 
### A Tangle with Werewolves

By Reese Currie

Copyright 2012 by Reese Currie

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Chapter One

My name is Creighton Zee, and my job is one of my own making. Today's job was to be one of heavy handed diplomacy. Very heavy handed.

I knocked on the door, and when the subject opened it, I said, "Mr. Devereaux, we need to talk."

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"No, but I know you, and I know Lynne."

He started to slam the door in my face. I sprung forward with all my force into the door, knocking it open and knocking him sprawling. He started to get up and I simply kicked him in the face. He was down for the count. I nudged his head with my toe to make sure his airways were clear, shut the door behind me, pulled a chair over and sat down. I drew my revolver and held it in my gloved hand, pointed in a safe direction. I'm in early middle age and I really didn't feel like fighting with some young guy. The revolver was a Ruger GP100 .357 magnum, loaded with .38 Specials I hoped not to have to use. If I did have to use it, I wouldn't have to worry about leaving shell casings in this man's home.

He started to stir. He looked up at me, and I showed him the gun. "I'm not really interested in any more fighting, Jake," I said. "I've got a message for you from Lynne, about how you've been stalking her and how it's going to end right now."

"That lying bitch," Jake Devereaux said.

I shook my head. "I checked out her story, Jake. I don't just believe people who come in my door looking for help. She was able to prove to me that you have indeed been stalking her. The police weren't willing to help her, so here I am."

"When my lawyer hears about this—" Devereaux began.

"Your lawyer?" I snickered. "You don't have a lawyer, Jake."

"How would you know?" he spat.

"I'd know because I know all of your financial transactions for the last nine months, and you don't have any legal bills at all."

"You looked at my bank records?" he asked, incredulous.

"You looked at Lynne's, so I figured that was fair ball," I said. "You've also been tracking her through GPS on her cell phone—I turned that off, by the way. You've had your friends drive by her friends houses looking for her. You've called her cell and left threatening messages. You're kind of being a twit, Jake. And now you've gotten yourself out of your league."

He frowned. "I could take you if you didn't have that gun," he said.

"You might be able to at that," I replied, "but I do have a gun, Jake, and I wouldn't lose any sleep over using it on you if I had to. That's why you're out of your league."

He looked poised to try it.

"If you want to get shot, that's okay," I said. "Lynne didn't pay me enough to shoot you, but because you're such a nice guy, I might just give her a freebie."

"You'd get caught," he said. "They'd trace your gun."

I glanced at the revolver. I liked it, but it was far from irreplaceable. "This is only a six hundred dollar gun," I said. "You think I'm going to let myself get caught for six hundred bucks? I don't think so. I'd just leave it with you. Do you see that you're kind of caught here? Let's stop being hostile and be reasonable."

He relaxed his body a little, and I lowered the gun back into my lap.

"Okay," I said. "Now, it's no fun being stalked, Jake. You're a handsome guy. You can get another girlfriend easily. Why are you giving Lynne so much grief?"

"I hate her," he said thickly.

"I've been divorced," I said. "I won't get into details, but she and the unjust family court system in this country have given me way more reasons to hate her than you've ever had to hate anybody, but these days, I just don't care. She doesn't occupy my thoughts much at all; she's just a bad memory. Every time I ever had to deal with her, it was an unpleasant experience for me, so why would I dwell on her? Now if I was being an idiot, and stalking her, and giving her all of my attention, I'm sure I'd be miserable all the time, like you are."

"The things she did to me—" he began.

"Are immaterial," I finished for him. "And best left in the past. Jake, you got out of this easy. She hasn't come after your home, here, she hasn't come after money at all, and you guys lived together for two years. She could potentially get half of everything, or even more than half. You guys were common-law; that's probably enough to get you into the dragon's den that is the Canadian family court system. They'd take everything you have but the dick they hate you for, and give it to her. I guess my problem is, Jake, she hasn't been threatening you in any way, not even the ways that are legally available to her, and here you are threatening her, and it has to stop, and it has to stop now."

He sat and fumed.

"Jake, I'll tell you what. When I asked her if she wanted me to kill you, she looked all shocked and said no. It would have ended all of her problems in an instant. She said you didn't deserve that. She just wants you to stop." I didn't tell him that if Lynne _had_ wanted me to kill Jake, I wouldn't have helped her.

"So you can't kill me," he said.

"Oh, no, that's not the case at all," I answered. "No, if you don't leave her alone, this becomes a matter of protecting my reputation. See, I have a reputation for making people do what I say. If you mess up that reputation, I'm going to come back here and mess you up."

"Mess me up," he repeated.

"In a serious way, Jake," I added. "In a picking up bits way. This is a .357 magnum, Jake. I don't mess around." In fact it was evenly loaded with .38 specials and .357 magnums on this particular mission, so that my first shot would be a .38, my second would be a .357 magnum, the third would be a .38, and so on. The .38 is to make a person stop what they're doing. If they don't stop what they're doing, the follow-up .357 is to stop them permanently.

He sat, and I sat.

"I'm sensing you don't believe me, Jake," I said. "When people don't believe me, sometimes I blow off a kneecap or a testicle to prove that I mean what I say. Do I have to do that in this case?"

"No," he said quickly.

"So here's the deal, and your life is on the line if you break it. Not one more phone call. Not one more drive-by. Not one more peek into her bank accounts, social networking, anything. No contact with her, no spying on her, no involvement of any kind with her ever again."

"I could call her and apologize," he said.

"If you do, I will come here and kill you," I said. "Not one more call, Jake. Deal?"

He said nothing.

"Deal?" I repeated.

"What if I say no?" he pouted.

"Then I kill you right now," I replied. "She doesn't want me to, but I'm just not a man to trifle with, Jake."

He sat. I felt a nibble of frustration but put it aside. He was an ignorant young boy who didn't know anything about anything, who thought he was a big fish in the world. In reality he was an arrogant little nothing, that nobody would miss if he didn't make it through this negotiation.

"Going once. Going twice," I said, raising the gun.

"Deal!" he shouted.

I covered him and got out of my chair. "I'm walking out of here now, Jake, and this little conversation we had never happened. If I get a sniff that you've welshed on our deal, you die. If there is any retaliation of any kind, you die. If I hear anyone hurts her, I'm going to assume it was orchestrated by you, and you die."

"And if I report all of this to the cops?" he said.

"Guess."

"I die."

"Bingo. You're a smart boy."

He sighed. "I just wanted to get her back."

"I'm not sure in what sense you mean that, Jake, whether you mean revenge or a rekindled romance, but it's never going to happen either way. If you take revenge, I will take revenge. And romance? You killed any chance of that yourself the first moment you started stalking her. Give it up. Move on. Live your life and be happy. Leave her alone and you have nothing to fear from me at all."

"What if she calls you and said I stalked her again, but I didn't?"

Now that was a question that indicated to me that he was thinking the right way now. "I know from personal experience that some women can be quite vindictive and will make false reports. I will have to know for sure that you could have done it. She doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who would make a false report, but I would make sure there was a reasonable possibility of truth before I'd come get you."

"A reasonable possibility of truth?" he asked.

"Not enough to get you convicted in court, but enough to demonstrate to me that it happened. That's the deal, Jake. If you wanted better terms than that, you shouldn't have stalked her in the first place."

I opened the door, and left some parting advice. "I'd recommend that you live in a different province from her. She's already moved, so you don't have to do a thing to change that. Stay out of her province, and her city, and you'll be fine, unless you call her or send someone else. If an associate of yours does something to her, I'll know it was you."

I produced a card out of my left pocket. "If you must go into her province, call this number and leave a message saying why, when you'll be there, and how long you'll be. That's an answering service. They don't know who they work for, they just have a code name. Don't lose that number. I check up on things occasionally and if I see you have credit card charges from that province, and something happens to her, I will assume it was you and take action. If I have a call from you, I'll investigate first.

"We're done here, if you don't have any more questions," I said. He shook his head. I closed the door quietly and heard it latch, holstered the gun, and walked toward the car, my ears keenly listening for any sounds behind me. When there were none, I got in the car and drove away. Hopefully Jake Devereaux would leave Lynne Pritchard alone now. If not, my next visit to him would not entail any conversation.
Chapter Two

The town official sat nervously on his seat, toying with his hat in his hand, his eyes somehow watery behind his small lenses, his mouth drawn almost to a pucker under a sparse moustache. He was waiting for the word to register with me. I saw that he wouldn't continue to speak of his problem unless I gave him some prompting.

"Werewolves," I said.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he said. "That's what I told them, that you'd never believe a story like this."

"I'm aware of their existence," I replied calmly. "I suspect that they're real; though very rare in this day and age. I've never heard of them in British Columbia, but then, I'm from the east coast, obviously." I raised my hands to indicate the restaurant that we were sitting in, which was on the east coast.

"You flew all this way to tell me you have a problem with werewolves," I added, hoping to get him talking again. "How do you know?"

He swallowed hard. "A missing child has turned up, gnawed by an animal."

"Could have been regular wolves, or coyotes," I pointed out.

"The mother who reported the missing child claimed to have seen the abduction," he answered. "She described a werewolf." He sighed deeply before continuing. "The police figured her boyfriend of the week had probably killed the boy, and she was covering up with an insane story, and that the child would show up eventually, assuming he was too lazy to bury him. They did conduct a search, and they found him after a couple of days. He was partially eaten with wounds similar to unusual wounds we've been seeing in livestock in the area."

I thought about that for a moment. "How did you prevent Mom from making a stink?" I asked.

"Apparently, the police told her that if she went around talking about werewolves, she would be demonstrating diminished capacity and could have her other children taken by child services."

"The old fashioned way," I said, closing my eyes and resting my head on the high back of my chair. I silently reminded myself that the reason I work for municipalities on occasion is it protects their people, and someone has to pay for me to be able to do that. I had yet to meet many politicians I liked at any level, municipal, provincial, or federal, but there were a few who had learned to listen and not immediately jump to coercion to silence any potential embarrassment. Very few. Hazards of a democratic system, I suppose. Those who ran for office either had to be very dedicated to public service, or very dedicated to getting their hands in the till. No one else applied.

"Tell me about the livestock," I requested.

"What is there to tell?" he asked.

"Were there many dead animals that weren't eaten?"

"I honestly don't know," he replied. "I didn't really concern myself until the child."

"So, who polices your town? Is it the RCMP, or municipal police?"

"It's a small village and some surrounding farmland, protected by the RCMP. In fact, someone in the RCMP gave your name to our local office when the topic of werewolves came up."

I knew my name must have been passed along by Jack, whose last name I did not know. I doubted that even "Jack" was his real name. He would not have passed my name along directly; the word had probably gone up the chain of command in the RCMP, to whatever government organization Jack worked for, and back down again. Jack called in favours from time to time for overlooking some of my other activities. If Jack was involved, my answer already had to be yes; the only "no" that would prevent my involvement would have to come from the town council.

"There are those in the government that value my discretion," I commented. "How does the RCMP want to handle it? Do they want to be involved directly, or stay out of it, or be a resource?"

"They can't officially admit that there is such a thing as werewolves," the town official replied, his face reddening somewhat.

"Of course not. My question is whether they will be cooperative, and what involvement they want to have."

"I'll have to check on that," the official admitted.

"I'm not coming to fight werewolves without my own guns," I replied. "I need to know how reliable they are, how they've been maintained, how they operate, how accurate they are, where to hold them to hit targets with accuracy. The RCMP can be uptight about guns, so I want their permission to bring mine, signed by whoever is in charge of the RCMP where you are."

"All right," replied the official.

"Truth be told, I'd rather work with the RCMP as a consultant on this than go it alone. It would be very helpful to have an officer with the legal power to arrest help me. I'd like to know if I can have that before I come. It's not a deal breaker, I'll come whether I can have a cop or not, but if I can have one, I need to know before I come. It changes the strategy and some details."

"All right," replied the official.

"So, the whole town council is agreed on me coming?"

"Yes."

"What are they expecting to have happen?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

I drew in a breath before saying, "I'm going to bring some methods you might think are unusual, to try to deal with this in as low risk a manner as possible. If they're expecting me to wait until the full moon and then walk around at night looking for a werewolf to kill, they may be disappointed. I'm hoping not to have too much interference in my methods."

"Oh! Well," he began, then stalled. "Of course we're concerned about the legalities," he managed.

"You can't be that concerned," I replied calmly. "After all, you're here to see me."

He fidgeted with his hands again.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," I intoned. "I try to operate as circumspectly as possible, but when you're dealing with things like werewolves, we may have to break some rules to try to address the problem before worse things happen."

He continued to make no reply.

I sighed. "You're coming to me because I'm an expert in dealing with these problems. I don't want a bunch of politicians trying to tell me how to deal with it according to their parameters."

"I'll bring it to the town council," he said stiffly. I saw him out.

They did not contact me again until they'd had another full moon. Worse things had happened. Another child was dead. I got the answers to my questions and began to prepare.
Chapter Three

"Werewolves," said Dean Smith, who functions more or less as my armourer, and sometimes comes along when a job is too big for one person. I was talking with him on my computer over Skype. He was living in the United States, and his day job was running a gun shop. Despite the fact that he was originally from England, he had great respect for, and sold, only American-made guns; Rugers, Colts, Smith & Wesson. I had bought my Ruger GP100 from Dean.

"Yeah," I said.

"Do you think they're real?"

"Can't take the chance that they're not."

Dean whistled through his teeth. "Are we talking a need for silver bullets here?"

"As you can imagine, I have studied up on the folklore in preparation for this job," I replied. "The bit about silver bullets didn't come along until around 1935. So that part might be a load of crap. On the other hand, I'm better safe than sorry."

"Do you need help on this one?" Dean asked.

"The RCMP is going to dispatch a guy to go with me," I replied. "I appreciate the offer, but maybe exposing just one of us to the RCMP could be a problem down the road."

"Gotcha," said Dean. "Why are you taking this case?"

"I suspect Jack is involved," I answered.

"Ah, Jack," Dean mused. "One guy I've never been able to put my finger on."

"Maybe it's better if we don't know who he is," I said.

"Quite," replied Dean. "It would certainly be better for us if he didn't know who we were."

I laughed. "I know. Werewolves. At least Jack makes sure the challenges are interesting."

"Indeed he does," Dean replied. "Well, okay. Silver is a hard metal. If the bullet was solid silver, it wouldn't penetrate well, probably only a couple of inches. Silver is also brittle, and it would break into little pieces once in the body. The ballistics would be quite irregular, too. So the idea of using pure silver bullets is almost certainly wrong. If we must deliver silver, it has to be delivered somehow by way of a lead bullet."

"I can't imagine that it would matter that the bullet was lead, as long as some silver was transferred," I said.

"It has to be delivered to the heart, correct?" asked Dean. "My werewolf mythology is sort of a faded memory."

"I thought so, too, but apparently just getting silver into the bloodstream will do the trick. It can take many shots to incapacitate a werewolf, though."

"Well," said Dean, "What kind of ammunition are you planning to use?"

"I was thinking .38 Special," I said.

Dean paused momentarily, before asking, "Any particular reason, other than your somewhat perverse love for wheel guns?"

"I figure if the silver is meaningful, it would be best to keep the silver in the body," I said. "So I don't want problems with over-penetration. I figure the .38 is slow enough that it should stay in the body."

"Hm," Dean hummed. "It's good thinking."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Are you willing to use nine millimetre ammo for this?"

I thought about the few guns in my small collection for a moment—no nines. "I suppose I could get a Ruger Blackhawk Convertible," I said. "It comes with a nine millimetre cylinder and a .357 cylinder."

Dean laughed. "It's hard to separate a revolver man from his wheel guns. Are you sure you won't just break down and use a semi-automatic for a change?"

"Hang on a minute," I said, minimizing Skype and doing a quick Google search. There were a few cowboy action shooting clubs in BC. A couple of Blackhawks could be good cover for my real purpose for the guns, I thought. Moving guns around Canada could be painful, with its strict gun control. To be convincing, I would have to pick up two, because the cowboy action people always carried two, always with five out of six cylinders filled. If you dropped a Colt single-action revolver on its hammer, it might go off if the hammer was on a live round, hence the empty cylinder; it made it safe to carry the gun. That was necessary with a Colt, but not with a Ruger, because a Ruger has a transfer bar, a safety device that prevents the gun from firing if the trigger isn't pulled. The Colt was more accurate to the period; the Ruger was safer. I'd take safer.

"Let's say I use a nine millimetre," I said. "The RCMP want to be involved, and their carry weapon is a nine, I believe."

"Yes, that's correct," said Dean. "Their standard issue pistol is the Smith & Wesson 5946, which is nine millimetre."

"So, why do you want me to use a nine, exactly?" I asked.

Dean said. "I have swaging gear for nine millimetre."

"Swaging?" I asked. The word sounded like "waging", as in "waging war", with an S at the start. "What's that?"

"Basically what I do is buy a bunch of .32 calibre lead bullets and some sheets of brass. I cut out a measured circle from the brass sheet. Then with some dies and a press, I make my own jackets out of the brass. The jackets bring the .32's up to a nine millimetre size. With swaging, all I need to do is get sheets of silver instead, and I can use my swaging gear to make you silver-jacketed hollow point bullets."

"Neat," I said. "You know, that couldn't be done in this country because .32 calibre bullets are prohibited."

"Really?" asked Dean. "Why would that be?"

"The theory is, .25 ACP and .32 are only good for one thing, killing people."

"Not even great at that," Dean opined.

"Indeed," I replied, "but what they mean is, they have no value as target shooting rounds, which is the only legal civilian use of a handgun in Canada."

Dean harrumphed. He was troubled by all of the calls for stricter gun control in the United States.

"Anyway, your technique sounds like it would deliver a lot of silver to the target," I said.

"It sure would," said Dean. "It is much easier to do than something like melting silver and pouring it into a hollow point, and it would deliver more silver, too."

I sighed. "I'm still concerned about over-penetration. with a nine millimetre," I said.

"I can give them a little less powder than usual," Dean allowed. "Maybe get them down to 800 feet per second or so. Maybe half or 60% of the normal powder. My only concern would be whether that's enough power to operate the slide on a semi-automatic."

"So, send me a couple of Ruger Blackhawk Convertibles, and we don't have to worry about slides."

Dean paused. "You know, that might be a good idea," he allowed. "No moving parts to mess up if the round is underpowered. My concern is, if you have to reload, it's pretty arduous with a single-action revolver. You have to open the loading gate, individually eject the spent shells with the ejection rod, and then individually reload the cylinders. It takes a lot of time and isn't easy to do if you're under pressure."

I sighed again. "That worries me too, of course. Is there any reason not do to this with .38's?"

"I'd have to get dies for that," Dean replied, "and I sort of don't know what my starting bullet would be; maybe a .32, I guess. A .38 is really .357 in diameter, which is..." He looked off screen and did some figuring on a piece of paper. "Nine-point-oh-six millimetres. I could do it if you insist, but I think it will take a while for them to come and it might take some trial and error for me to figure out how to make .38's come out exactly right. Of course you couldn't share .38's with the RCMP, and you'd have to buy the dies because I, like any normal, modern, thinking person, use a semi-automatic."

I chuckled at his shot, then capitulated to using the nine millimetres. Dean was pleased.

"The silver is going to make the bullets cost quite a lot more, of course," said Dean. "And it takes a little time to do, a couple or three hours per box, anyway."

"I'm kind of in a rush to get out there, things are getting serious," I said. "How about you do a box of 50 for starters? That should handle a werewolf or two. Do I need a box for sighting in?"

"They'll come out to about 142 grains, so if you sight in the gun with 145 grain ammunition, it will be more or less the same," said Dean. "Except the powder charge would be, say, forty percent higher than that of the silver bullets. I could send a box of plain ammunition with sixty percent of the powder charge so you could sight in."

"Okay, send me a box of regular nine millimetre in 145 grain, a box with plain ammunition with a half-powder charge, and a box of silver bullets, fifty bullets in each."

"Got it," Dean confirmed.

"I want two Ruger Blackhawk Convertibles with western style holsters, the kind of thing the cowboy action shooting people use."

"Ah, thinking of a cover for why you're travelling with guns," said Dean. "Not bad. Not a big problem here, but I can see why it would be an issue where you are."

I nodded. "Along with that, I want a Ruger SR9 with a holster."

Dean looked at me for a moment before saying, "Can you say 'hallelujah,' brothers and sisters? He's finally using a semi-automatic."

"I want it with a threaded barrel for a suppressor, and I want the suppressor included. In case I have to do anything stealthy." The suppressor was prohibited in Canada. In fact, even the parts to make a suppressor are prohibited in Canada.

"Okay." After a few more minutes of figuring, Dean gave me an itemized price for the guns, ammunition, and sheet silver. I asked him his price for labour and he just shook his head. "No charge," he said and that was that. I gave him a shipping location. The work would be done the next day and couriered—at another fee—out to BC for arrival in two days' time. I agreed. I had been paid my fee up front as I had requested, so I certainly had the money to pay for the guns, bullets and shipping. I e-mailed Dean the money, and got him to send the package to me, care of Desmond Garner. Garner was a town councillor, not the town councillor I had initially met with, but a man who had voted in favour of hiring me on every vote the council had taken on the subject, and had insisted on putting me up in his home.

Now that I had an idea how long it would take to make the ammunition and get everything shipped, I booked a flight for the day after tomorrow. That gave me a day to do all the research I could do on werewolves. I had already started passively looking into it in some detail, as there was a prospective case involving werewolves, but now that it was an actual case, tonight and tomorrow I would be researching in earnest.
Chapter Four

"It's amazingly beautiful country," I commented. "It was beautiful flying in, but this road is just amazing."

I was riding toward the town in Desmond Garner's car. A tall, broad shouldered, ageing man, he also had a moustache that was filled in a bit more than the first town councillor I had talked to, who had not, in fact, given me his name. Desmond had met me at the airport and was driving me back to their village.

"We love this place," he affirmed. "You know, when they started talking seriously about werewolves, I thought we had all collectively lost our minds. It's a very frightening feeling, the sense that you have lost your mind."

I paused. I rather liked Desmond Garner; I liked him on first sight. I decided to tell him what I was thinking. "I've had to make adjustments, all through my life, to my concept of reality. I didn't believe in ghosts, then I had first hand experience. Same with witchcraft and voodoo. In the beginning I had just the same kind of feeling you did. Over time you learn that just about everything is possible and the adjustments aren't as hard.

"If they are real, a werewolf, most frequently, is a victim. They've been bitten or scratched by someone else. They're going through the same sense of astonished disbelief that you are; they think they might be going insane. They're afraid of what happens next. One has to deal humanely with these creatures if at all possible."

Desmond's eyebrows had raised. "Go on," he urged.

"When they are fully transformed, you have little choice but to shoot them. It is kill or be killed at that point. Maybe one will let you run away; but to run away, you have to turn your back, and that makes anything possible. If we can get to them while they aren't transformed, it opens up other possibilities."

"Like what?"

"The medieval cultures believed in several possible cures, both violent and nonviolent. The Germans once believed you could cure a werewolf simply by calling it by its Christian name three times. The Danish believed you could cure a werewolf simply by scolding it."

"Seriously?" asked Desmond.

"Worth trying in the right circumstances," I reasoned. "If the circumstances are safe, why not try it? Another possibility more widely held is that a genuine conversion to Christianity would cure lycanthropy."

"Your opinion?"

"I don't know that it won't work," I replied. "If the person is an involuntary werewolf, perhaps it could be effective. But if the person is a genuinely evil person, who enjoys doing damage with the additional physical power being a werewolf gives him, a gospel presentation would almost certainly fall on deaf ears."

"I am a churchman," commented Desmond.

"Not to offend you, my friend, but are you a Christian as well?" I asked.

"I am not offended," Desmond replied. "The question shows an insight into the modern church. Yes, I am a Christian as well."

"So am I," I replied. "Sometimes it is hard to reconcile that with being a so-called hired gun, but so am I. I guess I'm one of those 'praise the Lord and pass the ammunition' types. I love the Lord, but I don't know that a conversion to Christianity is always possible."

"I'm Presbyterian, a Calvinist," said Desmond. "Believing that God's people are predestined to believe, to me it would be a question of whether our werewolf is predestined or not."

"A point of some debate in the church," I replied. "I believe salvation is available to everyone, but depends on that person's repentance and faith. The trouble these days is, the very miracles that made Christianity believable in the beginning make Christianity seem far-fetched now, in our more rational age. So a conversion to Christianity is not always an easy thing. Personally, I never gave much thought to the miracles; God being God, it would be more unrealistic if He couldn't do miracles. For me the question was, is Jesus who he said he was, and when I had that resolved, I believed. But it wasn't an instant process for me and I suspect it wouldn't be for most people."

"I guess I grew up always believing," said Desmond. "Could we try getting an evangelist in, though?"

"Of course we could," I replied. "I'm willing to try anything to avoid killing. Besides, a person that has realized he is a werewolf is probably going to be less sceptical about miracles."

"What other cures do we have?" asked Desmond.

"In medieval times they tried to cure lycanthropy with wolf's bane, which is aconite. I'd be concerned about trying that because aconite is a deadly poison. However, before I came I picked up _Pao Zhi_ , processed aconite that is non-toxic. It is used in Ayurvedic medicine, by the Hindus. I think it might work."

"Any other options?" asked Desmond.

"There are a couple of other things they would try, for example, surgery," I continued, "but I have no idea of the details of the surgery. They would try exorcism. The Catholic Church still has exorcists I'm told, but I don't know how we could ever get one. Then there are the more violent cures, like striking the werewolf on the forehead or scalp with a knife, or driving nails through its hands."

Desmond winced. "Gosh, would we ever do something like that?"

"If there is an option, other than killing, I will try it," I replied. "I would prefer only to kill if my own life, or someone else's life, is in immediate danger. I'm not here just to take the problem away, but to try to take it away in the best, most moral way I possibly can."

"I respect that," answered Desmond. "But you know, we're getting into human rights violations at some point here."

"We're probably into human rights violations, so to speak, once we go beyond calling the person's Christian name three times," I commented. "I don't think the werewolf will complain if we manage to cure it rather than kill it."

When we arrived at Desmond's house, I met his wife, Andrea, and opened my package from Dean. All present and accounted for; with certain bits illegal in Canada. The Ruger SR9 and the suppressor; three boxes of nine millimetre ammunition, each clearly marked; silver, half-powder, full-powder; and two beautiful Ruger Blackhawks with the nine millimetre cylinders already installed, with a beautiful set of holsters on a gun belt.

"Here's the last option," I commented to Desmond, "but maybe the only one we'll have the chance to use. Is there anywhere I can go to sight these in?"

In an hour, I found myself in an abandoned woodlot, far away from the village or any other civilization. "It's my land," said Desmond. "It was my father's land, and his father's land before that. I used to get my firewood here."

I started with the SR9, and 145 grain ammunition. I loaded the clip and noticed that it could hold seventeen rounds, not the ten round limit that was the law in Canada. It only took four shots to realize it was shooting fine as it was, with no adjustments required. For curiosity's sake I replaced the four rounds I had shot with half-powder bullets. I shot one and the gun cycled fine, and at this short distance, it hit the target in the same group as the full-powered rounds, which pleased me. I shot another with the same result. On the third shot, I had a failure to cycle; the round hadn't been strong enough to fully power the gun's slide. I did the normal recovery routine with a semi-automatic: tap the bottom of the magazine and rack the slide. The fourth shot also failed to cycle the gun. I took out the magazine and replaced the fired rounds with three full-powder rounds, and racked the remaining bullet out of the gun and added it to the magazine.

"Is something wrong with the gun?" asked Desmond.

I shook my head. "No. I have the silver bullets with a lower-powder load so hopefully they won't leave the body of the werewolf if I have to shoot him, the idea being to keep the silver in the body. This gun will work fine with regular ammunition, but I won't be using it for werewolf hunting."

"What will you use it for?" Desmond asked, puzzled.

"Nothing, if I don't need to," I replied. "Humans, if we have a problem with humans. I don't anticipate a problem with humans but you never can tell."

With that, I put on the gun belt with the holsters, loaded the two Blackhawks with half-powder ammunition, and holstered them. I stood before the target, then drew smoothly, cocking the hammer as I drew, and fired. Re-cocked, and fired again, and repeated that. The gun was very smooth, very nice to use. It fit my hand to perfection. And at this distance, it seemed sighted in just fine. I walked about ten feet back, and fired three more. Then it was time to eject the spent casings and load fresh cartridges. This took maybe thirty seconds to do. If I got into a serious fight with these, the slow unloading and reloading process could be a problem.

I repeated the process with the second Blackhawk, then tried them both with full-powder rounds. At close-quarters range, which is where the fighting would most likely occur, there seemed to be really no significant difference in trajectory. The half-powder rounds weren't hitting as hard, but that was all the difference there was.

I got my left hand into the action, using my left thumb to cock the hammer while shooting with the right hand. Reload. Try again, more or less fanning the hammer. Reload. Again, a little slower. I figured I could actually fire successive rounds with the Blackhawk as fast, or faster, than I could with the semi-automatic.

The guns, having been tried, had all pleased me, but for werewolf hunting with the lower-powder silver-jacketed bullets, it was going to be the Blackhawks.

"I'm ready, let's head home," I said to Desmond.
Chapter Five

After a delicious meal with Desmond and his wife Andrea, I slept in their guest room. I arose the next day to meet an RCMP officer who had volunteered to go around with me.

"Constable Rick Nolan, please meet Creighton Zee," Desmond introduced us. We shook hands.

"Rick, you should be aware that I am carrying concealed right now," I said.

"I was warned I'd have to make some exceptions for you," Rick replied. "May I see the weapon?"

I pulled my new Ruger Blackhawk from its holster and handed it over. "Take care, it's loaded," I said. "It isn't on an empty cylinder, either," I added. "Rugers don't need that, they have a transfer bar."

"A cowboy gun?" Rick asked doubtfully, looking it over. "Can you shoot fast enough with this thing if you need to?"

"Yes," I replied. "You can shoot very fast with a single-action revolver, if you're of a mind to and have worked on it some."

"Kind of laborious to load and unload," Rick commented.

"I have to make those six shots count," I confirmed.

He handed it back. "I don't know how to unload this thing. What are you shooting in it?"

I opened the loading gate and used the ejection rod to pop out a round.

"A silver bullet," he said, his voice in awe of it.

"It's actually a lead bullet with a silver jacket," I said.

Rick Nolan shook his head. "I cannot believe that we're looking for a werewolf."

"Maybe we're not looking for a werewolf, but better safe than sorry," I replied. I pushed the round back into the cylinder, closed the loading gate and holstered the gun. "They're nine millimetre rounds, same as you fire in your auto; do you want some?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "Keep them. No offense, but I'm not that sold that there is really a werewolf involved here."

"None taken," I replied. "So, what I want to do today, to start with, is visit the mother of the first victim, then the parents of the second victim."

"We can do that. You know we already questioned these people?"

"Of course you did," I replied. "I may have a different take on it."

"I don't doubt it," Rick replied. "We certainly didn't come at it from a perspective of believing in werewolves. Let's talk and ride."

