The Night Beat, From the Necropolis Enforcement Files (29 page)

“Makes sense,” Jack said. “So, you destroy the bodies?”

“Yes. We turn them to dust, literally.”

“You mean like cremation?” Sexy Cindy asked.

“In a way. It’s one of the reasons Yahweh’s sort of big on the no cremation thing. He doesn’t want to lose potential good undeads. However, a cremated human could still turn undead, since cremation happens days after someone dies and undeads form pretty much immediately upon death, give or take a little wiggle room. Only humans cremate, by the way. Interesting trivia fact you should store away in case you end up playing
Undead Pursuit
with Edgar or H.P.”

“So filing,” Freddy said. I figured he had the best shot for that game, anyway. “So, how does it work?”

“Well, it’s easiest with liches, witches or warlocks. They cast a ‘dust and scatter’ or ‘dust and contain’ spell and, as long as it has enough power and hits the target, it’s all over. A Golem will take the body into a live kiln and do some sort of Golem thing to ensure the soul goes along with the rest of the dusting. Neat and tidy.”

“No liches, witches, warlocks or Golem around,” Jack mentioned.

“And, sadly, no fiery furnace either. For vampires, drain any blood left, suck out and spit out other fluids, body withers into dust, taking soul with it. Gross but effective.”

“Also no vamps here just now,” Sexy Cindy offered.

“Right. And if they were, they’d be more worried about getting some SPF one thousand to avoid being dusted than dusting someone else. Angels can do it, but it’s complicated for them and normally angelic dusting is reserved for a major minion. While we have angels here, they’re kind of busy. Which leaves werewolves. For us it’s even grosser than for vamps. And after my freefalling experience, I’m not hungry at all.”

This floated heavily on the air. The three of them looked a little green, though Jack also looked far too interested. I didn’t really relish the idea of him watching me chow down in this way, but I wasn’t in a position to ask him to look away.

“What’ll we do while you do…whatever it is you’re going to do?” Sexy Cindy asked finally.

“Back me, keep any of the deaders from getting away, help the angels if they need it.” I tried not to gag thinking about what might be coming. “Find me some seriously strong alcohol to wash my mouth out with. That sort of thing.”

I heard quiet gagging from the others. They had no idea. A werewolf in full devour was terrifying as well as gross, and I’d have to work fast because there were a lot of deaders and only one me.

I managed to control myself from praying. Clearly the gods, Yahweh included, were already paying a lot of attention to what was going on, so if they were going to show up with an assist, it wasn’t going to be to prevent my having to chow down on a bunch of icky dead bodies on the hoof.

The earth over one grave heaved and I almost reconsidered that prayer. Jerry the Junkie’s body exited the earth, looking just as lovely as before. It figured that he’d rise first -- he wanted to help the Prince’s side, after all.

Jerry lumbered towards the angels. Deaders don’t move too well, as a rule. Worse than zombies or mummies, though a tad faster than Golem. Then again, almost everything was faster than Golem. Slow, ponderous and steady won the Golem race, that was their unlife motto.

I took a deep breath. Tossed in a howl for good measure. Hey, I had an audience. Then, I charged.

Chapter 42

Jerry made eye contact with me as I barreled towards him. “Here girl.” He grinned like he was the first one to toss out that knee-slapper. “Wanna fetch my stick?”

Did the fast thinking thing. There was something wrong about all of this. Not that this was some sort of brilliant revelation. Three top level minions on the human plane hardly spelled out “all’s right with the worlds”. But Jerry looked too happy about the situation. And he’d had dusting explained to him.

I decided to go with my gut. I didn’t bite him. I hit him with all four paws, claws out for full effect. One thing I’d neglected to mention to the others was that deaders could actually feel. So could undeads, of course. But we were unalive, so that made sense. I hoped the others wouldn’t catch on, though Jerry shrieking when I raked his body up, down and sideways might have been a clue.

Jerry was flat on his back and I was off him, doing the impressive turn and skid maneuver. He flailed to his feet, looking much worse for wear. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

“Having fun.” I ran behind him, knocked him onto his face, and did the claw you up thing on his back. Then I jumped up and down. “What’s going on, Jerry?”

“Aaah! Get off me!”

“Not an answer, Jerry. You’re too happy about being raised and potentially dusted. What’s the plan, Jerry?” Jump, claw, jump. I started to enjoy myself.

“Stop! Stop!”

Happily, Jack was a great cop. He trotted over. “Jerry, you know, she’s in a bad mood,” he said soothingly, working the good cop routine to the max. “Vic, please, the poor guy’s just been raised. Again.”

I jumped higher and slammed harder. “Pity for him. I want to know what’s going on.” I landed, clawed some more, then flipped him over, so I could jump on his stomach. “You know what, Jerry?” Jump, claw, jump. “If I don’t actually eat you, you don’t dust.” Jump, claw, scratch face, jump. “You just get to be turned into scraps.” Jump, rake claws down arms, jump. “So, what’s going on?” Jump, jump, jump. Playing bad cop was so much fun, I almost forgot there were bigger issues at hand.

“Help me!” Jerry shouted to Jack.

Jack shrugged. “She’s in that feral thing werewolves get. Where only mayhem will appease them. Or answers.”

