Wicked Hungry (21 page)

“What do you want to do with him?” I ask. “He’s no friend of ours.”

“Well, that makes things easier.” Blaine says, licking his lips. “If he’s no friend of yours, then he’s up for grabs, isn’t he?”

Blaine reaches down and, with a slight grunt, picks him up.

I look over at Enrique and Jonathan.

“I think you just said the wrong thing,” Jonathan says.

“What did you do to him, anyway?” Connor asks.

“We didn’t
do
anything,” I say. “He was casting some spell and he sacrificed a dog.”

“He sacrificed a dog?” Blaine asks. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Yeah, where’s the dog?” Connor says.

“You didn’t see it bounding off toward the gateway? A doglike beast around your height? It kind of expanded, came back to life, and ran off. Some demon called Rewsin,” Jonathan says.

“He’s making this up,” Connor says as we walk through the gateway. “That kid couldn’t control a demon.”

“Who said anything about controlling the thing?” Jonathan says. “Does it look like Frumberg controlled it? The demon knocked him out and was about to eat us all until it heard the horn, and then it took off.”

Blaine stops and growls. “If this is true, we can’t touch him. He’s the demon’s, and we don’t need any more problems tonight.”

He moves to lay Gary down on the ground right outside the gate.

But Connor shakes his head as he closes the gate. “I don’t believe it,” he says. “And besides, he took off. He relinquished his claim. Let’s just take him — what do you say?”

What are they going to do with him, anyway? Eat him? As much as I hate Frumberg, he doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s after-dinner snack.

“No,” we say all together, and the smell of wolf, jaguar, and fox musk rises over the ghoul stink.

Blaine and Connor growl, and then they’re changing, too, ripping off their clothes as they grow.

The change comes faster this time. Am I gaining skill? It sure doesn’t hurt any less; the pain doubles me over as long sharp teeth erupt from my gums, my nose expands into a snout, my ears grow, hair sprouts all over my body. My bones stretch, strengthen, and my hands—the pain of the claws ripping forth through the tips of my fingers makes me want to scream.

Instead I howl up at the moon.

Two howls join my call, and next to me a black cat growls. Maybe it’s the fight we had in his room, maybe it’s the common enemy we seem to have across from us, but my wolf finally feels at ease with his jaguar.

Above us in the air a red fox looks down, circling.

In one leap I’m on top of Frumberg, my paws and claws on his chest, growling at the other wolves. They won’t have him. It’s hard to remember why, but he’s
mine
.

Stanley? Can you hear me?

I look up for a moment. It’s Jonathan. I can feel his thoughts.

But that’s all it takes: a moment’s distraction.

A huge white wolf jumps on top of me, knocking me off of Frumberg. Connor’s teeth are at my throat.

“Had enough, pup?” Connor growls at me.

But a red fox dives down, biting him behind the ear.

Connor pulls back, growling in rage, trying to snap. But Jonathan is already back in the air.

There’s a high feline growl and a hiss. Enrique is facing off with Blaine, a great gray wolf.

Connor leaps up in the air, trying to reach Jonathan, who is floating above us.

Is anything worth this? We’re all going to die — I can feel it now. We’re going to be eaten, either by werewolves, by the ghouls in the cemetery, or by some vampire out in the woods. And all for
Gary Frumberg
, who is going to get eaten, too, by Blaine, Connor, or Rewsin—wherever he is.

But suddenly there are voices behind me.

“Enrique? Stanley? Jonathan?”

Reinforcements have arrived.

It’s Andres, and he’s not alone. He and the brothers are carrying torches, real wood torches, not just the plastic and metal flashlights. I snarl at them, feeling the silver in their hands, on the tips of their crossbow bolts.

Blaine and Connor turn to face them, but the brothers have fanned out and have their silver weapons at the ready. They look scared, but prepared.

It takes me a moment to realize that they’re scared of me, too. Jonathan lands next to them, turning back into a naked fifteen-year-old boy.

“Jonathan,” his brother, Carver, asks. “Is that you?”

“Dude, yeah, Carver. And the jaguar is Enrique and the small wolf there is Stanley. Boy, are we glad to see you,” he says, speaking quickly and loudly, all the while covering his privates.

“Move back so we have a clear shot,” Andres says.

Enrique leaps away from the wolves, turning as he changes back into his human form.

