Chapter 7: Unconventional Werewolves
Disclaimer: Sadly, the Hellboy characters and movie plot do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, Richard, Agatha, Luke, the other werewolves, and the plot that isn't from the movie is mine.
Author's Notes: I wrote a lot of humor into this chapter in return for all the wonderful, encouraging reviews I received! But with a title like Unconventional Werewolves, you guessed that it'd be funny, right? There's also a fight scene, a tribute to my wonderful reviewers who like them so much! Plus the label does say action/adventure, does it not? What would action/adventure be without fight scenes? There's also a bit of romance, but I'll let you discover for yourself which couples it is! German to English translations: 'Mein Gott' is My God, 'Ja' is yes, 'Danke' is thank you, and 'Nein' is no. Anything else is cursing! Enjoy the chapter!
Mab: A new reviewer! Woohoo! And I definitely think it's going to be a love hate relationship, I wouldn't expect anything less from the people involved.
The Common Wind Deity: Another long chapter for you! And more implied romance. Poor Abe…
musicamode: Yay! Two reviews! Thanks, I worked really hard to make sure I portrayed Abe correctly.
iluvrocknroll: Oh, I think she'll like sushi! How could anyone resist that fishstick? Rasputin's return should be in the next chapter, or the one after that.
Gestalt: Poor fishy, no, he has no idea his competition is Kroenen. But he'll be finding out soon-ish. And I think I see that turning ugly really fast. A jealous Kroenen is a murderous Kroenen, and that never means anything good.
amyltrer: Great to know you liked the cooking humor, it was tons o' fun to write! And yes, I did do research. I specifically wanted a Romanian name, since it fitted the setting. And of course Kroenen and Ilsa are in this chapter, it wouldn't be the same without them!
"He who does not live dangerously does not live at all."—Joseph McCarthy
"Things are not always what they seem."—Mandrake
"Oh, treacherous night! thou lendest thy ready veil to every treason, and teeming mischief's beneath thy shade."—Aaron Hill
The BPRD
Erica's Room
Night
Erica was floating blissfully through a dreamless sleep, quite happy in the serene black void. Though she was sleeping she was vaguely aware of her body lying in bed, snuggled into the sheets that were wrapped around her. She was warm and comfy and everything was peaceful and wonderful—
EERRRNNNNT! EERRRNNNNTTT!
The raucous shrieking of sirens shattered her sleep with a noise equivalent to a sixteen wheeler and a herd of trumpeting elephants crashing through a large glass window.
Jolted awake so fast she was disoriented, Erica lay on her back with her heart racing a mile a minute and her eyes blinded by painfully bright flashes of red light.
"Mein Gott," Erica moaned, squeezing her eyes shut, "Exactly not what the Doctor ordered." She pulled the blankets over her head and pushed her face into her pillow in a futile attempt to block out the noise and flashing lights. However, she also knew there was no way she would be getting back to sleep.
EERRRNNNNT! EERRRNNNNTTT!
As if to prove her right the alarms got louder, going from loud to deafening in the space of thirty seconds. Erica pushed the blankets down and rolled over so she could see her alarm clock. The glowing green numbers told her it was eleven o'clock at night. She'd been asleep for only three hours. Erica sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, glaring at the flashing lights and the alarm speakers located in a corner of the ceiling.
"That is one hell of an alarm clock," she muttered as she got up and staggered in the direction of her closet.
CRASH!
"Scheiße! Stupid chair!" Erica muttered fiercely. She pushed her desk chair aside and continued stumbling around in the dark, the blaring alarms assaulting her ears. And it didn't help that it was completely dark except for the intermittent flashes of light. She hissed with surprise as her bare feet came in contact with the cold tile of the bathroom floor. She backed up until she was on carpet and then reached out for the wall and groped around for the light switch located near the bathroom door. Ah ha! Erica thought triumphantly as her fingers seized the switch. She flipped it on, flooding her room with light. She squinted for a moment and then threw open the door of her closet and hastily yanked some clothes off their hangers. Less then a minute later she had changed out of her pajamas and was wearing her typical black pants, black T-shirt, and jackboots. She grabbed a hair tie and her baton swords, and then retrieved her black leather trench coat from the back of her desk chair before she ran out the door and into the hallway.
