Harry

Gard charged the wendigo, jumped feet into the air, and sank her ax a foot deep into one of its brittle shoulders. It cut the ligaments so that the arm fell limply to its side. She twisted and attempted to land on her feet but wasn't fast enough to avoid the wendigo's other arm.

It caught her in the middle and knocked the breath from her, flinging her three yards and into the picket fence that separated Huber's yard from his neighbor's. She went crashing through the white fence posts, toppling like bowling pins.

Michael fired the shotgun straight into the thing's center of mass. The buckshot embedded in the skin and the wendigo let out a caterwaul that raised every hair on my body. Little smoking holes appeared in the thin skin. Iron. The thing was still fae, no matter how far removed from the fair folk it seemed. Michael discarded the shotgun as soon as it clicked empty and went for the M9.

It took to all fours and moved in a jerky, spider-like fashion that was nonetheless quick. In seconds it was looming over Michael. Its good arm snagged him and flipped him like a pancake onto his back. Air exploded from his lungs as he impacted the ground and the thing opened it's jaws wide, lunging for his throat.

I shoved my blasting rod toward the thing's back and shouted; "Ventas cyclis!"

A cyclone of wind hit the wendigo broadside and sent it staggering. Any other opponent would have been lifted off their feet. Not this bastard. It listed to the side and crashed into a stone birdbath, but didn't go down. It gave Michael enough time to suck air into his lungs and climb to his feet. He took a firing posture and unloaded the clip of his M9 into the wendigo's head. Its bellow shook the air again. Curious neighbors were glancing out of their doors and windows and just as quickly pulling their heads back. I didn't blame them. If I'd been them, I wouldn't want to believe monsters existed and lived next door to me.

With Michael safely out of the way, I felt comfortable enough to employ my favorite spell for quick and dirty combat. With a shout of "Fuego!" flame whipped out of the end of my staff and hurtled toward the wendigo. That did finally succeed in taking the thing off its feet. Its skin caught like dry kindling. It shrieked in pain. Unfortunately, my strike also set fire to the dry grass and the siding of the house. Flames licked along the dingy siding. The whole place might go up if we weren't careful.

Gard came hurtling out of the broken portion of fence with a fierce battle cry, her battle ax clutched in one hand, and a length of chain in the other. She hurtled toward the wendigo, whipping the chain like a lasso. It wrapped with frightening accuracy around the thing's neck and pulled taut like a noose. The thing gurgled and jerked but only succeeded in wrapping the chain more firmly around its neck. She pulled it even tighter until the wendigo actually wheezed.

It pitched forward, form twisting again, shrinking down to the human shell in an attempt to loosen the chain. It worked. For about three seconds.

Gard jerked the chain taut again and kept up the tension even as the wendigo melted back into the relatively benign form of Wayne Huber. He had his teeth bared in defiance, but it didn't scare me half as much as when he was in the beastly form of the wendigo.

Michael approached warily, breathing hard. He still looked stunned. He was still gripping the M9, though it was essentially useless now. I couldn't fault him for needing the comforting lie it was. The wendigo had scared me shitless too.

"What...what was that, Harry?"

"It's a wendigo. A parasitic Wyldfae that attaches itself to human cannibals, if the circumstances are right. It can be exorcised with the help of a shaman or a medicine man. Listens-To-Wind could probably scrape it out of Huber."

"Does that mean that Huber is blameless?"

I snorted. "Hardly. The fact that he has the spirit at all means he killed and ate someone. He also worked in tandem with the wendigo's desires. They need to eat enormous amounts of meat to survive, but the wendigo isn't really choosey about where it gets it.. He was the one who sought out the girls. Huber is the one who has a type."

Michael closed his eyes, a pinched look of pain on his face. "Molly."

It occurred to me seconds too late that sharing that tidbit wasn't a good idea. Michael didn't need to picture the monster we'd faced preying on his daughter, tearing her to pieces so that it could eat her. Me and my big, stupid mouth.

Huber tried to get loose from the chain again. Gard kicked him so hard his nose snapped clear to the side. Blood gouted from it, running over his lips. A sound that was half laugh and half groan came from him.

"Molly," Huber said with a sly grin, rolling the name around his mouth like a succulent candy. "Pretty girl. Sweet all over. Lovely thighs. And what was between them..."

He drew the word 'pretty' out suggestively, compounding his innuendo. Michael's face had gone completely white, hands clenched so tight on the grip of his gun that the casing creaked.

He might have been baiting us. The spirit was a parasite. If it was going to die, it wanted to kill the host as well. But none of that mattered at the moment. The simmer of anger in my blood tipped into a full boil. It didn't matter if he'd done it or not. Even if he'd just thought about raping Molly before butchering her, it was still too much.

I shoved the tip of my staff toward the bloodied man and snarled; "Fuego!"

The thing on the ground grinned, eyes closed and a look of triumph on its face. And then someone was batting my staff away from Huber, directing it upward so the flame jetted harmlessly into empty air.

Michael Carpenter held my arm tight, keeping me from attacking Huber again. He was still pale, still angry. But his grip was firm.

"No, Harry."

"Michael, this son of a bitch killed Molly! He might have raped her! Good God, man, you can't just let him off! Save your compassion for someone who deserves it."

"My compassion isn't for him Harry. It's for the families of his victims. They deserve answers. They deserve to know the face of the man who ended the lives of their daughters. No one should steal that from them."

The tension flooded out of my body and tears stung my eyes. Damn it, he was right. Of course, he was. He knew better than anyone else the torture of not knowing. Those girls deserved to be known, their killer locked away for life.

He glanced at Gard, holding out his hand in a wordless request. She nodded to him once and handed him the heavy battle ax. Michael hoisted it over Huber's head and then brought the blunt wooden end of it down onto the bridge of Huber's nose. The man's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped unconscious.

"Very merciful of you, Sir Knight," Gard remarked.

Michael turned away from Huber and I could tell the action cost him mightily.

"Take him away, Miss Gard," he said quietly. "Before I change my mind."

Sorry about the short battle scene. Fight scenes are the bane of my existence. I'm working to get better at them, I swear. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.