After the incident with the Wolffe brothers; witnessing a murder, being kidnapped, having her arm broken, and almost being raped in her sleep, Sydney found it odd that she didn’t have nightmares. In fact, the nightmares which had plagued her for years no longer haunted her sleep. She found herself feeling strangely...freed. Still, this newfound freedom troubled her.
At first, she didn’t talk about it, speculating the trauma of the incident hadn’t truly hit her yet. Then, as the weeks turned into a couple of months, she started mentioning what she noticed. It was Bast, during a breakfast at Ira Milligan’s Café, who offered a possible answer.
“You saw a demon out there, near the Dragon’s Teeth,” she said. “One from your past. One of whom was far more frightening than the monsters who held you.”
***
The facility was outside Denver. It was a gentle autumn day. Looking back toward the mountains, there were the first dustings of snow upon the very highest peaks.
Sydney sat anxiously in her chair, unable to read the magazine she had taken from the table. Her eyes went to Lankin, who stood staring out the window, his eyes riveted to the mountains. Finally, she stood up and walked up to him.
“I want to thank you again for coming with me, Lazarus,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“This is as far as I go, Just Sydney,” his voice was just above a whisper. “I once told you this is something from which I cannot rescue you. This is something you must face on your own.”
“I know,” she said softly, placing a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for coming with me this far. Thank you for waiting for me to come back."
“Miss Pollack?” The man in a white coat appeared as if on cue. “We’re ready for you now.”
***
She sat in a chair, bound at her wrists and ankles, swaying side to side slowly. Her amber eyes, while still reptilian, seemed duller than Sydney remembered. She realized it was drugs. The woman in front of her was surely almost always in some state of sedation.
“Darcy…?”
“Jackrabbit?” Her voice had a slight slur to it, confirming Sydney's supposition. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” Sydney replied simply.
“Why?” Darcy hissed, leaning forward. “To gloat? I’m going to get out of here soon. Then I’ll finish what I started with you.”
“No, you won’t,” Sydney said flatly. “That has been seen to.”
Darcy sat back, letting out a disgusted hiss. The jackrabbit was no longer frightened of her, and that was frustrating. Insulting. This made her feel powerless; not the drugs that dulled her senses, not the restraints which held her to the chair.
“Then why are you here?” The hate in her voice was a tangible venom.
“You hurt me, Darcy,” Sydney replied coolly. “You frightened me. You tried to take everything away from me. Tried to break me. Make me a victim. You wanted to kill me.”
“But I failed…”
“You did,” Sydney Said. “What you did to me taught me not to be victim. Not to be scared.” She leaned forward, meeting the reptilian amber eyes that used to stalk her dreams “You’re the most hateful, angry, evil person I’ve ever met, Darcy, but I owe you something.” She then pressed her lips to Darcy’s brow. “I owe you my thanks; thank you for teaching me to be strong.”
Sydney pulled away and walked out of the room with a sense of purpose and confidence that radiated around her. Darcy watched in disbelief, finding herself feeling that she was somehow now in the debt of the jackrabbit.
Showing posts with label In the Company of Wolffes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label In the Company of Wolffes. Show all posts
24 September 2013
15 September 2013
The Gentle Art of Dismemberment
Thomas Wolffe was in a foul mood. His jacket had been burnt in the fire and his jaw ached from where Sydney had punched him. Instead of chasing after her, Christopher made them break camp and start out for the Dragon’s Teeth in the dark. As the first light of day colored the sky, Thomas; cold, hurt, humiliated, and angry, muttered curses under his breath well aware his older brother could hear them.
“One more word outta you, Tommy, and I’m gonna whack you upside your head with the Louisville,” Christopher said finally, with a motion to the baseball bat sticking out of his pack.
“Just can’t believe you let her go, Chris.”
“Me neither,” Byron chimed in. “Especially the way you were going on about her after that night at Magpie Jack’s.”
“Plenty of other bitches out there,” Christopher muttered.
“Bullshit!” Thomas snapped. “You took to her because she was Lazarus Lankin’s girl! And now you’re afraid ‘cause he’s coming for her!”
Christopher roared and punched his younger brother, sending him sprawling across the ground. In a single fluid motion, he pulled the baseball bat from his pack and twirled it in his hand before pointing it at Thomas’s face. He grinned with satisfaction as his brother bared his jugular in submission.
“Fuck you and fuck Lazarus Lankin!” Christopher growled. “I’m not afraid of him, but of course he’s gonna come for her. In fact…” he paused to sniff the air. “Yes! We’re being followed.”
He began walking in slowly-growing circles, twirling the bat. The other Wolffe brothers started to fan out, flanking Christopher. In a voice laced with homicidal malice, he began to sing.