If possible the sirens were even louder out in the corridors. She winced as the screeching alarms echoed off the walls and the waves of sound pounded against her eardrums. If this continues I see a headache coming on in the not so distant future, she thought as she sprinted down the hall. She took the elevator up to the ground floor and stepped off into a wide corridor buzzing with activity. A constant stream of agents were emerging from doorways or stepping off other elevators. All of them were going the same place she was: the BPRD's garage. As she got closer to the garage the corridor became nearly choked with agents, some of which were still putting on jackets or hopping around on one foot as they pulled their shoes on.
At the end of the corridor a pair of huge industrial doors made of thick steel were standing wide open, giving a clear view of the enormous concrete and steel room beyond, which resembled an aircraft hanger more then a garage. Several of the agent's black cars were neatly spaced out across the floor near the metal garage doors, but Erica headed towards the primary mode of transportation she shared with Hellboy and Abe: a garbage truck. The back of the truck was open, showing the remodeled, high tech interior. Abe was already inside, busily checking his respirator. Like everyone else he wasn't fully dressed. He was wearing a pair of black pants and nothing else. Erica glanced at his thin, muscular frame, his blue skin was still shiny with drops of water. He looks pretty good, she thought, smiling, probably from all that swimming. Then she blushed and mentally smacked herself, realizing Abe might have overheard her thoughts.
"Hey, Blue," Erica called as she walked up the short metal ramp and into the truck.
Abe looked up and smiled. "Did you sleep well?" he asked. Erica heard a hint of amusement in his voice and hoped that it had nothing to do with eavesdropping on her thoughts.
"Ja, at least until I was awakened by a sound like a bomb going off. Are you sure it's impossible to turn the volume down on those alarms?"
Abe nodded. "The intent is to get your attention," he pointed out.
"Yeah, well maybe I'll get someone's attention if I take one apart and leave the pieces scattered across Manning's desk. Although that probably wouldn't go over well," Erica added as an afterthought.
She dropped her leather trench coat on top of a crate of equipment and quickly pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Abe returned to working on his respirator. A moment later Professor Broom appeared in the garage, followed by Hellboy, who was fully dressed—including his favorite brown leather trench coat. He was also smoking a cigar.
"Hey sleepyhead!" Erica greeted him as he came closer. Hellboy only grunted in reply. "Glad to see you finally got your tailed butt out of bed," Erica continued, "Did Clay have to drag you?"
Hellboy stopped at the bottom of the ramp and tapped his cigar, knocking ash onto the concrete floor. "Nah. Clay isn't here. He's on leave, or somethin'. Agent Moss is my nanny until he gets back." Hellboy stomped his way up the ramp and grinned at her as he passed. "Oh, by the way E, those pillow lines on your face are really attractive."
"Danke," she said sarcastically. She instinctively touched her face and felt the set of shallow dents impressed into her cheek and forehead. Oh well, they'll fade, she thought. She started unbuckling the dagger she had put around her wrist before she went to sleep.
Professor Broom limped up the ramp, leaning on his cane. Behind him the activity in the garage had hit its highpoint; agents were gearing up and heading towards their vehicles.
"So, what've we got?" Hellboy asked. He plopped down on a nearby crate, producing a creaking sound as the wood struggled to hold his weight. The demon ignored it.
"Werewolves, what else?" Erica said as she strapped on the leather sheaths that held her baton swords to her thighs.
"Thank you captain obvious," Hellboy grunted.
Professor Broom cleared his throat. "Our liaison in the police force contacted us after two werewolves were seen attacking a group of people in a city park. The police fired and the werewolves fled unharmed, leaving six wounded and two dead."
"So I was right about there being more than one," Abe mused.
"There might be more than that," Broom warned, "And we don't know what their motive is. They may just be interested in killing for the sake of killing."
