God, that was close!
Garth felt a strange mix of reactions. He wanted to throw up at the thought of what he’d almost done. He had never smelled anything so wonderful in his entire life. He hadn’t just wanted to eat the heart meat. His body had screamed that he had to have it, and if he didn’t get it, his empty, aching stomach would devour him from the inside out.
I’m in control, he told himself. Not the wolf. Me!
And then he realized: Sam and Dean were coming.
“Look out!” he shouted. “It’s a trap!”
Sylvia snarled and clouted him on the head with the gun—hard. His vision blurred and he fought to hold onto consciousness, but he felt himself sliding into darkness. His last thought was I hope they heard me, and then he was out.
* * *
Dean and Sam were within twenty feet of the Crowders’ deck when the werewolves attacked.
One good thing about hunting monsters by the light of the full moon, Dean thought. As long as you’re in the open, you can see them coming.
The sheriff led the charge, and following close behind were a man in his twenties and a teenage girl. Crowder’s kids, Dean figured. All three had wolfed out, and the front of Crowder’s uniform was stained dark. Dean knew it was blood. Garth’s? He hoped not.
We should never have let him go alone, he thought. But just then he heard Garth shout from inside the house.
“Look out! It’s a trap!”
No kidding, Dean thought.
Dean turned toward Crowder and fired his Colt. Crowder leaped to the side, avoiding the silver bullet that hurtled toward him. Dean fired a second round, but Crowder ducked. Dean would never get used to how fast these damn things were.
Sam fired a round at the son. Like his father, the boy veered to the side. The girl hung back, however, watching her father and brother attack with an expression that Dean couldn’t read. She almost looked… sad? Whatever emotion she was feeling, it was keeping her out of the fight, which was fine by Dean. One less furball to worry about.
Crowder quickly closed the distance between them. Dean swiped his silver blade in a wide arc. Crowder retreated several feet to avoid getting sliced, and Dean fired another shot. He aimed for the bastard’s heart, but Crowder ducked to the side. He wasn’t quite fast enough this time, and the silver bullet grazed his left shoulder. Crowder howled with pain, and Dean smiled grimly.
First blood to me, he thought.
He and Sam were fighting back to back. Like him, Sam had gotten off a couple of shots and was slicing his silver blade through the air. Dean had no idea if Sam had managed to wound Crowder’s son. He hoped so. The girl still held back, watching. What in the hell was going on with her?
Dean had taken his attention off Crowder for only a split second, but that was all the man needed. He drew his service weapon and aimed it at Dean.
“That’s cheating!” Dean said.
Crowder grinned, displaying a mouthful of sharp teeth.
Crowder fired, and it was Dean’s turn to avoid getting shot. “Down!” he warned his brother. Sam threw himself to the ground the same time Dean did. Dean rolled, came up on his feet, and hurled his blade at Crowder. The silver weapon spun end over end as it flew toward the werewolf. He caught the blade in his left hand before it could strike him. Unfortunately for Crowder, he caught the wrong end of the blade, and he cried out as sharp edges of silver cut into his hand. He dropped the blade as if it were red-hot and blood began to stream from the wound. Sam was on his feet as well, and he had drawn his gun. This was their chance. Dean drew a bead on Crowder’s chest and began to squeeze the Colt’s trigger.
But before he could fire, a gunshot split the night. At first he thought Sam had fired, but he quickly realized that the sound came from the house. He looked to the deck and saw a female werewolf—Crowder’s wife?—holding an unconscious and chained Garth by the back of his shirt. In her other hand—her gloved hand—she held a revolver, the barrel pointed at Garth’s temple.
“Surrender or he gets a head full of silver!” she shouted.
It’s Garth’s gun, he thought. They took it when they captured him.
“Let him go,” Dean shouted. “Or I’ll put a silver bullet through your husband’s heart!”
“And I’ll do the same to your son!” Sam shouted.
