Leaving Melia, Mes, and Xena in the oblivious care of Candi and Genie, the couple set out together, racing towards the church where Bishop held his captives.
For the sake of expediency and stealth, Callie had already wolfed-out before they left, concealing the two in the thick shroud of the Veil that cloaked the mythical monster. Dashing through the neighbourhoods on all fours, the werewolf kept a terrifying pace; sitting astride her beast, Jersey clung tightly to her lover’s mane, a determined expression masking her face as she directed her wolf in her role as navigator.
It wasn’t long before they reached the edge of the parking lot on the outskirts of the megachurch Bishop had chosen as his citadel, the man of God hiding in a place of worship the same as he had done for hundreds of years before. A threatening aura radiated from the ugly building, its modern facade caked with bland artifice and metallic cross decorations. Composed of a main structure flanked by two smaller wings, Callie didn’t doubt that they would find Bishop in the heart of the sanctuary.
Prowling along the edge of the premises, the wolf sniffed about for signs of a trap. Unsurprisingly, the oily scent of combusted gasoline confirmed the obvious observation of the black-painted cars in the lot; the alchemist wasn’t alone, and whoever was with him was likely armed as well. Given the nature of Kelly’s arrest, she suspected they were probably police officers, and she was almost grateful for that fact; it would’ve been harder to put her claws to brainwashed devotees, but cops were an understandable opponent ⸻ ‘live by the sword,’ and all that.
Rising up on Callie’s back, Jersey scanned the building as well, a tight frown creasing her soft features.
“How many?” the wolf rasped in her growling timbre, her tenor deepened to a threatening baritone in her monstrous form.
“Dozens,” her petite passenger guessed, a worried edge to her voice. “The church is so crammed full of links that it’s almost lit-up like an arcane beacon. Either Bishop knows you can’t sense it yourself, or he’s trying to intimidate other sorcerers.”
“Which means he knows you can use magic,” Callie sighed, irritation rattling along her ribs with such force that Jersey could feel the vibration of it.
“And that you can’t defend against spells yourself,” the other girl cautioned. “I don’t know how powerful he truly is, but whatever allies he’s gathered are likely bolstered by his enchantments.”
“Great,” the wolf huffed, sharp fangs clicking in her maw of teeth. “Can you tell what kind of charms they’re using?”
“Ones I’ve never seen before, which obviously isn't saying much,” Jersey answered bitterly, frustrated by her lack of knowledge. “Whatever they are, they’ll be meant to slow you down.”
“Or to hurt you,” Callie theorised.
It was an obvious ploy, and the natural conclusion of Bishop’s assessment of her. Unable to wield spells herself, the werewolf was only capable of attacking head-on ⸻ but her powerful physical abilities extended only to herself. Assuming that the beast needed some form of mana to power her monstrous form, it was an easy guess that Jersey could serve as a magical ‘battery,’ empowering Callie beyond her normal limits. In other words, it was the same sort of strategy as trying to fight a tank with only small-calibre arms; while damaging the war machine itself was impractical, a 9mm bullet would still be lethally effective against the crew inside. Accordingly, Bishop likely assumed he wouldn’t need to best Callie so much as remove her source of mana and then tire her out, and so he’d arrayed his forces in preparation for a battle of attrition.
Worst of all, the pair knew that for every signature of magic they could detect, there could be any number of hidden magical traps to augment the force. Neither girl had any practice in identifying arcane defenses, and Bishop had already proved himself capable of hiding his presence from a djinn that far outclassed him in sorcerous acumen. No matter how they looked at the problem, the conclusion was obvious: assaulting the church was bound to fail.
“I’ll be okay,” Jersey stated confidently, patting her wolf’s side in reassuring physicality. “They won’t be able to get to me, not so long as you stay standing.”
“Then I promise not to fall,” the wolf intoned gravely, a threatening snarl lingering on her tongue.
They made it to within thirty feet of the altar before the wolf succumbed to her injuries.