"Did anyone survive being bitten?" Erica asked. As cruel as it sounded, she hoped not. Adjusting to life as a werewolf wasn't easy, and it drove some people to insanity.
"The survivors have been quarantined for testing," Broom replied. He glanced at Abe, still hard at work on his respirator, and quickly turned and descended the ramp without a word to the fish man.
Beneath Erica's feet the truck shuddered to life as the engine started up. As two agents started to close the garbage truck's door, she saw Professor Broom get into one of the agent's black cars. A moment later the door closed with a metallic thud and the garbage truck lurched into motion.
"Here we go," Hellboy muttered. He got up and stomped over to the box that held his huge gun. He took it out and idly began searching through a box of bullets. Erica buckled on a utility belt, checked the locator on it, and then made sure her own handgun was in its black leather holster. She knew there were very few people who had a chance against her in hand-to-hand combat. However, with werewolves she preferred a gun because it was less risky and she had no intention of spending the rest of her life as a lycanthrope. With werewolves the further away you are when you try to kill them, the better, she thought.
"Hey, E! Catch!" Hellboy called.
Erica looked up just in time to catch a small plastic pack. She looked down at it. The label read: Silver Bullets.
"Thanks," she said. She immediately loaded them into her handgun.
"Make sure you take extras," Abe said.
"I've got silver daggers, too," Erica replied, gesturing to the blades on her belt. She pulled on her trench coat, smiling as the familiar scent of the black leather filled her nose.
Hellboy rolled aside the thick metal door that covered the one way mirror window. The flashing red and white lights of police cars could already be spotted in the distance.
It's going to be one hell of a night, Erica thought.
XXXXX
The City's Alleys
Night
Hellboy stomped through a back alley. Behind him he could hear footsteps—Agent Moss was running to keep up with him. The red demon stopped to allow the agent a chance to catch up, and to allow himself a chance to take in his surroundings.
Once everyone had arrived at the park they had found werewolf tracks leading off in two directions, so at Hellboy's suggestion they had spilt up. Abe and Erica had followed one set of tracks, and Hellboy and Agent Moss had followed the other. Professor Broom and the other agents had stayed behind to secure the scene of the attack, which had drawn a large crowd that had come to stare at the two mutilated, dead bodies.
Hellboy took a drag on his cigar, making the end glow bright red in the darkness, and then blew a stream of curling smoke into the pleasantly chilly autumn air. Agent Moss appeared beside him, breathing hard.
"Outta shape?" Hellboy asked, raising an eyebrow at the agent.
"No. It's that you just led me over and around every possible obstacle in these alleys," the agent said accusingly, glaring a little, "I'd almost think you were trying to get rid of me."
"Hey, we're trackin' a werewolf. They don't move like us," Hellboy said, inspecting the deep claw marks in a brick wall. A tuft of fur clung to the rough brick. Definitely a werewolf, Hellboy thought. "Come on, let's go," he said, seeing a wet werewolf footprint near a puddle of water.
Agent Moss sighed reluctantly and followed the demon who was already far ahead of him.
XXXXX
The City
A Neighborhood
Night
Abe walked down the sidewalk, his bare hand held parallel to the ground as he tracked the werewolf. His blue skin shone in the pale light of the full moon, but the long coat and felt hat he was wearing prevented him from feeling like a beacon. They also conveniently hid his respirator and provided a protective layer against the cold fall air. The blue light of his locator cast a faint glow on the sidewalk near his feet.
Beside him Erica was searching the ground for any hints that a werewolf had been through the area. Abe sighed, breathing a stream of water out through his gills. They had lost the physical trail a quarter of a mile ago, but he could sense the presence of a nearby werewolf—a presence which was now dangerously strong.
"Erica, we're very close," Abe warned her.
She didn't reply but he heard the soft sound of a handgun being removed from a leather holster.
Abe studied the area. They were in a clean, tree filled little neighborhood that seemed timeless. The old Victorian homes were well cared for and huge trees in all their autumn glory grew along the charming leaf littered sidewalk. He mentally scanned the homes, searching for the tell tale signature of a werewolf. Then he saw him.