“Stanley,” Andres says. “Back away from them!”

Why am I frozen like a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car? It’s the silver, maybe, because Blaine and Connor are also standing motionless, staring at it.

Jonathan is getting dressed from his backpack, and Enrique has pants on and has his figurine out, which he holds up. It glows hot again in the night as he moves it around.

Finally I jump away, leaving the brothers a clear shot. Two bolts fly out from their crossbows as my body reverts to human form, my face rearranging, my bones shrinking, my claws retracting and turning back into nails and fingers. The pain makes me miss what’s happening for a moment, but only for a moment.

Both of the bolts have hit home.

Blaine and Connor rapidly turn back to human, Blaine with a silver-tipped bolt in his shoulder and Connor with one in his leg. They pull them out, staring at their hands in obvious shock.

“Drop them,” Carver says. He’s got a new bolt set in his crossbow.

Blaine and Connor let the darts fall to the ground and groan. In pain, I guess.

“Jesus,” Blaine says. “What the heck are you all doing? You could have
killed
us.”

“We didn’t shoot to kill this time,” Carver says. “But you’re right, we could have killed you. What’s this all about, anyhow?”

“Frumberg,” I say. “They want to eat him.”

“We weren’t going to eat him,” Blaine says, rolling his eyes. “Just bite him, maybe. Or scratch him up a little. Turn him into one of our pack. Kind of a stupid idea, actually. Definitely not worth all this trouble.”

There’s a rattling then at the gate, but my eyes are on Blaine.

“Who’s Frumberg?” Andres ask.

Jonathan points to Gary, who’s lying on the ground.

“Wow,” Carver says. “Is he dead?”

Jonathan is crouching down next to him. “Nope,” he says. “He’s still breathing.” But then he gasps. “Dude, he’s bleeding. He’s been scratched. Who scratched him?”

“The dog?” I ask.

“Nope,” Blaine says. “We would have smelled the blood on him if he’d already been scratched. It was one of us.”

“Well, who was it, then?” Andres asks.

“I never touched him,” says Blaine.

“Nor I,” says Connor.

“Hold on a minute, are you accusing
me
?” I ask.

“Maybe it was an accident,” Jonathan says. “You were trying to protect him and got a little over enthusiastic.”

But before I can respond, the gate rattles. I glance over and see Enrique, his jaguar out in front of him. He can take care of himself, can’t he? I turn back to Blaine, who’s nodding at me.

“You probably just scratched him by accident,” says Blaine. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”

“Is it enough to infect him?” Jonathan says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine says. “What’s done is done.”

Enrique gasps in surprise, and from nearby I hear a few soft, haunting notes of a flute, but I’m preoccupied. “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

Blaine shrugs.

“He’s going to be a werewolf?” Carver asks.

“I told you not to worry about it,” Blaine says. “Werewolf scratches usually carry the curse, but we’ve got more immediate problems.”

“Blaine,” Jonathan says, “this boy that Stanley scratched, maybe infected — do you know anything about him?”

Blaine shakes his head. “Besides the fact he came into our store and got some books on witchcraft, no.”

“Dude,” Jonathan says. “You do know what he did tonight, right, in the pentagram here? You remember what we just told you a few minutes ago before you got all aggressive? Or has bloodlust softened your brain?”

Blaine looks down. “He tried to conjure something?”

“He sacrificed his dog. And this demon, Rewsin, came and possessed it. Frumberg wanted a servant. But Rewsin didn’t want to be his servant.”

“Hey, guys,” Enrique says. “Are you sure this gate is closed?”

“Yeah, I closed it,” says Connor.

“Well it looks like you forgot to latch it,” Enrique says.

I notice a little late that he’s backing up toward us with the jaguar held out. I think he’s finally got everybody’s attention, which is good. Because he’s not alone.

We’re all looking at the gate. At a hooded figure walking through, a flute pressed to his lips. A hooded figure surrounded by shuffling, decomposing bodies, which grunt and groan with each shambling step.

“W
hat are you doing here, Gatemaster?” asks the hooded figure, pipe still held ready at his lips. “Shouldn’t you be minding your gate?”

The hunger of the ghouls is palpable; you can feel it in the air. There must be a dozen of them around the man in the hood. Yet somehow he holds them in check.

