Chapter 4: Who Let the Dogs Out?
In which Grandma Simms’s advice goes unheeded.
Dinner went surprisingly well. Strephon hadn't been out for a social evening in the company of a woman since his Phylis died decades -- no, nearly a century ago. He had forgotten how pleasant it could be. To his surprise he found himself inviting Cassandra over to his house and was pleased when she accepted.
"Are you sure it's safe to be out on the streets at night?" Cassandra asked looking down the street. The sun was already setting and a fog was beginning to rise up from the direction of the river.
"Certainly. This is actually not such a bad neighborhood." There were street gangs, to be sure, but they all knew he was under the protection of powerful friends and left him alone. Vampires and werewolves as a rule did not hunt in this neighborhood, because Grandma Simms had protected it with potent charms.
Just to prove himself a liar, his skin began to crawl as he sensed magic, dark and primal, nearby. He saw a canine shadow loping through the fog, parallelling their path; then another. Werewolves? What the devil were they doing here? With a chill, he remembered Tobias' warning about the Big Dogs.
"Would you mind pushing me for a bit?" Strephon asked. Puzzled, Cassandra did as he asked. "I want you to remain very calm and keep moving," he said in a frighteningly conversational tone. "Whatever you do, do not run."
"What is it?" Cassandra eyed the shadows nervously. "Oh hell. Are those wolves? Those are wolves!"
Strephon reached behind him. He kept a pair of canes stowed in the back of his wheelchair, which he could use to hobble for short distances at need. He often used them for getting around in his house. They had other uses.
“Whenever we run a story on a wolf attack we get angry letters from city aldermen saying they’re just wild dogs and that the ‘gutter press’ oughtn’t be spreading hysteria and -- what the hell is that?”
Strephon had given the handle of one of his crutches a half-twist and a six inch blade emerged from its tip. “A gift from my mother,” he said overlooking her profanity. “She worries about me living alone in the city.” The blade wasn’t steel, of course, but faerie artisans could do some remarkable work with enchanted non-ferrous alloys. This one was aluminium, with a bit of silver for aesthetic reasons, Strephon surmised; and looked more graceful than a crutch with a knife sticking out of it ought to. "Have you any items of self defense on your person?" Strephon asked.
Cassandra tried to keep the fear out of her voice and to speak as calmly as he. "I have pepper spray in my purse."
"Now's the time to use it."
The wolves attacked; three of them, coming from three different directions. They were lean, scruffy beasts with glowing blue eyes. Strephon swung his sword cane at one, drawing blood and a startled yip from the leader. Obviously it thought a woman and a man in a wheelchair were easy prey. Another leaped onto Cassandra, knocking her down and biting the sleeve of her coat. That one got a face full of the pepper spray. It yelped and retreated to a safe distance. A third wolf lunged at Strephon, bowling his wheelchair over on its side. He whacked at the wolf viciously with his sword, keeping it at bay.
Suddenly, a bright light shone in Strephon's face and a loud automobile horn sounded. A taxicab came roaring through the fog, squealing to a halt right next to Strephon and sending the wolves running. Tobias leaped out of the cab, brandishing a tyre iron. "Here now! Shoo! Go home!" he shouted.
The wolves did not care for the change in the odds. They melted into the fog; all except one.
Tobias ran to Strephon's side. "Are you all right? Gran had a premonition you were in trouble. I came as quick as I could!"
"See to the girl." Strephon pulled himself by his hands over to where Cassandra lay. The sleeve of her coat had been torn off and four long scratches marred her arm. He felt her jaw for her pulse.
"It doesn't look like she was bit," Tobias said.
"No, but she took a bad crack on the back of her head. And she was badly scratched." Strephon looked up at him. "Bring her to my house. I'll look after her."
Tobias nodded. Then his eyes widened. "Look!"
A naked woman lay on the sidewalk nearby and Strephon realized in shock that she was one of the wolves he had stabbed. She was dead. He hadn’t intended to kill any of them, just to drive them off. Or maybe he had. In the fury of the moment he had been thinking chiefly of defending himself and Miss True. But killing a feral beast trying to rip one’s throat out was one thing; it was entirely different seeing it result in a dead … person. A distant corner of his mind wondered how the woman had died so quickly. Werewolves were usually much harder to kill. Or so he understood. .
Tobias knelt over the dead woman and frowned. "What's this?" The woman wore a leather collar, inlaid with silvery runes. Her neck was red and angry where the silver had seared her flesh.
Strephon pulled himself over to examine the body. "Fae runes," he said. "That explains how they could pass your Grandmama's wards.” The hidden blades in his crutches were also of fae craftsmanship. Did some interaction between the two enchantments make the woman more vulnerable to his attack? “But what kind of werewolf would voluntarily wear silver?"
"The Reavers," Tobias said. "What did I tell you? The Big Dogs are running out of their kennels."
Strephon frowned. He'd thought the war between the wolf packs would not involve him. Perhaps he was wrong.
NEXT: Bedside Manner
