Drake had his hands around the werewolf’s throat, keeping it from biting off his head. Drake was strong, but not even he could hold off the one-hundred and thirty, plus kilos of fur and fury for long.
“Hey, over here!” called the Woodsman.
The werewolf ignored him, too intent on finishing off its new victim. Then, Drake realized that the man wasn't trying to get Mathewson’s attention.
With an extra burst of strength, he pushed the wolf back with one arm and slid the Mossberg along the floor with the other. The Woodsman picked up the gun, reloaded a silver bullet, pumped the gun and fired. The round hit the creature in the shoulder, causing it to howl angrily.
Releasing Drake, it writhed and gnashed in pain. The wound was glowing and smoke began rising from the hole as the werewolf reverted back to its human form.
Drake watched with a fixture of fascination and revulsion, while the Woodsman simply gathered up the rest of his bullets....
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
#38: MEETING MASON
Ulysses Mathewson, human once again, lay unmoving on the floor.
“Silver shells, tempered with copper and lead,” explained the Woodsman. “Hurts somethin’ awful, but it won’t kill him.”
He reached into his coat and produced what looked like a silver pendant, hanging from a matching chain. Drake watched as he placed the pendant around the neck of Mathewson and muttered something under his breath in what might have been Latin. A white spark flickered briefly across the face of the pendant.
“Just a little something to keep him from changing again,” he explained.
Drake nodded and extended a hand.
“Drake Mandible.”
The man studied his face carefully, then shook.
“Victor Mason,” he said. “Thanks for the save.”
“I wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t emptied your gun.”
“You didn’t know,” shrugged the Woodsman. “Your concern was for the civilians. I respect that. I guess I could have been a little more discreet about this, I don’t deal with ordinary people in my line of work.”
“Which would be?” asked Drake.
Mason held up his right palm, revealing a small, triangular- shaped brand.
“Woodsman, third class,” he said. “I’m a part of a clan that maintains order between humans and the beings you would consider to be supernatural: Vampires, faeries, ghosts, that sort of thing. Most prefer to keep to themselves, but then you’ve got the ones like Mathewson here.”
“And that’s where you come in, right?”
Mason nodded.
Hearing the sound of approaching sirens, Mason went over to Mathewson and hauled up, holding him in a fireman’s carry.
“Time to make myself scarce and I suggest you do the same. It’ll be tough explaining this to the police, especially since Mathewson probably shut down all the cameras.”
Drake didn’t like it, but he could see his point and followed Mason out the back exit...
“Silver shells, tempered with copper and lead,” explained the Woodsman. “Hurts somethin’ awful, but it won’t kill him.”
He reached into his coat and produced what looked like a silver pendant, hanging from a matching chain. Drake watched as he placed the pendant around the neck of Mathewson and muttered something under his breath in what might have been Latin. A white spark flickered briefly across the face of the pendant.
“Just a little something to keep him from changing again,” he explained.
Drake nodded and extended a hand.
“Drake Mandible.”
The man studied his face carefully, then shook.
“Victor Mason,” he said. “Thanks for the save.”
“I wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t emptied your gun.”
“You didn’t know,” shrugged the Woodsman. “Your concern was for the civilians. I respect that. I guess I could have been a little more discreet about this, I don’t deal with ordinary people in my line of work.”
“Which would be?” asked Drake.
Mason held up his right palm, revealing a small, triangular- shaped brand.
“Woodsman, third class,” he said. “I’m a part of a clan that maintains order between humans and the beings you would consider to be supernatural: Vampires, faeries, ghosts, that sort of thing. Most prefer to keep to themselves, but then you’ve got the ones like Mathewson here.”
“And that’s where you come in, right?”
Mason nodded.
Hearing the sound of approaching sirens, Mason went over to Mathewson and hauled up, holding him in a fireman’s carry.
“Time to make myself scarce and I suggest you do the same. It’ll be tough explaining this to the police, especially since Mathewson probably shut down all the cameras.”
Drake didn’t like it, but he could see his point and followed Mason out the back exit...
#39: MUNDANE MONDAY.
Curiously, that Sunday passed entirely without incident, as did the following Monday.
No gun-wielding dissidents, no bloodthirsty shape-shifters and not so much as a single golden hair of a certain Scandinavian were seen.
Drake pottered about the manor, looking for odd jobs, a difficult task considering the impeccable state Nickelby kept it in.
Drake stripped and cleaned all fifty-two of his firearms and polished his ornamental blades and combat knives. He killed some time with a little target practice, a leisurely swim and took the Bentley out for a spin.
Truth be told, he wasn’t enjoying the quiet as much as he thought he would.
In fact, Drake was absolutely bored.
He tried calling his brother, but Jake was too busy at the restaurant to talk. He even went for a walk in the darkest, most dangerous part of the closest city, alone and unarmed, secretly hoping for a good scrap, a mugging attempt or even a few harsh words.
He had no such luck.
Drake sighed and decided to try his luck at the local library, but still nothing interesting happened.
“Drat!”
No gun-wielding dissidents, no bloodthirsty shape-shifters and not so much as a single golden hair of a certain Scandinavian were seen.
Drake pottered about the manor, looking for odd jobs, a difficult task considering the impeccable state Nickelby kept it in.
Drake stripped and cleaned all fifty-two of his firearms and polished his ornamental blades and combat knives. He killed some time with a little target practice, a leisurely swim and took the Bentley out for a spin.
Truth be told, he wasn’t enjoying the quiet as much as he thought he would.
In fact, Drake was absolutely bored.
He tried calling his brother, but Jake was too busy at the restaurant to talk. He even went for a walk in the darkest, most dangerous part of the closest city, alone and unarmed, secretly hoping for a good scrap, a mugging attempt or even a few harsh words.
He had no such luck.
Drake sighed and decided to try his luck at the local library, but still nothing interesting happened.
“Drat!”
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)