Tearing through the building in a storm of snapping teeth, the unbridled beast had ripped her way through dozens of armed men as though they were made of nothing more than paper. Gore-slicked claws left long marks along the floors and walls, the two-hundred-kilogram monster seemingly unbound by the laws of matter, launching herself with enviable dexterity and terrifying grace through room after room of magically-enhanced soldiers. Bullets ricocheted off her silvery fur, embedding into the decor in explosions of splintering wood, doing little more than bruising the brutish creature.
Through classrooms and boardrooms, through the kitchen and the atrium, the flurry of fangs overcame everything in its path. Cutting down each new wave of men with her own hands, the apex predator was hardly slowed by their pathetic resistance ⸻ but then, they were never the real threat anyway.
Lances of golden light flensed her hide, the reactive barriers lashing out with arcane force whenever the wolf passed by the hidden sigils. Possessed of superior reflexes, she was able to twist in time to ensure that the blades missed anything vital ⸻ like her heart, or Jersey ⸻ but the damage stacked-up just the same. The magical spears thrust at her from all directions with unpredictable speed and force; it had to have taken Bishop weeks to set them all, doubtlessly draining mana from victimised ‘volunteers’ all the while.
Inexperienced and overwhelmed, Jersey fought just as hard as her wolf; clutching the silvery mane in both hands, she shouted warnings into the other girl’s ear, struggling to be heard over the roar of gunfire as she pointed out what sorcerous mechanisms she could see. Steering her girlfriend away from the more-obvious sigils, she tried her best to foil the magic of the more cleverly-obscured ones; still, they came too fast and from too many angles, a woven mesh of arcane weaponry as sharp and impenetrable as a layered wall of barbed wire.
Aided by her petite sorceress, the wolfgirl punched through Bishop’s defenses at the cost of her own life, her regenerative power failing under the oppressive demand of a hundred cuts.
Bleeding rivers of crimson, Callie collapsed in the aisle of the sanctuary, so close and yet terribly far from her goal. Scrabbling weakly, she clawed at the carpet, dragging herself forward an inch at a time, chest heaving as she laboured for breath.
Bishop’s applause echoed around the room, the sharp sound filling the space from the stage to the empty balcony of the upper story.
“Magnificent!” he crowed from behind the pulpit, watching the stricken beast slump against the hardwood floor. “Incredible! Superb! You’ve exceeded my every expectation, Miss Brambell.”
In spite of her wholesale slaughter, the supply of Bishop’s enforcers seemed limitless. Armour-clad, gun-wielding men cautiously approached her from the edges of the sanctuary, while three more waited in front of the altar, keeping guard on either side of a row of kneeling, hooded figures.
“I’m thoroughly impressed,” the slithering snake chuckled as he made his way down the short set of steps in an unhurried gate. “I’d thought for certain that I was preparing cannons for a knife fight, and yet it almost wasn’t enough. You were quite dashing on the floor of the dance hall, but now I see that it was only a fraction of your true beauty.”
Writhing miserably on the floor, Callie struggled to summon the energy to stand. Exhausted down to even the marrow of her bones, she fought several times to rise, each attempt failing as she thumped back down into the growing pool of her own blood. Even her angry growl lacked her typical vitality, becoming a grimace of pain.
“It’s alright,” Jersey lied to her in a panicked voice, gently stroking the wolf’s mane in a calming gesture, her hands stained red. “Just breathe; you’re going to be okay. I can fix you.”
Pressing her soft palm against a gaping wound, the force the petite girl could apply wasn’t enough; every laborious beat of the monster’s heart caused another spill of crimson to leak between her fingers, like an old clock steadily winding down. All Callie could do was pant for breath, struggling to maintain her bestial form; the minute her transformation receded, her overloaded system would collapse under the overwhelming trauma she'd suffered. Her end was an inevitability now, perhaps minutes away, even with the little cow pouring mana into the deep gouges that scored her flesh. This story is hosted at g.com.
She would die, and soon.
“I knew separating you from your sorceress was the correct choice,” Bishop laughed, congratulating himself with an uncaring monologue. “You shouldn’t have brought Miss Andersen with you that night, nor left her alone with one of my pets.”