A few houses away a tall, skinny old man wearing a pale grey suit was standing in front of a cute two story brick house. The innocent looking scene was the epitome of deception. Abe could feel the man was a werewolf, it was streaming off the old man with all the raging force of a gushing waterfall. It was also just as obvious from the man's thoughts that he wanted someone dead.
"That's him," Abe said, gesturing at the old man.
Erica nodded and then indicated that they could sneak up on the man by hiding behind the line of cars parked along the street. A moment later Abe was silently creeping along behind the cars on all fours. Rotten eggs and the safety of mankind, he thought, reassuring himself, It's all for rotten eggs and the safety of mankind—
A stomach turning sound stopped Abe in his tracks. Oh no, he thought, listening to the sickening sound of skin stretching and bones popping and rearranging themselves. He cautiously peered around the back of the car just in time to see the old man finish transforming into a werewolf with silver-grey fur. The werewolf turned his head skyward as if to howl, but strangely, he remained silent. Almost like he might have heard them.
"Let's do this quickly," Erica murmured, her eyes locked on the werewolf from her position at the front of the car.
The creature's ears flicked slightly and his huge head turned to look up the street—
Go! Abe thought at Erica.
He jumped out from behind the car. The werewolf spun around to face him, eyes wide with surprise to see him standing on the sidewalk. There was a metallic click as Erica cocked her gun—the creature whipped around to face her, turning so quickly that one of his oversized paws slammed into Abe's chest and sent him flying.
Abe sailed over the cars and crashed into the unforgiving blacktopped road. He didn't know whether the blow had been deliberate or not, but regardless, it had hurt. He was just starting to get to his feet—
HONK!
Abe ignored the loud noise and was surprised to see the sudden sound had startled the werewolf. The creature swiveled to face the street, knocking Erica over. The force of the blow swept Erica off her feet and sent her crashing into a nearby telephone pole with a bone jarring impact. Abe felt a mental explosion of her pain as she slumped to the ground.
HONK! HONK!
Abe turned towards the deafening, insistent noise and was instantly blinded by a pair of bright lights. It's a truck! The fish man thought with horror. Abe threw himself out of the way just in time. As he sat up again he saw the truck was still racing down the street. The driver hadn't bothered to slow down let alone stop, but it was likely that had something to do with the werewolf on the sidewalk. The werewolf! Abe leapt to his feet, expecting the creature to be behind him. Instead the fish man was met with a scene that made his blood run cold. Erica was just sitting up and the werewolf was standing over her, poised to attack. And Erica's gun was lying on the sidewalk several feet away from her. Oh no, Abe thought, horrified. He sprinted towards her.
Dazedly, Erica looked up as she felt a huge shadow fell over her. She gasped. The werewolf towered above her, all seven feet of him covered in muscles and silver-grey fur. His deep blue eyes gleamed horribly as he leaned down over her, his jaws slavering and his mouth hanging open as if to let her count all of his lethally sharp teeth. Erica scrambled to retrieve her gun—a paw crashed into the ground, narrowly avoiding crushing her outstretched hand. The werewolf leaned down farther and licked his thin, black lips as Erica flattened herself against the pavement in a useless effort to get away. Her heart banged loudly against her rib cage as fear raced through her body. She swallowed thickly and shuddered, feeling his hot, steamy breath on her skin as his muzzle came within six inches of her face. She reached for one of the silver daggers on her belt—A huge forearm reached towards her and she could only watch in horror as five gleaming, curved claws wrapped around her wrist. I hope he just kills me and gets it over with, she thought, feeling the werewolf tug on her wrist—
"Oh, do forgive me, Miss, I didn't mean to knock you over like that! I simply didn't see you there," the werewolf said apologetically.
Abe froze at the werewolf's words; his finger hesitated as it just barely touched the trigger of his gun. He stared at the werewolf, hardly daring to breathe. He could tell Erica was just as shocked as he was.
Stunned, Erica stared up at the huge furry face barely inches from her head. The werewolf blinked and then self-consciously wiped a paw across his lips to get rid of the saliva dripping from his mouth.