“And you, Stanley,” he continues. “What a pleasure. Shouldn’t you be home? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Where have I seen him before? Not wearing a hood. But with the flute, yes.

“Mr. Piper?” I ask.

“Oh dear,” says Mr. Piper. “It appears I have been recognized.”

“John,” Blaine says. “Leave him. The boy’s not going to talk.”

“Yes, but he needs
discipline
,” Piper says. “He’s been poking his nose into everyone’s business. And besides, he owes me a favor, don’t you, Stanley? Now would be a good time to collect.”

“Not tonight, John, it’s not fair,” Blaine continues.

“Fair? Who said anything about fair? Just look at these ghouls. They’re in a frenzy tonight, and I’m tired of playing my flute. And there is more about than ghouls. Is that
fair?
”

“No, John, but he’s just a boy,” Blaine says.

“I have to control a lot of evil tonight. I could use help. I need help. And he needs to fulfill his promise — he owes me a favor. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

“You promised him a favor?” Blaine asks me.

I shrug. “I don’t remember it very well, to be honest.”

Piper smiles. “It’s time to pay the piper, Stanley. You can see it, too, Blaine. Just look at us. The promise is there, unfulfilled.”

“But I can’t,” I say. “I need to find Max. And Meredith.”

“They’ll wait,” Piper says. He puts the flute to his lips and pipes out a little tune. Suddenly I realize how right he is. I have to work with him to fulfill my promise. It’s only fair.

“All right,” I say. “He’s right. I owe him a favor.”

Jonathan looks at me like I’m crazy. “Dude, what are you talking about? You want to hang out with this guy and his ghouls?”

Piper laughs. “They are so hungry tonight. It’s been a
hell
of a lot of work keeping them out of trouble.”

“It’s only fair,” I say. “I remember now. I promised him in his office.”

Piper looks at me like I’ve said too much.

“In his office,” Blaine says. “You promised him in his office? Behind closed doors?”

I nod.

“No witnesses?”

“Hold on there, Whelan. This is none of your business.”

“It is my business. And it sounds to me like it may be the Guild’s business, too.”

“Guild’s business?” Enrique asks.

“Wizard’s Guild,” Blaine says. “As Gatekeeper, I’m an honorary member.”

“Now is not the time to invoke the Guild,” says Mr. Piper. “I’ll just take Stanley now and let you go on with your work. We both have a busy night ahead of us.”

“Stanley,” Blaine says. “Listen to me carefully: Did he play his flute?”

“You can’t trust this boy’s memory, Whelan. He’s just a kid.”

“Shut it, Piper, or I
will
invoke the Guild.”

Piper shuts it. But he holds his flute up. The ghouls behind him twitch spastically, as if trying to free themselves from his hold. He plays a note or two; the music is enchanting, but it’s not meant for me. The ghouls grow calm, stand steady.

Blaine Whelan grabs my shoulder and I turn to look him in the eyes.

“I repeat my question, Stanley: Did he play his flute when you promised him a favor?”

“I think so,” I say.

“You think so? Or are you sure?”

“I can’t remember,” I say.

“Blaine,” says Connor. “Gaze him. It’s the only way.”

“He’s too young—”

“We don’t have time.”

“Fine,” Blaine says, but from his voice, it sounds like nothing is fine.

He looks me in the eyes and I’m lost in the forest, and he asks me again.

“Did the piper play his flute when you were in the office with him?”

“Yes,” I say. “And then he told me I owed him a favor, and I agreed.”

Suddenly he turns away, and I’m back to reality.

“You’ve tricked him,” Piper says. “This is all a sham.”

But Blaine shakes his head. “Let me quote something. By the laws of the Wizards Guild, and the International Code of Magic, as you well know, Piper: ‘
Any promises or agreements made under magical enchantment are void or subject to renegotiation.
’”

“Your point is?” Piper asks.

“His point is: do you seek renegotiation?” says Connor.

Piper shakes his head. “I’m tired of this. I have other battles to fight.”

“Then you release your claim?” Blaine asks.

Piper shrugs. “Win some, lose some.”

Suddenly the bonds that bind me break. I’m free again, and worries about Meredith and Carolina — and about Max, too — flood back into me.

“In that case, I’m off,” Piper says. “I’ll let you deal with these stinky fellows here, since you want to be so independent. Should I give them one last command? Say, for example, ‘Attack?’”