"I'm all for that," I said, a bit relieved that Rick was okay with me questioning the families again. We bid farewell to Desmond and we rode out to the lady's place in Rick's squad car.

Rick began briefing me as soon as we were rolling. "This first woman's name is Sue Derderian. She had two kids, Joey—the one who died—and Amy, the little girl who is still alive. Ages 12 and 10. Something you should know, the child who was killed most recently is a cousin of the first."

"Whoa—that's interesting," I said. "We might have some nutcase who's after that family. I wonder why the town councillors didn't bring that up."

"We've ordered them to keep the details secret," Rick replied. "It's actually kind of nice to know they took our orders seriously. That order applies to you, too."

"Of course," I replied. "So how close a cousin would the second dead child be?"

"First cousin. Sue's brother's kid."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "You talk to Sue Derderian since?"

"No. Listen, something wrong happened with the Derderian interview. Her brother was mad as hell at us when we went to see him. When she started talking werewolves—look, we meant it as a caution. We told her not to spread that story around or Child Services would take her kids. This was not a threat, it was a reality. Sue has had a lot of boyfriends over the years, and her trailer's a mess, I'm pretty sure she's clean but some of the boyfriends might have been into drugs, and here we have a murder. We just didn't want her blabbing that werewolf stuff around and getting herself in even worse trouble.

"Anyway, we go to see her brother when his kid is found dead and he says, 'you gonna try to take my effing kids, too,' going on like that, okay? We were trying to help that lady keep her kid. It's the only thing she's got left, you understand?"

"Yeah, I do," I replied, feeling badly for my snap judgement of the events before I had come out here.

"I'm telling you this so you understand, we might not be very well received. She might not want to talk to us."

"She'll want to talk," I said.

"Wish I was as confident as you are," Rick commented as he turned into a driveway. We were at Sue Derderian's run-down trailer. It was surrounded by woods. Clothes hung out on a clothesline that ran from the back step to a post. An old, rusted out Suzuki Swift sat in the driveway, it's original red colour now a faded memory. There was a scattering of Tonka toys in the front yard, all boy toys from what I could tell. Joey's toys. They would serve as a painful reminder for her, but she wouldn't be able to bring herself to pick them up. Not yet.

We exited the car and went to the front step in silence, where Rick gave a rapid three tap knock on the door. The door opened, revealing a dark complected, dark eyed woman with long dark hair. She was quite pretty and had a nice figure. I supposed that was probably necessary attribute for attracting the kind of men who were interested only in your body and what sorts of fun they might have with it.

I spoke first. "Susan Derderian?"

"Yes?" she said warily, her dark eyes flicking from me to the uniformed policeman with me.

"I am a werewolf hunter, and I believe your story. May we come in? I have some questions."

Rick looked at me with widened eyes as Sue opened the door.

"Thank God someone believes me," she said as we came inside.

"I can't speak for Constable Nolan or for the RCMP, but yes, I am here because I believe a werewolf is operating here," I said.

"Please, sit down," she said, pulling chairs back from her kitchen table. The mini-home was somewhat messy inside but I had seen worse. She may have done some cleaning up after she perceived possible trouble with Child Services. They could come to your home on short notice, and she may not have realized she had the right to refuse. "I will make coffee," she said.

"Oh, I appreciate that," I said.

"Much obliged, ma'am," said Rick. I considered for a moment whether he had watched a lot of _Gunsmoke_ as a child; but then, having seen my cowboy-style single action revolver, he may have been wondering the same thing about me. I put it out of my mind and concentrated on Sue Derderian.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," I said, meaning it.

"It has been very hard," Sue replied.

"We must keep our talk of werewolves between ourselves," I said. "The town council brought me here, so I think they must believe that your story is at least a possibility. But if someone starts talking werewolves publicly, a lot of people who don't believe in this might get involved and cause a lot of trouble. Trouble for you, and trouble for those of us who want to get to the bottom of what really happened."

"I understand," she said. She looked at Rick Nolan. "Are you going to cause trouble?"

"No, ma'am," said Rick. "I am here to accompany Mr. Zee, and that's all," he added, gesturing to me.

"I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. Creighton Zee. Please call me Creigh," I said, shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Creigh," she responded. The kettle whistled. Sue poured us coffee and sat with us at the table.

"Where is your daughter?" I enquired.

"She is with my mother," Sue replied. "I—I have been very depressed since losing Joey. I needed a break." She looked sharply at Nolan. "Not a permanent break from my child," she warned.

Nolan raised his hands, saying, "We're not here to take your child."

"You seem exhausted," I commented. I was thinking her daughter probably needed her mom about as much as Sue needed a break.

"I am very tired," she allowed. "It is so stressful. It is stressful losing a child. It is stressful making funeral arrangements, and trying to pay for the funeral now that it is past, and being a suspect in your own child's murder. It is stressful thinking no one believes you."

"Your boyfriend is not here?" I asked.

"He's gone. He doesn't want trouble with the law."

"It's stressful breaking up, too," I commented.

She blew out her breath. "I am used to this. Spineless men. I date spineless men. Worthless men. They take what they want and they move on."

"So, you've got your mother, and no one else to lean on?"

"My brother. My father was a worthless man, just like the worthless men I date."

"Do you want anyone here while we talk? Your brother, perhaps?" I asked.

"No, it is fine," Sue replied, her tiredness reflected in her voice.

"You can probably tell from my accent that I'm not from around here," I said.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"The east coast," I replied. "I don't know the name Derderian. If you don't mind my asking, what ethnicity is that?"

"I don't mind," she replied. "It is Armenian."

That twigged something in my memory of werewolf lore, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"My name is Dutch. It used to be 'van der Zee' but when my family moved here, oh, five or six generations ago, they changed it to just Zee."

She smiled, sipped her coffee. I had tried to buy a little time but still couldn't quite remember; there was something specific about the Armenian folklore concerning werewolves but I could not recall what it was.

"So, I want to ask you some questions about the time leading up to your son's passing."

"Okay."

"On the day of the murder, or a short time before it, did anyone ask you if they could take your son?"

She sat back in her chair. "What a peculiar question," she commented.

Rick Nolan looked me in the eyes momentarily, then looked away. I didn't know what if anything that meant.

"I can't think of anyone," she replied.

"These questions relate to the ways werewolves are believed to operate," I volunteered for Rick's benefit. "Sometimes they will ask if they can take your child in an innocuous context, but then later, when in werewolf form, take it as permission to take your child permanently. Are you sure nobody asked you, in any context, if they could take your child?"

She was giving it more thought now.

"Was anyone going someplace and asked if they could take Joey?"

She was shaking her head. "I thought maybe my ex boyfriend, but he didn't really have much to do with my kids."

"Have you had any unusual visitors?" I asked. Something registered in her eyes at that question, but it faded out. "No," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Nolan caught my eye again. This time, I got the message. There must have been an unusual visitor, but for some reason she wasn't saying. I nodded ever so slightly so he would know I got the message and agreed with it.

Suddenly it hit me. I remembered the Armenian folklore.

"We'd like to go over the story of what you saw that night, but first, I wanted to ask you if you had any article of clothing made with wolf fur or wolf skin."

Her eyes flicked to mine and held. "I may have a cap. Do you think that would attract a werewolf?"

"Would you mind going to get it, please?" I asked.

"All right," she said, pushing herself up from the table. She disappeared down the narrow hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"Be ready, Rick," I said in a low voice.

He looked puzzled. "What for?"

"I think she's our werewolf."

"What?"

"Do you see how exhausted she is? Exhaustion follows werewolf activity. In Armenian folklore, there's a story that—"

I was cut off by a menacing growl emanating from the back bedroom. I stood quickly, the chair falling to the floor behind me, and I drew the Blackhawk in a smooth, fluid motion, cocking it as I did so. In my periphery I could see Rick scrambling out of his chair and reaching for his sidearm, making incomprehensible sounds of his own.

She emerged from the bedroom, naked save for a complete wolf-skin. She had put on the wolf-skin, with the wolf's head sitting on top of her own. The body of the wolf continued down her body, its hind legs dangling next to her knees, the tail reaching almost to her ankles. Her pretty face had twisted into a snarl, and her chest was heaving with her deep, angry breaths.

"Susan! Susan! Susan!" I cried. Calling her Christian name three times did not work. To my left, Rick Nolan seemed frozen; by fear or by shock, I did not know, but for the moment, I had to consider my escort to be useless.

"I rebuke you, Susan!" I shouted. Apparently scolding her did not work either.

She went into motion and so did Rick Nolan. I had taken aim but had to hold my fire because he had gotten in the way, firing rounds into her chest. She reached him in an instant and threw him almost through the mini-home's wall.

She turned to me and I fired, cocked and fired again in fast succession. The Blackhawk is an extremely accurate gun, and my double-tap to the heart cut a single, gaping hole in her chest. She stumbled backward, and I took two steps forward, cocked again and fired once more, the bullet tearing an even wider gash between her breasts. With the third shot, she dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

I holstered the gun and went to Rick. "You all right?" I asked him.

"I think I broke some ribs," he said. "But I'm going to live. Did you see that?"

"I most certainly did," I replied.

"Was she a psycho or a real werewolf?"

"I'm thinking real," I said. "You got three rounds into her and it didn't even slow her down. She went down when I hit her with the silver bullets."

"Yeah, but, that happens sometimes. Nine millimetres don't have the best record for stopping people in one shot. It often takes several shots."

"I know," I said, "but it rarely takes more than two or three, and she took six." I looked back at her dead body. "It could go either way. Officially, it's got to be that she was a psycho."

Rick sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Help me up."

I helped him to his feet. I could tell it wasn't easy for him to get up with the cracked ribs.

"I have to call this in," Rick said. He walked out to his cruiser and did just that.
Chapter Six

The house was now a crime scene. I had to surrender my gun to an officer I didn't know, as it was now evidence. In theory I would get it back pretty soon, since I had been on the side of the officer who had been shot, but one never knew. Some people think the United States is gun crazy, and it might be true. Canada is gun crazy in the opposite way, it has a crazy level of restrictiveness. Following a traumatic multiple homicide in Montreal, Canada's already tight gun controls got even tighter, punishing the innocent and law abiding gun owners in place of the people who actually used guns for crime, and especially handgun owners, even though the killer had used an assault rifle.

Even if I didn't get my gun back, I still had the second Ruger Blackhawk I had bought, in addition to the SR9 Dean had sent, and they were in my luggage at Desmond's house. I found myself loving everything about the Blackhawk so far; I loved the accuracy, the tactile feel of the gun and the trigger. The reloading speed was an issue that stuck in the back of my mind. The SR9 Dean had sent me was more modern gun with a considerably stiffer trigger. My revolver preferences aside, the SR9 was an extremely reliable, high quality firearm, and as close to a revolver as possible in terms of reliability. I already knew it would malfunction on half-powder bullets, though, so I had disqualified it for use in werewolf hunting.

While we waited for the rest of the posse to arrive, I briefed Rick on a believable story for those who would be investigating the shooting. I had a long-standing cover as a paranormal researcher, and I had come to visit Susan Derderian because she had claimed to see a werewolf, and I had asked for an RCMP escort for protection in case she was crazy; and it turned out to be true. All of it was more or less true, apart from the fact that a few of the RCMP knew just who and what I was, and Sue Derderian was not insane, but a frightened werewolf who had been cornered and had attacked us like the wild animal that dwelt in that part of her nature.

In addition to being a town councillor, Desmond was also an attorney and so came to the crime scene as my representative. We sat together and I told him what had happened. Finally Rick Nolan came along and sat with us.

"How did you know she was the one?" he asked.

"If I'd known the name before I came out here, I might have pieced it together," I said. "In Armenian folklore, a woman who lives an immoral life of deadly sins can be condemned to spend seven years in the form of a wolf. According to the folklore, when that happens, a spirit comes to her, bringing a wolf-skin. The spirit makes the woman wear the wolf-skin, and wearing the wolf-skin. gives the woman an insatiable need to eat human flesh. She devours first her own children, then her relatives' children in order of relationship, closest first. Then she moves on to the children of strangers."

"So you figure she killed Joey, then moved on to her brother's kid," said Rick.

"Exactly," I replied. I looked at the dimming sky. "We've got to find out why she skipped Amy."

Both Rick and Desmond looked at me uncomprehendingly, so I explained. "Sue said she'd needed a break, and I guess Amy was with her grandmother when the second child killing occurred, but then the child who died, her nephew, wasn't with Sue Derderian either. Why did Sue skip her own daughter?"

"Let's find out for sure where Amy was when Ben Derderian's son was killed," said Rick. "Was she at home, or with her grandmother?"

"Susan Derderian may have been just a psychopath," said Desmond. "Maybe she liked the one kid, and didn't like the other one."

"It's possible," I allowed. "It could go both ways. She wore the wolf-skin, so she was possibly a psychopath familiar with the mythology, or she was the real thing. She exhibited tremendous strength, but sometimes psychopaths and even regular people exhibit extreme strength in stressful situations. How are your ribs, by the way, Rick?"

"I may have some cracks, according to the paramedics," he replied. "No breaks."

"That's good," I said before continuing, "Then she took three nine millimetre bullets without dying; I shot three silver bullets into her heart and she died. Was it because my bullets were silver, or was it shot placement, or was it just the number of rounds fired? Again, it can be explained with or without her being a werewolf."

They absorbed this information, and then I added, "There's another loose end that needs to be tied up. Where did she get that wolf-skin?"

"I hadn't thought about that," admitted Rick.

"Was she religious in any way? Maybe there's some kind of religious crackpot thing going on."

"I don't know," Rick said. "There were no clergy around for the interview when her child died."

"Who did the kid's funeral, do either of you know?" I said. "That would be her selection."

"Or maybe her mother's," commented Desmond. "Poor Sue wouldn't have been welcome in every church, I'm afraid." I looked at him for an explanation. "Her wandering ways," he added.

"She was kind of the town bicycle," Rick said matter of factly. "Except she ran through the boys who would have her in this town back in high school."

"Where did she meet her men after that?" I asked.

"She waitressed at a truck stop. Of course truck stops catch all kind of traffic, not just truckers." Rick considered his words. "I imagine the guys she picked up most frequently were wanderers. It would explain why they'd bed down with her for a while and then take off."

"There's a lead, if we can find some names," I said. "One of them might have been a werewolf, too. We'd need to see who she was with when the livestock first started showing up dead."

"Wait a minute," said Desmond. "I thought we had just come to a very rapid conclusion of this matter. Our werewolf was Sue Derderian. Isn't that it? Isn't it over?"

"Maybe we have found our only werewolf," I allowed. "Maybe this is just the tip of the iceberg. We don't know yet."

"Well, back to the church question, I can't remember who did the funeral, to my shame," said Desmond. "Must have been an out-of-towner. It was at the Norton funeral home, though, and the service was just like any other."

An RCMP officer approached with my gun in one hand and a cellphone in the other. "We've been ordered to give you back your weapon, sir," she said, "and there is a person who wants to speak to you."

I sighed and took the phone. "Creighton Zee here," I answered.

"Mr. Crazy," Jack said, almost fondly. He'd given me a codename based on my name, Creigh Zee. Jack was a laugh riot. I guess I didn't mind the name that much, I used it for anonymity with my answering service, too. "Get yourself away from any lookie-loos, if you would, I would like some private conversation."

I excused myself from Desmond and Rick and walked off a few paces. "What would you like to talk about, Jack?"

"Why didn't you call me when you killed the Derderian woman, Crazy? We could have sent a cleanup crew and been a bit less public about this. We have a deal about that, you know."

"I was with one of your officers at the time," I replied. "I didn't want to give away your position."

"I appreciate that, Crazy, but you should let me look after that kind of thing. Besides, we need good men like Rick Nolan in the arctic." He chuckled. I had a hard time reading Jack, sometimes. I didn't know if he was cracking a joke, or telling the truth and finding it funny.

His voice became serious. "The most important question is, was she a werewolf, Crazy?" he asked.

"Inconclusive," I replied. "It took six rounds to take her down. The rounds that finished the job were silver-jacketed."

"Silver-jacketed?" Jack said. "Damn, now I have to cover up the silver bullets, too. How many were silver?"

"Three," I replied. "I gave her three to the heart."

"You might create me an inordinate amount of paperwork sometimes, Crazy, but you sure can shoot well," said Jack, chuckling again.

"She also exhibited superhuman strength, but as you know, sometimes whack-jobs do, too."

"What are your next steps?"

"I'm going to assume she was a werewolf. So I'm going to try to find out where her contamination came from, and whether she has contaminated anyone else."

Jack was silent for a few seconds, then said, "From here on out I want you to use the collections people. I am positioning a team near your location. Use the same number as always."

"Okay."

"This may be over, or it may turn into a royal bloodbath, and I don't want a bunch of lookie-loos involved, whether she was a werewolf or a psycho," he said. "So no more going through normal channels. What's your read of Rick Nolan?"

"I think he can keep it zipped, if that's what you're asking."

"That's what I'm asking, Crazy. Anything else I can do for you?"

"I need a horse," I said. "Can you get me a horse?"

"We've got the resources of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Crazy; the key word being 'mounted.' We can probably get you a horse, don't you think?"

I chuckled. "I suppose so."

"What do you need a horse for, if you don't mind my asking? Or is it just to go with that gun you're packing?" He chuckled again—evidently he had heard about the "cowboy" gun.

"They get skittish around werewolves," I replied.

There was a long pause. "Is this a serious request?"

"Yes, it certainly is," I said. "I want to walk the horse around town and see if any houses stand out as possibly containing werewolves."

There was another pause. "I think Mr. Crazy is just the right code name for you," he said finally. "You lead a very bizarre life."
Chapter Seven

After I had spoken to Jack, I was free to go. It was now around 1:30 in the afternoon. Rick wanted to go to the hospital and get an X-ray to verify the state of his ribs, and I couldn't blame him for that. Still, I had a sense of urgency that we had to accomplish more things before nightfall, because there could be more potential werewolf attacks, and a trip to the emergency room was likely to take hours.

"I'd like to find out some things about Amy before nightfall," I said.

Rick looked back at me. "You killed her mother this morning, Creigh," he said. "Death notifications have been made. I appreciate the potential urgency of the situation, but I want you to stay away from this family today. They've lost three family members, and it looks like one of them killed the other two, and you killed the third. I don't think they'd be in a great mood to see you."

I was a bit embarrassed about my own lack of empathy. I was on a quest at this point and trying to minimize the damage to this community, and I had forgotten all about the sensitivity of the situation. I needed to slow down and think about what more could be discovered in the time I had before sundown.

"Okay, you're right, I'm sorry," I said. "You know what we can find out before nightfall, though? We can see if we can get a dental match on the bite-marks on the dead children, and Sue Derderian's teeth. We can verify that she's the culprit."

"That's good," said Rick. "The forensic people may have thought of it already, but I'll call that one in."

"I'll hitch a ride back to town with Desmond," I said, and turned to go. I had a thought, and turned back. "Do you want some silver bullets now?" I asked.

Rick paused thoughtfully, then drew his weapon, removed his magazine, and started removing rounds. I took a handful of spare bullets from my pocket and counted out ten. Rick started loading my silver bullets into his magazine. "RCMP gun magazines can actually take fifteen rounds," he said, so I counted out five more.

"I have to warn you, they're half-powder loads and don't necessarily cycle well in a semi-automatic." I said. "You might have to rack the slide by hand to get your gun to reload. So watch out for that."

He racked the slide before re-holstering his weapon. "Thanks," he said briefly, and got into his car.

I turned and walked over to Desmond's car. "Hitch a ride back to town?" I asked.

"Sure, get in," he said. "I'm ready to be out of here, too."

I sat in beside him, and he started the car and pulled out.

"Rick figures I shouldn't bother the other members of the family right now," I commented.

"That's probably good thinking," said Desmond.

"The problem is, we might have more werewolf attacks tonight. We just don't know. We really don't know if we're dealing with werewolves at all, or if we are, whether there was more than one."

We sat in silence for a few moments.

"Let's go to the truck stop she worked at. Do you know which one it is?"

Desmond barked a short laugh. "There's only one," he said. He looked at me sagely over his glasses. "It's called 'Eat'."

That made me laugh, for whatever reason. Took away some of my inner tension, I guess.

"Do you mind coming with me on this?" I asked.

"No, not at all," he said. "It might help for me to be there, even, I'm there for breakfast every Saturday."

"Excellent," I said. "There's one more thing, is there a motel anywhere nearby?"

"What's the problem, don't like the company?" Desmond asked, still in a jocular vein.

"You might not like the company I could be getting tonight," I replied.

Desmond looked at me, puzzled. "Who?"

"Pissed off werewolves, that's who," I answered.

"You can't be serious?" he asked.

"If there is some kind of werewolf pack operating here, they might know who killed one of their number," I said. "There could be an attack."

Desmond thought this over. "Well, if they know that, they'll probably find out who you were staying with, too," he said. "I think I'd prefer my chances if you were at my house in that scenario."

I thought that over. "That is a good point," I replied. "Have you ever handled a handgun before?"

"No," he said, "never have."

"Maybe we should see if Rick will stay over," I said.

"He's got a young family," Desmond replied. "Family-to-be, anyway. His young wife's pregnant."

"Well, we might be fine without him, I guess," I decided.

"Here it is, up on the right," Desmond pointed out. The building looked pretty good, well lit with a few gas and diesel pumps out front. There were a couple of tractor-trailers parked, but it was mid-afternoon and the place wasn't very busy. We found a parking spot and went inside.

The smell of the place immediately made me realize I was hungry. "What's the food like here?" I asked.

"Truckers don't go places where the food is no good," Desmond replied with a slight smile.

We found a table and when a waitress came over, Desmond took her hand. "Katie, I have some bad news," he said.

"Sue Derderian," Katie said.

"Yeah, Sue Derderian. Did you know her well?"

"Well, yeah, we did a lot of shifts together," she said. "Is it true, she killed her own boy, and her brother's boy?"

"That hasn't been verified yet," I interjected. She looked at me like I was from outer space.

"We think so, dear, we think so," said Desmond.

"I never would have figured her for that," said Katie, in a wistful tone of voice. "She was a little boy crazy, was all." She looked at me again. "Just a little boy crazy."

"Do you know who her most recent boyfriends were?" I asked.

"She met them all here, you know," Katie said quickly. She glanced around the room to check the status of the two other customers before sitting down. "She'd wear her skirt pretty short, they'd strike up a conversation. She never had no trouble picking up men."

I sat and waited for her to say more. It didn't take long.

"I called them her turtle skirts," she said kind of wistfully.

I looked at Desmond, a puzzled expression on my face. He shook his head; he didn't know what she was talking about either.

"Whenever she bent over, people could see her snapper," she added, laughing, slapping her knee.

I sighed. "Katie, we could really use some names," I said.

"Billy Davies, that was the latest one."

"About when did that start?" I asked.

"Three weeks, maybe," she replied. Not long enough to be our werewolf.

"The one before that?"

"Ralph," she said. "What was his last name? Hendricks. That's it, Ralph Hendricks."

"How long did that one go on?" I asked.

"Two months before that."

Desmond and I locked eyes over the table. That was a perfect match for the time-frame in which the dead animals started showing up.

"Before that?" I asked.

"She had a dry spell for a couple of months there. Before that it was Bobby—Bobby—I can't remember his last name."

"That's okay, it's probably not important. Ralph Hendricks and Billy Davies," I repeated, jotting it down in the Memo application on my cell phone.

"That's them," she said.

"Can we get a menu?" asked Desmond.

"Well, sure, sugar, but I thought you knew everything on it by now," said Katie.

"For my guest," said Desmond, graciously, gesturing to me.

"Oh!" Katie giggled. "Of course!"

"If you've got a burger and fries, I'll have that," I said.

"We sure do! What do you want on the burger, Hon?"

When we had both ordered and were eating, I said, "I'm going to have to get Rick to look into those two names."

"Call him," said Desmond. He recited a cell number that I keyed into my phone.

When Rick Nolan answered, I said, "Hey Rick, how are you doing?"

"Creigh. I'm okay, I got the X-rays done. I could have sworn my ribs were cracked, but they say they're just sore, and I got some cuts and bruises but that's it. I'm feeling pretty good, actually, way better than I thought I would tonight. I'm on my way home now."

"Glad to hear it, Rick. Look, Desmond and I got the names of two of Sue Derderian's ex-boyfriends."

"You didn't go near the family, did you?" he asked warily.

"No, we got it from one of her co-workers at 'Eat'," I said, before adding, "Katie."

"Okay. Just a sec, I've got to pull over."

I waited.

"Okay, give me those names."

"Ralph Hendricks and Billy Davies," I said. "Billy was with her most recently, for about three weeks. It would be good to know where he is, if he's seen anything. Ralph Hendricks was with her for the past two months, which coincides with the time the livestock kills started."

"Got it," Rick said. "I'll call it in."

"You heading home, now?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Look, be a little careful tonight," I said. "If this is, you know—what we think it is..."

"Yeah, don't say it on a cell," Rick said.

"Well, if there's a—a gang of them—they might look for retaliation tonight," I finished.

There was a pause. "I hadn't thought of that," he said.

"Do you want to bring your wife over to Desmond's place? We could keep watch overnight."

"No, she wouldn't understand. Aspects of this case are still confidential," he replied. "But thanks, I'll keep one eye open. I have an alarm system, so if anybody tries to get in, I'd know about it."

"Excellent," I replied. "Have a good night, Rick."

"You too, Creigh. 'Night."

I ended the call. "He's got an alarm system," I said.

"So do we," said Desmond. "I have a proximity alarm."

"I might be able to get some sleep after all," I said. After a moment, I asked, "Why do you have a proximity alarm?"

"I'm a lawyer, Creigh," he said. "We're not always popular people. Heck, I even have a safe room."
Chapter Eight

The night passed uneventfully, which was something of a surprise to me. I didn't sleep very well, because I was in battle ready mode. I didn't entirely trust the proximity alarm until I learned that it would also go off if the power went out. I thought perhaps a smart werewolf might cut the power to disable the alarm, but even that wouldn't allow one to get in unnoticed.

I came downstairs to find that Andrea had laid out a breakfast. The phone rang and Desmond answered it. I eyed a stack of pancakes with great anticipation that shrank when I saw the look on Desmond's face.

"Rick Nolan did not show up for work this morning, and he hasn't reported in."

I put my hand to my forehead and rubbed for a moment. "Do you know where he lives?" I asked.

Desmond nodded.

"Tell them not to worry, that we'll check in on him and report anything there is to report," I said.

We were in Desmond's car in short order, heading over to Rick's place. When we arrived, there were two RCMP squad cars in the driveway and the door of the house was open. They hadn't listened to me, and came anyway. As Desmond shut off the car, a constable bolted out the back door with his hand over his mouth, then vomited noisily over the railing to the ground.

"Best stay in the car," I said, as I got out. I kind of wished I could stay in the car myself. I went up the stairway into the house, willing my legs forward even as my mind wanted nothing to do with what I imagined I was about to see.

When I entered the house, the scene was even worse than I had imagined. I paused, bent at a ninety degree angle at the waist, squeezed my hands between my legs, and breathed deeply, hoping to clear my nausea.

I figured I might as well do something productive while pointedly not looking at the scene, so I dialled the number for collections.

"Code name?" said the operator.

"Mr. Crazy," I replied. "Use my current GPS coordinates for the location."

"Dispatching." The phone was hung up.

Collections didn't need to ask any questions. The idea of collections was to collect dead bodies, and if possible, erase all evidence of a killing. Their work would be cut out for them this time.

I willed myself to walk through the horror that was in the living room. Rick Nolan's wife was in there, in pieces. Her pregnant belly had been torn out. The foetus had been bitten, sampled and discarded, like an apple. I stopped and willed myself not to gag. She had definitely been torn apart by a werewolf. None of the body parts scattered about the blood spattered room were Rick's.

I realized that I had not drawn my weapon and felt stupid for my distracted carelessness. I drew and cocked the revolver, and started up the stairs slowly, mindful that even a small creak in a stair might alert a werewolf to my presence. When I reached the top I could see that Rick Nolan, dead but not torn apart, was propped up against a wall in the hallway. He was naked.

I reconnoitred the whole upstairs floor to ensure that I was alone before I inspected Rick's body. He had shot himself in the heart with one of my silver bullets.

I sat on my haunches before his corpse, thinking: _He said he had some cuts and bruises. Some of those cuts must have been scratches from Sue Derderian. He changed into a werewolf, killed his own wife, and when coming back to himself and seeing what he had done, killed himself with the silver bullet he knew he would need to use in order to die._

I engaged the safety on his service pistol, then pried it from his dead hand. I ejected the magazine, and pulled back the slide to empty the round in the chamber. The round was an empty; his gun hadn't cycled either from shooting the half-powder load. At least that saved me from looking around for an empty shell casing. I removed the silver bullets from the magazine and put them into my pocket. He had used only the one silver bullet. I didn't want to let any silver-jacketed ammunition go to waste. Not only did I not want to lose the rather high cost ammunition, I also didn't want it left behind as evidence and I didn't want to find myself fifteen rounds short of what I needed at the end of the mission.

My cell rang, and I answered. It was Jack.

"You called collections, Mr. Crazy?"

"Just a second, please, Jack," I said. I put down my phone, and replaced the magazine in Rick's gun, disengaged the safety and put it back in his hand.

Thinking of those cuts and bruises, I looked at his torso. Not a cut or bruise to be found. I pressed on his ribs experimentally. Not that I could tell, but I figured his cracked ribs were healed as well. He had gained the recuperative powers of the werewolf.

I picked up my cell, stood, and told Jack what had happened as I looked out a window overlooking the front yard.

"What's going on?" asked Jack. "More werewolves?"

"In a way," I replied. "It looks like Rick Nolan killed his wife and unborn child, then killed himself. He left a horrific mess behind. It looks like he tore out the foetus and took a bite."

"How did he kill himself?"

"After yesterday's events, he was willing to accept a magazine of silver nine millimetres," I said. "He used one of them on himself."

"I presume you have already collected Constable Nolan's unused silver bullets," said Jack.

"I did," I replied. "I then put the gun back in his hand as it would have been if he'd fired one round into himself with an empty magazine."

"Good lad," said Jack. "We're going to have to just call this a domestic murder-suicide. No forensics will be collected so that should be the end of that. Would the other Constable present be able to give a different story?"

"I don't think so," I said. "When I got here, he was already inside, but he immediately came out and barfed over the railing. I don't think he made it past the living room."

"Anyone else?"

"Desmond Garner is out in the car. He never left the car. There are two squad cars in the driveway, but I've only seen one officer."

"The first squad car is Rick Nolan's, of course," said Jack. "I'm glad you looked out for your friend by keeping him from seeing anything classified. Do you think this is over now?"

"Rick Nolan's lycanthropy is probably attributable to a scratch from Sue Derderian," I said. "I think the questions are, who infected Sue, and who else did Sue infect. I don't think there is still a question of whether she was a werewolf or a psychopath."