“The cat came back
the very next day,
The cat came back
they thought he was a goner,
The cat came back
he just wouldn’t stay away…”
There was nothing but the early-morning calls of birds. Christopher growled again, the head of the bat smacking absently across his palm. He scanned the lessening shadows, knowing someone was out there.
“Here kitty, kitty…”
“Such a lovely singing voice you have there, Christopher,” Lankin appeared at the top of a rock outcropping. He hopped down, landing inches from the eldest Wolffe brother, his trek pole held down like a baton. “A crooner like you could’ve seduced Just Sydney with your voice instead of resorting to savaging her arm with a baseball bat.”
“That why you’re here? Tell me how to pick up a woman?”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Lankin said off-handedly. “What I really wanted to talk to you about was your assault on the Queen of Marrakech.”
“Ira got in the way,” Christopher said coldly. “Collateral damage is all.”
“Same goes for Connelly?” Lankin inquired, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Just got in the way?”
“Fuck Connelly!” Christopher snapped. “He had it coming from when he was with the sheriff and they busted me for shoplifting.”
“You were fourteen when that happened, Christopher,” Lankin shot back. “Holding a grudge like that for over twenty-five years isn’t healthy.”
“After that, him and the sheriff; they were always after me! Me and my brothers.”
“It is not as though you didn’t give them reason,” Lankin’s gaze shifted to Thomas and Byron, assessing their positions. “Any of you! Would you like me to cite particulars from your respective records?”
“Fuck you!” Christopher snapped. “You got it coming too, you know!”
“Because I was sharing my company with a girl you took a shine to?”
“Because you let our father die!” Christopher roared. “You didn’t even try to rescue him!”
“Your father went skinny-dipping in Deneb Gulch at the height of runoff!” Lankin retorted. “He was the kind of drunk that made Donnie Tabor look like a teetotaler! What he did was suicide; plain and simple, and you fucking know it!” He chuckled. “It’s really no wonder your mother ran away to Arkansas the first chance she got.”
“I’m tired of this shit and I’m tired of you, Lazarus Lankin, you self-righteous cocksucker!” Christopher snarled as he closed the distance between them. “It’s just you and the three of us out here now.”
There was a deafening crack as Lankin’s forehead smashed down across the bridge of Christopher’s nose. He drove his trek pole into Christopher’s belly, and snatched away the baseball bat before the man had hit the ground. Already, Thomas was coming at him.
Using his trek pole, he caught Thomas behind the knees. He fell backward, his head crashing against a rock. Upon seeing Thomas was unconscious, Lankin chuckled. Something which sounded like a growl bubbled in the back of his throat as he started to stalk toward Byron.
“When faced with greater numbers, go after the mouthy one first,” Lankin said casually. “That is most likely the brain, and the body cannot function without the brain. Although, the muscles might still spasm, which is why you go after the biggest one next. That leaves the heart; seat of the soul and the well of emotion.” He raised the bat as he got closer. “How about it, Byron?”
Byron dropped to his knees, baring his jugular. Lankin was almost satisfied with the thought of surrender when he noticed a glint in the other man’s eye. Spinning around, he saw Christopher coming at him. It was the sudden thrown rock smacking into his temple and dropping the Wolffe to the ground that stopped him. Sydney stepped out of the shadows with Tarot following close behind.
“Very nice, Just Sydney,” Lankin said. “I am impressed.”
“Didn’t I tell you I was the pitcher on my high school girl’s baseball team?” She asked somewhat playfully. “Good thing I’m a southpaw.”
“Holy shit, I can’t believe this is happening!” Tarot said. “But we got them!”
“Oh, it’s not finished yet, Jimmy,” Lankin said, once more turning his attention to Byron.
He stopped. There was the distant, but familiar thwock of a helicopter. Lankin turned back to Sydney and Tarot with a puzzled snarl.
“I got a signal and I let the sheriff know,” Tarot said, not backing down from Lankin’s stare. “You know, ‘Beware the monsters we fight’...”
“Lest monsters we ourselves become.” Lankin finished. “You did a good thing, Jimmy, although it is unfortunate…” he looked at Sydney. “…for us.” Then he looked back at the Wolffe brothers. “But exceedingly fortunate for them.”
“One more word outta you, Tommy, and I’m gonna whack you upside your head with the Louisville,” Christopher said finally, with a motion to the baseball bat sticking out of his pack.
“Just can’t believe you let her go, Chris.”
“Me neither,” Byron chimed in. “Especially the way you were going on about her after that night at Magpie Jack’s.”
“Plenty of other bitches out there,” Christopher muttered.
“Bullshit!” Thomas snapped. “You took to her because she was Lazarus Lankin’s girl! And now you’re afraid ‘cause he’s coming for her!”
Christopher roared and punched his younger brother, sending him sprawling across the ground. In a single fluid motion, he pulled the baseball bat from his pack and twirled it in his hand before pointing it at Thomas’s face. He grinned with satisfaction as his brother bared his jugular in submission.