Stalking along the line of assembled captives, most of whom appeared to be middle-school-aged children given their diminutive size, the grinning ghoul of a man made his way toward the middle, patting each of his sacrifices on the head in a perverse display of ownership. As he reached the figure in the center, he stood behind the decidedly feminine silhouette; too thin to be Kelly yet taller than the other hostages, Callie was struck by a lingering suspicion that she should recognize them.
“A dog is nothing without its master, no?” he chortled, continuing his victory lap of a speech. “Your last-minute replacement there may have a wealth of fresh mana thanks to her recent spawn, but she’d have to drain them dry to rival the strength of your true mistress. Despite having lived less than a century, she proved to be quite the formidable opponent; perhaps I’ll keep her around once I’ve broken her, and have her train that plump morsel you’ve brought to me tonight.” Cackling evilly, he set his hands down onto familiar shoulders, drawing back the cloth hood. “After all, it’s so much better when they’re young, yes?”
Megan flinched at his touch, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes down. Shivering with fear, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Callie, weighed down by the guilt of her betrayal. Everything was so clear in retrospect, so horribly simple that it made the wolfgirl want to laugh; as it was she only managed a pained bark, a pitiful noise unbecoming of a predator.
Of course Megan had been a plant all along. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier? The other girl hated her, and yet she found all manner of excuses to situate herself next to Callie. She had been the one to convince her to attend the cotillion in the first place, likely pushed to do so by Bishop’s orders; the wolfgirl had no idea what the alchemist might have over her, but the threat was clearly powerful-enough to compel her to action, and it left the amazon second-guessing their every interaction.
How much of it had been an act? Were any of her stories true? She was sure there’d been a spark between them in the closet, when Megan had sought a taste of the wolf’s lips ⸻ was even that a lie? A convenient show of vulnerability to entice the werewolf into letting down her guard.
“Miss Baxter is one of my favourite pieces,” the slimy charlatan giggled, enjoying himself to the fullest. “Much more agreeable than her father, and infinitely more competent. I gave him ample opportunity to apprehend you, and yet he failed miserably.” Fixing Callie with a conspiratorial look, he treated the dying girl like she was the same breed of monster as himself. “Megan here, on the other hand, is perfectly obedient, like a well-groomed bitch. Isn’t that right?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, the terrified girl choked out a reply. “Yes, sir,” she squeaked meekly.
“You’ve done quite the damage to my flock,” Bishop continued mockingly, “but nothing I can’t repair. I told you that I can work miracles, Miss Brambell, and I wasn’t lying ⸻ all it takes is the generous cooperation of young darlings, willing adolescents just like Megan, and I can use their mana to heal even the most grievous of wounds.” Tapping the kneeling girl’s shoulders, he punctuated his words with that disgusting touch. “Officer Bradley’s near-death experience, the slaughtered lambs strewn about these halls, Pastor Gary’s … squashed grapes, all of it is within my power to reverse.”
As the edges of her vision blurred, only the wolfgirl’s seething anger kept her conscious. She couldn’t even feel the touch of Jersey’s hands anymore, and her words of encouragement were becoming indistinct. Burning all the energy she had left, she curled around her mate, shielding her favourite with her rapidly-cooling carcass.
“Surely I don’t need to debase myself by stooping to delivering an ultimatum,” Bishop sneered, gloating in his victory. “Give yourself up to me, Callie Brambell, and I will allow you to live.”
Working her jaw in an agonisingly-slow motion, the wolf struggled to force out a snarl of rejection ⸻ but stopped short as Jersey laid a hand against her muzzle. Incensed, the beast flicked her gaze towards her mate, but her anger melted into contrition as she beheld the misery in her lover’s eyes. Exchanging a meaningful look, the beginnings of a plan passed wordlessly between the two.
“Okay,” the clever cow nodded as she turned her gaze to the alchemist, pretending to relent. “We surrender.”
Crowing with delight, Bishop hauled Megan up by her shoulders. With an ungracious shove he sent her forward, aiming her down the aisle at the fallen wolf. “Go and give them my blessing, girl,” the mage laughed, motioning to his guards to keep an eye on the group lest they try anything. “Accept my benediction, and be healed.”