"I could argue that maybe Sue was just a psycho, and Rick Nolan coincidentally went psycho, because this was his first officer-involved shooting," replied Jack.

"From here on the ground, I don't think so, but it should be a convincing story for anyone else."

"Why are you so sure?" Jack asked.

"Those cuts and bruises he got yesterday? They're all gone. I'm willing to bet his ribs aren't cracked anymore, either."

Jack hummed into the phone, thinking. "I could have our forensics team check that," he said.

"Look, I'd better get Desmond out of here before the collection team shows up," I said.

"Yeah, do that. Anything else you need from me, or have for me?"

"There are one of two people who may have infected Sue. The most likely guy is named Ralph Hendricks. He came to town and got together with her about the time the livestock issues started. After Hendricks, she was with another guy, Billy Davies. He's gone, now, too, but he may have infected her or been infected by her."

"Okay, we'll keep an eye out for these two," said Jack. If past experience with Jack was any indication, he meant it.

"Another loose end here is why Sue Derderian broke the pattern and ate her brother's child before eating one of her own children," I said. "She ate her boy and not her girl, and I want to know why."

"I'll leave that one in your court. Anything else?"

"Nothing. Thanks, Jack."

He chuckled. "Don't mention it," he said, and hung up. I wasn't supposed to mention Jack, or what he did, to anyone, so it was a little bit of an inside joke. He'd been using it for years.

I went back down the stairs and left the house. Somehow it was easier to go through the horrific living room the second time. I suppose this may have been because I didn't have to look closely for any clues in the wreckage that had been Rick Nolan's wife and unborn child. Upon leaving the house, I found Desmond trying to comfort the officer who had blown his breakfast.

"You, stay here and wait for forensics," I said to the constable. "Don't go back in the house. Desmond, we're leaving now."

Desmond picked up on my urgency and left the young Mountie's side to get in his car.

"What's the rush, Creigh?" he asked.

I thought for a moment of making up a white lie, but then decided on the truth. "I can't tell you for your own safety and for national security reasons. Just get the car moving and get us out of here. Some people are arriving that you must not see."

"That young man—" he began.

"The people coming are RCMP, or at least, government agents at some level. He'll be okay, he's one of them. We are not."

Desmond paused. "All right," he said, and put the car in drive.

A few kilometres down the road, he commented, "I've kind of wondered sometimes if there really are government coverups of things like UFO's and other strange events."

"Keep wondering," I replied. "Don't ever let them know that you know about them."

We rode in silence for a few moments, before I added, "Knowing about them has been both a blessing and a curse for me. If they didn't have any use for me, I don't know if they would have let me live. Even then, still I know so little about them that if I told the world everything I knew, they'd just say I was a kook."

We drove in silence for another kilometre before Desmond asked, "May I ask how you found out about them? Knowing that I can never tell. I can never satisfy anyone else's curiosity, just my own."

"They found out about me first," I said. "I wasn't even on a case. I was taking some time off, hiking and camping. I had been through a nasty divorce; had next to no money left, my house and all my furniture, gone. My wife had kicked me out after falsely alleging spousal abuse to get the police to take me from my own home. I was never charged; she had no wounds to show because nothing had ever happened. Even that was strategic, though, because if I had been charged, I could have proven in a court with a high standard of evidence, the criminal court, that I was innocent. The family court, on the other hand, has no standard of evidence and freely admits perjury as if it was truth.

"After she, her lawyer, and the unjust family court system were done destroying my finances, I was sick of the world, and the injustice in it. Something happened to one of my friends, another situation of total injustice. There was no connection to me, so I was free to do something about it—and I did. After that, I decided to take a break from it all to get my bearings. Get back to nature and all that, get a bit of distance between me and what I had done for my friend. I took a long vacation from the job I had at the time and went to the woods.

"One night I thought there was a bear in my camp; there were things being knocked over. I had taken along my first handgun—not this one, a Ruger GP100 double-action revolver, a .357 magnum—in case I had to defend myself against something wild, like a bear. Of course, that's an illegal use of a handgun in this country, but I didn't care; I didn't figure I'd be running across any police in the deep woods. I saw light reflecting on eyes, eyes that were too wide apart to ever be human, and I fired. When I got close with a light, I found out I had bagged a Bigfoot. A sasquatch.

"I don't know how Jack's team knew it had happened. I guess in retrospect, maybe the sasquatch had some kind of transmitter on him. However they knew, they came in the night.

"Their first order of business was to get rid of me, because I had seen the sasquatch. I was all keyed up though, and I had the gun in my hand in the sleeping bag with me when I heard them approaching. I thought it was another sasquatch, so I fired into the ground, trying to scare it away. When there was return fire, I knew the thing coming was no sasquatch. I fired another shot to hold them off, and got out of there as quick as I could.

"There was a pursuit team following me, shooting, sometimes in full automatic. I didn't return fire once I was running because I figured if I gave away my position, they'd turn me into Swiss cheese. I seemed to run forever, but eventually I did get clear of them. They broke up and went in separate directions to find me.

"I got the drop on one of them. I was behind a tree he came around, and I put the barrel of my magnum right behind his ear, cocked it, and said, 'Don't move, don't make a sound. I never saw that sasquatch, and I never saw you, or anyone else on your team. We both walk away from here, you live, I live, and this is all over.' He took the deal. I took his weapon and kept my gun pointed at him until I was a safe distance away, dropped his gun and disappeared into the woods. He didn't follow.

"I slept in a cave that night. The next morning, I crept back to the camp very carefully, and found the sasquatch was gone. I managed to follow the trail of the people who had taken it away. They had taken it to an old woods road and driven off with it. I later learned that this is a group that eliminates evidence of things and events that the public might find unsettling. Especially the paranormal."

I paused, then added, "I may be the only person alive outside of the collection team and government agents that knows about them. Well, now, you, too."

"Then that Mountie back there—will he be all right?"

"He should still be okay. He is, after all, a government agent. They'll tell him they have it under control and send him away, maybe thank him for babysitting the site until they got there. He won't actually see what they do."

I sighed before continuing the story. "Somehow, they were able to figure out who I was, and did some research on me. Once I got back to civilization, I got a call from this high-up guy who had figured out not only who I was, but what I had done to my friend's enemy, and said I could do this work and keep living on one condition, that I would work for him whenever he needed me, and I would always allow the collection team to clean up the hard evidence of any paranormal things I dealt with. I took the deal. Little did I know then how much of the paranormal is real. This high-up guy has sent a few items of work my way since then, and the pay is such that I don't need a day job anymore."

"So, those people—they're cleaning up that place back there," said Desmond.

"Remember what the Lord told Lot's wife," I said. "Don't look back."

"That sounds like good advice," said Desmond. "Especially in this case."
Chapter Nine

I got Desmond to take me to the RCMP barracks responsible for patrolling his community, where I reported that a probable murder suicide had taken place, and that it appeared that Rick Nolan had killed his wife and then himself, but to keep it quiet because higher ups were investigating and until ballistics tests were conducted, we couldn't know for sure. I already knew what the outcome of the investigation would be but I wanted to head off any gossip before the collections team was finished.

I enquired as to the status of the investigation on Sue Derderian's property, and asked for another RCMP officer to accompany me for my protection as I performed my duties for the town. I was told that a forensics team was combing through Sue Derderian's property, and had been all night. Sue's bite mark was to be compared to the bite marks on the victims, but there was no news yet. I was also turned down for another officer, as all hands were now busy. I asked for the horse I wanted and got nothing more than an eye-roll.

I also enquired as to whether any livestock kills had taken place overnight, and found that none had yet been reported. This was a good sign that possibly, Sue Derderian had only infected Rick Nolan, and that at least two of my other suspected werewolves, Ralph Hendricks and Billy Davies, were not operating as werewolves in this territory. I did have a third suspected werewolf: Amy Derderian. I decided that I could wait no longer, and had to try to find out something about Amy, with or without RCMP accompaniment.

We left the barracks and I turned to Desmond and said, "I'm tying you up today, and you have other things to do. I should rent a car and continue on my own."

"You know, I should go into the office anyway and see how things are going," he said. "Just take my car."

I weighed that in my mind. I didn't want Desmond's car to get filled with bullet holes, but I figured the mission of finding out something about Amy Derderian shouldn't be a high risk one. "I guess so," I said. "I shouldn't get in any scrapes today. Pardon the expression."

So I took Desmond's car and went to the Norton funeral home to enquire as to who had performed Joey Derderian's funeral. It had been an out of town minister, the one who had performed Joey's baptism as a baby. He had since moved on to another pastorate, but Sue had requested him for the funeral and he had done it. I had no idea where the church was in relation to where I was—not being from this area, the names of communities didn't tell me much about how near or far away they were. So I got a phone number, went to the car for privacy, and called.

When the phone was answered, I asked to speak to Reverend Matheson.

"Speaking."

"My name is Creighton Zee," I said. I told him the name of the community I was investigating on behalf of. "I imagine you have heard about the events yesterday concerning Sue Derderian."

"Yes, that was a tragedy," he replied. "It has all been a tragedy. Are you the person who shot her?"

"Yes, I am. I regret that, sir, I sincerely do, but I was protecting my life and trying to protect the life of the RCMP constable who was with me."

"I understand that," he said. "I imagine it is very hard on you, too."

"It is, sir," I replied. "My reason for calling is to enquire concerning the well-being of her surviving daughter, Amy," I said. "She has lost her brother, cousin and mother in a very short time frame. I'm very concerned about what harm all this has caused her."

"She was traumatized by the loss of her brother," Matheson commented. "I haven't seen or heard from the family since Joey's funeral."

"I was hoping you might know who ministers to them here, that I might be able to—" I sighed. "I don't know what I might be able to do. Whatever I can do to reduce her suffering."

"You are not the cause of their suffering," said Matheson. "I know the investigation is continuing, as they say, but it was probably Sue who caused all the family's suffering. I'm quite sure, especially after speaking to you, that you did only what you had to do."

"I tried to get her to stop twice before I finally fired," I said. "I tried my best."

"You cannot expiate your own sins," said the reverend. "Only Christ can expiate sins."

"I do have to live with myself, however," I said. "Do you know who ministers to the family now?"

"Well, Sue herself never had much interest in church, it was her parents who were interested. She was sort of a rebel. I know they aren't involved in the church where I met them; they got in some sort of silly dispute over something minor, like new hymnals or pew Bibles or carpet colours, and left the church. It was Sue who asked for me to come, because I had baptized Joey. I'd seen him into the world, now she wanted me to see him out."

"What about her brother? Did he have any interest?" I asked.

"The brother is a some kind of Baptist, I think," he replied. "He didn't show up for the baptisms of her children, he figured they shouldn't be baptized until they had expressed their personal faith in Jesus, and he refused to attend. Sue enrolled both of her kids in Sunday School when they were of appropriate age, but didn't come to church herself."

"Would you mind finding out for me how Amy is doing?" I asked.

"No, I wouldn't mind. I probably should have contacted them already," he said. "They're obviously a family in pain needing help, and I don't know for sure if anyone ministers to them at this time. I'll find out how Amy is, and see if there is a local person you could see about how you could help."

"I would appreciate that very much," I said, and gave him my contact information.

He hung up and I sat for a moment, trying to think of something I could do while waiting for some of my ideas to pan out. The answer was 'nothing' so I decided to drive back to Desmond's office and give him his car back, and maybe see if there was a place to go for lunch while I waited for news.

I arrived in Desmond's parking lot when my cell phone rang. I answered; it was Reverend Matheson, getting back to me very quickly with news. He let me know that Amy Derderian was in the hospital's mental ward, catatonic since the night her brother was killed. I got the room number, and hung up, noting it down quickly on my cell's Memo application before I forgot it. Then I went inside the building.

When I arrived at Desmond's office, he was eager to take a lunch break too, so I had him take me to a restaurant near his office. We sat at a remote table in the corner, away from the lunchtime crowd.

"Now that we're away from any eavesdroppers," he said, "has there been any progress in the case?"

"I'm waiting on information on a few fronts," I said. I started to tell him about Amy Derderian when my phone began ringing; it was Jack. "I'm sorry, I'll have to take this in private. No offense."

"None taken," said Desmond, getting up and wandering away.

"Jack," I answered the phone.

"Well, Crazy, you don't have to worry any more about Billy Davies, he has shown up and he's definitely not a werewolf."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"I imagine most of him is in Sue Derderian's septic tank. A small portion of his remains were found in a shallow grave on her property. I think perhaps she buried some of his bones in the same way a dog would bury a bone to save it for later."

I registered this information, and asked, "Any news on the bite-marks, or on the location of Ralph Hendricks?"

"It was definitely Sue Derderian's bite imprint on her own son and her brother's son," said Jack. "We don't know for sure if she did the livestock but she's done all of the human victims we're aware of. As for Hendricks, we don't know his current location but we know he is travelling southeast of your location." He named the last community Hendricks had stayed in, and had gassed up in this morning.

"Will you call me next time he pays for something?" I asked.

"Yes," said Jack. "I want you to go get him personally, and alone, please, Crazy."

"I'll do that," I said.

"Do you have any information for me?" asked Jack.

"I have one piece of news for you. Amy Derderian, Sue Derderian's child, is in the mental ward in a nearby hospital. She has been catatonic since the night her brother was killed."

"Is she under observation?"

"The minister said she was under twenty-four/seven observation," I replied.

"So they're watching her closely enough that we know she's not going out at night as a werewolf," said Jack.

"I suppose so," I commented. "She probably saw her mother in werewolf mode when Sue killed her brother. She became catatonic and went to the hospital, where Sue couldn't get her, so Sue went after the child next closest in kin to her. It must have messed her up pretty bad to have to escape her own mother. I wonder why Sue said Amy was with her grandmother?" I asked.

"The stigma of mental illness, I suppose. I guess Sue lied without lying, precisely," Jack replied. "She may have figured a half truth would be more convincing than a complete lie."

"Okay. I think I can stop being worried about Amy, and I will try to position myself close to the last known location of Hendricks so I'll be ready when you call," I said. "Do you know what he's driving?"

"No, we're not showing anything registered to him."

"Maybe he's stealing cars, or driving an unregistered car," I replied.

"He may be a foreign national," added Jack. "I have people looking to see if we have tax records for this fellow to see if he even lives in Canada."

"Well, please call me if any new transactions show up, or any new information of any kind."

"I'll call," he said before hanging up.

I put away my phone and waved Desmond over.

"This is almost over," I said. "Sue's bite matches the bite marks on the two children killed. I was trying to tell you before that phone call, Amy is in the hospital's mental ward, catatonic since the night of the attack on her brother. I figure she probably saw the first killing and has been messed up by her experience ever since, and her mother, unable to get to her safely, moved on to her next closest child kin. Billy Davies is dead, he was killed and eaten by Sue. My contact has a line on Hendricks, they're watching him pay for products and places to stay, and he's southwest of here." I named the most recent town he had visited.

"I'm going to see where he beds down tonight, and go in and get him," I said. "Can you take me to the airport to get a rental car after lunch?"

"Will do," said Desmond.
Chapter Ten

I sat in the rental car, a big Ford Taurus, having just gassed up at the same gas station Ralph Hendricks had used that morning. Hendricks could have been close by, or hours away; there was no way to tell. He might check in to a motel; he might not. He might find some woman to stay with for a while, as he had with Sue Derderian.

I had bothered Jack again, to get a list of motels Ralph Hendricks had stayed in since leaving Sue Derderian behind. On my way here I went into each one, and asked the person behind the desk to describe him. So I had something of an idea what he looked like; he was around forty, with long curly hair and a moustache. One fellow described him as having a "seventies porn star look." I supposed that was the type the Sue Derderians of the world might find exciting.

There were also some useful behaviour patterns I discovered. All of the motels he had visited so far were along the same route number. He preferred low prices and motels that were in rural areas—perhaps so he could indulge in a feast of livestock. He was often late checking out the next day—possibly exhausted from his werewolf activities of the night before. He had not yet taken a woman to a motel, at least as far as the clerks knew. Every night since he had been with Sue had been accounted for, and he had stayed in motels for every one; he might stay up to three days in the same motel before moving on. He tended to eat in truck stops or restaurants near the highway.

I had cautious hopes he had not infected anyone else with lycanthropy.

He drove a fairly old General Motors model, a sedan, white in colour apart from the rust spots. One person thought it was a Buick Regal, and he guessed what brand my rental was correctly, whatever that was worth.

Based on his pattern, I decided that I would continue down the highway and check every likely motel along the route. I stopped at each one to see if the car was there, or a Ralph Hendricks had checked in. If the car was stolen, there was no guarantee he'd be driving the same car each time. At the third one, it was dusk.

I hit pay dirt at the fourth one, around 10:30 pm. There was a white, rusty Buick Regal in the parking lot. I parked and went to the office, flashed my private investigator license, and the clerk told me that Ralph Hendricks indeed had checked in to the motel.

"What is he, some kind of murderer or drug dealer or something?" the clerk asked.

"I'm finding him for his wife," I said. "You watch too much TV."

The clerk pouted, wishing that an equivalent to Charles Manson was staying at his hotel.

"Has he had any broads in there with him?" I asked, trying to sound like a stereotypical gritty private investigator.

"No," he said, still pouty and dejected.

"He still in there?" I asked.

"His car's here, ain't it?" asked the clerk. He had lost interest.

"Gimme a key for his room, I'll go down and take a look."

The clerk was now only half paying attention, his eyes being stolen by the TV. The commercials had ended and a game show was back on. "No way, man, not giving you a key without a warrant or something."

It was worth a try. "Okay, no phoning him to warn him though, okay?"

"Sure," he said, still watching the TV.

I walked down to Hendricks' room, unholstering the gun along the way. The lights and television were on in the room. I snuck a peek in the window, though, and there was no one there. Maybe he was in the can.

I re-holstered and retreated to my own car, already positioned so that I could look in Hendricks' room with binoculars. I watched for quite a while, long enough to satisfy myself that not even the worst fast food could necessitate such a long trip to the bathroom. Then I settled in for a long wait.

I called Jack. Now there's a fun way to pass the time. No matter what hour of the day or night, I always seemed to get Jack.

"I'm at the Sunny Bright motel looking into Ralph Hendricks' room from across the parking lot," I said. "He's not in there."

"Good work, Crazy," he said. Even when he wasn't teasing, he still called me "Crazy." "Where do you think he is?"

"I suspect he's presently in werewolf mode, or possibly even werewolf form, chowing down on some livestock near here."

"Where exactly is 'here'? Never mind, I can look you up on GPS." There was a tick-tacking of keys as he located me. "Do you want to know where to go to find livestock?"

"No, I don't want to encounter him in werewolf mode," I said. "I'll wait for him to come back. He'll be completely worn out after his night of depredations. I want to try to take him alive."

"You're going to be exhausted yourself," warned Jack. "Do you want some backup?"

"I don't want to risk spooking him," I said. "I have a plan to take him myself. Meanwhile, I'm going to try to get a look in his car. If I don't call you back in half an hour, send somebody. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he said. "What do you want to do with him when you take him alive?"

"I want to find out what his game is," I replied. "I'm going now, Jack, I'll call you back, we can talk more then."

I hung up on him and went to the Ford's large trunk, where I had stored some gear for the capture. I retrieved a slim jim and a flashlight, along with a couple of other items, quietly closed the trunk and went to the Buick. I did some cursory checking for an alarm system, and, finding none, I opened the door in a few seconds and looked around. There was nothing untoward in the passenger compartment. I sprung the trunk release and walked back.

Inside the trunk were four or five wolf-skins. Target confirmed, and something more was to be understood about his _modus operandi_. I wasn't sure yet exactly what this told me, what insights I might glean about my quarry, but it filled in one more puzzle piece. From this very trunk, Sue Derderian had gotten her wolf-skin. I gently closed the trunk, relocked the car and returned across the parking lot to my rental.

I called Jack back.

"Okay, any weird cravings for human flesh now, Crazy?" he asked.

I laughed. "No, our guy didn't show up, but I found some wolf-skins. in his trunk."

"No kidding?" said Jack, his frequently sarcastic voice now openly mystified. "So that's where she got it."

"That's where she got it," I confirmed.

"You come across anything about this in your folklore?" Jack asked.

"Well, yeah. You heard about the wolf-skin on Sue Derderian, of course," I asked.

"Yes."

"I told Desmond and Rick the folklore, but I don't think I told you."

"You didn't."

"In Armenian folklore, a woman who has committed deadly sins may be condemned to be a werewolf for seven years. She is visited by a spirit that makes her put on a wolf-skin; she acquires a craving for human flesh, apparently from the wolf-skin, and it makes her a werewolf in the evenings and a regular woman during the day."

I continued, "I think Ralph Hendricks might think he is that spirit, for some reason. I'm trying to figure out if this guy is a werewolf, or a psychopath, or both."

"This is not looking good," commented Jack.

"I think he might be, somehow, a werewolf maker," I added. "He is apparently familiar with the Armenian tradition of werewolves. My concern now is how many women he may have made into werewolves on this little trip. He has four or five wolf-skins. in the car; how many did he start with? You see why I want him alive."

"Okay, I agree; alive if you can. If there's any chance of giving away to John Q. Public that werewolves really exist, though, I want you to kill him instead."

"Okay, Jack," I said. "I want some answers on this one, and I think I have to have them before I can leave this case behind."

"Not at the risk of national hysteria, Crazy," said Jack. "That's why my position exists, to prevent hysteria. There must be no real life proof of werewolves."

"I've got to get answers to do my job, Jack," I explained.

"Your job was over when you killed Sue Derderian," Jack replied. "You made that little village safe from their werewolf. That's all they care about."

"Jack, I really think you want to know what this werewolf has to say, too," I replied. "If he is a werewolf maker, aren't you worried about how many werewolves he may have produced on this little vacation of his? Wouldn't a bunch of werewolves make this hard to cover up?"

Jack sighed. "Yeah, okay, you're right. I have a question for you, Crazy."

"Shoot."

"Will you call me when you interrogate this guy, so I can listen in?"

I had to think about it momentarily. "You might not appreciate my interrogation techniques," I replied. "Maybe there are some things you'd rather not know."

"I may have to live with them," Jack replied soberly.

"All right," I replied. "That's assuming I can take him alive."

"Let me know either way," said Jack, sounding distant. "Good bye, Crazy, and good luck."
Chapter Eleven

Hendricks finally appeared at four in the morning. I was experiencing an odd, queasy feeling from being up for so long, but I had gotten my second or third wind. I probably was not half as exhausted as he was. He was dishevelled, with a lot of blood on his shirt front. I figured he had been out killing livestock.

I wasted no time. I pulled the Blackhawk out of its holster, opened the loading gate and used the ejection rod to push one of the silver-jacketed bullets into the passenger seat, then closed the gate. I picked it up in my left hand and took it along with me. I also took along some tools for capturing him that I left quietly beside the door before knocking.

I cocked the revolver and then pounded hard on his door. "Manager," I called. "I have a message for you." I pounded the door even harder.

"Wait, wait," he called. "I have to get a shirt on."

I stepped back from the door. He opened it. "What's the message?" he asked.

I held up the ominous looking Blackhawk and the loose silver-jacketed hollow point. "The message is, you're all out of luck," I said. "Hands where I can see them. Go over to the table and sit down."

He carefully retreated, his hands raised. He sat at the table and looked at me.

"Nickel?" he asked, a smile playing over his lips.

"Silver," I replied, "and you know it. I took down Sue Derderian a couple of days ago."

He sighed heavily. "Sue," he said regretfully. "I managed to stay with Sue for a while, but I had to keep on keepin' on."

"I'm hoping to take you alive, but I'm open to alternatives," I commented.

"I'm pretty partial to living," said Hendricks. "Even after becoming a werewolf."

"Ralph, Ralph, Ralph," I said, slipping in one of the folk remedies.

"What?" he asked, somewhat testily.

"I rebuke you for what you've done, Ralph, turning a poor woman into a werewolf." Another folk remedy tried.

"She was immoral," he replied, "and I am the spirit who punishes the immoral woman, by making her into a werewolf."

"How exactly do you do that?" I asked.

"I come inside them," Ralph replied matter-of-factly. "They probably think it's the wolf-skin, but I pass whatever it is in me to them in my sperm. By letting me have sex with them, and come inside them, they prove their own moral turpitude. When they start to show signs of being werewolves, I tell them I've come to judge them for their sins and turn them into werewolves for seven years, and I put the wolf-skin on them."

"So you have sex with them, and by having sex with you, they're the ones who are immoral, and you're not," I said, pointing out the illogic of what he was saying.

"I am fulfilling my God-appointed purpose," he said testily. "I have been doing for centuries, in other lives. I now dream about the times I have done it in prior lives."

"Okay, let's concentrate on who you have made into a werewolf in this life. How many, who, and where?" I asked.

He smiled coyly.

"Not really the time to be coy, Ralph," I commented, to no avail.

"I plead the fifth," he said.

"Wrong country," I replied.

"I am an American citizen," he answered smugly. "In fact, it was in Alaska that I became a werewolf."

"When?" I asked.

"I suppose three months ago, maybe," he answered. "I was up there for work. It didn't pan out. I figured I would take the scenic route back to the continental U.S."

"Too bad for Sue Derderian and her kids."

"Too bad for her, and them," he smirked. "So, how do you want to take this from here, big man? Do you think you can get me out to your car? I can probably run three times faster than you can. I'm probably three times stronger than you are."

"It would be better for you to come peaceably," I said.

"It would be better for you to leave peaceably," he replied, smirking some more.

"Up to you," I said, and shot off his kneecap.

He fell to the floor, screaming and cursing at me. I can't say I blamed him. If someone came along and shot off my kneecap, I would probably feel the same way. I holstered the gun, stepped back through the door and grabbed my tools for the capture: a wooden plank and a nail gun. Someone opened their door. "Police! Get back inside," I snapped, then returned to Hendricks' room.

He was still writhing on the floor. "It burns, it burns," he yelled.

I grabbed one of his hands away from his knee, pressed the back of his hand against the plank, and shot a nail through his palm with the nail gun. He screamed so loudly I was surprised his throat could take it. I pushed back his other hand and nailed it to the plank as well, eliciting another high pitched scream. The plank was behind his back, and his hands were nailed to it. Not only did this test another medieval remedy, but it also put me in a good position to drag him to my car.

I grabbed onto the plank and pulled. He screamed loudly, but with only one working leg, and both hands immobilized, he was unable to put up any kind of meaningful fight as I dragged him across the parking lot. I opened the trunk and pushed him into it. The trunk on a Ford Taurus is huge. He had no trouble fitting. I slammed the lid shut. Lights were coming on all over the motel. I jumped in the car, started it and peeled out of there. The motel was on the highway and I was long gone before anyone from the police could possibly get to the motel.

I drove very fast while I could be seen by the people in the motel, then once away from their eyes immediately slowed to the speed limit. They would report a speeding car, so my car just wouldn't be that speeding car the police would be looking for.

Hendricks was thumping around in the trunk. "I'm going to kill you!" he screamed.

I called Jack.

"Crazy?" he said crisply on the first ring.

"Don't you ever sleep?" I asked.

"I slept earlier. I figured you would be calling overnight."

"I've got Hendricks in my trunk. He's got a silver bullet wound in his knee, and his hands are nailed to a two-by-four plank."

"One of the reasons I enjoy you is your subtlety," Jack commented.

"He didn't want to be taken and I had to take him, in a hurry," I replied. "So get this: he does think he's the spirit who punishes Armenian women for their lives of debauchery. His car is still at the motel; the trunk has wolf-skins. in it."

"How does he actually turn them into werewolves?" asked Jack.

"He has sex with them, bareback," I said. "Transfers mutated genetic material in his sperm. Later he tells them he's a spirit there to judge them for their sins, and puts the wolf-skin on them, saying he's turning them into werewolves for seven years."

"And they believe that?" asked Jack incredulously.

"Why wouldn't they?" I asked. "They turn into werewolves shortly after he does it."

"Do you know who he has done this to, and where they are?"

"No, but I'm going to find out pretty soon," I said, turning off the highway onto a side road.

"How?"

"Guess," I said. "You said you wanted to listen in? I can put you on speaker."

"You're going to use torture?" Jack sounded a bit ruffled for a change. "Yes, I guess I'd better listen in."

I opened the trunk and Hendricks bounded out of it, only to fall down face first on the ground. I hated what I was going to have to do, but I had to do what was necessary to this man's life in order to save other lives. It was nothing he hadn't made necessary with his own actions.

Hendricks struggled his way to his feet again without the help of his hands, and tried to run away, but his wounded leg would not support him well enough to accomplish any more than a hobble. I strode up to him and kicked him hard in the back. He fell face first onto the gravelly surface of the rest area.

I took a silverware butter knife out of my pocket. "I want straight answers from you, Hendricks," I said. He looked up at me. His face had scrapes from hitting the gravel. His eyes locked on the butter-knife.

"Silver," I said. "And I bet you know where it's going if you don't answer me right now."

"You can't do that," he spat. "You're a policeman."

I laughed. "I'm a liar. I'm a werewolf hunter. I can also be a torturer, so you'd best just tell me the answers I'm looking for. Who have you infected, and where are they?"

He told me to do something anatomically impossible, so I dropped my knee onto his calf and buried the silver butter knife into the bullet hole in his knee. He screamed in a high pitched wail. I twisted the butter knife around a bit, to make sure it pressed against all sides of the raw wound. Finally I removed the knife.

"Who and where?"

He said something unfavourable and I inserted the butter knife again into his bullet wound. This time I moved it around in there quite a lot, and left it for quite a long time. When it seemed like he might pass out from the pain, I removed it.

"You know what I want to know," I said.

"You're going to kill me," he said.

"I certainly will if I don't get my answers," I replied. "But it will take a long, long time. I figure we've got about two hours before traffic starts."

He said nothing.

"Probably no human being can withstand intense torture for more than forty-eight hours," I commented. "Maybe werewolves can handle it longer. Do you really want to find out?"

Still he said nothing, so I inserted the knife back into the bullet hole. He screamed until his voice went silent with the force of it. I removed the knife.

He didn't start talking. I noticed that the scrapes on his face had disappeared, but the bullet hole in his leg was as bad as ever. I wondered if that was because the wound was initially made with a silver bullet, or because the silver knife was holding it open. Then I decided I didn't have time to entertain idle curiosity, so I buried the knife in the bullet wound again. There was a lot more screaming, but no more answers.

I sighed. "Do you need a new bullet hole? Is this one getting dull to the pain?"

I stood and drew the Blackhawk, slowly and deliberately cocked the hammer, and aimed at his other kneecap.

He named a village. "I don't know the girl's name."

I carefully lowered the hammer and holstered the gun. "Armenian?"

"No," he said, "but she was an accident. I didn't realize she would turn into a werewolf. I just saw her in a bar, I liked her body, and I picked her up."

I stared at him, waiting for more.

"Being a werewolf increases all of your appetites," he said, still kind of smug despite having been tortured, that irritating tiny smile playing over his lips again even in his pain.

"Who else, and where?" I demanded.