“Fuck you and fuck Lazarus Lankin!” Christopher growled. “I’m not afraid of him, but of course he’s gonna come for her. In fact…” he paused to sniff the air. “Yes! We’re being followed.”
He began walking in slowly-growing circles, twirling the bat. The other Wolffe brothers started to fan out, flanking Christopher. In a voice laced with homicidal malice, he began to sing.
“The cat came back
the very next day,
The cat came back
they thought he was a goner,
The cat came back
he just wouldn’t stay away…”
There was nothing but the early-morning calls of birds. Christopher growled again, the head of the bat smacking absently across his palm. He scanned the lessening shadows, knowing someone was out there.
“Here kitty, kitty…”
“Such a lovely singing voice you have there, Christopher,” Lankin appeared at the top of a rock outcropping. He hopped down, landing inches from the eldest Wolffe brother, his trek pole held down like a baton. “A crooner like you could’ve seduced Just Sydney with your voice instead of resorting to savaging her arm with a baseball bat.”
“That why you’re here? Tell me how to pick up a woman?”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Lankin said off-handedly. “What I really wanted to talk to you about was your assault on the Queen of Marrakech.”
“Ira got in the way,” Christopher said coldly. “Collateral damage is all.”
“Same goes for Connelly?” Lankin inquired, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Just got in the way?”
“Fuck Connelly!” Christopher snapped. “He had it coming from when he was with the sheriff and they busted me for shoplifting.”
“You were fourteen when that happened, Christopher,” Lankin shot back. “Holding a grudge like that for over twenty-five years isn’t healthy.”
“After that, him and the sheriff; they were always after me! Me and my brothers.”
“It is not as though you didn’t give them reason,” Lankin’s gaze shifted to Thomas and Byron, assessing their positions. “Any of you! Would you like me to cite particulars from your respective records?”
“Fuck you!” Christopher snapped. “You got it coming too, you know!”
“Because I was sharing my company with a girl you took a shine to?”
“Because you let our father die!” Christopher roared. “You didn’t even try to rescue him!”
“Your father went skinny-dipping in Deneb Gulch at the height of runoff!” Lankin retorted. “He was the kind of drunk that made Donnie Tabor look like a teetotaler! What he did was suicide; plain and simple, and you fucking know it!” He chuckled. “It’s really no wonder your mother ran away to Arkansas the first chance she got.”
“I’m tired of this shit and I’m tired of you, Lazarus Lankin, you self-righteous cocksucker!” Christopher snarled as he closed the distance between them. “It’s just you and the three of us out here now.”
There was a deafening crack as Lankin’s forehead smashed down across the bridge of Christopher’s nose. He drove his trek pole into Christopher’s belly, and snatched away the baseball bat before the man had hit the ground. Already, Thomas was coming at him.
Using his trek pole, he caught Thomas behind the knees. He fell backward, his head crashing against a rock. Upon seeing Thomas was unconscious, Lankin chuckled. Something which sounded like a growl bubbled in the back of his throat as he started to stalk toward Byron.
“When faced with greater numbers, go after the mouthy one first,” Lankin said casually. “That is most likely the brain, and the body cannot function without the brain. Although, the muscles might still spasm, which is why you go after the biggest one next. That leaves the heart; seat of the soul and the well of emotion.” He raised the bat as he got closer. “How about it, Byron?”
Byron dropped to his knees, baring his jugular. Lankin was almost satisfied with the thought of surrender when he noticed a glint in the other man’s eye. Spinning around, he saw Christopher coming at him. It was the sudden thrown rock smacking into his temple and dropping the Wolffe to the ground that stopped him. Sydney stepped out of the shadows with Tarot following close behind.
“Very nice, Just Sydney,” Lankin said. “I am impressed.”
“Didn’t I tell you I was the pitcher on my high school girl’s baseball team?” She asked somewhat playfully. “Good thing I’m a southpaw.”
“Holy shit, I can’t believe this is happening!” Tarot said. “But we got them!”
“Oh, it’s not finished yet, Jimmy,” Lankin said, once more turning his attention to Byron.
He stopped. There was the distant, but familiar thwock of a helicopter. Lankin turned back to Sydney and Tarot with a puzzled snarl.
“I got a signal and I let the sheriff know,” Tarot said, not backing down from Lankin’s stare. “You know, ‘Beware the monsters we fight’...”
“Lest monsters we ourselves become.” Lankin finished. “You did a good thing, Jimmy, although it is unfortunate…” he looked at Sydney. “…for us.” Then he looked back at the Wolffe brothers. “But exceedingly fortunate for them.”