Too wary of Callie to approach on his own, the alchemist sent the teenage girl as his proxy. Perhaps that explained how he was so skilled at subterfuge and stealth; if he could cast spells through his followers from a distance, then none of the magical residue would ever be traceable to himself. Doubtlessly it was one of the methods he used to conceal himself from Genie’s observation, and the terrifying range of his reach was likely what allowed the officer Callie had slain twice to survive the first attempt.
Stumbling towards the fallen wolf, Megan shook with fear and guilt. Gripping her own arms tightly as she hugged them against her chest, she focused her gaze on her feet as she made her way over to the sisters; kneeling on the edge of the blood-soaked patch of carpet, she mumbled a few halting attempts at speech.
“I-I didn't mean for this to happen!” she blurted out all at once, the stammered syllables mashed together in her guilty haste. “I … I'm sorry.”
“Are you?” the wolf laughed, a hacking thing with no mirth in it.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Megan muttered, laying out her rationalisations in a shaky voice. “He threatened to hurt my mom. He said if I didn’t help him, he’d … ⸻ he’d torture her.”
Glowering at the other girl through her blurry vision, Callie fixed her with a harsh stare. Attempting to speak was far too much of a strain for the battered werewolf, but she continued the conversation anyway, gasping for breath after each word.
“And hurting me … was okay,” she rasped sardonically.
“No!” she hissed, a whiny edge to her complaint. “He said he wasn’t going to hurt you. He told me just wanted to talk to you, and I believed him.”
“Why?” the wolf demanded; too tired to raise her head any longer, she rested it against the cool flooring, panting as her long tongue lolled along the smooth boards.
“Because he’s a man of God.” Shifting her gaze back and forth between Jersey and the wolfgirl, Megan wrestled with a ‘truth’ that she herself struggled to believe. “He really can perform miracles. He had … ⸻ he had me lay my hands on Pastor Gary, and it healed him. It was just like in the Bible, where Jesus healed all those sick people and took away their suffering, but I ….” Faltering, she stumbled through her rambling account, trying to convince herself as much as the other girls. “He told me that God had worked through me, but that I was too sinful, and that’s why I got sick afterwards. God was punishing me for having bad thoughts about other girls.”
A barking laugh indistinguishable from a hacking cough escaped the wolfgirl’s throat, her body shaking with dark amusement at the other girl’s story.
“I thought … I was … your ‘boyfriend’,” she accused, her bitter temper reasserting itself as a heavy numbness spread inward through her limbs.
Finally Megan looked at her, tears welling up in her eyes. “I-I know better now,” she murmured, lines of hot wet streaking down her cheeks.
Callie wanted to hate her, to feel the sting of her betrayal, but she couldn’t summon the anger that she thought she should have. Megan had helped lure her to the ambush, of course, but it had been her own choice to step into it, and she couldn’t fault the other girl for caving to Bishop’s threats against her family. The paradoxical acceptance of the alchemist as both a holy man and a villain was some spectacular self-deception, but the truth was that Megan was simply a scared girl barely a few weeks into ‘adulthood,’ beset by forces that were far beyond her control. Conditioned to accept whatever it was the powerful men in her life told her was ‘fact,’ there was little she could do but keep her head down and try to be a good girl; her bullying of the two sisters was a mistaken rebellion against her own desires, a reaffirmation of the person she thought she was supposed to be.
In a way, Megan reminded the wolfgirl of herself a lifetime ago, when she still laboured under the delusion that her parents loved her ⸻ or at least, they could love her, if she worked a little harder, if she dug a little deeper, if she won a little more. Desperate to win parental approval she had suffered a hundred-thousand abuses, assuming that it was simply a natural course of a parent’s affection; mirroring the vileness of her upbringing, she’d been a wretched child with a mouthful of slurs and hands dipped in violence, and it had taken her years to undo that concentrated programming. It wouldn’t be fair to hold the other girl’s failings against her, not now that she was starting to crawl her way out of the pit her father had dumped her into. New chapters come out on novelping.com first.
Surely she could extend Megan a measure of grace, even if it might be her very last act; her body felt so horribly cold, and yet she was too exhausted to even shiver.
“Alright,” she said quietly, the word evaporating off her tongue, the nearest to forgiveness that the dying wolf could reach.