"There have only been three," he said. "The next one was Sue. After the first one, I realized that I had been sent to punish sexually immoral women, especially immoral Armenian women. I went to a public library and looked up werewolves on the Internet, and realized what I am: the spirit who punishes immoral Armenian women."

"Why is it they eat people, and you only eat livestock?" I asked.

"I long to eat a human again," he said. "I ate a man in the Yukon. I don't know his name, he was working alone at a gas station."

I heard keyboard clicks coming from the speaker of my cell. Jack was fact checking.

"Ray Alonzo," came Jack's voice. "Locals assumed he was mauled by a bear."

"When I turned that first woman into a werewolf, I realized my calling. So I stopped eating humans, to preserve myself for my God-given task of punishing immoral women." He smirked. "If I had realized you would find me this quickly anyway, I would certainly have kept eating people."

I didn't like the smirk, but I restrained my violent impulses for the moment.

"Who else?" I asked.

"Another Armenian woman," he said. "But I'm not saying who or where until you get me patched up and let me go."

I considered this, and thought about how few villages I had encountered on my drive, and how easy it would probably be to identify a woman whose child, or children, had appeared to have been attacked by wild animals.

"We don't have to make any deals with this guy, Jack," I said. "We just have to keep a watch for dead children or livestock."

Jack sounded shocked, which was a real change for him; I'd never heard it before. "But, Creigh, we might save a child's life!"

"The kid would be dead already," I commented, unholstering the revolver. "In the time that has passed since the woman was infected, the kid would be dead already."

"Wait a minute," said Jack. I heard the keys clicking.

Hendricks' eyes had gone wide. "Hey," he said. "Hey!" he yelled.

"I found the dead child," said Jack. "Timmy Kalestian. The mother is Tina Kalestian."

"So go ahead?" I asked.

There was a pause. "Yeah," said Jack, "I guess you'd better take care of it now as later."

"No!" screamed Hendricks as I cocked the hammer.

On second thought, I lowered the hammer again and he relaxed.

"I have to try one more thing first," I said to Jack through the phone. I returned to the car and gathered a hunting knife I had brought with me. I withdrew it from its holster and approached Hendricks.

"What are you going to do to me?" he shrilled.

"Hold still," I said, and whacked him on the forehead with the knife, hard enough to draw blood. The scalp bleeds profusely when cut, like no other part of the body in my experience. Hendricks yelled with pain.

"If I could get off this board, I'd tear you apart!" he shouted hoarsely. Another folk remedy tried without success, and the wound was already starting to heal over as a result of his enhanced recuperative powers. I drew the Blackhawk again, and cocked it.

"Oh yeah, you'd better kill me," he shouted, "because if you don't, I will find you, and I will eat your heart, and I will kill your family—"

I fired the first shot into Hendricks' head, and leisurely placed two more into his heart.

"I'll call collections," I said to Jack, and hung up the phone.

There was a lot of blood. Parts of Hendricks' brain were out of his head, and the pool of blood behind his back was huge. So I decided not to put him in the car's trunk, but instead moved the car right next to him so no casual lookers would see the body. I called collections, told them the situation, and got permission to stay behind with the car while they collected the body. I got in the car, ejected my spent rounds and replaced them with fresh rounds, adjusted the seat so I could sort of lie down, and rather quickly fell asleep after that. When I awoke three hours later, the body was gone and there was no sign of blood on the ground.
Chapter Twelve

Jack called me at nine o'clock and asked me to stop in to the nearest RCMP barracks and ask for a Corporal Kyle Johnson. He wanted me to go with Johnson to pick up Tina Kalestian, and let me know that Johnson was in the same boat that I was; he had seen some of the things we prefer not to believe exist, and knew about Jack and had done work for him before. In Corporal Johnson's case, he had performed his duties for Jack as an RCMP officer.

I arrived at the barracks around 10:30 and asked for Corporal Johnson. Shortly, I was introduced to a tall man with a moustache and very matter-of-fact manner. He immediately directed me out to the parking lot.

"Jack called me," he said, sighing. "I guess that means this is serious."

"We're going to go pick up Tina Kalestian," I said. "You do realize that Tina Kalestian is a suspected werewolf?"

"Yes," he said. "I know what kind of case Jack deals with. I was investigating crop circles when I was stationed in Saskatchewan, and he called. How did you meet him?"

"I shot a sasquatch," I replied.

"Are those real?" he asked.

"Yeah, this one was. Are aliens real?"

"Yeah."

"I hate to tell you, but werewolves are real, too," I said. "I've had to kill two this week and another one killed himself. I'm kind of hoping that's over with."

"Yeah," said Kyle heavily. "Unlikely."

"You're wearing a nine millimetre?" I asked.

"Yeah, what, you got silver bullets for it or something?"

I sighed. "Yeah."

Kyle stood for a moment, not looking ruffled in any way, but silently considering the matter. "Guess I'd better have some," he allowed, and I retrieved a box of ammo and parcelled out fifteen rounds to Kyle, who swapped them for the copper jacketed rounds in his magazine. "They behave any differently than normal nines?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "They've only got half the powder of a regular nine millimetre round, so they may be too underpowered to cycle the slide for you."

"Why?"

"I wanted the silver to stay in the werewolf's body, so I had to avoid any chance of over-penetration."

"Okay. Ballistically, how are they, do I have to aim differently?"

"No, they're just normal, lead nine millimetres otherwise, with a silver jacket."

"Huh," grunted Kyle. "How did you manage to do that?"

"I've got a friend who's into swaging. Ever hear of that?"

We got into a squad car and chatted about swaging while he drove us to Tina Kalestian's house. When we arrived at the house, Kyle pulled the car to the curb and parked it. "This lady's child isn't in the ground yet," he said. "We haven't released the body. It looked like a wild animal attack but something's not right about that. Where he was found. No animal would put him where he was found."

"Where?" I asked.

"He was in a culvert near the playground. Kid was torn in half and partially eaten."

"In a culvert?" I said. "That's not even trying to make it look like an animal attack."

We made the walk from the car to the front door of the house while I pondered the placement of the body and what it might mean. Regret, possibly? Trying to hide what had been done?

Tina had a husband, who answered the door when we knocked.

"Do you have something new on our case?" he asked Kyle immediately.

"Just more questions, Mr. Kalestian," Kyle answered. "Sorry."

"Okay, shoot," he said, holding the door for us to enter.

"These questions are for Tina," said Kyle. "This fellow here is Mr. Zee. He's an expert on these kinds of cases, out here from the east coast."

Kalestian shook my hand. I shook it warily. He said his name was Stan. I imagined by the end of the morning, I would probably be telling him that his wife had cheated on him with a certain Ralph Hendricks, and I possibly may have killed his wife by then. Somehow I felt even worse about this, having the familiarity of his first name.

They had a neat, clean, well kept home. Kalestian called for his wife, and a tired looking but beautiful woman appeared from a bedroom. "Excuse my appearance," she said. "I've been feeling rather depressed."

"Very understandable, Ma'am," I said, mentally noting the signs of exhaustion she was showing. To me it indicated the possibility that she had performed werewolf activities the night before.

She smiled a little. "I hate it when men who are older than me call me ma'am," she jokingly chastised me.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," I said.

She nodded. It was a phrase she'd heard a lot in the past few days, I could tell. It had lost whatever meaning it normally had.

"I want to ask you some questions about the time leading up to your son's murder," I said.

She nodded again. She seemed to square up her shoulders to prepare herself for the ordeal of talking about it.

"Did you have any unusual visitors?" I asked.

She thought about it, then shrugged. "The Jehovah's Witnesses came by," she allowed. She thought about it a bit more. "I think there was a door to door salesman."

"You see anyone who looks like this?" asked Kyle, showing a picture of Ralph Hendricks. I was impressed. Jack had given him some preparation.

"I would have remembered that guy," she said. "He looks like a refugee from the seventies."

Kyle flicked the picture in the husband's direction. "No, haven't seen him," he said.

"Did anyone ask you if they could take your child somewhere?" I asked.

I could tell Tina was drawing a blank.

"Not necessarily a stranger," I said. "Anyone at all? Family member, friend?"

"Your sister asked if she could take him to that kids' movie," commented Mr. Kalestian, before adding, "but that's probably not what you're looking for."

"Yes, she thought I needed a break," she replied. "He loved the show." She wiped a tear away.

I looked at Kyle. "Does anyone around here have livestock?" I asked. "Or is there a horse farm?"

He looked puzzled. "There's a trail ride place on route 3," he said. "They have horses."

"I wonder if you folks would mind taking a ride with us," I said.

The couple looked at each other. They were also puzzled by my request.

"Animals are very calming," I said. "I'd like you to feel very calm, it helps a person remember things. Would you mind?"

"I guess not," said Tina.

"It would be all right," allowed her husband.

"I realize my methods are sort of unorthodox," I apologized, "but thank for your indulgence."

We walked out to the car. The Kalestians got into the back seat, Kyle took the wheel and I rode shotgun.

As Kyle drove, I continued asking questions.

"Kalestian, that's an Armenian name, isn't it?" I asked.

"Sure is," replied Stan.

"My name, Zee, was 'van der Zee' before my forefathers immigrated from Holland," I said. "Are you both of Armenian descent?"

"Yes," said Tina. "My maiden name is Norayan."

"You have a sister, any brothers?"

"No, just the one sibling," said Tina. "Natalia."

"Natalia Norayan," I said. "Sounds exotic."

Tina laughed. "She'd be happy to hear you think that."

"Then she'd be trying to find out if you're married," added Stan.

"What, does she like older men?" I asked.

"She's my older sister. She's in her late thirties and never found anybody to settle down with," said Tina. "She dates, but nobody is getting serious. I think she's hearing her biological clock ticking."

"How's she taking this situation?" I asked.

"She's having a really hard time with it," Tina said. "She loved our boy. She took him to the movies, to the playground. I think she really wants kids of her own."

I looked at Kyle. He wasn't cluing in to what I was hearing. Jack probably hadn't briefed him on any of the Armenian folklore.

He slowed down the car and pulled in to the trail ride place.

"Let's go look at the horses," I said.

We all got out of the car and wandered toward the horses. When we got to the fence, Tina reached out a hand and patted a horse's nose. "I love horses," she commented. "This was a nice idea. How did you know I liked horses?"

I smiled; I hadn't known. I had wanted the horses to tell me if she was a werewolf, and they had. They had no fear of Tina at all. It wasn't her, and I was relieved. "What little girl doesn't love horses?" I asked.

Stan put his arm around Tina and also patted the horse's nose.

"I'd like to interview your sister," I said. "Ask her the same questions. Where does she live?"

She gave us the address; Kyle wrote it down.

"Does she like horses too?" I asked with a smile.

Tina smiled back. "What little girl doesn't love horses?" she asked.
Chapter Thirteen

Kyle and I stood in the doorway of Natalia Norayan's apartment, looking at Natalia herself. She had been crying very recently, and had raccoon eyes to show for it.

"Sure, I can answer some questions," she said. "Come on in."

She offered us coffee; there was some already made so I accepted.

"No thank you, ma'am," said Kyle in a flat tone. "It makes me jumpy."

I almost chuckled trying to envision Kyle Johnson jumpy. He was steady like the Rock of Gibraltar. While she made coffee, I looked around her apartment. It was showing some signs of recent neglect but wasn't bad. My eyes strayed over her books, the art she had chosen; I was surprised that her books reflected some of my own interests. I had seen a Watchtower and Awake! Magazine by the door, which told me that she had seen the Jehovah's Witnesses at the door, and had accepted the literature, but had not bothered reading it. She returned to the room with my coffee and I directed my attention to her.

Natalia Norayan was an attractive girl, but perhaps not in a commonly recognized way. She was plump and curvy. I could tell in her bearing that she didn't have a terrific body image. I supposed Ralph Hendricks had shown her some flattering attention, she had been taken in by it, and she had shared her actually lovely body with him, and now was carrying his curse. She was far better looking than his ugly seventies porn star look, but maybe she didn't know it and thought she had to settle.

She sat on a couch. I took a chair. Kyle stood; there was nowhere left to sit but next to Natalia, and after what I had hypothesized on the way over here, he was wise not to sit with her.

"So, you would take Timmy to the movies and to the playground," I said.

"Yes," she said, nodding her head, not looking at me.

"The very same playground he died in?" I asked.

She sniffed and wiped away a tear. She nodded but didn't speak.

"Have you had any strange visitors lately?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, looking up at me. "I let a guy pick me up in a bar," she continued.

"You sleep with him?" I asked.

She sighed. "Yeah," she said, blushing, as if she were ashamed of the one-night stand. She wiped away another tear before saying, "He was being a jerk afterwards, so I had to throw him out. I never heard from him again."

"Pardon me for asking, but do you do that kind of thing much?" I asked.

She looked slightly hurt. She indicated her body with her hands. "I'm not very attractive to most guys," she said. "This is really the first time this ever happened to me."

"I'm sorry to have to ask you things that are so personal, but you strike me as being rather embarrassed that this happened," I said. "I think that means it is very unusual for you to have a one night stand."

"It is," she said, letting out her breath. "I didn't think this was going to be a one nighter. He was really pushy about having sex, and it had been so long for me—" her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. "I gave in. I shouldn't have, once he started pressuring me I should have shown him the door, but I didn't." She glanced in the direction of the Watchtowers. "I was weak," she said.

"You were horny," I said. "Lots of people do things they regret when they're horny."

She shrugged.

"Did he give you anything?" I asked, while gesturing at Kyle to produce the photo.

"Yeah, he gave me this thing afterwards—it's weird," she said.

"A wolf-skin," I said.

"Yeah," she said, surprised. "Want me to go get it?"

"No," I said firmly, a bit more firmly than I had intended. I took the photo from Kyle and showed it to her. "Is this the guy?"

She perked up when she saw the picture. "That's him!" she said, pointing. "He had sex with me, then gave me some kind of line about me being an immoral woman, and gave me a wolf-skin to wear. I thought he was a creep and I threw him out."

"Did he make you wear it?" I asked.

"I don't remember," she said. "I don't think so."

"I'm going to tell you something that will be extremely hard for you to believe," I began. She looked at me querulously.

"This man is a werewolf, and by having sex with you, he made you a werewolf, too."

It was interesting to watch the changes in her eyes. There was all at once a realization, a sense that this explained something, and a sense of disbelief. "Are you serious?"

I nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so," I said.

She stood slowly and held her hands to the sides of her head.

"Take it easy, Natalia," I said. "There's no need to panic."

"I have dreams," she said, still standing. "I see myself doing things, terrible things. But I'm not in my body, I see myself doing these things."

She was starting to sway. I was afraid she might faint.

"Oh my God, I killed Timmy," she said in a small, shrieky voice.

I stood and held her shoulders. "Do not freak out," I said calmly. "This was not your fault."

"I tore him apart," she said amidst sobs.

"Natalia," I said. "Natalia, Natalia!"

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked. "Please. Please, do it. I can't stand the guilt."

The folk cure had no effect on her. I drew her to myself and hugged her. Kyle stood there like a statue; if it weren't for his eyes signalling a warning, I would not have known that he had any discomfort.

"Some people embrace the wolf, some are afflicted with it," I said in the closest facsimile of a soothing voice I could muster. "You are afflicted with it. I think we can help you. Do not give up. Not yet. Okay?"

Tears coursed down her cheeks. She nodded her head in the affirmative.

I released her and turned to Kyle. "I've got to get her someplace before nightfall," I said, naming the town I was working for. "I have some medicines there that might help."

"She's the killer," Kyle said.

"Not her," I said. "Does she look like a killer to you? She's a victim. She gets overtaken by the wolf part of her."

"You sound like a one man encounter group," Kyle complained.

"Let me take her out of here," I pleaded. "It's possible that one of the cures for lycanthropy will work for her."

"All right," Kyle allowed. "Jack said you were calling the shots."

"Pack some things, please, and quickly," I said to Natalia. "We have to get moving so I can get you to a safe place before nightfall."

She started into her bedroom; then I remembered something critical and followed her in. I looked in the closet and saw the wolf-skin. "Not that," I said, taking it myself. I feared that the wolf within her would assert itself and possibly make her wear the wolf-skin, as it had with Sue Derderian. Whatever it was about the wolf-skin, it seemed to empower the wolf personality in the wearer, making it completely overcome the personality of the host.

I took the wolf-skin to the kitchen, found a sharp knife, and cut it to pieces while Natalia packed in the bedroom. Kyle looked on, unmoving. "Can you see if there's a shopping bag around here I can put this into?" I said. Kyle went off for a few minutes and returned with a plastic garbage bag. I packed the pieces of wolf-skin into it.

Natalia emerged from her bedroom with a piece of luggage in tow. "I'm ready," she said.

"Let's go," I said.

We put her bags and the cut up wolf-skin in the trunk of Kyle's cruiser. He put on his lights and sped us back to the barracks. We transferred Natalia, her belongings, and the wolf-skin to my rental Taurus.

"Will you need an escort?" asked Kyle.

I checked the time on my cell phone. "I should be able to get there in time at the speed limit," I said. That allowed for about three hours of travel time.

"Okay. Good luck, Creigh," said Kyle.

"Thanks," I said, getting into the driver's seat.

Natalia was making herself small in the passenger seat. "Is it safe for me to ride up front here with you?" she asked.

"It is until nightfall," I said. "At least, without the wolf-skin it's safe. The wolf-skin seems to enhance the power of the lycanthropy. If you put it on, even during the day, you would transform."

She shuddered. "I can't imagine wanting to be that thing," she commented, with some disgust.

I turned on the car, put it in drive, and pulled away from the barracks. "I have to try something that is supposed to be a cure. Are you okay with that?" I asked.

"Go for it," she replied.

"I rebuke you, werewolf!" I said forcefully.

She blinked and started from surprise at my tone of voice, but that was all.

"Do you feel any differently?"

"No."

I sighed. "We will try some other possible cures when we get to Desmond's place," I commented.

"Who's Desmond?" she asked.

I told her while we travelled about Desmond, the only town councillor whom I had even seen since I started working on the case. I deliberately took her up route 3, to the place that did trail rides. I was quite sure I had a werewolf on board, but I wanted to confirm that her presence bothered horses. It did. Horses started kicking as the car drew near.

"Why did we stop here?" she asked.

"I wanted to see if you would have that effect on horses," I said, indicating them with a flick of my fingers. She looked frightened by the effect she had on them. I quickly put the car in reverse and started backing up the driveway to return to the road.

"This is all real, isn't it?" she said. "I feel—unreal somehow."

"That's disassociation," I said. "Something has happened to you that you would never have believed possible. It's okay."

After a while on the road, she finally slept. I suspected she probably had not been getting much sleep lately.

While she was dozing, I put in a call to Desmond.

"Desmond, it's Creigh."

"Creigh! Did you find the guy you were looking for?"

"Yes," I said. "He said he had infected two other girls with lycanthropy. I have one of them with me."

"Is, ah, is she a werewolf?" Desmond asked.

"Yes, but she doesn't want to be," I said. "I'm bringing her back, hoping to cure her."

"Did she kill her own child?" he asked.

"She didn't have a child of her own," I responded, glancing at her to be sure she was still asleep. "Unfortunately she killed her sister's son. She said it was like watching someone else do it; she thought it might have been a dream. That gibes with Sue Derderian saying she witnessed the attack, not that she had perpetrated the attack. This girl is very upset to realize she really did it."

Desmond sighed. "It will be close to nightfall when you get here," he said. "How will we be safe from her ourselves?"

"I want to put her in your safe room," I said.

There was a pause as Desmond considered this. "That might just work," he said.

"I guess we'd better hope it does," looking over again at her sleeping form.
Chapter Fourteen

Natalia awoke as I was driving through the village, heading for Desmond's place in the woods just outside of town. "We slowed down," she said, sleepily.

"We're just about there," I said.

"I thought you might kill me on the way," she said, "but I was so tired I couldn't stay awake."

"I don't want to trick you, or kill you," I said.

"But you will, right?" she said. "If you can't cure me, you will have to kill me."

I felt a strange ache in my heart. "Let's not go there right now," I said.

"I don't want to die," she said calmly, "but if it keeps me from ever doing that to a child again, it's what will have to happen."

I looked at her. "Don't give up yet," I repeated. "There are things left to try."

We sat in silence until I reached Desmond's house. "We're here," I said, pulling in to the tree-lined driveway. There was forest all around Desmond's house. It occurred to me that, should Natalia get loose, it would be terribly hard to find her in there.

Desmond and Andrea were on hand to greet us. They were taken aback looking at Natalia, a cute, chubby, pretty lady, trying to envision such a nice girl being a werewolf by night. "Oh, you poor, dear heart," said Desmond.

Natalia looked afraid. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she said. "It's starting to get dark."

"We're going to shut you up inside our safe room," said Desmond.

"Don't be afraid, dear," said Andrea. "You won't be able to break out of that safe room."

Andrea looked at me pointedly. "Is that cursed wolf-skin here?" she said.

"Yeah, it's in the trunk," I said.

"I can feel it," she said darkly. "I want you to take it out and burn it."

I looked from Andrea to Desmond, and back again. "It's not in my list of cures, but I'm willing to try it," I said. "Where will I burn it?"

"There's a fire pit out back," said Desmond. "We've already got it burning. Andrea's idea," he added, putting his arm around his wife's waist.

"Let's get this done right away, so you can see it," Andrea said to Natalia. "What's your name, dear?"

"Natalia Norayan," she answered.

"Well, come along out back, Natalia," Andrea said. "Bring the wolf-skin," she added to me. I retrieved it from the trunk and followed them into the back yard.

I had cut it into bits in Natalia's kitchen, and had put the bits into a garbage bag. I spilled the contents of the bag into the fire. Pieces of furry flesh fell into the fire, one by one, the last one being the wolf's head. The bits were catching fire slowly.

Natalia swooned. "Please get me inside," she said urgently.

I put her arm around my neck and my arm around her, and started moving her back toward the house as quickly as I could.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said, breathlessly. I stopped and she removed her arm from me, bending over and throwing up.

"Okay, I think I can—" she began, but then bent to throw up again, and again.

"Okay, get me inside," she said breathlessly. I again draped her arm around my neck, put my arm around her, and moved her toward the house. Desmond and Andrea were now past us, inside the house. I got Natalia up on the deck and she had to stop again, throwing up into the flowers in front of the deck.

"Open up the safe room," I called inside, my voice urgent. I quickly took her in the house.

"This would be easier if I carried you," I said.

"You can't carry me," she said in a slurred voice.

I picked her up off the ground, but no, I couldn't carry her far at all. She was a bigger girl than she appeared to me. I put her back on her feet and called Desmond. Together we were able to carry her up the stairs easily, and place her carefully in the safe room.

"I don't know what's happening to me," she said. "You'd better get out."

I didn't have to be told twice. I closed the door to the safe room, closing her in and us out. Desmond made sure it was locked.

"You need a key code to get in or out," he said to me, his eyes looking fearful. "She won't just be able to unlock the door and get out."

"That's probably a good thing," I said. "Can we communicate with her, or she with us?"

"There's an intercom in there," he replied, "and the house is set up with microphones and cameras so we can hear what's going on outside of the room. Inside the room, you have to press a button to talk, and I don't think she's going to know how to talk to us once she transforms. She will be able to hear us, though."

"Creigh?" came Natalia's voice from the speakers in the house.

"Yes, Natalia?"

"Please make sure that thing burns the rest of the way," she said.

"I'll do it," said Desmond. "I want you to stay inside with my wife. Don't let that werewolf hurt her."

"All right, Desmond," I said. "I don't think she can get out of there, but I'll stay in and keep watch."

Desmond nodded to me, then went down the stairs. I heard the door open and close as he went outside.

The safe room was on the same level as the bedrooms. I went into the guest room and retrieved the Ruger SR9. I filled its magazine with normal, non-silver-jacketed, nine millimetre cartridges. In Canada we were normally limited to ten shot magazines legally, just like in California. It was kind of a waste of a nine-millimetre pistol, which in more free countries had magazines holding anywhere from thirteen to seventeen rounds, and even larger. The illegal magazine Dean had sent took seventeen rounds. I idly wondered if Dean even realized such a high capacity magazine was illegal here. The guns I had bought from him were revolvers and a Ruger SR1911, which only held nine rounds. I had never ordered a gun from him that could take more than ten rounds.

While rummaging for ammunition, I found that I now had only fifteen silver-jacketed bullets left. This puzzled me. I had brought fifty. I had fired three into Sue Derderian, and four into Ralph Hendricks. Rick Nolan had fired one through his own heart. So eight had been fired. I had full cylinders of the silver-jacketed ammunition in the two Blackhawks, which was twelve bullets loaded in firearms. That was when I remembered that I had given fifteen silver-jacketed bullets to Kyle Johnson. Mystery resolved. I wished I had remembered to get those bullets back, but at least they were in a safe place, and if Natalia had scratched or otherwise infected someone she didn't know about, Kyle had the right ammunition on hand to be able to handle it.

My problem now was, if Natalia was to get out in werewolf mode, I was only willing to shoot to wound, not to kill. The answer was to use the normal lead, copper-jacketed nine millimetres in the Ruger SR9.

Andrea came up the stairs with some supper, and saw the two Blackhawks and the SR9. "You are armed to the teeth," she commented

"If she does come out, I'm going to try to stop her with this automatic first," I said, patting the SR9 by my right hand. "It has plain lead bullets, and won't kill her. I'm hoping just to knock her out, or knock her back into the room, and get the door closed again."

"And the other guns?" she asked.

"Shooting her with regular ammunition might not work," I admitted. "If not, I'm going to use this Blackhawk," I added, patting it. "The other Blackhawk is for you and Desmond, in case I don't have time to shoot her with the silver bullets."

"Desmond doesn't know how to fire a gun," said Andrea.

"I wish I had an easier gun for you folks to use," I said. "All you have to do differently from any other gun is cock it before you fire it, every time. Reloading is tough with one of these, but if six rounds don't stop her, I don't know what will. You've got to aim well."

I looked at her face. There were little ripples of a smile on it. "You don't think he can aim well enough?" I asked.

"A dyed in the wool liberal, is Desmond," she said. "I don't think he could shoot at that sweet girl in the first place, let alone take careful aim on her when he did it."

"Maybe if she came at him as a werewolf, it would change his mind," I said. "She'd be less sweet, for sure."

"I, on the other hand, grew up on a farm," she said.

I smiled and held up the Blackhawk. "Think you can handle it?" I asked.

She held it. "That's a big, heavy gun," she said.

"Not exactly polymer frame, state of the art stuff, like this one," I said, patting the SR9. "I'd give you this one except it doesn't shoot the silver-jacketed bullets well at all."

"I don't know if I could shoot that sweet girl, either," she said.

"You mind keeping watch with me while I eat?" I said. She sat on the arm of the chair, and I started eating.

"This is magnificent food," I said.

"Thank you," she replied.

"If she gets past me," I said between bites, "I'll be torn to pieces and you will have heard it happen. I think you'll be able to shoot."

"I think you're afraid of hurting her," Andrea said.

"I don't want to hurt her," I replied. "That's not the same thing as being afraid to hurt her."

"I still think you're afraid of hurting her," she commented. "I think you, Mr. Zee, are a little sweet on her."

I shrugged. "I find her attractive," I said. "I like girls with curves."

"It's more than that," Andrea said. "You like her personality, too."

"I don't know, I've only really seen her cry and be upset," I chuckled.

"And it tears at your heart to see her in pain," Andrea said.

That stopped me in my tracks. Andrea was right.

I quickly finished my meal. "Thank you, Andrea," I said.

"Go to bed, Creigh, I'll keep watch for a while," she said.

"I appreciate that, it's been a really long day," I said. "Don't leave here without waking me up for the next watch," I added. "And if she starts pounding to get out of there, you get me up right away."

"Just one more question," said Andrea. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"You were right, Andrea," I said. I left one of the Ruger Blackhawks and the SR-9 with her. "Please, if you must shoot, use this one first. It's a semi-automatic. You'll have to switch off the safety before you can fire," I said, showing her where it was and demonstrating how to turn the safety on and off. "Once the safety is off, you can keep firing until it's empty just by pulling the trigger."

Andrea nodded. "My father had one something like this from the second world war; I know how it works. Good night, Creigh."
Chapter Fifteen

When I awoke, there was daylight. Immediately, I panicked and jumped out of bed. The door opened as I reached for the Blackhawk as fast as I could.

"It's okay, it's morning," said Andrea. She looked at me in my underwear and quickly looked away. "Sorry."

"Did you watch her all night?" I asked.

"Heavens no, I watched her until one o'clock, then Desmond took over until six. It's seven thirty now."

I sighed. "You should have let me take a watch," I complained, pulling on some socks.

"You were exhausted," Andrea stated. "She's asking for you, over the intercom."

"You haven't gone in?"

"I thought it might not be a good idea," she replied. "I'm going to go make some breakfast."

I pulled up my pants. I was going to need to do a wash load soon, I thought, I was almost out of pants.

"Creigh." It was Natalia, over a speaker.

On the chair, there was a slip of paper next to the abandoned SR9. It had the combination to open the door from the outside. I punched it into a keypad and entered the room.

Natalia was naked and blushing. I readily admit to being male, and I took in the sight of her whole body before realizing that I was being rude. "I'm sorry," I said, and forced my eyes away from her.

"I think my suitcase is still in your car," she said, red-faced. When I didn't say anything, she said, "I'm going to need—"

"A change of clothes. Of course. I'm sorry." I left the room and pulled the door shut behind me.

I came down the stairs.

"How are things in there?" asked Desmond from the table. He looked like somebody who hadn't slept much. My second Blackhawk was on the table next to him.

"Nothing's destroyed, except her clothes. She tore those off," I said. Andrea glanced at me with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm going out to the car to get her suitcase," I said.

I retrieved the suitcase and went back upstairs. I had locked her in again, inadvertently, so I keyed in the combination. The door opened and I caught sight of her again; I quickly looked to the floor. My traitor eyes flicked up to get a second look at her legs but I forced them down again, and I pushed the piece of luggage into the room and stepped back.

"Come downstairs for breakfast when you're dressed," I said, before retreating down the stairs myself.

I sat down at the table. "You two didn't have to let me sleep the whole night," I said.

"We'll let you watch tonight. I need my beauty sleep," said Desmond with a grin. "I've called in to the office and cancelled all my appointments," he added. "What cures shall we try to attempt?"

"I haven't decided," I said. "I want to know how she did last night."

Natalia appeared in the doorway. "I did pretty well," she said. "I had a blackout, and when I came to, my clothes were destroyed." She looked at me and a blush rose again. "It was only around eleven o'clock when I came to, though, and I remember being lucid. I hadn't wrecked anything. I didn't have any dreams of watching myself doing anything. I didn't throw up any more."

"So maybe burning the wolf-skin had an effect," I said. "Is the throwing up a normal event around the transformation?" I asked.

"Not at all, the first time that happened was when the wolf-skin was burning."

"It wasn't completely burned to ashes until around eleven," offered Desmond. "Maybe its effect on you is completely undone."

"You couldn't put it on," I said. "Maybe without being able to put it on, no transformation was possible."