12 September 2013
Shadow Salvation
She had no idea how long she had been running. How many times she stumbled over the uneven ground, causing her to nearly fall completely. How many times she kept checking to make sure her clothing was on correctly because she could still feel Thomas Wolffe’s hands on her and smell his breath on her face.
Every so often, the idea of exhaustion set in. Her arm was screaming in fiery tones and her lungs burned as she kept running. Still, she didn’t dare stop. Anytime she considered it, she thought she heard other foot steps, other voices. She was sure of it; she was being followed. Hunted.
Along a turn, she felt her foot catch a root. Her balance was gone. She tired to brace herself, hoping not to land on her broken arm.
Suddenly, she was stopped. A strong arm encircled her waist and drew her close. Another covered her mouth, stopping the yelp springing from the back of her throat. A set of lips brushed her ear. Hot breath, of which she was intimately familiar with spoke in hushed and urgent tones.
“It’s alright, you’re okay,” Lankin whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”
Sydney spun around and threw her arms around his neck. Her right arm cried out in pained protest, but she squeezed as tightly as she could. Over Lankin’s shoulder she could see Tarot watching them. There was a look in his eye suspended between elation at seeing her and fear of what had happened to her.
“Glad we found you, Syd,” he said.
“Me too!” She whispered back. “You have no idea. Are we safe?”
“Relatively speaking,” Lankin said impassively. He was studying Sydney’s broken arm. “This is not set right, you know.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Either from when it was first broken or when I punched Thomas to get away.”
Lankin drew her close and pressed his lips to hers. At first, she was completely shocked; getting kissed, especially with the tender intensity he reserved for when they went to bed together, given the circumstances, hardly seemed right. She started to pull away, but, it was Lankin, she found herself being absorbed, like pine needles and dry leaves in kindling flames. Then, as unexpectedly as it started, he pulled away. There was an expression in his gray eyes she Sydney only rarely saw; that of regret.
“I want you to know how deeply sorry I am…”
The sound of breaking bone echoed across the darkened expanse of Backcountry. White-hot flashes of pain strobed across her vision as she dropped to her knees. Tears streamed from her eyes. A scream raced out of her mouth, but was intercepted by Lankin’s hand.
“It’s alright, you’re okay,” he hissed. “Your arm is set correctly now. The endorphins will start shortly, helping to mitigate the pain.” His eyes moved to Tarot. “Get some painkillers from your first aid kit, Jimmy, and make her a sling."
“Right now, I hate you only slightly less than the Wolffe brothers,” Sydney panted as she stood up.
“Understandable,” Lankin said off-handedly. “But you realize it needed to be done. Perhaps someone else might have cooed at you more, but the result would’ve been the same.”
“You should have warned her, Lankin,” Tarot said, handing Sydney some aspirin.
“I did.”
“Now what?” Sydney asked.
“Jimmy is going to get you back to Marrakech,” Lankin replied. “The Wolffe boys and I need to have a…conversation.”
“What?!? Lankin, are you crazy?!?” Tarot exclaimed. “It’s the Wolffes! They killed Connelly! They almost killed Ira!”
“I know. That’s precisely what I mean to discuss with them. At length.”
“Lazarus, listen to Tarot,” Sydney put in. “There’s three of them!”
“Your advice is duly noted, Just Sydney,” he said wearing an expression of mountain lion stalking its prey. “Don’t worry; I’ll provide them an opportunity to surrender.”
Every so often, the idea of exhaustion set in. Her arm was screaming in fiery tones and her lungs burned as she kept running. Still, she didn’t dare stop. Anytime she considered it, she thought she heard other foot steps, other voices. She was sure of it; she was being followed. Hunted.
Along a turn, she felt her foot catch a root. Her balance was gone. She tired to brace herself, hoping not to land on her broken arm.
Suddenly, she was stopped. A strong arm encircled her waist and drew her close. Another covered her mouth, stopping the yelp springing from the back of her throat. A set of lips brushed her ear. Hot breath, of which she was intimately familiar with spoke in hushed and urgent tones.
“It’s alright, you’re okay,” Lankin whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”
Sydney spun around and threw her arms around his neck. Her right arm cried out in pained protest, but she squeezed as tightly as she could. Over Lankin’s shoulder she could see Tarot watching them. There was a look in his eye suspended between elation at seeing her and fear of what had happened to her.
“Glad we found you, Syd,” he said.
“Me too!” She whispered back. “You have no idea. Are we safe?”
“Relatively speaking,” Lankin said impassively. He was studying Sydney’s broken arm. “This is not set right, you know.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Either from when it was first broken or when I punched Thomas to get away.”
Lankin drew her close and pressed his lips to hers. At first, she was completely shocked; getting kissed, especially with the tender intensity he reserved for when they went to bed together, given the circumstances, hardly seemed right. She started to pull away, but, it was Lankin, she found herself being absorbed, like pine needles and dry leaves in kindling flames. Then, as unexpectedly as it started, he pulled away. There was an expression in his gray eyes she Sydney only rarely saw; that of regret.
