E. CROSSFIRE

 

Crossfire: noun. A situation wherein the forces of opposing factions meet, cross or clash.

 

Quedlinburg Abbey is empty before sunrise. I don’t ask Josh where we’re going because the silent treatment is all he deserves. Heaven’s Guard militiamen load their belongings into the courtyard outside the abbey while Josh stands on guard dog duty, hovering by my side. If I were here of my own free will, I’d be long gone.

The courtyard is creepiest at this time of day, between night and dawn. The hour of the wolf. A black wrought-iron wolf peers down at us from the top of an outdoor lantern. It’s the same wolf that sits in the center of the town crest, embedded in the cobblestones by the main entry, sitting on guard at the castle gate. Like anyone needs more warning than that to stay away. The Hounds didn’t exactly try very hard to hide their presence here. I guess people just refuse to see what they don’t want to.

The engines of idling vehicles hum just out of sight. Across from where we stand at the abbey doors the church looms over us, its two square towers like rooks in a game of chess. This is all one messed-up, live action version of the game and I’m surrounded by pawns. Here come the knight and bishop now. Brother Christopher emerges from behind a heavy metal door with another cast iron wolf. He’s dressed in the white, hooded robes of his order. Breber follows behind him. Everyone has ‘afterbite’ busywork.

When he’s not lighting and dousing candles, Brother Christopher keeps himself busy praying and tending to lost souls. For Breber it’s obviously war and accumulation of power. I don’t know if there’s a prayer for the damned, but there should be. Or maybe there shouldn’t. Maybe they should just go straight to hell for whatever they’re about to do.

With Breber at his side, Brother Christopher gathers the soldiers — his flock of true-believer sheep in wolves’ clothing. They’d all rather fight and die for their misguided beliefs than return to the real world. Anyone who was a civilian among the Hounds has left. My guess is most of them were cured, whether they wanted it or not.

A quick head count says there are a dozen of them. Out in the real world some of them wouldn’t be old enough to enlist in an army. The rest probably have other issues. You don’t walk away from a werewolf attack without at least a few.

A gust swirls around us and I shiver out of habit. Brother Christopher’s hood falls back, exposing a rare glimpse of his entire face. I look away, but not before seeing the ragged lines of scars that span from his chin to the back of his head and the mangled ear in between. The soldiers don’t even flinch.

He raises his right hand. They bow their heads solemnly as he pulls his hood back over his head and recites a blessing.

“Almighty and eternal God, protect these soldiers as they discharge their duties. Protect and keep them safe from all evil and harm. Be their rock, their shield and their stronghold and let them draw their strength from you.”

The super sad tragedy is that they all really believe that they’re the heroes in this story.

Breber’s parting words are drenched in his theatrics. “Non sibi, sed omnibus.”

Not for one’s self, but for all. It’s the motto of the Hounds and he’s using it now like some kind of war cry. I roll my eyes as the soldiers roar in response. The only thing Breber is after is revenge, and I don’t think it matters at what price. The true-born werewolves have always been his enemy number one. His laws and the High Court of Magdeburg grew out of his contempt for them. That hasn’t changed just because the Luparii have turned on the Hounds.

They march down around the bending path toward the waiting trucks. Josh grabs my arm to urge me along, but I shrug out of his grip and take a step away. I’m not about to be dragged around when I’m fully capable of walking on my own two feet.

He scans around the courtyard as if looking to see if anyone witnessed his lack of control, then purses his lips. “C’mon then.”

We follow the path that Heaven’s Guard took. A caravan cargo truck is parked just inside the stone archway leading from the castle. The militiamen have formed into two rows behind it, like some kind of receiving line. Josh gestures to the truck and I move toward them, no chance of escape. I hoist myself up onto the tailgate.

In true military fashion there’s bench seating on each side of the truck and nothing else. Not even a light. I take a seat in the back corner, where I set my bag down before huddling with my knees drawn to my chest.

The soldiers pile onboard behind me, filling the rest of the seats before we’re shut into almost complete darkness. I close my eyes and listen to the breathing around me. The truck grumbles into motion and starts its journey to wherever we’re going. All I know is it has to be some remote area where humans won’t get in the way of whatever covert military operations they have planned. Probably not far, either. A truckload of camouflaged militia would be hard to explain to local police. The snow-capped Harz Mountains jump into my mind, probably thirty minutes from here.

A dozen soldiers does not make an army. These are the elite forces. The rest of the militia got their marching orders long before I was dragged back to Quedlinburg. Who knows how many are waiting for us.

If we are headed someplace remote, first chance I get, I’ll shift and get the hell away from them. They could never outrun a wolf. I picture running free as a wolf: the snow under the pads of my paws, the air whipping through my fur, a pack of half-human, half-beast monsters staggering after me, trying to keep up. I smile in the dark. This could be my one opportunity to make my escape before everything hits the fan.

Without any point of reference I have no idea how much time passes before the truck rumbles to a stop. The soldiers near the back pull open the canvas flap and I practically go blind from the flood of natural light. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. One by one the soldiers leap down into an icy white landscape that could be easily be the top of Mount Everest.

I get up to follow. Josh reaches across to block my path but doesn’t lay a hand on me. He knows better now. Squinting down at him against my snow-blindness, I wait while the others exit. When we’re out of earshot he locks eyes with me.

“Don’t bolt, Madison,” he says in a slow, low voice. “You understand?”

I blink deliberately, which earns me a frustrated sigh.