"We can find out if a transformation happened," said Desmond. "There is a 24 hour recording going on in there."

We all looked at each other, and I think this time we were all blushing. Natalia would be naked for the larger part of the recording.

She sighed. "We need to know," she said. "I can handle it."

So, after breakfast, we reviewed the tape, going as quickly as possible through the whole night with visual fast-forwarding. She had gone into a trance-like state and had torn her clothes off very shortly after we had put her in the room. Then she was pacing, as if looking for the wolf-skin, perhaps. About the time she said she had come to, the trance-like state went away. She examined her torn clothes, and cried some more. Andrea was right. It pained my heart to see her crying over what had happened to her. She got over her crying spell, and I could see that she was cold. Again, her discomfort pained me. Then she laid down, arranged her torn clothes over herself and made a makeshift pillow, and went to sleep.

"We'll get you some proper bedding for in there tonight," said Andrea, quietly. "Last night we had to get you in there in a panic."

Natalia's eyes had teared up again, after seeing her ordeal. "I know. Thank you."

I sat thinking about what to do next. I was worried that my judgement was clouded. I had watched the video and had learned something about what she had gone through last night. There was a selfish side of me, though, that had just loved the sight of her body; I felt she looked like a beautiful plus-sized model. I shook it off, and chastised myself inwardly for unprofessionalism first, then being a poor example of a Christian second.

At that point I decided the next thing to try.

"I saw some Watchtower and Awake magazines by your door yesterday," I said. "Are you spiritually seeking?"

"I've let them in sometimes and we've talked. I've read some of their books, but I don't read any of it now. Now I take their magazines, to keep from offending them, but I don't read them. I've sort of exhausted that possibility. They do have me very confused, though. Their arguments against the trinity really have me questioning the teachings of the churches." She looked up, embarrassed. "But you people probably have no interest in all that," she added.

"Quite the contrary," I said. "Desmond, and Andrea, and I are all Christians. Desmond has been since he was a boy. I became a Christian later in life. I was raised a Mormon, in fact."

Desmond glanced at me; he hadn't known that.

"So the identity of God, so to speak, was a big problem for me as well," I continued. "I didn't believe the Mormon teaching about it, but I wasn't sure about the beliefs of the other churches either."

"What is the Mormon teaching?" asked Natalia.

"Mormons believe that God is just one of many gods. He used to be just a man but became a god, just like Mormons expect to become gods themselves; in fact Brigham Young introduced the idea that Adam was God. They believe the other gods gave our god authority over this one planet. It's quite different from the JW's idea that there's only one God, with the conclusion that it must mean the Holy Spirit is not a personality and Jesus is just an angel. I'm sure they'd all say I'd misrepresented their beliefs somehow, but that's really it in a nutshell. The rest is all details."

"And you've come to believe in the trinity?" Natalia asked.

"Yes," I said. "I don't mean to demean your intelligence or your understanding, but once you've discovered it, you find it everywhere. The Word exudes the doctrine of the trinity. Maybe I can help you see it."

"I would love to know the answer," Natalia said. "But is this the most important thing right now?"

"It's the most important thing all the time," I said with a smile. "But yes, it might be important to this very situation, too. Becoming a Christian may cure lycanthropy. In the Middle Ages, the Catholics believed that lycanthropy could only happen to unbelievers, and that a conversion to Christianity would cure it. They believed lycanthropy coincided with heresy and unbelief."

"What do you think?" Natalia asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know if it will cure it, but even if it doesn't, you'll be better off for coping with it with God's help."

"Well, then, tell me what you think," Natalia said.

"Okay, the first big mystery is, we have to repent before we can believe. What I mean is, we must want to give up our former life for the new life God gives us, and we also must give up and set aside everything we think we know about God, everything anyone ever told us, so that we can learn the truth. Let me prove what I'm saying. Desmond, do you have a Bible handy?"

"Mine's on my nightstand," Andrea interjected.

"Please get it," I said. Andrea left to get it. "I know you have a lot of stressors right now, Natalia, but I want you to calm your mind. Could you pray for a calm mind, and for God's help to know if what I'm telling you is true?"

"Yes," she said quietly. She prayed silently. When Andrea returned, I started flipping pages. When Natalia stopped praying and looked at me, I continued.

"Look at this one, 2 Timothy 2:25, it ends with, 'perhaps God may give them repentance leading to a full knowledge of the truth'. See, repentance leads to the truth." I flipped more pages, backward, to get to Mark 1:15. "Here, when Jesus is preaching, he says, 'repent and believe the gospel.' We have to repent in order to believe the gospel."

"So I have to clean up my life first?" asked Natalia.

"No, just the opposite," I said. "You have to change your mind—that's what 'repent' means—you have to change your mind about the idea that you have to work for your own salvation. Instead you have to trust that Jesus Christ did all the work for you."

Natalia tilted her head, considering what I'd said.

"Every religion is about you working your way to heaven through self-effort, except for one: true Christianity," I said. "In true Christianity, you have to repent of trying to do it yourself, and believe the good news, that Jesus Christ did the work for you, and trust in Him to save you."

Natalia was skeptical. "So you can live however you feel like," she said.

"No, that's not it either," I replied. "We have to live in a way that is befitting of what Jesus has done for us; we have to strive to be like Him. This is called being godly. We have to live loving lives, to try to do for others the things that, if we were in their places, we would want them to do for us. There's a big difference, though, after we're saved. If we try to be godly before we're saved, it's uncomfortable and difficult. After we're saved, it is more comfortable to live in a godly way, and if we don't live in a godly way, the Holy Spirit makes us very uncomfortable until we return to being godly."

Natalia was nodding her head, still interested.

"Now, here's the problem, for people who don't understand who Jesus is," I said. "How do we know that Jesus has the power to wipe out all of your sin in God's sight? How are we one hundred percent guaranteed that we can trust Him on that? I say, we only know for a one hundred percent certainty that Jesus knows what God is going to do, if Jesus is God Himself."

"So, are you saying that God came down from heaven in the form of Jesus?" Natalia asked. "I have trouble with that, because I can't see how God could leave heaven and be here only."

"What you're thinking of is called 'modalism,'" I replied. "That's not how it works. I can explain that, but it's getting ahead of ourselves. I want to ask you something very philosophical: would you agree with me that everything that was not created must be God?"

She thought about it quickly. "That would have to be true," she said.

I turned to John chapter one. "Now I know that the Jehovah's Witnesses' version of the Bible says 'the Word', that is, Jesus, was 'a' god, but practically all other versions say that the Word was God, with no indefinite article," I said. "But it also says, in verse 2, that in the beginning He was with God, so that's confusing, right?"

"Yes; how can you be God, and be with God?" said Natalia.

"Let's put that aside and look down here at verse three. It says, 'All things were made through him. Without him was not anything made that has been made.' So if Jesus was a created being like the Jehovah's Witnesses say, this can't be true, because He Himself would have to have been made, and He couldn't have made Himself."

"That's true," Natalia commented with surprise in her voice.

I flipped back to Genesis 1:1 and 2. "Look at this, in verse 1, what does it say God made?"

"The heavens and the earth," she said.

"In verse 2, what's hovering above the waters?"

"The Spirit," she said.

"Does verse 1 say that God made the Spirit?"

"No, it doesn't," she said.

"So the Spirit wasn't 'made' either. So I've identified three things that haven't been made: God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. These things that haven't been made, have to be God."

She sat back in her chair. "So Jesus definitely is God," she said, somewhat awestruck. "I don't understand how, but He has to be."

"Yes. It explains Isaiah 7:14, which says, 'Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin will conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.' Immanuel means, 'God with us.'"

"How can this be?" she asked.

"It's actually very simple. God is a corporate entity," I said. "He is three Persons at once. Think of it this way: if nothing else existed, God the Father would exist, and God the Son would exist; and the relationship between them also has to be God, because nothing else exists but God. That relationship between them is the Holy Spirit, which is also a Person of the Godhead, by which I mean, the trinity. This is why the Bible says of Jesus, 'in him all the fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily'. That's in Colossians 2:9," I added, pointing at the verse on the page.

"Now when God sends His Holy Spirit to live in us, that is because He is bringing us into the same relationship with Him that He has with Jesus. The Holy Spirit lives in the Father, and in the Son, because the Holy Spirit is the part of God that has the role of relating the Father to the Son, and us to Them. If you believe, the Father will send the Holy Spirit to live in you, too, and you will be in a relationship with God, the Father, the Son and the Spirit, for the rest of your life and all time thereafter."

Natalia looked up at me sharply. "I believe it!" she said.

We prayed together, and Natalia received Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. I hoped the Catholics were right, that this would eliminate a person's lycanthropy. Even if it didn't, though, her soul had been saved.
Chapter Sixteen

We had a bit of a celebration after Natalia had believed.

"That was awesome to watch, Creigh," Desmond said excitedly. "I have never been present for a conversion to Christianity before."

"Natalia and I were on the same wavelength," I said. "We had the same hurdle to overcome; lies about the nature of God, oversimplifications that make everything else too complicated. I was glad to be used in this way."

In fact, I felt unbelievably good, totally 'cleaned out' inside. I found that whenever I shared the gospel message, I felt terrific afterwards.

"How on earth did you get into what you're doing?" asked Desmond. "I've never heard things explained like that before. Why aren't you a preacher or something?"

"I was too late coming to Christ for anything like that," I commented. "And I'm pretty sure a murderer shouldn't be a minister."

"Moses was a murderer," said Desmond.

I just shrugged. "Moses probably didn't like it as much as I do," I said.

"You don't like it either, Creigh," Desmond replied, as the ladies returned to the room with celebratory coffee and cake.

"Doesn't like what?" asked Natalia.

"Killing people," I replied matter-of-factly. I could see my response caused some unease.

"I had to kill a lady named Sue Derderian," I said. "She was infected by Ralph Hendricks, just like you. Except when we interviewed her, she wanted to fight. She came at me and a cop. She was going to kill the cop, and probably me afterwards, and I killed her first. And yes, I felt very badly about that. I tried to prevent it but I couldn't.

"Then I found Ralph Hendricks. I did try to cure him first, but I couldn't. He was knowingly infecting women, and he was at least something of a psychopath. He was delusional. He was trying to make a deal with me to get away and keep doing it. I didn't mind shooting him to death one bit."

This was met with some silence. Then Andrea broke the silence by saying, "I would have done that, too. You were preventing women from being victimized by him in the future."

"There's a character in the Scriptures, in the Old Testament," I continued. "The Avenger of Death. It doesn't appear to be an angel or anything else but a person. It's someone who avenges the deaths of those who were murdered. If you had accidentally killed someone, you could go to a safe city to avoid being killed by the Avenger of Death. Maybe I flatter myself by thinking that was someone like me."

"How did you try to cure Ralph Hendricks?" asked Natalia.

I laughed. "I was afraid you might ask. All of these things were medieval folk cures for lycanthropy. I tried the thing with calling his name three times, and I tried rebuking him, both things I also tried with you."

"And?"

"Well, a conversion to Christianity didn't seem possible, since he was making death threats and acting proud of having infected people to make them into werewolves, and he already thought he was on a mission from God to punish immoral women. So I tried some of the more extreme medieval measures. I drove nails through his hands. I struck him on the forehead with a knife. None of it worked."

Natalia drew a hitching breath. "I would let you do either one of those things, if it would get rid of the lycanthropy," she said.

"Well, they didn't work on him, so they wouldn't work on you either," I said. "Besides, you might be cured already and we just don't know it yet."

"Cured by conversion to Christianity," mused Desmond.

"We're getting off topic," said Natalia. "How did you get to be a killer?"

"How does anyone?" I said. "You'd probably expect something like me having a military or a police background, but I don't. I'm completely self-taught. I was just an office worker for most of my life. I probably make mistakes that a person with a military or police background wouldn't make. I'm just a guy who started to get frustrated with all the injustice in this country and got too sick of it to just let it go anymore. Desmond knows more of the story."

"Tell me," Natalia demanded, in a meek tone of voice.

"I experienced a lot of personal injustice, and I just took it. What else can you do? You can't fight back legally, the courts are rigged in favour of the bad guys. Then, in a totally unrelated situation, I had a friend who was assaulted and traumatized, and the police wouldn't prosecute the guy who did it because of his political connections. That's not at all uncommon in my home province, to have people who are above the law because of who they know politically. It occurred to me that, because it wasn't my situation, I could take action and no one could guess who had done it, because I was connected in no known way. So I punished him myself, and there begins my life of crime."

"You killed him?"

I chuckled. "No. He may have wished I had." I left it at that. "Anyway, I began intervening in unjust situations where the people who are supposed to help refuse to help. Not every problem I encounter is solved with violence, but frankly, most of it is. I can't deal with all the injustice in the world, but I can deal with those little bits of it that come my way."

"How does your, um, worldview, relate to what you're doing here?" asked Andrea.

"It is unjust for these children to have their lives cut off before they could live them. When I found out how this was happening, with Hendricks deliberately infecting women, then it was unjust for the women to have their normal natures stolen from them. So for me, the only way to bring justice here is to stop the continued bloodshed, and try to give these women their normal natures back."

"There is such a thing as a court system," commented Desmond. "I would think in most cases, cases that don't involve paranormal events, that it would suffice for justice."

"I appreciate that you're a lawyer, Desmond," I began, "and while I agree that there is a court system in this country, I would argue that calling it a 'justice system' is far from the truth. The people who lie the best, the ones who are the most dishonest, the ones that are the most ruthless—they are the winners. In Canada we spend most of our time punishing the good for the sins of the bad. This is true in every level of court."

Desmond sat back in his chair. "Well, I understand that is your honest assessment, but I like to think I have done people some good over the years, that I have stood for justice."

"With a character like yours, I'm sure you have," I allowed. "But the good apple can't help a barrel that's full of rotten ones."

"So, you serve up justice at the end of a gun?"

"That's the way justice is best served," I replied. "If you view justice as equality, then yes; guns make people equal. It's part of why the Canadian elites find them so offensive."

"With yourself as judge, jury, and executioner," commented Desmond.

"If I was a harsh or unreasonable judge, it would be unjust," I said. "But I try very hard to keep people alive, even the bad guys, until it is proven that there's no saving them."

"It's a lot of responsibility for one man," Desmond replied. "I don't want to seem like an interrogator, Creigh, or to be difficult, but I just don't agree with you. Justice is best served by a fair and reasonable court system."

"Then it's a shame we have a court system that is neither," I replied.

"We will have to agree to disagree on that," Desmond responded.

I reached over and patted his shoulder. "Good men can disagree honestly," I said with a smile.

"So we can," he smiled back.

"We got off the topic again, of how you became what you are, Creigh," Natalia said.

"When I was a young man, questioning my Mormon faith, I learned about the Danites," I said, "and in particular, a fellow named Bill Hickman, who had served as a hit man for Brigham Young. He wrote an autobiography called 'Brigham's Destroying Angel.' Not only did it give some history, but it exposed those Brigham Young for what he was, although Hickman took a kind of high view of Joseph Smith. For some reason, I identified with this guy and, well, eventually, I became a lot like him, in a way. Ready to kill, when necessary, just like it was another job. Whatever seed of violence was in me that made me identify with such a character was dormant for many, many years. It was dormant until the constant injustice I saw around me woke it up."

"Who is your Brigham Young, Creigh?" asked Desmond. "That person who phones you from time to time?"

"He is some government official, like I told you after we left Rick Nolan's house," I said. "I don't know exactly what organization he works for. His purpose is to keep paranormal phenomena a state secret. I would be endangering your lives to tell you any more about him. I may have endangered you telling you as much as I did."

"Do you work for him voluntarily, or by coercion?" asked Desmond.

"You know how the police sometimes let criminals alone, so they can serve a purpose? For instance, when they use a criminal as an informant? That's more or less how Jack treats me. He looks the other way, and makes the authorities look the other way, with regard to my activities, so he can use me to accomplish some of his purposes.

"My last case before coming here was a simple matter of threatening a stalker who was scaring and threatening his ex girlfriend. Not all of my cases involve the paranormal. When the paranormal comes up, though, he sends those cases my way, because I am willing to work with him to keep them quiet."

"But why, Creigh? Shouldn't people know these things exist?"

"It would cause mass hysteria and panic," I said. "Most people can't handle the truth, I'm afraid. They couldn't handle knowing that, for instance, werewolves exist. So yes, I go along with that, and I operate secretly about these things. When this is over, you must never speak of it publicly or tell anyone about it. Not only would you appear to be lunatics, but if you gained any credence, you may attract this guy's attention. He might arrange an accident for you."

"And if we did, Creighton? Then what? Would he send you to kill us?"

"I show honour towards my friends," I said. "I wouldn't do that. But if he moved against you, I wouldn't know about it, either. Not until it was too late. So you must agree to always keep this a secret."

"The other town councillors know about this," said Desmond. "About us contracting you to get rid of a werewolf problem."

"Yes, but they think Sue was actually a psychopath, and they don't know anything about Hendricks, or about Natalia," I replied. "They must never know."

Desmond drew in a deep breath. "I agree."

"I agree," said Andrea.

Natalia was staring at me. "I will never tell, but now I have something else to worry about," she said. "What if this man views me as evidence?"

I hadn't thought about that. "That possibility never even crossed my mind," I said. "He hasn't called to give me any instructions concerning you."

"And if he tells you to kill me?" she asked.

"I would die myself first," I replied, and I meant it.
Chapter Seventeen

After an early supper, arranged to be over before night fell, I followed Natalia up the stairs. She was going into the safe room, and I was going into the chair in front of it to keep watch.

"This has been quite a day," she said.

"The first day of new life for you," I said. "That's the most important thing."

"Yes," she said. "I can't believe the sense of peace I feel, even in these circumstances."

"Your salvation may also have cured your lycanthropy," I said. "We won't know until you make it through a night."

She sighed deeply. "Pray for me, Creigh," she said.

"I've been doing that since I met you," I replied.

She started to go in the room, but stopped in the doorway. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Maybe you should ask it from inside the safe room," I cautioned.

"I don't want this question going out over the speakers," she said.

"It's the other way around," I said. "You can hear what happens in the house, but unless you press the button, what you say doesn't go out over the speakers."

She waved this aside. "Are you attracted to me?"

I paused, but only briefly. "Yes," I admitted. "Very much so."

"I got the sense that you—" she started, then stopped, blushing. "I think you like my body."

"I do," I replied.

"Not many men like a curvy woman," she said.

"Many more than you realize, I bet," I replied. "There's even a term for it, BBW."

"I'm familiar with that term," she said. "I know I'm big, and I know I'm a woman, but I didn't know I was beautiful."

"You are," I replied. "Sincerely."

She smiled. "I guess I have to go in this room."

I sighed and nodded. "I'm sorry, Natalia. You have to go in for tonight at least. We need to know what effect conversion to Christianity has had on you. None of the other remedies I have tried so far on anyone have worked."

"What if I end up being Christian, and a werewolf?" she asked.

"Well, we can hope that being a Christian may give you the power not to go after human flesh," I said. "Maybe you could restrict yourself to livestock. And if this doesn't completely cure it, it's not the end of the possibilities. I have _Pao Zhi_ , which is wolfs-bane, processed to be non poisonous. We could try that next."

"What I meant was, could you love me if I end up being Christian, and a werewolf?"

I almost couldn't believe my ears. The attraction I felt toward her was being reciprocated. I stepped forward and kissed her deeply. We parted momentarily, but then kissed again, longer, even more deeply.

"I think that tells me what I needed to know," Natalia said, and retreated into the safe room.

With regret, I closed the door, locking her in for the night, and sat heavily into the chair I had arranged in front of the door to the safe room.

Andrea crept up the stairs behind me.

"I've got this watch, Andrea," I said.

"I know, I've brought you some coffee to help you stay awake."

I accepted the coffee with thanks.

"I didn't need the microphone to overhear that, by the way," she said with a little smile.

I slapped my forehead, my hand smacking against my receding hairline.

"I'm very happy for you two," she said. "Creigh, I don't think I could use the gun on her. I couldn't shoot her with silver bullets. Not to save my own life."

"I have every hope we won't have to," I said. "In the meantime, you keep that gun loaded and close by. I'm not getting you guys killed."

Andrea retreated down the stairs. The coffee was black and sugary, the way I liked it. I picked up the Blackhawk and looked at it, and thought about how long it had been since Jack had called. I carried it to my bedroom, opened up the loading gate, removed the cylinder pin, and removed the nine millimetre cylinder. I replaced it with the .357 magnum cylinder. I reached into my bag and withdrew a box of .357 magnum ammunition, and loaded them individually into the cylinder, and closed the loading gate.

The .357's had about thirty percent more power than the nine millimetres, and around twenty-five percent more power than even a .45 ACP. They were not intended for use on Natalia if she escaped the safe room as a werewolf. They were intended for use on anyone Jack might send to double-cross me. The silence from Jack was unnerving. I didn't trust him.

I came back to sit in front of the safe room. I sipped the coffee Andrea had provided.

Hours passed. I even dozed in the comfortable chair.

I awoke with a start at two in the morning, and looked around. There was no sign of anything that would have awakened me.

"Natalia," I said. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," she whispered over the speaker.

"Have you slept any?" I asked.

"Yes."

"How are things going in there?"

"There is no sign that I have transformed into a werewolf tonight. My clothes are still on. I think I've been fine."

I pondered this. "I'll check the tape," I said. I trotted downstairs to the console I had been shown earlier that day. I checked over the tape. She had slept—there was an inflatable camping bed in there now so it was much more comfortable than the night before. There was no sign of werewolf behaviour.

After I had reviewed the tape, I switched back to live feed and practically jumped, my heart plummeting. She was taking off her clothes. I can't even describe the disappointment I felt that the lycanthropy was still not cured.

She stopped at her underwear, looked up at the camera and said, "Would you like me to go further?"

I laughed out loud. "Natalia! You scared me half to death!" I said.

She was laughing and putting her clothes back on. "I got you," she said. As she dressed, her tone got more serious. "Do you think I'm really cured?" she said.

"I'd like to get through the rest of the night and see, but yes, this is looking very good!" I said.

"Me, or the possibility of a cure?" she teased.

"Both!" I replied, and we laughed again.

"Okay, I'm coming back upstairs," I said.

I walked through the kitchen, and Kyle Johnson emerged from a shadow and shot me in the chest.
Chapter Eighteen

I looked at Kyle in disbelief, as I slowly fell down to the kitchen floor.

"Creigh!" I heard Natalia scream over the microphone.

I could hear rapid movement in the other bedroom; Desmond and Andrea had awakened to the sound of the gunshot. "Creigh! What's happening?" Desmond yelled.

I tried to answer but I couldn't seem to get air.

Another man stepped out of the shadows. "You got him," he said, stating the obvious.

Kyle cursed. "I forgot the mag with the silver bullets in the car," he said. "I didn't want to waste a silver one on this guy."

"Want me to go out and get it?" the other one said.

"No, he carries silver ones," said Kyle. He reached down and took the SR9 I had tucked in my waistband. He didn't notice, or didn't care, that I had a Blackhawk in a holster. Perhaps he didn't know that a revolver could shoot nine millimetre; I hadn't shown him my revolver. Maybe there was a way to win this one yet; if he didn't give me a _coup-de-gras_ shot. I held my breath and kept my eyes open and unfocused.

Kyle snorted. "He died on us, it looks like," he said.

"We were supposed to keep him alive," said the other one.

"Too dangerous," said Kyle. "I didn't mean to kill him but I'm kind of glad I did. Wish I could have asked him where he stashed that werewolf, though."

Desmond appeared down the stairs. "What?" he said dumbly as Kyle started toward him.

There was a gunshot and a hole appeared in the floor between Desmond and Kyle Johnson.

"You keep away from him!" yelled Andrea, crying, standing at the top of the stairs, the other Blackhawk in her hand with a smoking barrel.

"We want the werewolf," said Kyle. "No one else needs to get hurt."

"You killed Creigh," said Desmond, his voice quaking with disbelief.

"And I will kill you too, unless you give me the werewolf," said Kyle. "You drop that gun, lady."

"You won't hurt us," Andrea hissed. "You need us. You can't get to her without us."

Kyle shot her with his own Smith & Wesson. She screamed and fell down at the top of the stairs.

"You bastard!" shouted Desmond. He charged at Kyle but was tackled by the other agent. The two of them beat him while he was down. I was watching this, passing out. I must not pass out.

When I came to, they were dragging him up the stairs. I didn't know if I had been out for a moment, or for minutes. From the look of Desmond, it had been minutes. He was bruised and bloodied by the beating he had taken. They were paying no attention to me. I tried to sit up. My back was sticky with my own blood. I saw my blood spilled out on the floor. I reached for the Ruger Blackhawk, and felt its solid grip in my hand.

I heard Andrea screaming. Kyle Johnson was sticking a finger into her bullet wound and twisting it around.

"I can do this all night," he said, "but you can save your wife if you just open up the door."

"Don't kill her," pleaded Desmond.

"I won't kill her if you open up the door," said Kyle, removing his finger from the bullet wound, that appeared to be in Andrea's leg. I now had the Blackhawk in one hand and was dragging myself along the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind me.

"I mean the werewolf," said Desmond. "Don't kill her. If you promise not to kill her, I will open the door."

"We're not here to kill her," replied Kyle. "The man in charge wants her. We need to keep her alive for experiments."

"Then, I'll open it," said Desmond. I was still dragging myself. I could now see Kyle's feet at the top of the stairs. I had to get further. I couldn't risk just wounding him.

I heard beeping as Desmond keyed in the combination. I wanted to yell that it was a trick. I tried; all that came out was a hiss.

The door opened. Kyle pushed Desmond out of the way and fired three nine-millimetre rounds from the SR9 directly into Natalia Norayan's heart. She screamed and fell.

I was too late to save her. If she was no longer a werewolf, the nine-millimetres at point blank range would have killed her easily. I felt a cheated rage bubbling up inside me.

I gave myself one last mighty heave, as Kyle turned to point the gun at Desmond and Andrea. I now had a view of his whole body.

I cocked the gun, lined up my shot and squeezed the Ruger's smooth trigger, and Kyle Johnson's head exploded. There was no other word for it. The .357 bullet entered his skull just behind his eye. It travelled through his head and smashed a hole through the top of his skull. A large portion of his brains fell out of his head as he dropped to the floor.

I rolled over, causing myself extreme pain, to line up a shot on his partner. When I was back on my belly again, my gun already re-cocked, I could see him sighting in on me, then there was flame from his muzzle. His nine millimetre round hit the wood floor right next to my face. I screamed and lay still.

He came out from behind cover, lowering his gun to his side, making sure that he had made his shot. A crooked smile appeared on his face, and I moved quickly, taking aim and squeezing that smooth revolver trigger. He had time to lose his smile just before the round blew through his heart, blasting bits of it out through a hole in his back. He turned in his tracks before he fell end over end down the stairs.

I rolled onto my back and fought nausea, not from the killing, but from the pain. Kyle Johnson and whoever his friend were had been sent by Jack to murder me, Desmond, Andrea, and Natalia. They deserved what they got. Oh, poor Natalia! She had not deserved what happened to her.

Desmond suddenly was at my side. I realized I had passed out again.

"Creigh, we need to get you to a hospital," he said.

"No," I replied in a whisper. "I'm finished. If the guy at the top of this finds out I'm in the hospital, I'm dead anyway. Get yourself and Andrea to a hospital right away."

"How will I explain her wound?" Desmond asked, almost panicked.

"Gun cleaning accident," I replied. "Go."

Desmond was reluctant to leave me.

"Go!" I yelled—or as close as I could get to yelling. It sounded like a hoarse whisper.

Desmond nodded, and went up the stairs. He came back down moments later, helping Andrea walk on her good leg.

"I'm so sorry, Creigh," Andrea said. "About Natalia."

I waved her off. My eyes started leaking. I had perhaps come close to love; but the violence of my life had prevented all love, and now my life was slowly ending, slowly leaking out of me along with my blood.

"God bless you guys," I managed. "Be safe."

I laid my head back down, and passed out again.
Chapter Nineteen

When I saw Natalia, alive, down on the same level where I lay, I knew I was either having a hallucinatory vision preceding death, or was in fact joining the afterlife. She was crying, as she seemed to do very often. I almost laughed, but it turned into a cough; a cough that was sticky with blood.

"Creigh, you're still alive," she said.

"You appear to be, too," I replied. I almost laughed again. I knew it was a ridiculous, pre-death hallucination, but I was at least enjoying it.

"The bullet he shot me with," she said, "it wasn't silver. Look, Creigh! The bullet holes have completely healed! But I haven't turned into a werewolf."

I didn't know what to say. I supposed it didn't matter, this being a hallucination and all.

Natalia got to her feet and started taking off her clothes. "I'm not going to let you die," she said. "You have to let me save you."

My head lolled in her direction as she removed her pants and started to work on her bra. "What're you doing?" I slurred.

"I know Christians have something against sex," she said, "but you have to let me make love to you."

I raised my eyebrows and laid my head back. This, I thought, was going out in style, with a wet dream. I felt her tugging at my pants. It was so realistic. I had a habit of waking up just before these dreams went anywhere; I always had. I concentrated on trying to stay in the dream, so what I had been cheated out of in real life would at least be acted out in my subconscious before death.

She opened my shirt. That hurt a little, pulling against my gunshot wound. She kissed me warmly on the lips. I opened my mouth to her, and she pushed her tongue inside. We traded tongues back and forth for a few moments.

"I have to get you hard," she said. I looked down. She was naked, her thick body glorious in the dim lighting. I was naked too; at least, my pants had been pulled down and my shirt was opened. She took me into her mouth and I groaned in pleasure.

She patiently used her mouth on me, my penis hardening between her lips, and on her tongue. It felt spectacular. Once she judged I was hard enough, she straddled me, her lovely, thick legs coming down next to my hips. Taking me in her hand, she put me inside her. I felt my foreskin roll back deliciously, and my bare head bask in the warmth of her. She began moving her hips rhythmically, drawing me up into her, hardening me further. I felt safe in her warmth, and began to pass out in my dream. I was going to miss it, yet again.

"Stay with me," Natalia said. I opened my eyes and looked at her body on top of mine.

Her breath started to catch. I felt her moving toward her orgasm. Imagining what that would be like moved me closer, too. Then it happened: her muscles rippled; her eyes closed; her mouth opened slightly as she gave voice to her pleasure, and she came. I felt the waves of her orgasm on my member, and then I was caught up in it too, emptying inside her with a pleasure that was almost unbearable. I pumped my hips up into her as I came, filling her. I shouted with pleasure, my voice mixing with hers in the dim light of the room.

She lifted herself off of me, and laid down next to me. "Now sleep," she said. "Sleep my darling. When you awake, all will be well."

I found myself passing out again. I wanted to keep feeling her body next to mine. As illusory as it was, I didn't want to ever lose the feeling of her body, the sense of her skin moulding to my contours. She had draped one of her legs over mine; I so loved the feeling of it, the smoothness, the weight, the size. My consciousness, if you could call it that, was fading fast. I tried to speak, but words would not come quickly enough. I passed out.