The armed men had begun to crowd around the girls in a staggered circle; half of them held steel catchpoles with thickly-corded wires, which they began to loop around the fallen werewolf’s limbs. It seemed purposeless at first, but Callie supposed Bishop would prefer that she didn’t bleed out on the floor of his megachurch, and that almost made her want to die out of pure spite; if it weren’t for the automatic weapons leveled at Jersey and Megan, she might’ve even done it, too.
Sidling in next to the little cow, Megan set her hand against Jersey’s, applying pressure to the lethal wound in Callie’s side. Slowly, steadily, her awareness of sensation returned, manifesting as a sharp pain radiating from that touch; it grew stronger as her breathing evened-out, the persistent ache reminding her that she had yet to pass on. As her slashed skin sealed itself over the re-knit muscle, her fury returned with impassioned force, the wolf eager to continue the fight.
Still, she couldn’t try anything while Bishop still had hostages, which was perhaps half the reason that he had gathered so many. Catching Jersey’s eyeline, the wolfgirl tried to communicate soundlessly, forming a plan with knowing looks and movement of her eyes; understandably wary of the rifles and the predator’s diminished strength, the petite girl shook her head slowly. Though Callie was no longer in danger herself, there simply wasn’t a way for her to act without someone else getting hurt; it would take too long to free herself from the catchpoles, and she was sure that Bishop wouldn’t hesitate to order the men to fire on Megan and Jersey; perhaps he wouldn’t execute his little mana batteries, but the two teenage girls were useless to him.
But wait … ⸻ if he needed the middle-schoolers for mana, then wasn’t returning to the fight the surest way to keep them safe? Holding Jersey’s gaze, the wolf nodded slightly in the direction of the pulpit; she had no idea how she would create an opening, but she had to seize whatever chances she could take.
Bishop had surrounded himself with a steel and kevlar wall of the most-intimidating modern armament that the City PD could provide, and yet Callie’s opportunity soared on the fletching of an ancient weapon.
The crack of the splitting ceramic plate was the only warning of the surprise attack, the bolt punching through the ballistic vest of one of the gun-toting men, biting into the flesh and bones beneath. Designed to stop the high-speed impact of a bullet, the armour was useless against the low-speed, high-momentum arrow loosed from the bow of a two-thousand-year-old warrior princess.
As the men whipped around, aiming at the balcony they assumed had been empty, Callie capitalised on the momentary safety provided by Genie’s distraction; bending the steel catchpoles under the sheer force of her brute strength, she wrenched them out of the hands of her captors, the metal clattering as she became a whirlwind of fury once more. Drawing the attention of the combatants, the wolf’s wild assault opened the way for Jersey, the little cow racing to protect the assembled captives and lead them away from harm; once Callie engaged the soldiers, the djinn switched her focus to Bishop, harassing the beleaguered spellcaster.
The three women worked as a team, stealing control of the room out from under the priest; supporting the revived wolfgirl in her rampage, the sorceresses denied even the possibility of magical retaliation, leaving Callie to deal with the mundane element. Slicing through her gun-toting opponents in a blur of crimson mist, she reduced Bishop’s forces to steadily-cooling mulch on the floor of the sanctuary.
Arrowheads sparked against an invisible barrier as Bishop defended himself, pushed back against the altar by the inexorable rain of the djinn’s attacks. Shouting his indignant frustration in a litany of French swears, his eyes frantically darted around in search of cover, even as the tink, tank of the broken catchpoles announced the werewolf’s approach.
“Give up, Prelati!” Dornollë yelled from the balcony, ordering the priest to surrender. “Your mana will drain long before mine. If you relent, I’ll allow you to keep your head.”
“You think me a fool?” he snarled, edging his way around the pulpit, his attention divided between the archer and the wolf. “You damnable fucking maids. The Lord should’ve slaughtered you all after Eden, and rid the world of your meddling ilk!”
Though he possessed an unbearable self-importance, even the pompous Bishop knew when he had been beaten. Seeking to quit the field of battle, he summoned an arcane circle of light, attempting to flee ⸻ but the magic fizzled as soon as it began, blinking out into sparks of fading dust. Enraged, he shot a glare at Genie, understanding settling onto his features as apoplectic scorn.