“I want you to know how deeply sorry I am…”
The sound of breaking bone echoed across the darkened expanse of Backcountry. White-hot flashes of pain strobed across her vision as she dropped to her knees. Tears streamed from her eyes. A scream raced out of her mouth, but was intercepted by Lankin’s hand.
“It’s alright, you’re okay,” he hissed. “Your arm is set correctly now. The endorphins will start shortly, helping to mitigate the pain.” His eyes moved to Tarot. “Get some painkillers from your first aid kit, Jimmy, and make her a sling."
“Right now, I hate you only slightly less than the Wolffe brothers,” Sydney panted as she stood up.
“Understandable,” Lankin said off-handedly. “But you realize it needed to be done. Perhaps someone else might have cooed at you more, but the result would’ve been the same.”
“You should have warned her, Lankin,” Tarot said, handing Sydney some aspirin.
“I did.”
“Now what?” Sydney asked.
“Jimmy is going to get you back to Marrakech,” Lankin replied. “The Wolffe boys and I need to have a…conversation.”
“What?!? Lankin, are you crazy?!?” Tarot exclaimed. “It’s the Wolffes! They killed Connelly! They almost killed Ira!”
“I know. That’s precisely what I mean to discuss with them. At length.”
“Lazarus, listen to Tarot,” Sydney put in. “There’s three of them!”
“Your advice is duly noted, Just Sydney,” he said wearing an expression of mountain lion stalking its prey. “Don’t worry; I’ll provide them an opportunity to surrender.”
05 September 2013
The Damsel and the Dragon
During the altercation at Ira Milligan’s café, her lower right arm was broken by the baseball bat, which Christopher took with him as a weapon. Taking her jeep, they drove to far edge of Gaia’s Backbone. She overheard the Wolffe brothers talking about making for the old ghost town of Hell and Gone. Lankin had told her about the place once. He promised to take her there someday.
Exhausted, they stopped at sunset, the Dragon’s Teeth only a few miles away. Strangely, Sydney was not truly afraid. She had been truly afraid before. By way of comparison, her situation was merely worrisome. That was probably why, coupled with the exertion of their hike and the pain of her broken arm, she found herself drifting into sleep.
***
When she saw the familiar face, the familiar set of reptilian amber eyes, swaying before her, Sydney moaned audibly. If Darcy was at all offended she made no indication. Instead, she pushed herself closer, pulling herself on top of Sydney.
“Hello, jackrabbit,” she hissed.
“Oh, fuck you! Fuck you!” Sydney snapped. “Like I need you showing up in my dreams right now! If I ever doubted it, this proves it; there is no god!”
“My, my, jackrabbit, you’re awfully riled up,” Darcy persisted, pushing Sydney onto her back. “You’re in trouble again. Trouble seems to love you.”
“Oh, you’re an observant one.”
“You know he’s coming for you,” Darcy said coldly, leaning closer. Her wieght and the heat of her breath was so very real. “An Interested Party. I’m sure that excites you.”
“Fuck you!” Sydeny spat squarely into Darcy’s face. “Yes, I know he’s coming, but it has more to do with what those fuckers did to Will and Ira than with me.”
“Does that hurt your feelings?”
“Why should it? I didn’t enjoy being a victim when you found me in Leeds, and I don’t like the idea of being the victim now.”
Darcy’s face hardened and then screwed into a malicious smile. Sydney felt a hand being jammed up her shirt and another working its way into her pants. Darcy leaned in so close their lips brushed together, her breath stank of cheap liquor and rotten teeth.
“Then pull yourself together, jackrabbit!” She hissed. “Stop being the damsel in distress and become the fucking dragon!"
***
Her eyes flew open to Thomas Wolffe on top of her, groping at her. She spat and screamed. Her right fist connected firmly with his jaw, sent him flailing.
“Get the fuck off me!” She shouted, biting back the exploding pain shooting up her arm. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me!”
Before Thomas could do much more than wipe the blood from his mouth, Christopher was between them, flanked by Byron. He regarded Sydney with twisted arousal as she tried to readjust her clothing.
“I have dibs, Tommy, we discussed that,” Christopher said calmly, not even offering his brother a sidelong glance. Slowly, he stepped forward. “Spunk, fire, that’s what you got. I like that. A lot.” He licked his lips. “When we get to Hell and Gone, me and you…”
Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by the impact of the toe of her boot against his testicles. Even as he doubled over, Sydney pushed him into Thomas, who then rolled into the fire. She didn’t see what happened next. Before she even fully realized it she was running through the new moon Backcountry shadows with the sounds of the Wolffe brothers howling and yipping behind her like feral dogs.