When I awoke, I was alone, and I felt no pain. As my eyes cleared, I looked about myself, finding myself still in Desmond's living room. So this was the afterlife. My pants were still down and my shirt was still open, but my bullet wound was gone, completely healed. I touched where it had been and laughed. I sat up, completely without pain, other than the pain one would expect from sleeping on a hardwood floor all night.

I didn't expect to see the dead body of Kyle's partner in the afterlife, but there it was at the bottom of the stairs, broken, twisted, and gory, with a hole in his back, the .357 having blown a wide hole in him on exit. The Ruger Blackhawk lay on the floor, another unanticipated detail of my first moments in death. After pulling up my pants, I picked it up and opened the loading gate, turning the cylinder to check the status of the rounds. Sure enough, there were two fired rounds, and four unfired rounds.

I didn't know if I should carry concealed in the afterlife. In any case, I shoved the Ruger into my pants, its hammer down, safe for the moment but ready for action if it should be necessary, and started up the stairs.

I came to the top landing, to find Kyle Johnson, his head a bloody horror, his brain visible through a hole in his skull and mostly out of his head, on the floor in front of the safe room. I looked inside the safe room, but no one was there. I checked Desmond and Andrea's room: empty. Then I went to my room. There was a form under the covers. I wondered briefly if it was my own body. I walked over and took a look. It was Natalia, beautiful in sleep.

Her eyes opened, and then she sat up in joy. "It worked!" she shouted happily. "You're alive!"

She jumped out of the bed and hugged me. I felt the skin of her chest against mine and realized she was naked.

She kissed me lustily.

"I don't understand what's happened," I said, puzzled to the point of being nearly speechless.

"I didn't turn into a werewolf at all last night," she said. "But when Kyle Johnson shot me, I fell and was unconscious for a while, but then my bullet wound healed over, just as if I was still a werewolf."

I blinked rapidly. "Did we make love last night?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "And now your bullet wounds have healed as well."

My eyes widened and I held her shoulders. "You gave your werewolf powers to me by making love to me," I stated.

"Yes!" she said. "And it worked! You're alive!"

I sat down on the bed. "I might be a werewolf," I said incredulously.

"Well, you didn't turn into one last night," Natalia said.

I blinked rapidly again. It was almost too much to process. "I had a definitely fatal bullet wound," I said. "Kyle shot me in the lung. It was filling up with blood." I looked up at Natalia's beautiful form. "You saved my life," I stated.

"And I've made you even harder to kill," she replied with a broad smile.

"That is incredible," I said, my voice filled with wonder.

"It is the power without the affliction," said Natalia, who was now getting dressed.

I stepped out into the hallway and surveyed the dead bodies. A plan was beginning to percolate in my mind.

"What happened to Desmond and Andrea?" asked Natalia from the bedroom. "I remember Andrea got shot."

"They went to the hospital. If they listened to me, they didn't go to the closest hospital."

I picked up the SR9 from where it had fallen when Kyle died. "I loaded this gun with regular nine millimetres so, if you were still a werewolf, I could stop you without killing you," I said.

"Well, that's romantic," commented Natalia drily as she pulled on her pants.

"Kyle took my gun because he had forgotten his magazine with silver bullets in the car," I said. "He assumed I had silver bullets in this one. He was here to kill you. He must have been sent by Jack."

"Who's Jack?" asked Natalia, then answered her own question. "He must be the government dude."

"That's right," I replied. "Jack is going to be a problem." I wiped a spot of Kyle's brains off the SR9. I was a little disgusted—not that they were brains, but that they were Kyle's brains. They were brains that had conceived betrayal and as far as he would ever have known, accomplished it. My bullet travelled through his brain and cut off forever the realization that he had failed.

Jack's brains had also conceived betrayal, and I was thinking I would probably have to put them outside of his head, too.

I walked back into the bedroom. Natalia was now fully dressed and ready to leave. I opened up the Blackhawk's loading gate and emptied out the .357's, one at a time, then replaced them with .38 Specials. "You ever shoot a gun before?" I asked Natalia.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Are you scared to?" I asked.

"No," she replied firmly.

"I have a strong feeling that the Garners are in trouble," I said, handing her the Blackhawk. "I need some leverage that will make Jack leave them alone."

"Maybe he hasn't gotten them," Natalia conjectured.

"Even if he hasn't, he will," I replied. I was rooting around in my baggage, and my hand emerged with the suppressor Dean had sent. I screwed it onto the end of the barrel of the SR9 while I talked.

"I'm going to call some people. Very dangerous people. They're going to come here, and I'm going to kill them. Then I'm going to see if I can make a deal with Jack. If they see you, or find you, you may have to defend yourself. Now, I've put some pretty manageable bullets in that gun you have there; they won't recoil much at all in that gun. The only question is, whether you want to take your chances here with me, or take my rental car and get out of here and take your chances out there."

"I'm sticking with you," she said.

"Okay," I said. "Here goes." I took my cell phone and called collections. "Mr. Crazy, at my current location," is all I said to them. They traced my location, confirmed that they'd traced it, and hung up.

"Mr. Crazy?" asked Natalia. "Oh. Creigh Zee. I get it."

I waited for the phone to ring. While I waited, I took my luggage with the ammunition in it out to the rental car. I stopped off at Kyle's car, found the magazine with the silver-jacketed bullets inside, and emptied out the magazine into my hand. I tossed the magazine back into the car and was pocketing the ammunition when the phone rang.

"Crazy?" asked Jack. "You called for a cleanup crew?"

"We had a shootout here last night, Jack," I said. "Kyle Johnson and somebody else showed up, shot me, shot Andrea Garner, and killed the werewolf before I killed both of them."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"I know you sent them, Jack," I said.

"I sent them to kill the werewolf," he replied. "I can't risk that kind of thing getting out. They were supposed to ask you to do it, and if you refused, taser you."

"That's not how they played it, Jack," I replied. "I don't understand why you'd want to kill me."

"I don't, Crazy," said Jack, sounding agitated. "Maybe Kyle saw it as a way out of his job, maybe he wanted to do what you do. I did not order him to kill you."

"I presume you have the Garners?" I said.

There was another pause, then a sigh. "I do," he replied. "Not here, of course. Out there, where you are."

"Dead or alive?" I asked.

"Alive, Crazy, alive," Jack said, irritated. "They told my operative the same thing you told me. Kyle killed the werewolf, and you killed them."

"The werewolf was already cured, Jack," I said, letting my own irritation into my voice. "There was no need to kill her."

"Kyle thought you might be sweet on her, said you hugged her. I didn't trust you to do what I was going to tell you to do."

"I was trying to keep her calm," I snapped. "And she was cured, she didn't turn into a werewolf last night."

"Maybe she died before she could turn," Jack responded.

I sighed. "Well, you may be right, there. Why didn't you send a cleanup team already? You knew where I was."

"I wanted to know if you had gone rogue before I let a team go in there," said Jack. "I was going to give it a day, then send somebody to see if you were dead or alive."

"Well, I'm alive," I replied.

"The Garners thought you were going to die," Jack said. "How did you survive?"

"I couldn't leave the house, I was too shot up. I got a mob doctor to come here and help me."

"Mob?" Jack asked, surprised.

"I don't work exclusively for the Canadian government, Jack," I said. "Surprisingly enough, neither do doctors. Took him an hour to get here, but I managed to hold on."

"Are you angry with me, Crazy? I did what I had to do. Kyle wasn't supposed to kill you, he was supposed to get you to kill the werewolf, or else do it himself."

"I haven't gone rogue," I said. "I just wish you hadn't brought that kind of trouble to this home. If you wanted the werewolf dead, you should have called me, not sent Kyle."

"I couldn't risk putting you on the alert for Kyle if you refused," he replied. "Even when he caught you off-guard, you managed to kill him. I needed that werewolf down, with or without your agreement."

"All right, so are you going to send the Garners back home?" I asked.

"I'm going to try to wipe their memories," said Jack. "They know too much, they saw too much. Apart from the knowledge of werewolves, they saw RCMP officers do a home invasion and murder."

"Wipe them how?" I asked. "Alien technology?"

"With drugs," replied Jack. There was a pause as he thought about what I had said, then he burst out with, "Dammit, Kyle told you?"

I chuckled. "He was an all around good agent, that Kyle," I said.

"Look, Crazy, you've done your job there. Their town has no werewolf. There's a credible story that Sue Derderian was a psychopath. I'm going to send them back thinking that's all that happened, you showed up, killed her, and went home again. I want you out of there before I send them back, so it doesn't mess up the false memories we're going to implant."

"I have to get out of here, then," I said. "Do you want me to head north, see if I can find the last werewolf, or head back east?"

"Well, if you're still on-side, head north," said Jack. "Crazy, I'm sorry Kyle tried to kill you, and I'm sorry I tricked you but I felt I had to, in order to keep this quiet."

"All right, Jack," I replied. "I have to go before the team gets here."

"All right, Crazy," said Jack, and hung up.
Chapter Twenty

"Change in plans," I said. "I have to think. Jack thinks you're dead, so that means you are safe for the moment. The trouble is, I'm pretty sure he's going to kill the Garners."

Natalia gasped. "How do you know?"

"He said he was going to wipe their memories with drugs," I replied. "He said all they would remember was I came, killed Sue Derderian, and left. What he didn't say was what memory he would implant to explain the time that they were away from home, having their memories wiped, and you can't selectively wipe memories like that, it's all or nothing. I believe he's saying these things because he hasn't thought of the problems, because he's not really sending them home. Also he wants me gone, so I don't get to see them come home."

I walked to the car. "Get in, I have to make it appear like I'm in motion away from here."

A confused expression crossed Natalia's features.

"They keep an eye on me through GPS on the cellphone," I explained.

She quickly got in the car. I started it, turned it around, and left down the tree-lined driveway. I turned onto the street and drove back toward the heart of the village.

I saw an eighteen wheeler being fuelled at one of the town's two gas stations, had an inspiration, and pulled in. The trucker was standing next to his rig, filling it with diesel.

"Hey," I said, "could you do me a favour?"

The trucker started to say "no" so I plowed onward. "Are you heading north?"

"Matter of fact, I am, but—"

"Here's all I want you to do," I began. I told him my sister lived in the village where the next werewolf was, and she had accidentally left her cellphone with me. I'd give him 20 bucks if he dropped it off at the gas station there for her to pick up.

"Yeah, I guess I could do that," he said. "What's her name?"

I made up a name. I had no intention of retrieving the cell phone. Once the trucker was done fuelling, I gave him the cellphone to take with him and a twenty dollar bill. Now, as far as Jack knew, I had stopped to get gas and was proceeding north as discussed.

"Can you drive us back to the Garners' place?" I asked Natalia.

"Sure," she said.

She got in the driver's side and drove, while I sat in the back seat with my luggage. I grabbed a handful of .38 Specials to give to Natalia for her revolver. I was extremely thankful now for the foresight of having bought a semi-automatic as well for this job, because it would require a high-capacity magazine and maybe the suppressor to survive the fight that was to come. Dean had included a couple of additional magazines, which I went about filling with regular nine-millimetre ammunition.

We were approaching Desmond's place. I figured the safest way to get to it was through the woods that surrounded the place. I got Natalia to turn the car into a neighbour's driveway. This was during the work day, and fortunately there was no one home to see us there.

"Maybe you should stay here," I said. Natalia shook her head firmly. I gave the loose .38's to her. I showed her how to open the loading gate, how to use the ejection rod to remove spent shells, how to reload the revolver, how to cock the gun, and how to aim. Then we started through the woods. It was somewhat hard going, but not terrible. We closed in on Desmond's place and went as quietly as possible. The cleanup crew had not yet arrived. Perhaps Jack was afraid I was going to double back, as suspicious of me as I was of him. When the truck was far enough distant, he would let the team come in.

We had to sit for about half an hour before a white van pulled into the driveway. This was the time to strike, before they were out of the van. While they were in the van, this would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Once they were out, things would get more complicated.

I took a bead on the driver and shot him in the forehead. The SR9 basically "clicked" and there was not much more, the rest of the noise was handled by the suppressor. The man in the passenger seat turned toward me, his face a mask of confusion that was shattered by my second shot. The back doors of the van sprung open. I turned in that direction and shot the first man coming out in the chest. He went down and a second one emerged behind him; I fired again and shot the second one.

I was waiting to see if anyone else would emerge from the van when I was surprised by a second van coming in behind the first. I spun and fired a shot through the windshield. The driver's door sprung open and the driver emerged, his hand at his throat, spurts of blood shooting out from between his fingers. I took my next shot at the passenger side, hitting that man in the temple as he was exiting the van, ending his life instantly, his brains spattering against the side of the van. I turned again to the driver and gave him a second shot that hit him in the forehead, dropping him like a marionette with the strings cut.

I felt a stinging pain in my back and heard the report of a gunshot immediately after. I turned to find that one of the men from the first van, that I had shot in the chest, had shot me. That shot should have gone directly to his heart. I realized he probably had a bulletproof jacket, so I delivered a shot into his forehead. The other one I had shot in the chest began to stir and reach for his weapon, so I shot him in the head as well.

I took another bullet, this one in the side. I spun around and fired at the shooter, missing, and ran back toward the woods. I got behind a tree.

"Creigh, are you okay?" Natalia asked.

"I'm shot twice," I said. "I don't know how long this takes to heal in a werewolf. If they come in here and I'm unconscious or anything, you're going to have to shoot for the head."

My breathing was raspy, but I managed to give her some instructions as I ejected the magazine and began to refill it. "You can shoot at their chest for the first shot, it should knock them over, but when they fall down, you've got to shoot the head. They're wearing bulletproof vests."

"How many of them are there?"

"I don't know. I killed four from the first van and two from the second."

"They're coming," she said with fear in her voice.

I coughed and spat out blood, but I could feel my breathing getting clearer. I stood, turned, and, hiding behind the tree, started firing on the six men running toward us. I shot the first one in the groin, which was also an area unprotected by his vest. Not surprisingly, he fell to his knees screaming. The man closest to him slowed to a near stop to see what had happened, and I shot him in the ear, a splash of blood emerging from the other side of his head. I heard Natalia's gun crack, and saw the .38 slug shatter through the teeth of the man on the far end. It went through the back of his throat and severed his spinal cord, killing him instantly. A very good first shot, and first kill. I fired at a third victim, hitting him in the vest, but at least knocking him down. Natalia recocked and fired a second shot, this time at the man who was now at the far end, but missed him. He and his single remaining unwounded partner turned and ran.

I fired at one of the runners, hitting him in the back of the head, the sound of the SR9's cycling slide louder than the shot. I heard the report of Natalia's Ruger again; Natalia hit her target this time, though right in the buttocks. All six of the men were now dead or wounded. The man shot in the buttocks got up and tried a shuffling run, making his head an extremely difficult target. I took aim and shot him in the back. When he fell down and tried to push himself up, I fired again and was able to hit him just behind the ear, killing him instantly.

The one I had shot in the chest was aiming at Natalia. I swung about to fire, and was about to yell, but she spotted it before I could say anything, shooting him in the knee while trying for his head, not such a bad shot since he was still lying down. We now had two screamers, one clutching at his knee, the other clutching at his groin. I walked out of my hiding place in the forest toward the guy I had shot in the groin. When I reached him, I shot Groin Man between the eyes.

"You should be dead!" Knee Man shouted at me as I strode toward him.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you," I said, turning the long, silenced gun at him and blasting his brain out of his skull with a nine-millimetre parabellum at close range.

I was now fine, as I walked toward the vans. I couldn't see the wound in my back, of course, but checked the wound in my side and found it had already faded to a bruise. I could get used to this werewolf invincibility thing, assuming it would last.

I made sure the vans were empty. There had been twelve of them, six per van. I pushed new rounds into my magazine to replace those that had been fired, then checked one of the bodies behind the van for a cell phone. Finding it, I dialled my number for Jack.

"Lambert?" he asked.

"Your cleanup team is dead," I said matter-of-factly.

"Wh—What?" he asked. "Crazy!"

"Your cleanup team, at the Garners' house, is dead," I repeated. "Here are your options. Either the Garners are here in ten minutes, or I call the press to see how you guys handle situations you don't want to be public. I'm hanging up to take pictures."

"Crazy, wait!" started Jack, when I hit the "end" button on the display. I brought up the camera applet and started taking photographs of the dead collections team.

I looked up and saw Natalia inspecting the body of the one she had killed. There were tell-tale signs she was going to puke. "Don't puke there! Puke in the woods!" I shouted. She turned and ran, putting her hand over her mouth. That was a bad idea; if she did puke it would end up all over her shirt front. She made it to the woods just in time.

I walked over to her and put my hand on her back as she threw up a second time. "Sorry," she said, wiping her mouth.

"That's to be expected," I said, gently. "Better give me the revolver."

She handed it to me. It had been pointed more or less at her foot while she threw up.

"It's adrenaline," I said to her. "You've had an overload to your system. You'll be okay."

"I converted to Christianity yesterday, had pre-marital sex last night, and killed somebody today," she said, her voice hoarse from puking.

"Welcome to my world," I replied. She gagged and threw up again. When she was finished, we'd do our best to bury it. She didn't need Jack knowing she was alive.
Chapter Twenty-One

At the eleven minute mark, I tried to dial the press, but the cell phone had somehow been shut down remotely. That was a contingency I was not prepared for.

"We'd better go," I said. "I think Jack's cut off the cell phones of these guys."

Natalia, by now over her squeamishness and her adrenaline dump, took a cell phone from another body and tried it. "This one's not working either," she said.

"Head for the woods," I said, relieving a couple of bodies of their sidearms before joining her.

We went about half-way back toward the car and stopped. "We've got to be careful, in case they have found the car," I whispered. "Want to use one of these?" I asked Natalia.

"I'll stick with the revolver," she said.

"Better have one of these for backup, and I'll do the same," I replied, handing her one of the Smith & Wessons and sticking the other into my waistband. I took Natalia's revolver and replaced the spent rounds with more .38's. Natalia seemed able to handle the relatively low recoil of the .38's. I suspected she could handle the nine millimetre pistols I had taken as well, but the Blackhawk's weight went a long way toward reducing its recoil with the .38's. To a person who didn't know much about guns, the semi-automatic Smith & Wessons I had picked up may not make things any easier. If she was comfortable enough with the revolver, I wasn't going to argue, but if she found herself needing to reload the cowboy gun, she'd find herself happy to have the Smith & Wesson semi-automatic as well.

We crept up slowly on the car, pausing frequently to check for the sights or sounds of movement. There was nothing. I could hardly believe it when we made it all the way to the car undetected. Then, my suspicious side took over. "Stay here in the woods, and be ready with that gun," I said to Natalia.

Her eyes widened. "But, we made it," she said.

"Too easily," I said. "I don't trust it."

I checked around the driver's door for wires or any explosives. I took a look under the car, to see if explosives might have been attached to the starter. Nothing. Then I looked in at the interior of the car. I didn't see anything. I reached into my pocket and removed my wallet, and found three plastic cards. I pressed them together in a triangle shape, leaving a triangular hole to look through. I looked back at Natalia; she was still ready with the Blackhawk. Then I scanned the interior again carefully through the triangular hole. It served to remove distracting detail by narrowing the range of vision.

I was glad I had gone through this step when I saw a gun barrel attached with duct tape under the steering column. I retreated into the woods.

"They know that's our car," I whispered. "There's a shotgun under the steering column."

Natalia's eyes widened again.

"There's probably a string connected to the trigger and to either the gas pedal or the brake pedal," I whispered.

"Can you disarm it?" asked Natalia.

"Sure I can," I replied. "But I don't know if that's the best idea." I looked around for a stick. In short order I found one of a suitable length. I took my plastic cards again and scanned the yard, all the places anyone could be hiding. There was no one around. They had set this booby-trap and left it.

I snuck up to the car, opened the door and looked in. The trigger was connected to the gas pedal. I pushed the pedal down with the stick, slowly, until the shotgun went off. The driver's seat had holes in it from the buckshot.

I closed the door and retreated quickly from the car. I heard an engine start from down by the Garners' house. The engine then roared with acceleration as it approached our position. I felt fear in my gut as I heard the car coming rapidly up the road toward us. "Go back further in the woods," I ordered Natalia, who followed the order immediately.

Another white van came on the scene, another six men in white coats got out. These ones had what appeared to be fully automatic machine guns and could spray the area. Six of them, one of me. They had many bullets, to be rapidly fired, even blindly fired, into the woods. I did the only thing I felt I could do: I followed Natalia deeper into the woods. I didn't know how far this werewolf power to be shot and survive went, but I didn't want to try it against machine guns.

I caught up to Natalia. "Keep moving," I whispered, "they may come in the woods looking for us." We moved as rapidly as we could deeper into the woods.

"Hold up here," I said, "and don't move around unless they get past. I want to know where you are when I start shooting."

I moved stealthily back through the woods, and found the six of them spread about fifteen feet apart, searching for us in the woods. They were moving very slowly indeed—sitting ducks. I picked the one at the far end. This was going to be a tough shot. I pointed the SR9 and took careful aim. When I was ready, I squeezed the trigger and the gun fired, the action making more noise than the shot. The bullet flew, hitting the far man in the temple.

Everyone, of course, turned toward him, and I quickly shot the nearest one in the back. The next one closest turned to face me, and I shot him in the face, then I was moving, running in a crouch as the others came to their wits and started peppering the spot where I had been with short bursts of machine gun fire. Their use of short bursts worried me; it meant that they had some idea how to operate their machine guns, and spoke of a certain modicum of skill.

I had positioned myself hoping that they would make another obvious move, coming to stand at the location where I had just been. There was a thick tree between me and them, as they did what I had expected, standing where I had been, trying to figure out where I had went. It was another long shot. I squeezed the long trigger pull on the SR9 until again it clicked and cycled, firing a nearly silent shot into the eye of one of my pursuers. He dropped to the ground, dead, but I hadn't stayed to watch. I was on the move again, back toward the car. Already I had halved their fighting force.

The three had started to move toward me when a shot rang out and the one in the rear fell. He had been shot through the heart. Evidently these ones were not wearing body armour. This made the job that much easier. The one in the middle had turned back toward the shot, which had certainly come from Natalia. I aimed from my position, and shot him through the neck, a little low of the ear I had been aiming for. Blood spurted from his severed carotid, he fell to his knees, and then fell on his face.

One left.

My shot had given Natalia time to retreat back into the woods. I was moving in the opposite direction, toward the car. The one remaining man had to pick a direction, and I was pleased when he decided to follow me back to the car.

I darted out of the woods, opened the driver's side door, and darted back into the woods. When the last soldier caught up, he fired his machine gun through the car door, assuming that I was stupidly crouched on the other side. While he was busy doing that, I shot him through the heart from the side in a quick double-tap, blowing pieces of it out through his other side. He fell on his machine gun, shooting himself a few more times, and then the woods were quiet. No other motor noises were heard coming in this direction. Perhaps we had now dealt with all of them.

Or perhaps not, I thought, as I once again popped out the magazine and refilled it to capacity with loose nine-millimetre bullets. I hadn't yet needed or used the Smith & Wessons I had taken from the other cleanup team.

I cautiously left the woods again, and walked over to the van and secured it, making sure no one was still lurking inside, then went to the last one and took his cell phone. We had now killed eighteen of Jack's men. This mess was getting harder for him to clean up all the time, and he had to be running out of clean up crews.

I called him. "Jack, I've killed eighteen of your men. The last six had machine guns, and I still won. I think it's about time you turned Desmond and Andrea Garner over to me, still alive, and their minds unmodified."

"Or what, Crazy? You'll bring in the press? I'll just give it to the press that you killed all those men."

"The dead guys aren't RCMP, though, Jack," I said. "In fact, I would guess they are from an agency that isn't supposed to carry weapons in Canada, is that correct?"

"They aren't from the one you're thinking of," said Jack in measured tones. "These ones come from an agency that isn't supposed to exist at all."

"It's the kind of thing that could bring down a government, without the politicians knowing a single thing about it," I said. "They will trace it to you, Jack."

"I eat members of parliament for breakfast," Jack said in an off-hand way. "I would hate for the government to be embarrassed, though."

I said nothing, waiting for a decision.

"All right. I'll let them go, but if they don't keep this whole thing a secret, they'll be dead meat."

"Like these eighteen guys of yours?" I asked.

"Don't taunt me, Crazy," said Jack dangerously. "These were cleanup crews, not killer crews. I could send one of those if you want."

"Do you have another clean up crew? This place is really quite a mess, and it's going to take a very thorough cleaning if you want to avoid discovery."

"I have one more," he replied.

"Okay. I want this cleaned up, and I want to see Desmond and Andrea before the crew gets here, or I'm killing this team, too. You have people you want kept alive, I have people I want kept alive."

There was a pause. "All right. I have people I want dead, too. That werewolf. Natalia Norayan."

"She's already dead," I replied. "I removed her from the house and buried her. I didn't want your cleaning crews laying a finger on her."

There was a pause. "I was wondering why her body isn't in the house. You wouldn't have killed her if I'd asked before, would you?"

"No," I replied. "I wouldn't, but you knew that, it's why you sent Kyle to kill all of us."

"I really didn't send Kyle to kill you, Crazy," Jack said. "Have we become enemies?"

"We are enemies now, but that's not how it has to end," I replied. "I kind of like our arrangement. We might have to have some new understandings about what is my prerogative, and the right not to kill people has got to be my prerogative."

"I need to be able to achieve my government's ends in keeping things quiet," Jack replied.

"You have to trust me when I say people are going to keep things quiet," I replied. "I will not enlist people's help in solving your problems, and condemn them to suffer death or a loss of memory."

Jack sighed. "All right, I see your point. Let's leave it at that. Are you going to try to find that last werewolf?"

"Tomorrow at the earliest," I said. "But yes, I'll go if I have reassurances that neither the Garners, nor the surviving Norayans, are going to be harassed in any way."

"You have it, I'll back off," Jack said.

"While you're in an agreeable mood, will you stop calling me Crazy?"

"No."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," I said, and hung up.
Chapter Twenty-Two

I wandered back into the woods, picking up a machine gun from the man I'd killed by the car, and magazines from the other men, until I found Natalia. "It's me," I called to her. She came from her hiding spot and hugged me.

"I made another deal with Jack," I said. "In exchange for leaving his next cleanup crew alive, we're getting Desmond and Andrea back."

"Do you trust him?" she asked.

"Well, I never really have," I said, "but he knows what will happen if he doesn't deliver the Garners, and he knows he can trust me on that."

I put my hands on her shoulders. "He doesn't know you're alive. That group with the machine guns must have gotten into the house and not found you, because he knew you weren't in the house, but I said I had already buried you."

"He is going to find out," she replied, turning from me. She sighed deeply.

"Walk with me," I requested, and we walked down through the woods, ready for another battle if the cleanup crew arrived without Desmond and Andrea having been delivered first.

Fortunately it was not necessary. A white car came, and the Garners emerged from the back seat. The two of them looked wild-eyed at the carnage that had taken place, bodies strewn around their yard. The white car as I walked down out of the woods towards them. I dropped the Smith & Wesson pistols I had picked up amidst the bodies. No reason to add stealing to my long list of sins for the day.

"You're alive," said Desmond, his voice filled with wonder. "How can you be alive?"

"We need to go someplace, a clean-up crew is coming," I said. "I've seen more than enough of them today. Can you folks walk through the woods with us?"

"Yes," replied Desmond, after looking at Andrea.

The three of us walked up to the woods and met up with Natalia.

"What the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed. He turned to Natalia. "You can't possibly be alive!"

"It's a long story, and we'll get to it," I said. "Right now, do you know where your car is?"

"I imagine it's still in the emergency room parking lot," he replied. "They came in and took us while Andrea was being treated for the gunshot wound."

"Then what?" I asked.

"Well, I told them the story about the gun cleaning, but they weren't buying it." Desmond had the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "They beat me with phone books, Creigh. In Canada. In a free country. I was beaten with thick phone books for hours." He looked lovingly at Andrea. "When they started beating her, too, and especially on the wound in her leg, I told them the truth. I thought you and Natalia were both dead."

"Where did they have you?" I asked. "The RCMP barracks?"

"No RCMP officer I ever knew would have stood for the likes of that," Desmond said angrily. "We were blindfolded. I don't know where they took us. I'd never seen the room before, so it probably wasn't around here."

I had met plenty of RCMP who would have gleefully beaten them with phone books, but I didn't say so.

Desmond looked straight at me. "I don't know who or what they were. Creigh, does our country have secret police now?"

I shrugged. "I only know about the kingpin, and I only know him as 'Jack,'" I said. "I killed sixteen, and Natalia killed two, because the possibility of publicity was the only thing I had that might make Jack let you go."

We passed a couple of bodies in the woods.

"I can't believe one man can do this much damage on his own," said Desmond.

"I had Natalia's help," I reminded him. "Without her, I would have been a goner."

"About that," said Andrea. She hadn't spoken since they'd arrived, and I had been starting to worry about her. "Last time I saw you, she was dead, and you were knocking on death's door, and now you're both fine. How did that happen?"

"I woke up without wounds," Natalia said. "I realized that I had somehow kept the werewolf resiliency, without the bad manners. When I found him, I knew he was going to die. But I had taken three shots from normal bullets, and still survived. I thought, if Hendricks could pass lycanthropy to me through sex, I could give Creigh lycanthropy the same way. So I made love to him, and then he developed the same resistance to lead bullet wounds that I have."

"So, wait—you are a werewolf now, too?" asked Desmond, incredulous.

"It's like Natalia says. We think that we only have some of the werewolf traits," I said. "Neither of us transformed last night, but I think we had better both be in your safe room tonight, and you should have silver-jacketed bullets ready in case you need them."

We arrived at the car, and again I checked it out thoroughly. I still didn't trust Jack. Desmond looked questioningly at Natalia. "This paid off before," Natalia assured him. "They had rigged up a hidden shotgun to blow his heart out when he pressed the gas pedal."

"You have fine friends, Creigh," offered Desmond.

"The best," I said, coming out from under the car. "Jack isn't one of them," I added. I checked out the inside of the vehicle carefully, the way I had before. Finding nothing new, I started to remove the shotgun assembly that had been set up to kill me.

"That is wicked," Andrea commented.

When I had the device removed, I checked to see if the shot shell had been replaced—it hadn't. I wouldn't have put it past Jack to have someone rearm the same device, but it appeared that he was all out of fight, at least for today.

"We need to kill some time," I said. "Why don't we see if we can find your car, and if we can, trade in this Taurus?"

"Sounds all right," Desmond allowed.

"You okay to drive, if we find your car?" I asked him.

"Yeah. It's been a bad day, and I'm really sore, but I can drive." He and Andrea got in the back seat, and Natalia got in the passenger side. I started the car, wincing, in case I had somehow missed an explosive device, but when it simply started, I began to relax. A little, anyway.

We drove to the hospital; sure enough, Desmond's car was still there. He and Andrea retrieved it, and when they had pulled out of the parking lot, I continued behind them. We drove out to the airport and I turned in the Ford, explaining that some vandals had torn up the seat. Fortunately I had taken the insurance and all was looked after.

