The Necromancer Trilogy - Eachanstone

Chapter Twenty-One - Meritolo Boon, Wolfsbane

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?”