“You can be pissed with me all that you want,” he starts, the words hissing out of his mouth, “but I need you to acknowledge you understand what I just said. There’s good reason for it.”

I nod once. There’s zero reason to break my code of silence and ask him why, but he’s forcing me to reconsider my strategy. We’re surrounded by soldiers. Although I doubt Josh would be the one to pull the trigger on me, he’s surprised me before.

We jump out of the truck together and my feet land solidly on packed snow. The trucks are parked on a plateau partway up a mountainside, nothing to see beyond the edge of the cliff but blowing snow and trees. If I’m right, Quedlinburg is somewhere down below us, several towns over and maybe a half day’s run.

In the heavy morning fog, I huddle into myself, bracing against the blowing snow and willing the sun at my back to warm me. I almost miss the movement across the horizon then freak at the large shadow rising from the ledge. Sunlight glows around the head of the huge figure so I can’t tell if it’s human or a bitten beast.

I step back, ready to run. Friend, enemy, doesn’t matter. Nobody here is on side with me. Someone catches me by the elbow and I spin around on Breber.

“Do not fear the Brockengespenst,” he tells me in his Low Saxon accent. “It is merely an illusion of the eye. Light that shines upon us from behind projects our shadows upon the fog. Thus we have the mountain specter.”

As Breber guides me away from the truck, the specter fizzles out. Goosebumps crawl over my body, and not because of the cold. I pull myself out of his grip. Way to freak out, Madison.

“Why am I even here with you?”

His lips fold, showing his yellowing teeth in what’s supposed to be a smile. “Joshua tells me you have been ... healed.”

Of course he did. Damn it. I glare over at Josh, who’s standing by the truck and waiting for orders with Brother Christopher. Maybe he’s got really sharp teeth and claws, but deep down he’s just a little boy looking for daddy’s approval.

“Do not fear,” Breber says. “I see now that Connor Lewis has a gift from God. This curse we suffer is indeed the devil’s handiwork forced upon us by the true-born. Your friend has saved you. And he will save us all so that we may continue the work of Heaven’s Hand.”

It doesn’t exactly make me less afraid. Salvation isn’t what Breber wants. It’s what he wants me to believe he wants.

“You haven’t explained why I’m here yet.”

“You are here...” He pauses to find just the right words as the monk makes his way toward us. “...to ensure his willingness to cooperate. Love can be a blessing but also the ruin of many a man.”

That sounds more like it. I’m leverage — a hostage to negotiate for. Blood rises to the surface of my cheeks.

“It’s not that kind of love,” I say.

“Joshua believes otherwise.”

I bite my tongue. Josh is the last person on Earth who gets to put labels on my relationships.

“It is the dawn of a new era,” he continues. “Those who will not follow the rule of law must be eliminated for the greater good. Heaven’s Hand begins its march today to protect humankind from the evils of the beast.”

As if it’s not bad enough that the Luparii are out to wipe out all of werewolf kind from existence. Now Breber is going on a siege and conquest mission to expand his diminished empire. Brother Christopher puts an end to the conversation, his eyes looking between us. I don’t know how he can just stand there, being so misguided by his stupid beliefs.

“Now, if you please,” Breber continues, gesturing for Josh to escort me. “We have a long journey ahead of us yet.”

I fold my arms across my chest but follow Josh’s lead away from the trucks. His blond hair shimmers in the sunlight like Smaug’s treasure. To think I used to want to burnish those locks with my fingers. Burying that thought, I scan around in search of an opportunity to escape — a path, a distraction, anything.

A soldier marches ahead of us toward the tree line. I figure he’ll be the one to shoot me if it comes down to it. Josh immediately trails behind me on my heels.

“The Luparii raided your old boarding house,” he says. “I thought you’d want to know.”

My heart flutters, and thoughts of escape float away in the blowing snow. I avert my gaze, not wanting him to see me sort out my feelings.

“They’re alive. Nobody resisted. They were all cured, Madame Lefèvre and all the rest of the girls. The Luparii cured them.”

Although I try not to, I picture the girls, the younger ones in particular, running and screaming in fear of the armed gunmen. It doesn’t matter that the gift that the Luparii came to give them was on all of their wish lists. Presents are supposed to come wrapped in bows, not shot out of the barrel of a gun.

Madame Lefèvre never taught us anything useful we could apply to real life. She wanted to give us a semblance of ‘normal’ and turn her house full of little monsters into princesses. But fairy tales and happily-ever-afters don’t happen IRL.

Up ahead the soldier gasps and his gloved hand comes up to his neck before he collapses into the snow. Distraction! I can’t miss my opportunity. Just as Josh glances back for help, a line of bullets zips through the air and thud into the snow across the plateau between us and the rest of the Heaven’s Guard militiamen. The other soldiers fall back behind the truck. Another spray of bullets assures that we’re cut off, isolated from the rest. There’s no going back.

I’m wearing too much clothing to just shift right now. I’d be tied up. Still, I lean forward to run but Josh grabs my hand urgently. Looking up into his blue eyes, I let him. I don’t know if this is a rescue or an attack, and I’m not willing to leave him to die. We break into a run as the soldiers behind us scream orders at each other. We leap into the safety of the forest, past the body of the fallen soldier left clutching at a blue-finned dart sticking out of his throat.

Wolf’s Bane.

Tears streak across my face, because suddenly I’m really afraid. This isn’t a rescue attempt.