31 August 2013
Tragedy at Milligan’s
It started with Byron Wolffe showing up at the café clearly intoxicated and being loud about it. His brothers, Christopher and Thomas, were already there. Ever since knowledge of the Wolffe boys' return to Levant County, and especially to Marrakech, many of the locals were on edge. It was only a matter of time before something happened.
When Ira Milligan calmly asked Byron to be a little quieter, he shot up from his seat, shouting cheap vodka obscenities, and smashed his coffee mug on the side of her head. That was when William Connelly, whom had been seated a few tables away, tried to interfere. He managed to subdue Byron without much effort, but failed to notice that Christopher had gotten the baseball bat Ira kept behind the counter.
The beating was merciless. Christopher didn’t stop until Connelly’s head split open. Both he and Thomas, who held Connelly down, were caked with blood and savage amusement. Once assured their prey was dead, they recovered Byron, and with a crack to Ira’s ribs, ran from the café.
***
Bast and Tarot were waiting when Lankin stalked in with a snarl on his face and murder on his mind. Ian was taking a statement from Ira as she was being loaded into the ambulance. Connelly’s shrouded body was being put into the county coroner’s truck. Lankin walked up to Ira and squeezed her hand.
“I will take care of this, I promise you.” He said, and then turned his attention to the EMT. “If she gets anything less than the best of treatment…”
“Say no more, Lazarus,” the EMT said.
“Lazarus, they took her,” Ira said.
“Took who?”
“Sydney! Just Sydney! Your Sydney!” She cried. “That’s why they hit me in the ribs, I tried to stop them.”
“I see,” Lankin muttered, his eyes narrowing and his face darkening.
“Don’t worry, Lazarus,” Ian said. “Word’s already out. They won’t get far.”
“How very reassuring, Deputy.”
He stepped back outside. There was a crowd. It was as if half the county had shown up. Lankin felt a growl boil in his throat as his fists clenched and unclenched.
“What now?” Tarot inquired, stepping into his field of vision. “I don’t think the Wolffes are going to let the sheriff get them after this.”
“They are going to make for the Dragon’s Teeth,” Lankin mused. “The terrain there is difficult and if they can get through it then it’s just a ridge away from Hell and Gone. If they can make Hell and Gone, they’re effectively out of the county.”
“And then who knows where,” Tarot finished, once more catching himself thinking that those who mapped Levant County and Gaia’s Backbone named many of the geographic features to try and frighten away the foolhardy. “Not good. I’ll go get my gear.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you want to go after them,” Tarot said. “And I want to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” Lankin growled. “You’d slow me down.”
“Dammit, Lankin! Sydney’s my friend too! And you and Bast are the closest thing I have to a family anymore.”
“I am not going to discuss this with you, Jimmy,” he shot back and then felt a strong hand seize his arm. Looking down, he saw Bast, pulling herself to a stand from her wheelchair with one arm.
“Then you will discuss it with me, Lazarus Amun Lankin!” She said, her own gray eyes narrowed in predatory challenge.
“Stay out of this, Bast!” He snapped.
“Little brother, you mean to go hunting monsters,” she started, her eyes never flinching. “And certainly you remember the saying about fighting monsters.”
“Do not become the monster in the process,” Lankin said. “Yes, I’ve read Nietzsche.”
“Jimmy goes with you,” Bast said. “And that is the last word on the matter.”
“Very well, elder sister,” Lankin muttered. Then, with a determination in his expression that made Tarot jump. “You; my house before the end of the hour, if not sooner. We go light and quick. After all, we have monsters to hunt.”
When Ira Milligan calmly asked Byron to be a little quieter, he shot up from his seat, shouting cheap vodka obscenities, and smashed his coffee mug on the side of her head. That was when William Connelly, whom had been seated a few tables away, tried to interfere. He managed to subdue Byron without much effort, but failed to notice that Christopher had gotten the baseball bat Ira kept behind the counter.
The beating was merciless. Christopher didn’t stop until Connelly’s head split open. Both he and Thomas, who held Connelly down, were caked with blood and savage amusement. Once assured their prey was dead, they recovered Byron, and with a crack to Ira’s ribs, ran from the café.
***
Bast and Tarot were waiting when Lankin stalked in with a snarl on his face and murder on his mind. Ian was taking a statement from Ira as she was being loaded into the ambulance. Connelly’s shrouded body was being put into the county coroner’s truck. Lankin walked up to Ira and squeezed her hand.
“I will take care of this, I promise you.” He said, and then turned his attention to the EMT. “If she gets anything less than the best of treatment…”
“Say no more, Lazarus,” the EMT said.
“Lazarus, they took her,” Ira said.
“Took who?”
“Sydney! Just Sydney! Your Sydney!” She cried. “That’s why they hit me in the ribs, I tried to stop them.”
“I see,” Lankin muttered, his eyes narrowing and his face darkening.
