Celia scaled the wall easily. The stones were broad and rough, effortless to search for handholds. She hauled herself up onto the broad rim and looked straight down into a pair of rich, chocolate-brown eyes.
“Ah,” Merry’s head popped up next to her. “We begin already.”
The werewolf was not an elegant Twilight-style creature. He was humanoid, covered in coarse grey hair, with his limbs strangely elongated. This wasn’t the majestic bi-morph everyone expected. This was a strange, mutated monster.
“Silver?” Celia suggested, hopefully.
Merry drew a slightly-odd gun from his belt and levelled it between the werewolf’s eyes. The werewolf reared back on its hind legs, claws sparking. Merry fired. The shot was silent. The werewolf fell down dead, harmless.
Merry swung himself over the wall and landed on all fours. Celia dropped down beside him.
“That was all it took?”
Merry grinned. “Silver bullets. That part isn’t a myth.”
Chrysanthemum landed lightly beside them. Blue materialised. Bastard fell to the floor, grumbling.
“Right,” Celia commanded, as quietly as possible. “Bastard and Blue, go and try to find Sophie. Ok?”
“What are you doing?” Bastard asked, looking mildly put-out.
“Dealing with that.”
They all followed Celia’s pointing hand. Rows of mismatched eyes stared back, advancing with a quiet growling sound.
“Go. Now.”
Blue grabbed Bastard’s arm and they vanished, reappearing on the top of the wall. They took off running. The werewolves came closer. The other three backed up till they were pressed against hard stone.
“How many shots do you have on that thing?” Celia demanded, panic starting to show in her voice.
“Ten,” Merry answered, his face slowly turning white. “I have spares. But I’d need time to reload.”
Celia nodded. “And I have my fire. Fire kills them, doesn’t it?”
“Celia, fire kills everybody.”
“Please kill them soon,” Chrysanthemum requested, absolutely calm. “I have enough to deal with without being eaten alive or gaining a facial hair problem.”
“No sudden movements,” Merry said, softly. “If you do anything unexpected, you’ll regret it.”
The growling increased. All the werewolves were visible now. There had to be at least thirty in this pack, ranging from iron-grey through coffee-brown to coal-black. Eyes varied from soft, almost gentle chocolate to evil yellow. None of them looked friendly.
“Three,” Merry whispered. “Two…one…”
He dived sideways as the wolves launched, his gun firing. Ten silver bullets found muscled necks and ten werewolves died. An observer would have had to admire his skill, but there was nobody who had time.
Fire poured in a steady stream from Celia’s palms but an angry werewolf leaping at you whilst burning alive makes it hard to aim. The three of them were still cornered, surrounded by irritable werewolves on fire. Merry was hurriedly reloading his gun but it was the kind of piece of equipment that sensed any sort of urgency and deliberately malfunctioned.
The werewolves were wary, keeping back. But it didn’t look like it would last. They were growling, teeth bared, coming closer.
“Merry…” Celia’s voice was sing-song. “What else kills werewolves?”
“Fire and silver,” Merry repeated. “Keep firing on them. Of course, they’re probably reinforced and you never find this many aggressive ones in one situation.”
“What?” Celia snapped, lowering her hands as the growls changed pitch and volume at her movement.
“I mean, they tend to run alone! And they rarely cause trouble! The Shadow has done something to them!”
“What makes you say that?”
“They’re not burning to death!”
“Oh, must I do everything around here?” Chrysanthemum snapped.
She drew a vial out of her pocket and held it up. The werewolves snarled, pacing agitatedly just out of reach of Celia’s fire.
“Die,” she commanded, hurling the vial into the mass of hairy bodies.
High-pitched animal screams echoed through the night. The smoking, fiery mass started to crumble and collapse, acrid smoke pouring into the air and making Celia choke.
“What was that?” Merry shouted over the din, slamming the last bullet in and levelling his gun.
“Wolfsbane,” Chrysanthemum said, smugly. “Another effective werewolf-destroyer.”
Merry fired. The werewolves fell, limp bodies hitting the burnt ground and the last smouldering flames dying out.
“Wow,” Celia took a deep, shaking breath and promptly doubled over, coughing. “That was insane.”
Merry laughed. “That’s my job. Or it was, up until a few months ago. I have medals and titles and everything because nobody else dares do it. Come on. They’re dead. Pity, really. I quite like werewolves.”
“Like them?” Celia shrieked. “You like those creatures?”
“Not them, really,” Merry admitted. “But there are so many different breeds. The real, pure-bred bi-morphs…those are pretty incredible.”
Celia shook her head. “Mad. You’re absolutely mad.”
“Well, I did choose to hunt dark creatures for a living,” Merry agreed. “Now…can we move on?”
They started to walk slowly, in case of traps or pitfalls hidden in the shadows. None of them could believe that a pack of werewolves – not even pure-bred – would be the Shadow’s only border defence.
They had only walked a few metres before Celia stopped suddenly.
“What?” Chrysanthemum asked. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something following us.”
Merry spun round, his eyes widening. “Celia, get down!”
A werewolf leapt out of the shadows, bowling Celia off her feet and clamping its jaws around her shoulder, shaking her like a skinned rabbit. The gunshot echoed off the walls. With a quiet whimper, the werewolf collapsed on top of its prey.
Chrysanthemum turned to stare at Merry, who was standing like a statue, gun still smoking in his outstretched hand.
“How did you know you wouldn’t hit Celia?” she demanded.
“I didn’t,” Merry replied, quietly.
He walked over towards the dead werewolf and lifted the stinking carcass effortlessly, tossing it away. Celia lay on the ground, still, her eyes wide open and her breathing rough and uneven. The werewolf had made a mess of her shoulder. It was torn and bloody, but that wasn’t the major concern.
“Don’t let me be a werewolf,” Celia begged. “Don’t let me, don’t let me!”
Merry fumbled in his coat pockets, drawing out collections of odd objects.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Chrysanthemum snapped. “Hurry up, Meritolo!”
Merry glared at her, dragging a small syringe out of the deep depths of his coat.
“This is going to hurt,” he promised.
He plunged the syringe into Celia’s neck. She screamed and her legs kicked out, her eyes rolling back into her head and her face turning white.
“Stop her screaming! This was meant to be a quick mission, in and out!”
“Yes, well. Would you rather she died?”
“Is it a choice between her or me?” Chrysanthemum said, sarcastically.
“Could be,” Merry shrugged. “I’m choosing her.”
“Oh, what a surprise.”
“She’ll be quiet in a minute.”
Sure enough, Celia soon stopped screaming and stared up at Merry in terror.
“You’re not a werewolf,” Merry smiled. “It’s ok.”
“Good,” Celia whispered. “That…um…hurt?”
“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I’ve had to administer that to myself before. More than once.”
Celia tried to sit up and fell backwards, head spinning.
“It’s ok,” Merry caught her. “I’ve got you.”
He helped her to her feet where she managed to stand, after staggering for a bit.
“I don’t have anything for your shoulder,” he said, regretfully. “We’ll just have to bind it up. Can you still fight?”
“Can I still fight?” Celia scoffed. “I’d have to be dead before I couldn’t fight.”
“Or, possibly…”
“I can fight,” Celia confirmed, wincing as Merry tightened a torn piece of his shirt around her shoulder.
“Good. Because I think werewolves were only the beginning.”
Merry reloaded his gun and helped Celia put her arm over his shoulders, so that she could walk without falling over.
“Why am I here?” Chrysanthemum grumbled. “Am I wanted here? Do they actually want my help? Do they want me following? I think not.”
But she followed them anyway.