We left the airport and Desmond's car was there waiting for us as we walked out the doors. We got in the back and he whisked us out of there.

"Do you think it's safe to go home yet?" Andrea asked.

"I think they'll be gone by the time we get there," I said. "They work pretty fast."

I looked over at Natalia, who seemed lost in her thoughts. I took her hand. Her eyes flicked to mine, and she smiled. "You okay?" I asked her quietly. "You had quite a day."

"There have been so many mental adjustments to make," she said. "A lot of firsts."

"I know," I said. "You handled yourself incredibly well today. I think you're a natural with a handgun."

She laughed. "You are such a romantic."

That made me laugh. "You did a good job. I'm surprised you could hit the broad side of a barn door. I know I couldn't, when I started with handguns."

I moved my head in close. "With regard to romance, let's talk about that some more later."

She nodded, and looked away, out the window. It had begun to rain.
Chapter Twenty-Three

The Garners' home was so clean, it would have been impossible to believe that the gunfights of the last twenty-four hours could possibly have happened. Andrea insisted on making a meal, rather than stopping off at a restaurant.

"It will make my home mine again," she said.

"You're having the sense of invasion, aren't you?" I asked.

She looked at me sagely and nodded. It was cute. Either she had picked up that sage look from Desmond, or he had from her.

"I'm sorry that happened here," I added.

This time she shook her head. "You were invited here," she said simply. "They were not."

I could tell her shot leg was bothering her, so I got up to help. Natalia stopped me.

"This seems like a home where the women do all the cooking," she whispered. "You might insult Desmond by helping out. Let me do it."

I hadn't thought of that. "Thank you," I whispered back.

I went out to the living room, where Desmond now was sitting uncomfortably.

"I can't believe our nation has gotten to the point where there are people like that, torturing people," he said.

I looked at him squarely. "I tortured Ralph Hendricks. That's how I found out about Natalia, and that other woman, whoever she is."

"He had done evil," said Desmond. "And you were trying to undo that evil."

We sat in silence for a few moments.

"You are a remarkable mass of contradictions," Desmond said. "A Christian who kills people for a living."

"I solve problems for a living," I corrected. "Sometimes that involves killing people."

"Like your man Bill Hickman," he said.

"The idol of my adolescence," I answered. "He never stopped believing in Mormonism. He just thought it had been replaced with what he called Brighamism. I think he would have kept killing for the Mormon cause until he died, if it hadn't been so greatly corrupted by Brigham Young. According to Hickman, the Bible and all of the other books a Mormon might live by were deemed unnecessary in Young's time, because they had live oracles with them."

"You left the religion, though?"

I nodded my head. "I don't share Hickman's high opinion of Joe Smith. I think if he'd been as close to Joe as he was to Brigham, he'd have found them to be birds of a feather. I think Joe made up the religion so he could be polygamous. It was just a sex cult. He must be laughing his ass off in hell that people are still practising it."

Desmond started to laugh, but it hurt, and I could tell. "So many people would find that comment remarkably offensive," he managed, his laughter hurting him.

"Those phone books pack a wallop," I commented.

"See, this has been a blow to my beliefs, too," said Desmond. "I think I'm going to run for office. Something is wrong with a country that can stoop to these Gestapo tactics."

"The use of phone books to beat people is hardly a Gestapo tactic," I said. "I was afraid they would have used electricity on you. You guys were headed for a shot in the back of the head, and that's a Gestapo tactic for sure."

"How do we know they're not coming back?" Desmond asked, with an undercurrent of anger.

"We don't," I said. "That's why we're going to use your proximity alarm."

"Some good it did against those intruders last night," Desmond said.

That gave me pause. "I hadn't thought of that," I said. "What did happen to the proximity alarm? How did they fool it?"

I looked at Desmond. "I'm going to have to find out before nightfall. Can we go outside, and you show me where the sensors are?"

I took the SR9 with me, just in case. I kept my eyes peeled for movement as we walked around outside. Desmond took me around the house, pointing out the sensors, which seemed to cover the area very well.

"You ever have them adjusted because of false alarms, you know, dogs, cats, skunks?"

"No," Desmond replied. "Why?"

"It may have been installed with adjustments so you won't pick up wildlife," I commented. "To prevent that, they set them up so they don't scan all the way to the ground, but stop scanning high enough that a dog or a fox could pass undetected. That means technically someone could crawl in on their belly."

I looked up at the sensors, squinting. I was trying to see if there had been masking tape applied to them. I couldn't quite tell.

"I need a closer look. Do you have a ladder?"

We took the ladder out of the shed, and I set it up. The first one I looked at was fine. The second had been tampered with. "There's masking tape on this one," I called down to Desmond. "This one wouldn't pick up a thing." I had a pocket knife with me, so I cut through the tape and peeled it all off. I came back down the ladder. The next one I checked also was covered in masking tape, which I removed. The fourth had no masking tape.

"They must have come in that way," I said, pointing at the area north of the house, that would have been covered by the two sensors that had been covered. "I wonder when they put the tape up."

"They would have to do it sometime when we weren't here," said Desmond.

"Andrea's here all the time though, right? She stays at home, doesn't she?"

Desmond snapped his fingers. "Let's find out when she was last out shopping. They may have watched the house until she left."

We went back inside. Desmond walked out to the kitchen. I wondered idly if it was the first time he'd been out there while a meal was being prepared. He returned. "You remember the day you borrowed my car? Andrea was out on that day for a couple of hours."

"That was the day we found Rick Nolan dead," I said.

"The day after Sue Derderian died," added Desmond.

"I hadn't met Kyle Johnson yet," I said. "So, he didn't do it. He may have just been lucky that somebody else did it."

"But who?" asked Desmond rhetorically.

I shook my head. "It's definitely something we need to be concerned about," I said.

Andrea announced that supper was ready. We came into the kitchen and sat at the table, Desmond said grace and thanked God we were all still alive after the events of the last evening and today, and we ate heartily.

Natalia had been quiet since we'd gotten to the Garners' place and through the meal. In fact she'd been quiet in the car. I was feeling some concern for her, given what we had been through that day. When we were finished the meal, the light was starting to fade. It was time for us to go into the safe room.

"Do you folks still have my other Blackhawk?" I asked.

Desmond snapped his fingers. "It's out in the car. I'll go get it."

I got the first Blackhawk, the one I had entrusted to Natalia, changed out the .357 cylinder for the nine millimetre cylinder, and loaded it with silver-jacketed rounds. Natalia was sitting on the sofa, looking at her hands. I squatted in front of her and took her hands in mine. "We're going to have to go in the safe room together," I said. "There's a possibility we will both turn into werewolves. There's a possibility one of us or the other will turn into a werewolf. If that happens, the other person will have to fight to stay alive." I patted the Blackhawk. "That's what we're taking this in for. If one or both of us becomes a werewolf, I assume we're not going to have the mental faculties to be able to cock and fire the revolver. If one of us remains human, that person will be able to defend against a werewolf attack with these silver-jacketed bullets."

She shook her head. "I couldn't kill you, and you couldn't kill me."

"As werewolves, we could do anything," I replied.

"I'm talking about as humans," she said. "I couldn't pull that trigger and kill you."

"You might have to," I warned. "If I'm a werewolf, and you're not—"

"I'd rather be dead myself than kill you."

I sighed.

"You wouldn't do it," Natalia continued. "You'd figure out some way to fight me off. That gun is coming in for me, and I'm telling you, I'm not going to use it."

I looked at the gun, and looked into her eyes.

"I'll never forgive myself if I kill you," I said.

"I would never forgive myself if I killed you," she said.

I shook my head. The logic was sound. "Okay, the gun stays outside."

Desmond had returned with the second Blackhawk, which I guess he had taken with him when he was panicked about his wife; perhaps he had thought he should bring the gun to prove there had been a cleaning accident. I was glad it hadn't been lost. I replaced the spent round for him. Then the three of us went up the stairs to the safe-room, and Desmond locked us in.
Chapter Twenty-Four

It was cramped in the safe room. We could see all over the house; little cameras transmitted signals back to little TV's in the safe room.

"You've been quiet since we were in the car," I said gently, taking her hand. "What's wrong?"

"When you said we'd talk about romance later, in the car?" she said, "I've been bracing myself ever since."

"Bracing yourself? For what?" I asked.

"For getting dumped," she replied.

"Dumped?" I asked, shocked.

"Look, I did what I did to save your life, all right?"

"Yeah," I allowed, "but I was hoping that wasn't the only reason you did it."

She looked at me closely.

"I find you extremely attractive," I said. "I've been trying to hold back, and stay professional."

"Really?"

"I'm not a very romantic person, Natalia," I said, and sighed. "Ever since you got quiet, I thought you'd decided you'd rather not be with me. I don't think it's a great life for a woman, being with me."

"Maybe not just any woman," Natalia said, "but I'm not just any woman."

I sat down beside her. "I know I haven't been very emotional today, and we haven't had a chance to talk about what happened last night. How are you feeling about this? About us?"

"I'm open, Creigh," Natalia said. "I'm open to possibilities with you."

"I'm surprised," I said. "I'm open to possibilities with you, too."

"I'm surprised," she said, and we laughed.

"Why would you be surprised?" I asked. "You are so beautiful, so intelligent."

She thought in silence for a few moments. "Not many men would consider me beautiful, because I'm big."

"You know that's not a problem for me," I replied. "You knew it when you did that little strip-tease for me, before I'd even gotten shot."

"Right before you got shot," she said.

There was a pause before Natalia continued. "When I woke up, and realized that I had been shot, but the wounds had healed, I decided to take a chance on giving whatever it is in me that saved me to you. If it hadn't been for the urgency of the situation, I would not have been able to do that. When I take off my clothes in front of a man, I lose all my confidence."

"You're a tremendous lover," I said. "I wouldn't have thought I'd be able to become erect while having a gunshot wound in the chest."

She laughed.

"I thought I was dreaming, 'romancing', you know, like people do before they die." I looked deeply into her eyes. "I was going to die, but you saved me."

"You know what would save me now?" Natalia asked. "What would save me now is if you wanted to make love to me again."

I drew her near to me and kissed her, tenderly. "Of course I want to make love to you again."

We continued kissing, sitting in the safe room. "You know cameras are rolling?" I asked.

"They wouldn't watch us, though," Natalia replied, drawing me in for more kissing.

We kept kissing until I had her down on her back on her bed. I was sure she could feel my hardness against her leg. I wondered if she realized the sheer depth of my attraction to her. I could see the depth of her attraction to me in her eyes. I hoped my eyes were transparent like that.

I opened her shirt, a button at a time, revealing her bra and belly, planting kisses on the slopes of her breasts. I had her sit up so I could remove her shirt. In the meantime, she started unbuttoning mine, kissing my chest as she exposed it.

I reached behind her and undid her bra, removing it and loosing her breasts, as she removed my shirt. Her hands went immediately to the button of my pants. She unzipped my fly and caressed me with her hands, looking up to my face to drink in my reactions. She pulled my pants down halfway, and pulled me out of my underwear, licking up the underside of my penis. Then she took me deeply into her mouth. I groaned my pleasure to the ceiling as she worked me with her mouth. I pulled away from her.

"Lie back," I said hoarsely. She smiled and did so, and I removed her pants and panties, running my hands down her legs as I pushed the clothing off onto the floor.

I pushed her legs apart gently and laid between them, smelling her musky odour, then tasting her for the first time. She reached down and pulled herself apart, giving me better access to her, which I took full advantage of, licking her all over, then paying special attention to her clit.

"Oh, my God you do that well," she said. This encouraged me to keep at it. Her moans became increasingly frenzied, then her hips started to buck. She was close. I moved my tongue about quickly, trying to keep a consistent, speedy pressure on her clit. Her hand went around the back of my head and she started to come, her hips bucking off the bed.

I sat up and smiled at her.

"You made me come," she informed me.

"I hope to do it again," I said, moving toward her. She kissed me, doubtless tasting herself on my lips and my tongue. I moved up the bed toward her, moving her head back down toward the pillow. I grabbed my penis in my hand and guided it toward her, pushing forward and entering her. She was extremely wet, and entering her was a delicious sensation.

I made love to her slowly. I contorted myself slightly to be able to lick her nipples while I thrust in and out of her. I tongued up her breast to her neck, then kissed her, pushing my tongue past her teeth and deeply into her mouth. With one hand, I caressed her leg as I made love to her.

I pushed myself up to get my knees under myself, then grabbed her beautiful, big ass and began thrusting harder. She responded, crossing her strong legs behind me and pulling me deeper into herself. I caressed her ass as I stroked inside her. "I love it when you touch my ass," she said breathlessly, humping me back as I pressed deeply into her.

I pulled out, and moved her onto her side, raising one of her legs onto my shoulder, putting her other leg between my legs. With a little effort, I re-entered her. This position gave my right hand full access to wander across her ass, and I felt her freely. I could tell my ass appreciation was getting her hotter. She worked herself against me, as I pushed myself into her faster and faster.

She cried out in the beginnings of a climax; I kept thrusting until she fell into her orgasm. I once again felt her walls vibrating against my member in the throes of her pleasure. I kept thrusting against those vibrations, getting closer and closer to my own climax. Finally I shouted in pleasure as I began to empty into her, pulse after orgasmic pulse coursing through me.

When it was over, I found myself hugging her leg, huffing and puffing from the exertion, my member still inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out and fell back on the bed, exhausted from my efforts.

I moved up to share the pillow with her, and she wrapped herself around me. We continued to kiss in that position. Before long, I dozed, and I think she may have, too.

I awoke after a couple of hours, needing to pee pretty badly. I tried to move my shoulder out from under Natalia's head without waking her up, unsuccessfully. She smiled at me sleepily.

"Is there a toilet in here somewhere?" I asked, since she was now awake anyway.

"In there," she said, gesturing. There was a toilet in the closet. I sat, not wanting to make a lot of noise, and peed.

She appeared to be asleep when I came back to the bed, but when I laid down, her hand wandered down to my penis, and she began stroking it. I immediately found myself responding to her touch. Before long I started to moan my pleasure.

"You just lie back and enjoy," Natalia said in a seductive voice, as she moved down the bed and once again took me into her mouth.

My pleasure increased exponentially as she worked on me, doing wonderful things to me with her lips and tongue. I moved my hand down to her hair; I was nearing orgasm and was trying to pull away.

"Uh, uh," she said.

"Natalia, I'm going to come soon," I said, desperately.

"Uh huh," she said, still working on me with her mouth.

The sheets were bunched up in my fists. "Natalia, I can't hold back much longer!" I said with some urgency.

She finally removed me from her mouth and looked me in the eyes. "I want you to come in my mouth, Creigh," she said, then lowered her head back down on me again, my hard member re-entering the wetness of her mouth.

I still found myself fighting against my orgasm, even knowing that she wanted what was going to shortly happen. I yelled hoarsely as I began coming in her mouth. It felt like I came and came, several spurts emerging from me. She swallowed as I came, swallowing several times to get it all. She released me with a huge smile on her face.

"You taste good," she said, coming up alongside me. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

I kissed her long and deep. I could taste a hint of my come on her tongue, but I didn't mind, just as she hadn't minded tasting herself on my mouth.

This time we slept deeply.

When I awoke, I had no idea what time it was. I turned to see Natalia looking at me. "Have you been awake long?" I asked.

"No," she said simply. "Just a few minutes."

"I wonder what time it is?" I said.

"There's no sense of time in here," Natalia commented. "Could be any time." She gestured at one of the TV screens; on it, Desmond and Andrea were sleeping in their bedroom. "See, there is a little daylight. It must be after dawn, but not long after."

"We made it," I said. "No transformations."

"We made it," she confirmed.

I kissed her, once; and then, again. Then, we began making out. Things soon escalated and we were making love again. This time, it was a less desperate affair, a calm but enjoyable celebration of having found each other, expressed in missionary position sex. I came first, almost dry, I had been so spent earlier. I dismounted, but continued with my fingers between her legs and my mouth on her nipples to bring her to her climax shortly thereafter. We clung to each other, embracing and enjoying the warmth of the other's body, and soon dozed. When we awoke, a check of the television screens informed us that Desmond and Andrea had awakened and were preparing for their day.

We stood, naked. We smiled at each other, and laughed. I felt so full somehow—full of love and satisfaction. We slowly dressed, and I activated the intercom and asked to be let out.
Chapter Twenty-Five

We were sitting around the breakfast table with Desmond and Andrea. Andrea had made another of her fine breakfasts, and Natalia particularly was enjoying it.

"I think we know who taped up the proximity sensors," said Desmond.

This piqued my curiosity. "Who?" I asked.

"Joe Derderian. Sue's brother."

I sighed deeply. "How do we know it was him?"

"It's a guess," replied Desmond. "He was on his way down this road the other night when the Mounties caught him for impaired. He had a shotgun in the cab. I think he was coming for you for shooting his sister."

"You shot his sister?" asked Natalia.

I nodded. "Rick Nolan—the RCMP officer who killed himself after killing his wife as a werewolf? He and I went to her place and she transformed while we were there. I had to shoot her to save him. He had cuts and bruises, but because he turned into a werewolf, I think one of those cuts was a scratch from her."

I turned to Desmond. "Can we do anything for him?"

"You want to do something for him?" Desmond asked.

"If somebody killed my sister—I don't have one, but if I did—I can't say I wouldn't want revenge. I want to talk to him and maybe get him off, if we can."

Desmond looked at Andrea, then Natalia, then me. "Okay, we can go after breakfast," he said.

I sighed again. "Any change on Amy Derderian?"

"Who's that?" asked Natalia.

"Sue's daughter," I replied. "She's been catatonic since her brother was killed. I believe she saw her mother as the werewolf, and somehow escaped her."

Natalia was nodding sadly. She was reminded of Timmy. I stroked her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

"Apparently, she's no longer catatonic, but isn't speaking, either," Desmond reported.

"Do you think she could understand someone?" asked Natalia.

"Possibly," replied Desmond.

"If I could talk to her, maybe she would come around," Natalia said.

I considered this. "Let's go and talk to Joe Derderian first," I said. "Then see if we can help Amy."

Desmond was shaking his head. "You two are incredible," he said. "You are both this bizarre mixture of violence and compassion, of faith and pragmatism. I thought I'd never meet anyone else like Creigh, but you're the same kind of person, Natalia."

We smiled at each other. "I guess so," she said.

"After we deal with that," I continued, "we have to go see if we can find the other werewolf, the girl Hendricks slept with just because he could, before he developed the avenging angel delusion."

"'Is it safe for you two to be outside of the safe-room at night?" Desmond asked.

"I can't see why not," I replied.

"So you are certain that neither of you will transform into werewolves?" asked Desmond.

"No transformations for Natalia for two nights, and no transformations for either of us last night," I said. "I'd say that's about as much certainty as we can have. It certainly seems to confirm a rather long-standing church tradition on the topic."

Desmond considered this. "Maybe we should review last night's tapes to be sure," he said.

"No!" Natalia and I said in unison.

Andrea smiled at us knowingly. Desmond caught on. "Um, maybe you could review them alone," he said.

I leered jokingly at Natalia. "It might be interesting to review them," I said, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. She swatted me on the arm. Desmond blushed, and Andrea's eyes glittered in amusement.

"All right," I said, "let's go deal with Joe Derderian."

Desmond took us in to town, a very short drive, to where Joe Derderian was being held. Desmond then arranged for a meeting with Joe, with an RCMP officer present, in this case, a small woman of Eastern Indian descent named Pamela. Her last name sounded very English; I suspected it was a married name.

Pamela led Joe Derderian into the room. He was a tank of a man, and I didn't expect Pamela would have a lot of success holding him back if he wanted to get physical. His eyes flashed when he saw me.

"You're the guy who killed my sister," he growled.

"Sit down," Pamela ordered him.

"I didn't kill her because I wanted to," I said. "She wasn't in her right mind, Joe. She killed and partially ate her own son, and did the same to yours. She attacked us and there was nothing left to do but shoot."

Joe continued to glare at me for a few moments, but he couldn't keep it up.

"Sit down, Mr. Derderian," Pamela repeated, and Derderian slouched into a seat. He suddenly had the demeanour of a beaten man.

"I can't imagine how hard this is for you," I said. "You've lost a son, a nephew and a sister, and it turns out your sister was responsible."

He glanced up at me. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"You want to get back control," I continued. "You want to take control by taking control of me, by punishing me for what happened."

Joe Derderian put his head in his hands. He didn't speak. I think his voice would have had sobs of emotion in it.

"Joe, I have no doubt you're a tough guy, but nobody's tough enough to take this without it hurting," I added. "I don't want you to make it any worse for yourself, and I personally don't want to make things any worse for you."

"You've made things pretty bad," Joe managed.

"Not by choice," I said. "I had to do what I did, to keep Rick Nolan alive."

"I can't believe you two couldn't have just overpowered her," Joe complained. "The RCMP use tasers all the time, why did you have to use a gun?"

I had not thought of the taser until that moment, which made me feel a lot more badly about what had happened. I shook my head. "Rick may have had a taser on him, but he was out of action at that point, and I didn't have a taser. She went berserk. I had no question in my mind that if I didn't fire when I did, she would have killed the officer, or me, or both of us."

"Two men could have stopped her," Joe insisted.

I sighed. "I don't think you understand how strong she was. She almost put Rick Nolan out through the wall."

"Oh, come on," he said. "Where would she get that kind of strength?"

"Women have sometimes lifted cars when their child is trapped underneath them," I said. "There are great reserves of strength in the human body, under the right conditions."

Joe was shaking his head. "I don't believe it."

I looked to Pamela. "Would you mind leaving us?" I asked.

"Why?" Pamela asked me, her eyes alert.

"I have to tell Joe some secrets that you don't want to know," I replied.

"Attorney client privilege," said Desmond.

"He's not your client," Pamela protested.

"He is now," said Desmond. "Aren't you, Joe?"

Joe's eyes flickered from Desmond, to me, back to Desmond, and to Pamela. "Yeah, temporarily," he said. Pamela grudgingly left the room.

"Don't panic," I said, and drew the Blackhawk with the nine millimetre cylinder. I opened the loading gate and used the ejection rod to drop one of the rounds into my hand. I held it up for his inspection.

He looked confused. "What's this about?" he asked. His former cynicism had drained out of his voice, making it almost a whisper.

"It's a silver bullet," I said. "Your sister was a werewolf."

Joe's eyes slowly tracked to mine. "What you're saying can't be true, but I don't see any lie in your eyes. I don't hear any lie in your voice."

"It's true," said Natalia quietly. "I was a werewolf too."

Joe slowly turned his head toward her.

"I killed my sister's son, Timmy," she continued, tears spilling from her eyes. "I had no child of my own. So I killed my own nephew. It was like a bad dream; it was like watching someone else do it. I even had myself convinced it was a nightmare, before I met Creigh." She looked at me. "He cured me, but it took hours. He would have saved your sister, if he could have."

"There's an ancient Armenian tradition about this, Joe," I said quietly. "A spirit comes to an immoral woman, and forces her to wear a wolf-skin. The wolf-skin makes her crave human flesh, She starts by eating her own children, then children who are related to her, then children generally."

Something sparked in Joe's eyes then, "I remember that one," he said in wonder. "I heard it at my grandmother's knee, when I was a little kid. I don't remember the immoral part, but I remember the wolf-skin. She didn't say it was true, it was just a scary story to entertain me."

He stared at nothing, a place on the floor, and added, "Sue never met her grandmother. She was dead before Sue was born."

"You can never tell anybody about this," I said. "There are dangerous people who want to make sure nobody believes in stuff like this, the paranormal."

Joe looked up at me again. "I don't know how I can accept this without proof," he said.

"Before she threw Rick Nolan against the wall, he had shot her three times in the heart at point blank range," I said. "It didn't even slow her down. It was only when I shot the silver bullets into her that she died. I'm very sorry that was necessary, but it was. There's no proof of it because those dangerous people I told you about will have covered up any forensic evidence by now."

"So there is no proof," said Joe.

"None," I confirmed.

Natalia picked up a letter opener from a desk. "I'm living proof," she said, and shoved it into her stomach.

"Natalia!" I shouted as she fell to the floor. I went down to her side and pulled out the letter opener. Blood quickly stained her shirt. Joe Derderian was aghast, watching the scene. I cradled Natalia's head in my hands. She had taken an enormous risk. We didn't know how long we would be impervious to injury from non-silver weapons. For all we knew, it could wear off, along with the other lycanthropy symptoms.

The blood stopped flowing. While I held her head, I prayed that it was because she was healing and not because her poor heart had stopped. My eyes were wet with tears, fear of what might have happened to my lover striking through my heart like one of my own silver bullets. She stirred in my arms and sat up.

She stood and pulled up her shirt, showing there was not even a scar on her stomach.

Joe Derderian's eyes were as wide as saucers. "It's true!" he said in an urgent whisper.

I wiped my eyes, feeling tremendous relief that Natalia was okay. "It's true," I confirmed.
Chapter Twenty-Six

When we let Pamela back in, she was shocked by the pool of blood on the floor, but did not find that any of us had any sign of injury.

"Don't file a report on it," I said to her. "I want you to forget this whole thing happened. All of it was a mistake. Joe here wasn't even drunk when you picked him up. You lost the breathalyzer records."

"I can't do that," Pamela protested.

"You can, and you must," I replied. "You must have no record of this. There are people monitoring the situation here, high up in the government, and you don't want them to know that you know or suspect anything."

She studied me carefully, then looked at Desmond, who nodded his head sagely. "He's not lying," he said.

She paused, glanced at the blood pool, then at us. Natalia's shirt was bloody, but she had no wound. "I didn't see anything," she finally said. "Mr. Derderian, you can go. We apologize for mixing up your records with those of a drunk driver." She looked at the pool of blood. "And for the nosebleed caused by stress."

"Thanks," Joe allowed.

"Thank you," I added.

We all left.

"I want to talk to your niece, Amy," Natalia said to him.

Joe scrutinized her carefully. "I don't want her seeing a demonstration like that."

"She won't," Natalia promised. "She has you to vouch for me, that I'm telling the truth."

Joe nodded his head. "Okay."

"Before we do that, I have one question to ask you, Joe," I said.

"What is it?"

"If you had gotten to the Garners' house, how had you planned to get past the proximity alarm?"

Joe sighed deeply. "I didn't know there was one," he admitted. "I guess even if I'd gotten there, I would have just screwed it up."

I nodded slowly.

We all went to the hospital. Natalia went in with Joe to see Amy. I personally stayed out of this one. I asked Desmond for the use of his cell phone. I left the hospital so I could safely use the cell, and put in a call to Dean.

"Hello Creigh," said Dean. "Use the SR9 yet?"

"I have," I confirmed, "but not for werewolf hunting. The silver-jacketed bullets were failing to cycle, just as you thought might happen. The Blackhawks have been handling the silver-jacketed bullets just fine."

"So, what do you need from me, more ammo?" he asked.

"I think I'm going to need you, personally," I said. "I think I have enough ammo. I've got about twenty shots left, and that should be enough to finish this one off. There's only one werewolf left, as far as I know."

There was a pause. "You didn't say why you need me to come?"

"I think I have a shadow," I replied. "Somebody disabled Desmond's proximity sensors. This let in a guy named Kyle Johnson, now deceased, who tried to kill me, the Garners, and a girl who was a werewolf, but was cured. I figure though that the sensors must have been disabled before I even met Kyle Johnson, so I think there must be somebody shadowing me. I need that person identified without suspecting that I know about him."

"Someone of Jack's, do you think?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I can't imagine who else it would be," I said.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. I heard keys clacking; he was probably looking for airline reservations. "I can make it," Dean said. "Where will I pick up on you?"

I named a location. "There's a cowboy action shooting tournament there this weekend, and I'll be stopping off there." Then I told him the name of my destination village after that.

"Are you watching or participating?" Dean asked.

"Participating, I was a late entry," I replied. "For prying eyes, that's why I'm here. That's why I chose the Blackhawks."

Dean hummed. "Blackhawks are very useful guns, obviously, but they might be a little too useful to be well received at a cowboy action shooting event," he said. "You might find yourself penalized because they have adjustable sights."

"I'm not really going into it to win," I said, "just to fulfil my cover, and have a little fun."

"I'll see you there," Dean said.

"I thought you intended to keep a low profile?" I asked. "I don't want whoever is shadowing me to know about you."

"I said I'd see you," Dean answered. "I didn't say anything about you seeing me, or my being seen with you."

"Okay," I said with a laugh. "We'll see you then. Or not. Whatever."

Dean laughed. "Are you sure twenty bullets will be enough?" he asked. "It'll be hard for me to make any more when I'm with you and separated from my swaging gear."

I thought about it. "We've learned that not just scratches, but also unprotected sex, can spread lycanthropy," I said. "It's a reasonable assumption to think that this next girl might have had sex with one or more men since she was infected."

"I'll make another box and bring it with me," said Dean.

"Do it," I said. "We'll talk again when you think it's safe."

We hung up and wandered back in to the hospital. I didn't know if it was a good idea to tell Amy Derderian that her mom had been a werewolf; then again, it's the truth that sets you free, not a bunch of white lies, and poor Amy Derderian needed to be free. Mom had become a werewolf, but Mom, when in control of her own faculties, loved Amy very much and would not have tried to hurt her, or her brother. Maybe that was the message Natalia was trying to get across. I trusted her judgement to say the right thing.

I met up with Desmond in front of Amy Derderian's room. "What did you need the phone for?" Desmond asked.

I had decided on my way back to tell a little white lie so Desmond wouldn't be freaked out at the possibility that there was an unknown operator shadowing me, who had disabled his security system and had put all of us at risk from Kyle Johnson and his partner. "I'm getting some more silver-jacketed bullets shipped to my destination," I said. "I've got twenty left, but what if the girl up there has made more werewolves? Maybe it won't be enough."

"I hadn't taken that possibility into account," Desmond admitted. "How are you planning to get there?" he asked.

"I guess I'll take the bus," I said. "I want to stop between here and there at a cowboy action shooting event. That's sort of my cover story for being out here, and the reason the guns I brought along are single-action revolvers."

"I could drive you up," he said.

"I appreciate that, Desmond, but I've taken up enough of your time already, and put you in enough danger. The job you guys paid me to do is already done, and was done as soon as I looked after Sue Derderian. I suppose tracking down Hendricks was also part of the deal; I felt it was necessary to find out who had infected her and who she had infected so we could know if there was any more problem here."

I looked in the room at Amy Derderian, listening attentively to Natalia. "After I dealt with Hendricks, what I've been doing really doesn't involve our original deal. I wanted to see if one of the cures would work on Natalia, so she could keep living, and it did. I shouldn't have used your home for that, though. I endangered you and Andrea, and for that, I'm very sorry."

"We had the safe room, Creigh, and besides that, I'd like to think we're friends, after what we've been through together."

