40
Kaspar Gunderson's house was made of stone, or at least sided with it. Pale chunks of granite formed the walls. The trim was white, the roof shingles pale grey. The door was white as well. It was clean, neat, and still managed to be rustic. It sat in a clearing at the top of the mountain. The road stopped at his house. There was a turnaround but the road didn't go past.
Richard rang the bell. Kaspar opened it. He looked very relieved to see us. "Richard, thank God. He's managed to hold on to human form so far, but I don't think he can last much longer." He held the door for us.
We walked in and found two strange men sitting in his living room. The man to the left was short, dark, and had wire-framed glasses on. The other man was taller, blond, with a reddish beard. They were the only things that didn't match the decor. The entire living room was white--carpet, couch, two chairs, walls. It was like standing in the middle of a vanilla ice-cream cone. He had the same couch that I did. I needed new furniture.
"Who are they?" Richard asked. "They aren't one of us."
"You could say that." It was Titus. He stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a gun in his hand. "Don't anybody move," he said. His southern accent was thick as corn pone.
Aikensen stepped out of the door leading to the rest of the house. He had another big Magnum in his hand.
"You buy those by the caseload?" I asked.
"I liked your threat on the phone. It got me hot."
I took a step forward, hadn't meant to. "Please," Aikensen said. He was pointing the big gun at my chest. Titus was pointing at Richard. The two men in the chairs had guns out now, too. One big happy party.
Edward was very still at my back. I could almost feel him weighing the odds. A bolt action on a rifle shot back behind us. We all jumped, even Edward. Another man was behind us in the door. His solid grey hair was balding. The grey man had a rifle in his hands, pointed at Edward's head. There wouldn't be enough left to pick up in a baggie.
"Hands up, y'all."
We put our hands up. What else could we do?
"Lace your fingers atop your head,'' Titus said.
Edward and I did it like we'd done it before. Richard was slower.
"Now, wolfman, or I will drop you where you stand, and your little girlfriend might get all shot up in the bargain."
Richard laced his fingers. "Kaspar, what's going on?"
Kaspar was sitting on the couch, no, reclining was the word. He looked comfortable, happy as a well-fed cat... er, swan.
"These gentlemen here have paid a small fortune to hunt lycanthropes. I supply them prey and a place to hunt."
"Titus and Aikensen make sure that no one finds out, right?"
"I told you I did a little hunting, Ms. Blake," Titus said.
"The dead man one of your hunters?"
His eyes flicked, not exactly looking away but flinching. "Yes, Ms. Blake, he was."
I looked at the two men with their guns out. I didn't turn around to see Grey Hair at the door. "You three think that hurting shapeshifters is worth dying over?"
The dark-haired one looked at me from behind his round glasses. His eyes were distant, calm. If it bothered him to be pointing a gun at fellow human beings, it didn't show.
The bearded man's eyes flicked around the room, never settling on anything. He wasn't having a good time.
"Why didn't you and Aikensen clean up the mess before Holmes and her partner saw the body?"
"We were out hunting werewolf," Aikensen said.
"Kaspar, we're your people," Richard said.
"No," Kaspar said. He stood. "You aren't. I am not a lycanthrope. I'm not even an inherited condition. I was cursed by a witch so long ago that I don't care to remember how long."
"Is that supposed to make us feel sorry for you?" I asked.
"No. In fact, I don't suppose I have to explain myself. You have both been decent to me. I suppose I feel guilty about that." He shrugged. "This will be our last hunt. One big gala event."
"If you had slaughtered Raina and Gabriel, I could almost understand it," I said. "But what did the lycanthropes you helped murder ever do to you?"
"When the witch told me what she had done, I remember thinking that being a great ravening beast would be a fine thing. I could still hunt. I could even slay my enemies. Instead she made..." He spread his hands wide.
"You kill them because they are what you want to be," I said.
He gave a small smile. "Jealousy, Anita, envy. They are very bitter emotions."
I thought about calling him a bastard, but it wouldn't help. Seven people had died because this son of a bitch didn't like being a bird. "The witch should have killed you, slowly."
"She wanted me to learn my lesson and repent."
"I'm not real big on repentance," I said. "I like revenge better."
"If I wasn't confident you would die tonight, that might worry me."
"Worry," I said.
"Where's Jason?" Richard asked.
"We'll take you to him, won't we, boys," Titus said.
Edward hadn't said a word. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I hoped he didn't go for a gun. If he did, most of the people in this room were dead. Three of them would be us.
"Pat 'em down, Aikensen."
Aikensen grinned. He holstered his big gun. That left one revolver, two automatics, and a high-powered rifle. It was enough. Dream team that we are, Edward and I had our limits.
He patted Richard down, a quick search. He was having a good time until he got up to where he could see Richard's eyes. He paled just a little looking into those wolf eyes. Nervous was good.
He kicked my legs farther apart. I glared at him. His hands hovered over my breasts, not where you start a search. "If he does anything but search me for weapons, I am going to draw a gun and take my chances."
"Aikensen, you treat Ms. Blake here like a lady. No hanky-panky."
Aikensen dropped to his knees in front of me. He ran just the palm of his hand over my breast, lightly just over the nipples. I smashed my right elbow into his nose. Blood sprayed outward. He rolled around on the ground, hands to his busted nose.
The dark-haired man was standing. He was pointing his gun very steadily at me. His glasses reflected the light hiding his eyes.
"Everybody calm down, now," Titus said. "Aikensen deserved that, I guess."
Aikensen came up off the floor, blood covering the lower half of his face. He fumbled for his gun.
"If that gun clears your holster, I will shoot you myself," Titus said.
Aikensen was breathing fast and heavy through his mouth. Little bubbles of blood showed at his nose when he tried to breathe through it. It was definitely broken. It wasn't as good as eviscerating him, but it was a start. He kept his hands on his gun, but he didn't pull it. He stayed on his knees for a long time. You could see the struggle in his eyes. He wanted to shoot me almost enough to try for it. Great. The feeling was mutual.
"Aikensen," Titus said softly. His voice was very serious, as if he were just realizing that Aikensen might go for it. "I mean what I say, boy. Don't you be toying with me."
He got to his feet, spitting blood, trying to get it away from his mouth. "You're going to die tonight."
"Maybe, but it won't be you."
"Ms. Blake, if you could refrain from teasing Aikensen long enough for me to get him away from you, I'd appreciate it."
"Always glad to cooperate with the police," I said.
Titus laughed. The bastard. "Well, now the criminals pay better, Ms. Blake."
"Fuck you."
"No need to get abusive." He tucked his own gun into his side holster. "Now, I'm not going to do a thing but search you for weapons. Any more of this nonsense and we're going to have to shoot one of you to prove we're serious. You don't want to lose your sweetheart here. Or your friend here." He smiled. Just good ol' Sheriff Titus. Friendly. Jesus.
He found both guns, then patted me down a second time. I must have winced, because he said, "How'd you hurt your arm, Ms. Blake?"
"I was helping the police on another case."
"They let a civvie get hurt?"
"Sergeant Storr and Detective Zerbrowski are in the hospital. They were injured in the line of duty."
Something passed over his chubby face. It might have been regret. "Heroes don't get anything but dead, Ms. Blake. You best remember that."
"Bad guys die, too, Titus."
He pushed the sleeve of the red coat up and took the knife. He hefted it, testing its balance. "Custom made?"
I nodded.
"I do admire good equipment."