“Don’t worry, Lazarus,” Ian said. “Word’s already out. They won’t get far.”
“How very reassuring, Deputy.”
He stepped back outside. There was a crowd. It was as if half the county had shown up. Lankin felt a growl boil in his throat as his fists clenched and unclenched.
“What now?” Tarot inquired, stepping into his field of vision. “I don’t think the Wolffes are going to let the sheriff get them after this.”
“They are going to make for the Dragon’s Teeth,” Lankin mused. “The terrain there is difficult and if they can get through it then it’s just a ridge away from Hell and Gone. If they can make Hell and Gone, they’re effectively out of the county.”
“And then who knows where,” Tarot finished, once more catching himself thinking that those who mapped Levant County and Gaia’s Backbone named many of the geographic features to try and frighten away the foolhardy. “Not good. I’ll go get my gear.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you want to go after them,” Tarot said. “And I want to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” Lankin growled. “You’d slow me down.”
“Dammit, Lankin! Sydney’s my friend too! And you and Bast are the closest thing I have to a family anymore.”
“I am not going to discuss this with you, Jimmy,” he shot back and then felt a strong hand seize his arm. Looking down, he saw Bast, pulling herself to a stand from her wheelchair with one arm.
“Then you will discuss it with me, Lazarus Amun Lankin!” She said, her own gray eyes narrowed in predatory challenge.
“Stay out of this, Bast!” He snapped.
“Little brother, you mean to go hunting monsters,” she started, her eyes never flinching. “And certainly you remember the saying about fighting monsters.”
“Do not become the monster in the process,” Lankin said. “Yes, I’ve read Nietzsche.”
“Jimmy goes with you,” Bast said. “And that is the last word on the matter.”
“Very well, elder sister,” Lankin muttered. Then, with a determination in his expression that made Tarot jump. “You; my house before the end of the hour, if not sooner. We go light and quick. After all, we have monsters to hunt.”
27 August 2013
Prologue; Lone Wolffe
The room was filled with the Celtic Nu-Grass sounds of Tin Thistles. As he worked his way closer to the stage, Tarot could not help but smile bittersweetly at the sound of Whisper taking lead vocals. It had been almost two years since they broke up, but he could still remember how desperately he wanted to be hand-fasted to her. It was his dad’s death, and the mourning of it, which reduced them to just two very close friends. Still, when she would sing a song of love and loss, Tarot sometimes caught himself wondering if she was singing about, or even to, him.
The stage was by the pool tables and he found a familiar face to stand by that offered a good vantage point. Sydney smiled slightly toward Tarot, lifting her pint glass of stout in a wordless toast. It was a lively night at Magpie Jack’s, filled with good music and camaraderie. In that simple set of moments Tarot couldn’t be happier.
Seeing Sydney jump with a shocked expression changed everything. She yipped and spun around. It was obvious someone had touched her in a way she didn’t want to be touched.
“What the fuck?!?” She snapped. “Keep your hands off my ass!”
His dark-bordering upon obsidian-eyes held her. He didn’t so much smile at her as seem to snarl in a predatory fashion. There was no remorse in his expression as he took another step toward her, causing her to subconsciously step back. Tarot felt a knot form in his belly.
“Hey, hey,” he said quickly. “I’m pretty sure the lady’s already got a date.”
“Little Jimmy Tabor? Donnie Tabor’s boy?” The dark-eyed man’s gaze focused on Tarot. “Trying to act all grown up and gallant? How cute. Why don’t you go on now and play with your toys while we adults do our adult things.”
“Leave us alone,” Sydney said hoping the intimidation she was feeling didn’t catch in her voice. “I’d hate to tell Grizz that I had to glass some dickhead in his bar.”
“You’ve got spunk,” the dark-eyed man said, licking his lips. “How sweet.” He took another step forward. “I wager as sweet as candy.”
“Christopher Wolffe!” The voice behind him got the dark-eyed man to snarl in a more aggressive fashion as he turned around.
He stood casually. Dressed in hiking boots, a pair of camouflage cut-offs and a black t-shirt. In his left hand he held a pool cue, the heavier end pointed toward the floor. His gray eyes regarded the other man with feline detachment as he brought his right hand, holding a glass of red wine, to his lips.
“It’s been a bit,” he said, taking a sip.
“Yes, Lazarus,” Christopher muttered. “It’s been a bit. Still drinking Spanish reds?”
“Not exclusively, but I endeavor to avoid anything that comes out of a plastic jug,” Lankin replied making his way closer to Sydney and Tarot, his gaze never wavering. “I see your time away from Marrakech has done little to improve your manners.”
“Pretty little thing standing with a little boy in a mountain bar,” Christopher shrugged. “A man can get some ideas.”
“And young Master Tabor may have mentioned she was accompanied?”