“A djinn?” he seethed with disbelief, spitting the word like an epithet. “They all died out hundreds of years ago. Is it not enough to be surrounded by incompetent soldiers, that now I am haunted by phantoms as well?”
“It’s much, much worse than that,” the wolf hummed in a low growl, a threatening rumble in her chest. “You shouldn’t fear ghosts, Bishop, not when the monster in front of you is flesh and bone.”
“You stupid girl,” he barked at Callie, his hard stare filled with condescending admonishment. “Do you understand what you’re throwing away? I could have given you everything! Riches, women, land ⸻ I would have showered you with wealth beyond counting, yet now you turn on me like a rabid dog.”
Stalking forward, the wolfgirl raised herself to her full and terrifying height, hulking over the diminutive form of the pathetic old man. Snarling with barely-restrained violence, she backed him against the altar, filling his vision with the massive size of her bestial frame.
“Stay your claws, you mongrel mutt,” he half-commanded, half-begged, shrinking away from the predator looming over him. “Think it through: a djinn’s wishes are powerful, yes, but limited ⸻ while mine are not. I realise now that I should not have provoked your wrath by harming your sorceress, but if I cannot be your master then I will deign to be your partner.”
Reaching out with unhurried purpose, she buried her claws in his gut. Holding his gaze with an expressionless stare, she slowly sank them deeper and deeper, aiming for his spine.
“My ‘partner’?” she echoed coldly, fangs glinting in the light. “It’s my pleasure to disappoint you, priest; I’m already spoken for, and she’s a far better mage than you’ll ever be.”
“That adolescent witch?” he scoffed, still conversing as though no more inconvenienced by his wound than a spill of wine on his jacket. “I could serve you hundreds like her ⸻ a banquet of flesh.”
“You chatter an awful lot for a corpse,” the wolfgirl rumbled, ramming her claws further in. “Hell's calling you, Bishop; hurry up and die.”
“You think me defeated?” he frothed as she ruptured his organs, aspirating blood in a maniacal cough. “Greater men than you have snuffed the candle of my life, yet I cannot be stopped by something as banal as death.” A wild look in his maddened eyes, his face twisted in a perverse grin. “You’ll live a long life, you Godless monster, and we’ll meet again. Do not dare believe that I’ll be as merciful then as I am in this moment.” Taking Callie by the wrist, he clutched at her with the iron grip of a martyr. “I’ll only make this offer once more, my handsome flower: lend me your strength, and I will graciously provide you whatever it is your heart desires.”
Grinning wide, she displayed her maw of rending teeth, soft laughter falling from her bloodstained lips. “Fuck you, and fuck your deal,” she smiled, seizing hold of his vertebrae in her powerful fist.
Setting one enormous paw on his chest, she held him down as she ripped and tore with the other, deboning him like a fish. Shredded meat dripped down the altar, the pair of hideous beasts alone in the sanctuary; mercifully, Jersey and Megan had already begun to usher the children from the room, allowing the wolf her brutal revenge.
“You have chosen … poorly,” he chuckled, stubbornly clinging to life even as his body rotted out from under him. “You won’t forget me, you foul creature, you defiled lamb ⸻ and I’ll be certain of it.” As the light went out of his eyes, he jabbed a hand into her chest, striking the bones above her heart, shrieking in a feverish voice. “Lycanthropy is a curse, you lunatic, and I pray that you experience its true horror!”
Tired of his long-winded rambling, Callie bit down on his neck, tearing out the priest’s throat; red wet bubbled from his mouth as he cursed her in a wordless litany, damning her to some torment of his delirious invention. Unbothered, the wolfgirl continued dismantling his corpse piece-by-piece until only the ruins of what had once been a man gathered into heap at her feet. Blood-soaked from her maw to her chest, paws and arms sticky with gore, she threw back her head and howled in victory; a ravenous thing, it stretched out into the broad night, echoing around the sanctuary.
Surrounded by the remains of her slaughtered enemies, the thirst for violence swimming in her chest had yet to be quenched. Still gripped by a need to destroy, to ravage her prey, she stalked away from the desecrated altar, hunting for something else to sink her fangs into.