I sang quietly under my breath. “Jump up, turn around, claw a bit of deader. Jump up, turn around, scratch him on his face. Jump up, turn around, claw more of the deader. Jump up, jump around, bite him in that place.” It was an interactive song, at least how I was doing it. Except for the last line. I hoped Jerry was going to crack before I had to follow through on that.

“Nice lyric change to Belafonte’s ‘Jump Down, Spin Around’ song.” Jack said. “Didn’t know you liked oldies.”

“I like to improvise, I consider anything by Belafonte to be a classic, not an oldie, thank you, and besides, werewolves are very musically inclined.”

“Really? Interesting.” Jack looked back at Jerry. “You want to answer the lady’s questions now?”

Jerry whimpered. “They don’t want me to.”

I sang louder. “Bite him in
that place
.” I even added a leer. I’d usually let Jack be bad cop, but not any more. He was not allowed to have all the fun.

Jack coughed. “I think, Jerry, you need to consider who’s going to cause you more pain and anguish, in both the short and long term.”

Fangs bared, drool dripping, I gave a big growl and looked down at Jerry’s very personal region. As a deader he really had no use for it, but males stayed attached to those parts, whether alive, undead, or in the ground. It was a guy thing, I didn’t try to understand it. I just used it to my advantage when necessary.

“Okay! Okay! Call her off!”

“Give her the answers, maybe she’ll stop.”

“I don’t know all the plan!”

“Share what you
do
know,” I growled through bared fangs. “Start with why you were hoping I’d try to eat you.”

He didn’t want to answer, that was clear. I put a hind paw onto his personal parts and leaned. With all my weight and muscle. Jerry made a very animalistic sound. As a werewolf I’d heard it a lot -- a pathetic whine of pain and terror meant to make you feel sorry and stop.

But werewolves didn’t feel sorry all that often, and never in a situation like this. And cops didn’t feel bad about roughing up a perp to get information to save hundreds or more. I let up a little, then slammed down, even harder.

“Okay! Okay!” Jerry sounded like every other perp ready to crack, which was what I wanted. I let up a little, but the indication that I’d lean right back down again if necessary was clearly there in the way my claws were tapping. Yeah, werewolf claws are like digits, we can move them all we want. One of the many benefits.

“So, tell me what I want to know.” Growled through the teeth with the extra drool, just ‘cause I could. “Why were you okay with getting dusted by me?”

He gulped. “They…put something in my body. If you eat it, it’ll kill you.”

“What, exactly?” Jack didn’t sound like good cop now. He sounded like angry boyfriend. I was good with that.

“Not sure. Something…heavy. It feels heavy.”

“Silver, silver nitrate, something with silver, maybe liquid mercury, some sort of metallic combo that’s deadly. Probably some unholy water, too.” I nudged Jerry. “Okay, so you just get to be torn to shreds. Check. What’s the plan? As much of it as you know, or else. Oh, and you may be a deader, but you’re giving off more scent than death and decay, probably because of what they put in you, so I can smell when you’re lying.”

Jerry’s eyes widened and he looked terrified. Good. Because I couldn’t tell for sure from the smell, just a good guess. “I…I don’t know much.”

I leaned on my hind leg again. “Oh, I’m sure you’re selling yourself short, Jerry.”

“Tell us what we want to know,” Jack said quietly. “Or I’ll bring your parents to see you.”

Interestingly enough, more than anything else, this worked. I saw the expression in Jerry’s eyes change. Not to fear, though, or regret. To amusement tinged with mania. “They’ll be here soon enough.”

“Who’s after your parents?” Jack asked.

“No one.” Jerry giggled. I really loathed this guy. It was a pity only a Golem would be able to dust him now -- none of us could ingest him and I was going to ensure he was in myriad pieces which, sadly, made it almost impossible for a spell to work.

“Who’s already with them?”

Jerry gaped at me. Apparently someone able to think still shocked him. “Ahhh….”

I leaned on his private parts and sunk my claws in. Squishy and icky, but oh so effective. “Who’s with them, and who’s with the families and associates of the others who were in the alleyway when Abaddon and Apollyon came through?”

“T-Tomio.”

“But Tomio’s in Hell already, isn’t he, Jerry? I mean, that’s what you told us.”

“I didn’t tell you anything!” His voice was raised and I didn’t get the impression he was talking to me.

Instinct’s a wonderful thing. According to some, instinct was nothing more than the sum total of all your experiences -- everything that had ever happened to you, that you’d ever read, seen, heard, felt or thought -- bundled together in a tiny part of your hindbrain. Others said instincts were passed down species by species, to help said species survive, and that most instinctive reactions have no real basis in thought or even the experience of the specific reactor, just that if you were a gazelle and you saw a lion, you were going to run, period.

My personal opinion was that both were true. I had instinctive reactions to things as a werewolf that I’d never have had as a human, and vice versa.

One thing about instinct -- I never, ever argued with it. And my instincts told me that Jerry was about to be dusted, but not by my side.

I leaped off him, grabbed Jack, and flung him and myself at Freddy and Sexy Cindy. Uninjured werewolves are strong and I threw the three of them as far as I could. I leaped after them, landed and turned, ready to go knock the angels out of the way.

But there wasn’t time.

Chapter 43