me. That way, they’d be less afraid and they wouldn’t notice Claudia practicing her leech-craft. I spend my time fighting evil, not practicing party tricks, but whenever I fell over, the kids laughed, so it was okay. And as soon as Claudia got one kid untied, her razor nails dancing scalpels over the duct tape, I was there, his new best friend, and they were so busy patting me they forgot to be afraid. Under the guise of inspecting their wounded hands, she got to work, biting their wrists, narcotizing the pain, neutralizing their terror, sucking out Smith’s drugs, dimming their memories. I could sense her body reacting to the blood and emotion she was taking in, her muscles rippling, nearly all trace of humanity lost from her features even as she healed the little ones.
She’d just finished the last one when he was on her. Even as I picked up on the fresh scent—snow mixed with spoiled milk and rotting fish heads—Smith rocketed from the shadows, moving faster than anything human.
If I knew he was there, it meant Claudia knew, too. She shoved the kid toward me as Smith landed on her. She rolled with him as far away from us as she could.
In spite of Claudia’s ministrations, the kids whimpered. I grabbed the last one by the hood of her jacket and gently pulled her the rest of the way to the group. I stood between them and the brawl, nudging the kids to stand behind me, thankful Disney had removed their fear of large wild animals.
It took everything I had to keep from jumping in and ripping Smith apart, but I had to keep the children safe. And there’s not much that can stop my sister when she’s pissed and Changed; for all her tweedy skirts and bookishness, she’s as much a warrior as I am.
Smith was putting up a pretty good fight and the sonofabitch knew how to use a knife: Claudia would need a week on the roof to recover from this. I was glad of the dark, that the children’s eyes weren’t as sharp as mine, that they couldn’t see the amount of blood that Claudia was letting.
She was winning. Maybe Smith wasn’t Fangborn, maybe just some kind of freak human genetic anomaly—
You could practically feel the energy she expended fill the room, almost blotting out the horror of Smith. Righteous violence in the cause of justice—
I let out a low growl; there was too much energy, the air was sizzling as if every Fangborn in New England was Changing next to me.
Claudia screamed.
Smith had Changed. An unholy transformation, something never before seen in the world as I knew it: evil taking on the shape of a werewolf.
If I’d had time for rational, human thought, I would have been slowed by what shouldn’t have been happening, by what was impossible, but the pull to attack was so strong I almost burst out of my skin. I bunched up and launched myself at Smith.
Claudia threw herself out of the way as I bowled the other wolf out of the room. We skidded into the hallway, unable to get a purchase on the cold, polished cement floor. With a scrabble of claws, I was up, but he was just a second faster and knocked me down again, snapping at my eyes. I slashed at his gut and jerked my head out of the way, feeling his hot breath and drool on my ears. I whipped around and grabbed at his muzzle; I was bigger than he was and he almost pulled away before I closed my teeth. I caught him, barely, by the tender tip of his nose and the soft skin under his jaw. Teeth slid through flesh and I held on; he tried to push me away with his front paws, but was more effective with his rear claws, raking across my belly.
I smelled my own blood, but held on for dear life. He couldn’t pull out of my grasp without tearing himself and I couldn’t let him go.
The door opened and cold air washed over us. I heard a shout and recognized Weems.
He shouted again. I could smell Weems’s fear.
Weems drew his pistol. He was going to shoot.
Well, I couldn’t let him shoot me. I let go and Smith hurled himself at the doorway and Weems.
Thoughts flashed through my head: If Smith landed on Weems, I could grab him before he did much damage. If he knocked Weems out of the way, or took a bullet or six, so much the better for me.