“If you do, I’ll mourn their loss,” Sylvia said. “But I’ll still kill your friend.”
Instead of looking betrayed by his wife’s words, Crowder grinned savagely, as if he were proud of her.
Goddamned monsters, Dean thought. He tossed his gun and blade to the ground. A second later, he heard Sam discard his weapons too.
Dean curled his hands into fists. Maybe the werewolves were going to kill them, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, and he was sure Sammy felt the same. But to his surprise, the werewolves didn’t attack.
“Put your hands up,” Crowder said. He still held his own gun pointed at Dean. His left hand continued to bleed, but he didn’t seem to care.
The Winchester brothers did as the sheriff ordered.
“Spencer, get their weapons,” Crowder told his son. “Take off your shirt and use the cloth to protect your hands. The silver will still hurt, but not as much.”
Spencer did as his father commanded.
“Morgan, get in the house.”
“Dad, I’m sorry, I—”
“Do what I say!” Crowder roared in a guttural animal voice.
Morgan—who appeared entirely human now—looked as if she might cry. She turned and ran toward the house. Crowder’s wife kept the revolver against Garth’s head. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, hungry and eager.
Crowder handed Spencer his gun. “If either of them moves, shoot him,” he said.
Spencer nodded. Crowder walked over to Dean and Sam.
“Keep your hands up if you don’t want to get shot,” Crowder said. “Or maybe I’ll just gut you myself. Might be more fun that way.”
“Yeah?” Dean said. “Make sure to use your right hand, then. Your left one’s a mess.”
Crowder growled. When the sheriff reached the brothers, he ordered Sam to put his hands behind his back, and he closed a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. He did the same to Dean.
“I always carry spare cuffs,” Crowder said. “Some of the things I do aren’t exactly legal, so I have to make do on my own. For example, I can’t very well call one of my deputies to come over and help me take a couple nosy hunters into custody, can I?”
Once the brothers were cuffed, Crowder took his gun back and motioned for the Winchesters to begin walking toward the house.
“Get moving,” he said. “There’s still plenty of night left.” He gave them another fang-filled grin. “More than enough for us to do a little hunting of our own.”
* * *
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Greg stood at the head of the table and watched Anubis, the god still and quiet as death itself. Next to Greg, the fire in the brazier burned bright and strong. Nathan and Muriel stood on one side of the table, while Marta and Efren stood on the other. Kayla and Erin stood at Anubis’s feet, and from their expressions, his sisters were as doubtful about this as he was.
“If you are thrown from a horse, you must get back on and ride as soon as possible,” Nathan said. “It is the only way to regain your confidence.”
“This isn’t another lesson,” Greg protested. “This is for our survival—and our god’s!”
While Anubis slept, the god was vulnerable, which was why he needed the jakkals’ protection. When he woke, he was power itself. Even when he’d been only partially awake, his mere touch had caused the skin of Greg’s wrist to age. If the Rite of Renewal went wrong again, what might Anubis do this time?
But unless the ritual was completed, Anubis would fall into a much deeper sleep and he might never awaken. If the rite failed this time, it would be another day before they could attempt it again, but that would be past the sheriff’s deadline for leaving town. They could not afford to make any more mistakes. He couldn’t.
“You will not fail,” Muriel said. “You are jakkal. The blood of our ancient ancestors flows through your veins. Their spirits will guide you.”
Erin rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.
Greg looked to Marta for help, but his mother only shook her head. The family had made its decision, and this was the way it was going to be. No protest, no appeal, no reprieve.
Greg loved his family, but right then he hated them too.
There was nothing else for it. He had to conduct the rite and pray that he succeeded this time. Because if he didn’t, it could mean the end not only of his family, but of Anubis himself.
He began.
At first his hands shook as he prepared the amaranthine, and he had trouble concentrating. But as he went on, he found himself thinking of Morgan. He concentrated on the memory of her smiling face and he grew calm, his movements sure and confident. He cut his palm with the Blade of Life Everlasting and added his blood to the amaranthine, and when it came time to speak the holy words, his voice was strong. When he poured the amaranthine into Anubis’s mouth, he didn’t spill a single drop.