"I appreciate that, Desmond," I said with a smile. "After what I caused to happen to you and Andrea, a lot of people would want me out of their lives for good. I personally think that would probably be for the best. Besides, you've got clients to tend to. I'll be fine from here, I'll get up to the cowboy action shooting event and continue on and see what I can find out about the girl that Hendricks first victimized, and try to resolve that situation, too."

"All right, Creigh," Desmond capitulated with a sigh. "I don't know, I think we owe you more for the things you did here than to just let you finish this up all alone."

"You don't owe me anything," I replied. "You paid for my services up front, and by letting me help Natalia at your house, you rose above and beyond anything I could ask."

Just then Natalia emerged from Amy Derderian's room. "Amy understands," she said. "She knows her mother wasn't herself when she attacked her and her brother. I think knowing it gave her closure." She looked back into the room. "I think she will start to recover, now."

"That's wonderful," I said. "I'd like to have a word with you, alone."

Natalia nodded to Desmond, and we walked off to a waiting room.

"What do you want to do now?" I asked her. "Where do you want to go?"

Natalia looked confused. "What are you doing next?"

"I'm going up north. I'm going to stop off in a little place," I said, naming the place, "where there's a cowboy action shooting event, for the sake of my cover story, then I'm going to go to where Hendricks victimized the first woman and see if I can find her."

"Well, then, that's what I'm doing, too," Natalia replied.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Do you want to go home and explain things to your sister while I finish up this case?"

Natalia frowned in thought. "I don't know that I can face her yet. Creigh, I have to tell her that I became a werewolf and killed her son. I don't know if I can face that."

"So you want to come with me?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she said. Then she looked at me querulously. "Do you not want me to come with you?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"That's not it at all," I said. "I will come back down for you when I'm done, whether you come with me now or not."

"I want to go with you," Natalia said. "I don't know if that's just a stalling tactic so I don't have to talk to my sister yet, or just the desire to be with you, but I want to go with you."

"Could be pretty dangerous," I commented.

"Bring it on," she replied.

"Okay," I said. I was glad she was coming with me. I had to admit, even in the short time we'd been together, I felt more complete in her presence.

We went back to the Garners' place and spent the night, but this time, not in the safe room, but in the guest room. It was the first time Natalia and I were in a real, proper bed together. We sort of had designs on putting the bed to its best use, but we were so exhausted from the wringer we'd been through, we ended up just cuddling and falling asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven

We were able to take a bus up to the little town where the cowboy action shooting event was taking place. The bus stop was in the parking lot of a hotel, and there was space left so we simply checked into the hotel. I enquired at the front desk about the event, and apparently others in the hotel were in town for the same event. Natalia and I hooked up with another couple that were involved in the event, Jeff and Carol Peters. When they learned I was here all the way from the east coast, and didn't have my own car, I was even offered a drive to the event the next day. They were fun people to meet and be around.

There were two things left I required before I could participate: a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. Jeff and Carol were kind enough to take us to a spot right in town that sold both. Natalia herself didn't want to complete, but was willing to dress up for the event with clothes borrowed from Carol.

The next day, we just plain had a fun day. As it turned out, I didn't have enough gear with me to compete in just any category, as I was lacking a rifle and shotgun, but I could participate in the "working cowboy" category with just one of my Ruger Blackhawks. So, I was timed as I shot, reloaded, and shot again, with penalties for any misses. It was nice not having living targets for a change, and a situation in which the penalty for missing was not getting shot yourself.

The guys who came in ahead of me were either faster loading or shooting. I hadn't really mastered cocking with my left hand and firing with my right for speed as well as they had. On the plus side, I handled recoil pretty well from years of shooting, and my aim was good. I did okay, and came in fourth in that category, which I thought was not a bad start.

I really enjoyed shooting these Blackhawks; they felt very solid in the hand, I loved the mechanical sound and feel of them, and the way they bucked when they recoiled. I hadn't realized that the use of a Blackhawk also limited me in the competition, because it had adjustable sights, while Ruger Vaqueros and other handguns used did not. Still, the convertible nature of the Blackhawks had made them the only choice for me on this occasion.

I had now fulfilled my cover story and was ready to move on to the last part of the mission: finding out what had happened to Ralph Hendricks' first victim and what cleanup would be needed. We boarded the bus again the next morning and made our way up to the town in which Ralph Hendricks had made his first victim. I had every hope that we were coming up on the end of this matter.

We arrived in town and rented another motel room. I obtained a rental car—another Ford Taurus, chosen because its trunk could fit at least three bodies—and started investigating. Instead of going to the RCMP, however, I laid low and investigated the old fashioned way. I looked through the newspapers for the past three months at the newspaper office. Natalia came along and helped go over the newspapers, cutting the time required in half.

There was nothing at all in them to indicate there might be any sort of werewolf problem here; no reports of children being killed, or livestock losses. The only thing that sounded at all tragic was about a young woman named Marjorie Maddix who had taken over the operation of the family dairy farm after her parents had gone missing, over two months ago. This had shown up in one of Natalia's papers, and she pointed it out to me.

"There's a possibility, there," I commented, after she had pointed out the story. "The missing parents may have been turned into werewolves by a marital indiscretion on the wife's part, perhaps."

I thought about how I might meet Marjorie Maddix; I decided a simple way to meet her was to offer my services to try to find her missing parents.

I didn't want to put all of my eggs into one basket, however, and after a small amount of research—just leafing through the yellow pages—I found a veterinarian. I decided I would go see this man and ask about any livestock kills, in case they hadn't been covered in the paper.

While I had the yellow pages handy, I looked for the bars where Hendricks might have picked up the girl. There were really only two possibilities that were nearby. I wrote down their locations.

"Did you find anything with horses?" asked Natalia.

"Good point," I said, and looked through the yellow pages once more. "If we could get hold of a horse, we might detect the werewolf, or werewolves, without any trouble at all."

I didn't find anything. "Nothing. We'll ask the vet if there are any horse farms or horse attractions in the area," I said.

We drove to see the veterinarian. Of course, we didn't have any appointment, so we had a lengthy wait, which was good because it gave us enough time to come up with a cover story. Finally he appeared. "How can I help you?" he asked.

"The Missus and I are looking to start a farm in these parts, but we've heard rumours about wolves attacking livestock, and we were wondering if they're true. I didn't see anything about it in the papers."

"Definitely not true, I'd know," he replied.

"Is there anybody local who is selling off their stock?" I asked. "I'm looking to see if I can get a little bit of a leg up."

He shook his head. "Not that I know of," he said, "but of course I'm not in the livestock selling business."

"Well, let me put it another way," I said. "You'd know if anyone had less livestock now than they did, say, three months ago?"

The doctor's brow crinkled. "Yes," he said slowly.

"Anybody in that boat? Maybe they're selling off their animals and you don't know about it."

The doctor sighed. "Have you heard about the Maddix girl, whose parents went missing?"

I looked at Natalia and shook my head; she took my queue and did so as well. "Haven't heard about that," she said.

"She has less livestock than she did," the doctor allowed. "I don't know if she's selling them, but she has less since her parents disappeared. She might be selling them to stay open."

I looked hard at Natalia. "Maybe we could see if she wants to sell the whole place to us, or lease it to us or something until she knows what's happened to her folks," I said. I looked back to the doctor. "Can you tell us where she lives?"

"Under the circumstances, I can't see what it would hurt," he said, and wrote it out on a piece of paper. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"I'd be willing to give you a fee for your help, doctor," I said.

He shook his head. "If you're getting into livestock, you'll be a new customer soon enough." He paused. "You know, I haven't been out to the Maddix farm for a while. I wonder if the animals she's missing are just dying off on her, because she can't afford to get a vet to look after them."

"If you can't afford to be in the business, you should get out of the business," I said. "It doesn't do to just let animals die."

We shook hands and Natalia and I departed.

"What do you want to do now?" asked Natalia. "Should we go out there and just talk to them?"

I shook my head. "We need to reconnoitre," I replied. "Let's find the place while there's daylight, then go back to the hotel until we can take a look tonight."

Natalia was a good navigator and we found the farm quickly enough, about twenty minutes out of town. I took only a brief look, then we turned the car around and headed back to the motel.

I pulled the Taurus into the parking lot and got out. I heard a whistle and looked over to see Dean Smith. I gave him a signal that indicated it was safe to come over.

"Who is the pretty lady?" he asked as soon as he had walked over.

"Natalia Norayan, Dean Smith," I introduced them. "Dean has been a friend for a good many years."

Dean kissed her hand. "A beautiful lady. You remind me of—" he paused. "What's her name?" His eyes darted as he tried to remember. "Denise Bidot."

"Who's that?" I asked.

"A beautiful plus size model from the States," Dean replied. "Yes, that's just who you look like. Dark features, pretty, the same body type. You're lovely."

"Thank you," Natalia replied, blushing.

He looked at me, and back at Natalia. "Your girlfriend?" he asked.

I smiled. "Yes."

"Lucky man," said Dean. "I wonder if we might have a word alone, Creigh."

"I think Natalia can hear whatever we need to discuss," I said. "This isn't like Debbie. Natalia knows what I do."

"Very well," Dean replied. "Let's go inside."

"Debbie?" Natalia asked me.

"My ex-wife," I replied as I opened the door.

We went in and sat. I offered Dean coffee, but he declined.

"You asked me to see if you had a shadow," Dean said.

I nodded.

"You've had two," Dean said. "There was a hand-off at the cowboy action shooting event, one of them showing the other who you were, and then the first one went back the way he had come, and the new one has been following you ever since."

"Do you know any names?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet. I've got a picture, though." He brought up a photograph on his cell phone and showed me.

I looked at it and felt sick to my stomach.

"I can't believe it," I said.

"You think I'm mistaken?" asked Dean.

"No, I can't believe I was so stupid I didn't figure it out myself," I replied.

Natalia's face became concerned. "Who?" she asked.

"Desmond Garner," I replied.

"Seriously?"

I showed her the picture.

"I don't know what to say," said Natalia. "How's that possible? His own wife got shot!"

"He'll have some explaining to do," I allowed. "Assuming I don't just shoot him in the face the next time I see him."

"Do you recognize the other one?" asked Dean.

"No."

"He's staying three doors down," Dean replied.

I stood and went to the bedroom, not saying a word. I took one of my full magazines for the Ruger SR9 and slammed it home, pulling back the slide to load the chamber, and switching on the safety.

"Wait," said Natalia. "For all we know, Desmond has sent one of his underlings to protect us."

I sighed. "You may be right. It would be better for him if I could just shoot him. If I have to interrogate him too, he's in for a really unpleasant day."

I looked to Dean. "Any way we can verify this any further before we take action?"

Dean was nodding. "Now that I have a name, yes," he said. "I've got a laptop out in the car, and a password or two I shouldn't have. I can find out who has been calling into and out of Desmond Garner's home."

"Let's do it," I said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight

It took Dean a little while to access Desmond's phone records, and calls to the number I knew as Jack's were being made routinely. I seriously could have cried. I had thought Desmond Garner truly was my friend.

"He insisted on putting me up in his home," I said evenly, pacing in anger. "He apparently voted to have me come each and every time they voted on it."

"Probably didn't do that, mate," said Dean quietly. "He's not actually on their town council."

"You're kidding me?" I said. Dean gestured to his screen, and I looked. Eight town councillors and one mayor; none of the names were familiar. There were pictures, and one of the town councillors was indeed the man who had approached me in the first place.

"I'd guess that your fee was paid by dear old Jack," Dean commented. "Maybe the town council paid it but they probably don't know Desmond Garner is pretending to be one of them."

"They're probably too cheap to do what needs to be done, and Jack stepped in to make sure it got done, and that I was the one who did it."

"Here's Desmond's name, I believe he acts as counsel for the town when they need a lawyer," Dean said.

I closed my eyes against the headache I was beginning to feel, and massaged my temples with my fingertips. "At least he has some connection, I guess," I said.

I paced some more, stopped, and said, "Look: we need to get on track with what needs to happen right now. We've identified a farm of interest. They're losing but apparently not selling livestock. The place is being run by a Marjorie Maddix, since her parents are missing. We need to do a stake out on the place to see if there's werewolf activity there, and see if we can see what happens to the livestock."

Dean was shutting down his laptop. "Okay," he said. "I brought another box of silver-jacketed ammunition, all with a sixty percent powder charge, since you've been having success with that. We can share your Blackhawks."

"What am I going to shoot?" asked Natalia.

Dean looked at me. "She really is different from Debbie," he said with a laugh. "Do you know how to shoot these guns?" he asked Natalia.

I nodded in agreement. "Yes, she can shoot them," I said. "But she's only shot them with .38 Specials so far." I looked at Natalia. "A nine millimetre round has a bit more recoil," I commented.

"Even with the lower powder charge?" she asked.

I considered. "Maybe not a lot more, come to think of it," I said. "And the Blackhawks are pretty heavy, so that will absorb a lot of recoil. Maybe you'd be fine with a Blackhawk shooting nine millimetres."

"I don't mind using the SR9 with the lower charge, and just rack the slide manually if it ever fails to cycle," said Dean. "It's really no more inconvenient than your single action revolvers, when you think about it."

"All right, then," I said. "It isn't my plan to shoot anything tonight, anyway, but we need to be armed in case we're detected. Werewolves very likely have wolf-like hearing, vision, and sense of smell, so we need to be extremely cautious about sounds, smells, and movement."

"So... don't fart?" asked Dean.

I chuckled. "Yeah, no farting, no music players, no dancing." I got serious. "Most importantly, no shooting unless you absolutely have to."

Once it was dark, we drove out to the farm to do our reconnaissance. I wanted to cover every angle of the land so we had no blind spots. Ultimately we had to form a triangle to cover all angles.

Then, we waited for a long time. I was beginning to think nothing was going to happen at all, when something finally did.

Five men and a woman emerged from the farmhouse, naked as the day they were born, and all of them, including the woman, were quite hairy in appearance. Neither Natalia nor Sue Derderian had a hairy appearance when they were werewolves; perhaps this was a symptom that worsened with time.

The cows in the field began lowing. The five werewolves stalked about like a pack. As I watched, I realized that they were selecting a cow to attack. The cows themselves began to form a group, a defensive manoeuvre in my opinion. When one was separated from the herd, the werewolves attacked. They practically flew across the field toward the cow and all five latched on. In no time, blood sprayed from a bite to the neck, and the five of them followed the wounded animal to the ground, eating it and killing it at the same time.

They ate a considerable portion of the animal right there on the ground as we watched. I took a peek at Natalia to see how she was holding up. It was obvious that she was shocked and sickened by what she was seeing, but she was holding it together. I couldn't see Dean from my vantage point, and it was possible that he couldn't see what was happening in the field, either.

After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, probably only an hour or so in reality, the werewolves were sated and returned to the farmhouse, their bodies practically covered in blood from the carnage they had wrought. I waited for another half an hour, then made my way carefully to where Natalia was hunkered down.

"You okay?" I whispered to her.

"I just about puked, but I'm okay," she said. "Was I all hairy like that?"

"No," I replied. "It might be a long-term effect of being a werewolf."

"I hope I don't get hairy like that," she commented under her breath.

"I think if anything, our symptoms are going to abate," I replied, "probably including our invincibility to non-silver weapons."

I put an arm around her. "Are you cold?"

She nodded her head. "Just a little. I'm doing all right."

I heard a sound and before I knew it, I had the Blackhawk in my hand. I peered hard into the darkness and saw Dean approaching. I re-holstered the gun and returned my attention to the field and the farmhouse.

"Did you see the werewolves attack the cow?" I asked him in a whisper.

Dean shook his head. "I heard it, and that was bad enough," he replied. "What do you think?"

I considered my words. "Well, they didn't do anything illegal," I said. "Except for vegetarians and vegans, we all eat cows, we just let other people do the dirty work of killing them for us, and we prefer having them packaged in more genteel ways, like burgers and steaks."

"What did you think about the composition of the group?" Dean asked. "I got to see them. When they left the house, they left by a door on my side, then they came to this area in the field to do their work. One girl, four guys. What does it tell you?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "What do you think?"

"I think she's an active recruiter," Dean replied. "A very active recruiter."

"She's victimizing men, the same way Ralph Hendricks victimized women," said Natalia.

Dean said, "I'm sorry I missed the attack. I could have learned something from that."

"I'm sorry I saw it," commented Natalia drily.

"Why did you want to see it?" I asked Dean.

"Wolf packs have an intricate social structure," he said. "There's an Alpha wolf, the pack leader, one or more Beta wolves, sort of seconds in command, and then there are Omegas. Your worker bees, I suppose, having the lowest rank in the pack. The lady is definitely the Alpha in this case. She led the men out of the house. I bet she chose the animal to attack."

"She did," I confirmed. "Is that unusual in the wild, for a female to lead?"

"No, not really," he replied. "There's often an Alpha and Beta mating pair, the only ones that reproduce, and their children are the other members of the pack, and either the male or the female could be the Alpha. This is different from that. Her promiscuity is going to create a problem. She's making too many Betas by mating with too many from the pack. There's only so much shuffling of Betas in and out of her bedroom that can happen before there will be problems with them attacking each other."

"What will happen?" I asked.

"Ultimately, they will either kill the Alpha or drive her out. If they drive her out, then she'll start all over again, and so will they. They'll need to bring in another female, or a few females."

"So they're going to be attacking people, if for no other reason, to make more werewolves," said Natalia.

Dean nodded. "I fear that you are correct, Natalia. If the Maddix girl is driven out, she'll do the same thing she did here; outnumber herself with Beta males, and then have the cycle repeat itself."

"So, we could have an outbreak of werewolves," I said.

"Yes," said Dean with a sigh. "I'm afraid there's really no choice but to deal with this, and very harshly, too."

"Do you mean, now?" I asked.

Dean sniffed; the air was nippy and he was feeling the effects like the rest of us were. He sighed, then nodded. "Natalia, after you had experiences as a werewolf, how did you feel? Exhausted, like the myth suggests?"

Natalia was nodding. "Yeah, extremely exhausted."

"I think the time to strike is while they're extremely exhausted," Dean said. "Of course, you're the Alpha in this particular pack, Creigh, this is your show. What do you want to do?"

I scratched my head for a moment, and sighed. "In the multitude of counsellors, there is victory," I said, partially quoting one of the Proverbs. "Let's figure out how we're going to take this place."
Chapter Twenty-Nine

"We don't dare go inside the house to fight them," I said. "We don't know the layout. We've got to get them to come outside. What means do we have?"

"Car alarm?" asked Natalia.

"It'll probably only get one out," I replied.

"Fire. Every time," said Dean.

"How will we get it going?" I asked.

"There's a shed around the other side, where I was watching. There has to be a gas can inside."

"How many exits are there? Are we going to have to cover two?"

"There are two," Dean said.

"So we light the fire at one of the exits to force them out the other one," said Natalia.

"Can we get into that shed without making too much noise?" I asked. "We can't afford to have them alerted before we're ready."

"It has a Master combination lock," Dean said, "the kind they have in schools. It has a keyhole on the back so the school authorities can get into the locker without knowing the combination. I can pick one of those in under thirty seconds."

"Got picks?"

"Always."

"Any holes in the plan?" I asked and waited. We all looked at each other briefly—none of us could think of anything. "Then let's do it," I concluded.

Immediately I gave some orders. "Natalia, I want you stationed by the back door, where someone looking out isn't going to see you. Dean, I will cover the front door while you get into the shed. If anyone is detected, we have to start shooting right away."

I looked at Natalia. "When it starts, don't panic. Don't bother with trying to make any head shots, go for centre of mass," I said, indicating centre of mass on my own body.

"The heart," Natalia said.

"That's the general area," I confirmed. "You have a very powerful handgun. Even so, it might take a couple or three shots to get someone to go down."

"That gives us enough rounds to get two each," she said.

"Maybe three each, if our shot placement is good," I said. "Heck, maybe all five if our shooting is really good, but it won't be that good. In any case, Dean here has a semi-automatic and there are a lot of shots in it."

"Seventeen," said Dean, smiling.

"About that, in Canada you can only legally have ten," I said.

"Do you want me to take seven out?" Dean asked.

I chuckled. "No," I said, elongating the word into "noooooo." Dean smiled.

"Okay, ready?" I asked.

"Ready," confirmed Dean.

"Ready," Natalia echoed.

"Take your positions," I said, and we all moved toward the house as stealthily as possible, our guns in our hands in case the worst case scenario, early detection, should happen. We made it to our positions safely. I took a moment to check Natalia's position; it was safe, or at least, as safe as it could be in these circumstances. Dean had holstered his weapon and was busy with his lock picks.

Dean picked the lock in only thirteen seconds. I had counted. He disappeared into the shed and emerged with a gas can and some rags with traces of oil on them.

"The back door is a better place to drive them," he whispered. I looked up at the moon; it was shining more light on the back door. I nodded. "Do it," I whispered. Dean crept up the front steps, soaked the door and the steps with gas, stepped back, soaked one of the rags in gas, and lit it. He threw it into the door and it instantly burst into flames. He soaked another rag in gas, and stuffed it into the hole of the gas can, lit it, and threw it in through the window. He ran in my direction and said, "Run!" as he went by. I got over my shock, turned and ran, and after just a few steps I heard a loud explosion.

A screaming werewolf came out through the side of the house; I suppose he had been running to the door to see what had happened when the gas can exploded and lit him on fire from head to foot. I smoothly cocked and fired into centre of mass, cutting off his screams. He fell face-first onto the ground.

Dean had already run to where Natalia was stationed, just as the back door burst open and a couple of werewolves came out. Dean fired a double-tap into the chest of one of the males; his SR9 had cycled just fine. Natalia shot through the back of the woman as she turned to attack Dean. The woman, in agony, turned to face Natalia and took another silver-jacketed round to the heart. She fell on her face, dead.

Three down. I was running toward Dean and Natalia when I saw, in the house, that one of the remaining werewolves had a shotgun or rifle and was running toward the door. I was surprised; I had expected that in the werewolf state, using a human tools or weapons would be impossible.

"Gun! Gun!" I yelled as I approached. I fired a shot in through the window, hoping to hit the werewolf, but I couldn't tell if I had hit anything.

Just as I arrived, the werewolf burst through the door and levelled the shotgun at Dean. I pushed Dean out of the way and took a load of buckshot to the chest. I fell down hard. Natalia screamed. Dean fired into the werewolf once, twice. I heard Dean have to cycle the action on his pistol manually, and then he fired a third round into the werewolf. I heard Natalia's gun roar as a fourth shot went into the werewolf. Finally he fell down. Natalia cocked and fired again, blasting a hole in his forehead.

I vomited a gush of blood. Perhaps, I thought blearily, the time had come, and the last vestiges of my lycanthropy were wearing off, and this was a fatal wound. I fell face-down to the ground. My face was near a cow flop. I giggled, glad that I hadn't fallen face first into it, causing myself great pain that cut off my giggle and turned it into a groan.

Natalia was beside me, calling my name.

"There's still one more," I said. She didn't hear me. "One more!" I shouted with all my force—which wasn't much, just a harsher whisper. However, she got my message, just as the last werewolf appeared in the doorway. She swivelled and fired her Blackhawk, catching him in the left breast. It moved him backward a bit on that side, but didn't knock him down. He turned his flaming angry eyes on her. He started toward her and she fired again, right into the heart this time, and two more rounds from Dean caught him in the chest and in the side of the head. He fell down the steps, tried to push himself up, and died.

"Good shooting," I managed, then fell on my face again, and passed out.

When I came to, I was being hauled through the field, Dean's arm looped under one of my shoulders, and Natalia's arm under the other one. They were pulling me away from the house, which was now a conflagration. I blinked hard to clear my eyes. Then I said quite clearly, "Whoa, whoa! I'm okay now."

Dean looked at Natalia, confused, but kept pulling. "Whoa, stop!" I said. "I'm all right."

Dean and Natalia lowered me to the ground, and I got up.

"What on earth is going on here?" Dean asked, his voice in a hush.

"It's an aspect of lycanthropy," I said. "I wasn't shot with silver bullets, so I survived." I opened my shirt. There was only one pellet hole left, and it was beginning to heal over.

"You're a werewolf too?" asked Dean.

"No," said Natalia. "Not exactly. I was a werewolf. When I was saved, I lost all of the nasty aspects but seem to have kept my resiliency against gunshots and other injuries."

"That's you," said Dean. "What about him?"

"He was fatally wounded, so I—" she stopped, blushed, then said, "I made love to him, to give him my lycanthropy and save his life."

"I think it's wearing off," I said. "I seem to be getting a longer and longer recovery time."

"That's just amazing," said Dean. "What do you mean by 'saved'?" he asked Natalia.

"I was saved when I believed in Jesus," she said.

"Ah," said Dean, "that kind of saved."

"Pretty compelling evidence for Christ, don't you think, Dean?" I said.

"He's not a believer?" asked Natalia.

"Not by a long shot," I replied.

"And not about to be converted now," said Dean. "Pardon me for saying, but we have to get the hell out of here."

With that, the three of us broke into a run, heading back for the car and away from the scene at the farm.

Out of the corner of my eye, on the road, I saw a car with a lone occupant sitting inside it, watching the forest. I turned and started running toward the car. It was my shadow.

The other two, detecting that I was no longer with them, stopped and turned to see me running through the woods down toward the car. I heard my shadow starting the car, one try, two tries. He was very nervous about getting away from here.

He never got to. I emerged from the woods as he reversed, and as he stopped the car to change from reverse to drive, I drew the Blackhawk and shot him dead through his windshield. The car, in drive, now slowly went across the road and crashed into the ditch, which killed the motor.

I went to the car, picked up the agent's phone, and called collections.

"Collection required at this location," I said. "There's a farmhouse burning down with a bunch of dead werewolves lying around out front."

"Codename?" asked the man at the other end.

"There's also a dead fellow agent, whoever Jack has had following me," I added. "You can call me Mr. Crazy."

With that, I dropped the phone back into the car with the agent who, in life, had carried it, and walked back toward my friend Dean and my lover Natalia, who waited for me dutifully in the woods as I took care of my latest shadow.

My previous shadow was next.
Chapter Thirty

"So it's all over then," said Desmond.

We were sitting in the man's kitchen, at the man's table. When she saw that she had a guest, Andrea had wanted to go in to the grocery store and get some extras for supper. I didn't plan to stay, but I didn't try to dissuade her either.

"Well, there is just one loose end," I said. "It's why I came back here."

"Natalia's family?" asked Desmond. "Is that it? How's that going?"

"Not well," I replied. "They never want to see her again. They kind of understand that she's not responsible for what happened, but they kind of can't forgive her either."

I paused. "I have trouble forgiving sometimes myself," I added.

Desmond looked at me and said nothing.

I removed my two Ruger Blackhawks from their holsters and laid them on the table in front of me. I spun one of them so that the grip was toward Desmond Garner, and the barrel was toward me.

"What are you doing, Creigh?"

"I'm giving one of Jack's spies a fighting chance," I said. "That's what I'm doing."

Desmond slumped in his chair. I thought perhaps real shame had crossed his features.

"Do you know why you didn't know I was coming?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

"That's because earlier today, when I was leaving the werewolves' place, I found Jack's other shadow," I said. "I killed him before he had time to report a thing. I called collections myself, because, you know, a deal is a deal."

Desmond Garner did not respond, so I added, "At least among honourable men."

Garner said nothing in return.

"In retrospect, I can't believe I didn't catch on to what you were doing," I said. "You got yourself involved in the investigation right on the front end. You had me stay under this very roof, so you could watch my every move. You foiled your own security system. Did you know your wife was going to get shot?"

Garner continued to sit and say nothing.

"Answer me," I said.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Jack said he didn't want to blow my cover, so he didn't tell Kyle that I was involved. It was an accident. She shouldn't have had the gun to fire with it."

"How long was the security system messed up?" I asked.

"Since before you arrived," Desmond admitted.

"So you knowingly endangered me, your own wife, and the woman who is, God willing, going to be my wife," I said dangerously. "But you want to know what really makes me mad? The cost of you being a liar, like every other lawyer I've ever had to deal with."

He had nothing to say.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? I killed around eighteen people trying to save you from Jack, and you were in no danger the whole time. You probably think those deaths are on me, but you know what? They're on you, because if I'd had the truth, I wouldn't have touched a hair on their heads."

My hand was almost twitching in anger, and in eagerness to grab the gun and finish this.

"You're such a natural at lying. You even tried to set up Joe Derderian to take the fall for you. You tried to make out it was him who messed up the proximity alarm. You figured I'd just leave it alone and never know it wasn't him. You felt sure I would never know it was you. You've deceived so many others—it's even your job to deceive people—and you were sure I was no different, that I'd never learn the truth."

I looked at the handle of the Blackhawk. It felt like it was calling to be in my hand, eager to help me blast Desmond Garner to kingdom come. Before I took that final step, though, I paused and made a request. "Give me one reason why I should let you live."

Desmond looked up at me. "I only did it because of my son," he answered. "He's serving in Afghanistan. Jack said that if I didn't watch you, my son would have an accident."

I sighed. "Bastard," I commented. It's a Biblical word, "bastard." It's translated as "illegitimate" in more modern versions, but you can find it in the good old King James.

"If you want to live, you'll have to tell me something better than that," I said. "You'll have to tell me what you've done for me lately. You'll have to tell me why you're not a threat to me now."

"I confirmed that Natalia is dead," he said. "When the new operative wanted to know who the girl was with you, I said it was a girl you'd met in this cowboy action shooting thing, a girl named Wendy Jones."

I paused, thought about it, and decided against taking this any further. "I guess that's good enough for me," I said, and rose to my feet. I took back the Blackhawks and put them in my funny looking dual holsters.

As I was about to leave, Garner spoke. "You still have way too much compassion for a hit man," Garner said behind me, in a broken voice. "I used to be an honourable man, myself."

"Maybe you still are," I said, after I'd turned back to look at him. "If I had a son, I don't know how far I'd be willing to go to save him. Probably about as far as you have. Maybe even farther."

He sat in the chair, looking at the floor, dejected.

"Is Jack through with you yet?" I asked him.

"Is he ever through with anybody?" Desmond asked. "Once he finds your weakness, is he ever done with you?"

I came back in the room, and sat at the table. "I've been thinking about moving out here for a while," I said, "until we see what's going to happen with Natalia's family. It might be useful having somebody here that's on my side, that Jack thinks he can trust to give him all the information about me."

"Really?" asked Desmond.

"You are one of those rare people I liked at first sight," I said. "I'm convinced that you're a good man, caught in a bad position. That, and you've proven what a good liar you are."

His left eye leaked a tear. "I'm so sorry, Creigh," he said. "I'm so sorry for having to betray you like I did."

"I believe you," I said. "Maybe you'll prove my faith in you was wrong someday; or maybe you won't. There'll be other days to prove your friendship to me, if you want them."

"I want them, Creigh," he said.

"I want them, too," I replied.

With that said, I left Desmond Garner's place and went to find Natalia.

###

About the Author

Reese Currie has had the creative writing bug in his soul from a very young age. Now in his middle age, he is finally releasing the floodgates on his passions, including his passion for fiction writing.

Connect with Reese Currie at Smashwords.com

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Cover art by Chris Belanger

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