“I don’t see anyone with her other than this pup who thinks he's a man now.”
With an annoyed sigh, Lankin stepped between Christopher and Sydney. His gray eyes narrowed and a growl resounded from deep within his wiry frame. The pool cue raised ever so slightly.
“I loath to be trite, Christopher, however, this young lady already has an escort,” Lankin said in slow even tones.
“Oh, I see.”
“I hope we are clear now.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly, baring his teeth in a way that sent a chill down both Sydney and Tarot’s spines. Then he bowed his head, almost submissively as he stepped back a few paces. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet the others’ gazes once more.
“I’ll see you later, Lazarus,” his voice just above a growl and it only softened slightly when he turned his attention toward Sydney. “And I’ll be seeing you again.”
Christopher melted into the crowd. Lankin’s gaze never flinched, even after the front door of Magpie Jack’s swung open and closed once more. He felt Sydney’s arms encircle his neck and her grateful kiss upon his cheek. Another growl resounded in his throat as he took a sip of wine.
“Not good,” Tarot mused. “If Christopher’s back in town than so are Thomas and Byron. Those Wolffes, they don’t go roaming around alone.”
“And I can barely contain my excitement,” Lankin muttered as he finished his wine in a single gulp.
The stage was by the pool tables and he found a familiar face to stand by that offered a good vantage point. Sydney smiled slightly toward Tarot, lifting her pint glass of stout in a wordless toast. It was a lively night at Magpie Jack’s, filled with good music and camaraderie. In that simple set of moments Tarot couldn’t be happier.
Seeing Sydney jump with a shocked expression changed everything. She yipped and spun around. It was obvious someone had touched her in a way she didn’t want to be touched.
“What the fuck?!?” She snapped. “Keep your hands off my ass!”
His dark-bordering upon obsidian-eyes held her. He didn’t so much smile at her as seem to snarl in a predatory fashion. There was no remorse in his expression as he took another step toward her, causing her to subconsciously step back. Tarot felt a knot form in his belly.
“Hey, hey,” he said quickly. “I’m pretty sure the lady’s already got a date.”
“Little Jimmy Tabor? Donnie Tabor’s boy?” The dark-eyed man’s gaze focused on Tarot. “Trying to act all grown up and gallant? How cute. Why don’t you go on now and play with your toys while we adults do our adult things.”
“Leave us alone,” Sydney said hoping the intimidation she was feeling didn’t catch in her voice. “I’d hate to tell Grizz that I had to glass some dickhead in his bar.”
“You’ve got spunk,” the dark-eyed man said, licking his lips. “How sweet.” He took another step forward. “I wager as sweet as candy.”
“Christopher Wolffe!” The voice behind him got the dark-eyed man to snarl in a more aggressive fashion as he turned around.
He stood casually. Dressed in hiking boots, a pair of camouflage cut-offs and a black t-shirt. In his left hand he held a pool cue, the heavier end pointed toward the floor. His gray eyes regarded the other man with feline detachment as he brought his right hand, holding a glass of red wine, to his lips.
“It’s been a bit,” he said, taking a sip.
“Yes, Lazarus,” Christopher muttered. “It’s been a bit. Still drinking Spanish reds?”
“Not exclusively, but I endeavor to avoid anything that comes out of a plastic jug,” Lankin replied making his way closer to Sydney and Tarot, his gaze never wavering. “I see your time away from Marrakech has done little to improve your manners.”
“Pretty little thing standing with a little boy in a mountain bar,” Christopher shrugged. “A man can get some ideas.”
“And young Master Tabor may have mentioned she was accompanied?”
“I don’t see anyone with her other than this pup who thinks he's a man now.”
With an annoyed sigh, Lankin stepped between Christopher and Sydney. His gray eyes narrowed and a growl resounded from deep within his wiry frame. The pool cue raised ever so slightly.
“I loath to be trite, Christopher, however, this young lady already has an escort,” Lankin said in slow even tones.
“Oh, I see.”
“I hope we are clear now.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly, baring his teeth in a way that sent a chill down both Sydney and Tarot’s spines. Then he bowed his head, almost submissively as he stepped back a few paces. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet the others’ gazes once more.
“I’ll see you later, Lazarus,” his voice just above a growl and it only softened slightly when he turned his attention toward Sydney. “And I’ll be seeing you again.”
Christopher melted into the crowd. Lankin’s gaze never flinched, even after the front door of Magpie Jack’s swung open and closed once more. He felt Sydney’s arms encircle his neck and her grateful kiss upon his cheek. Another growl resounded in his throat as he took a sip of wine.
“Not good,” Tarot mused. “If Christopher’s back in town than so are Thomas and Byron. Those Wolffes, they don’t go roaming around alone.”
“And I can barely contain my excitement,” Lankin muttered as he finished his wine in a single gulp.
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