When finished, he stepped back and held his breath. He feared Anubis would possess Nathan or another of his family and attack him. But Anubis’s chest expanded as he took in a single deep breath and let it out slowly, filling the chamber with the sweet scent of rotting flowers. Anubis then fell still once more. One deep breath was all he took during the Rite of Renewal, but that was enough to sustain him for another month. That, and the amaranthine in his system.
Greg grinned in disbelief. He’d done it! All by himself, for the first time. No, he realized, not by himself. Morgan—or at least his memory of her—had helped.
The family smiled and congratulated him, clapped him on the back, and hugged him. Even Kayla and Erin seemed pleased and impressed. Nathan and Muriel led the family out of Anubis’s chamber, which had once been a meeting room back when this building served as the park’s administration offices. They left their god sleeping peacefully and gathered in the living room, which had once been the building’s main lobby.
“Do we start packing now?” Kayla asked. Not that any of them had much in the way of possessions. Jakkals believed in traveling light.
“There is the question of where we will go,” Muriel said.
“We have never moved Anubis without having a new home prepared for him first,” Nathan said.
Efren spoke. “We could live on the road for a time, staying where we can until we find a more permanent place.”
Marta pursed her lips in distaste. “That sounds so…” She trailed off, unable to think of the proper word.
“Disrespectful?” Erin offered.
“Sacrilegious?” Kayla added.
“Yes,” Nathan said. “Our god is not mere freight to be carted from one location to another.”
Greg couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But the sheriff said if we weren’t gone in twenty-four hours—” he began.
“To hell with the iwiw!” Marta said, practically spitting the word. “I’m tired of cowering before their kind. We are Anubis’s chosen people, and I say it’s time we start acting like it! Do we really believe the sheriff will keep his word? He’s a werewolf. They lie as easily as they breathe.”
Nathan nodded. “He could return at any moment and attack us.”
“And next time he’ll bring his entire pack,” Muriel said.
All the more reason to leave, Greg thought. But he didn’t speak this aloud. He knew they should go, but part of him was excited at the idea of remaining in Bridge Valley and being near Morgan. Plus, he remembered what it had felt like to wound the sheriff’s son. He’d felt strong, powerful. But even so, he wasn’t sure fighting was the answer.
“We need to prepare,” Marta said.
“We need neteru,” Muriel added.
Everyone fell silent at this. Greg could not remember a time when that word had been spoken by any member of his family. He knew what neteru were, of course: it meant guardians. But he’d never seen one before, and as far as he was aware, no one in his family had ever made any. He’d come to regard them as a myth that had been passed down by jakkals from one generation to the next, and no one— not even Nathan and Muriel—had ever told him otherwise. But now here they were, discussing neteru as if they were not only real, but something that could be obtained as easily as dropping by a convenience store for a gallon of milk.
“And we will need some silver,” Nathan said. “To set traps with.”
Greg thought his family was acting insane. He had successfully performed the Rite of Renewal, and even though he was the youngest, he was now considered a full adult. Still, it was not his place to contradict his elders, as much as he might like to.
“The girls and I will go out to procure some silver,” Efren said. “There are several pawn shops in town that are open late.”
“Marta and I will inspect the traps we already have in place,” Muriel said, “and ensure they are in working order.”
Jakkals were quite skilled at building traps. They had been ever since helping to create elaborate—and usually deadly— precautions to deter tomb robbers in ancient Egypt, back when their kind was known and respected by humans as servants of the great Anubis.
“Good,” Nathan said. “Then Greg and I shall see to the neteru. We shall not run. We shall stay and fight!”
The rest of the family cheered, but Greg knew that by choosing to make a stand, they were committing to a battle that they might not win. Or survive.