"So sorry about my manners. Normally they're quite impeccable, but transforming does take it out of one for a bit," the werewolf said. He backed up to give her some space and then tugged on her wrist again. "Would you like me to help you up?" the creature asked.
Erica stared at the werewolf mistrustfully. "You're not going to kill me?" she asked.
"Heavens above! I'd never do something like that! Besides the ethical complications it takes too long to get the blood out of my fur. It mats it frightfully. Of course I can only say that from my experience of eating rabbits, but still!"
Abe rushed over as Erica let the werewolf pull her to her feet. As soon as the werewolf let go of her she picked up her gun and eyed the creature distrustfully.
"I hope I didn't scare you two," the werewolf said politely. He blinked anxiously at them with concern written all over his aged features. Abe realized the werewolf was being sincere. He really didn't want to hurt them.
"Erica, he's telling the truth," Abe said, coming up behind her.
To his surprise Erica turned around and hugged him. The fish man stiffened for a moment and then relaxed, secretly enjoying the moment more than he knew he probably should have. She was scared, he sternly reprimanded himself, she's just relieved she isn't dead, that's all it is. Nothing more. And don't be enjoying it because you don't think about her that way.
Abe thoughts were interrupted as Erica pulled away. The fish man looked at her out of the corner of his large dark eyes, wishing she hadn't let go. But why would you wish that? That hug was nothing. And you have work to do! he scolded himself. Abe turned back to the grey werewolf, who was standing in front of him wringing his paws and looking pathetically upset.
"Things like this wouldn't happen if I would do what Agatha told me," the werewolf muttered. He ran his claws through the fur around his neck as if searching for something. A moment later his claws fastened on a thin silver chain that had a delicate silver object hanging from it. The werewolf unfolded the object, which Abe suddenly realized was a pair of glasses, and perched the half moon spectacles on his muzzle. That's something you don't see everyday, Abe thought.
"As I was saying, I didn't see you there. I had no idea you were on the sidewalk," the silver werewolf continued, "Forgive an old—ah, man—his faults," the werewolf said, "I'm just so clumsy these days—and you came out of the dark so unexpectedly—"
"Richard!" a woman called shrilly.
The silver-grey werewolf flinched and his blue eyes darted to the front door of the brick house. An auburn female werewolf was standing in the open doorway. She limped towards them, her eyes locked on the grey werewolf. As she got closer Abe noticed the red fur on the werewolf's muzzle faded into white near her nose, as if she was graying from old aged.
"Richard!" the red werewolf repeated. She focused her intense gaze on the silver-grey werewolf. "Have you been knocking over pedestrians again?" she demanded, completely ignoring Abe and Erica.
"Agatha, I—um, er—I—" Richard stuttered.
"What have I told you about that? You must look both ways—with your glasses on, mind you, and don't say you had them on because I know you didn't—and make sure the street is clear if you're going to transform in a public area!"
Richard looked down and muttered something unintelligible that sounded like a mixture of apologies and excuses. Agatha smiled with satisfaction and wagged her tail and then turned her attention to Erica and Abe.
"Are you all right?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer the red werewolf quickly continued. "I'm sure you're both quite frightened, but I assure you this is just a nightmare and if you go home and get in bed everything will be better by morning."
"We're with the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense," Abe said. He could feel Erica tense beside him and knew she was holding her gun behind her back, ready to fire. Abe wasn't worried. Neither of the werewolves were projecting hostile intensions.
"Are you really?" Richard asked, peering through his spectacles at them.
Erica nodded and tapped the BPRD emblem on the shoulder of her black trench coat. "I'm Erica Schwarz and this is Abe Sapien," she said.
The two werewolves looked at each other. "They could help…" Richard said, trailing off.
"We can help each other, I think," Agatha replied, looking Abe and Erica up and down.
"What do you mean?" Erica asked.
"We know who you're looking for."
"How—?"
"You're looking for the werewolves that have been attacking people, aren't you?"
"Yes," Abe answered.
"Well, we know who and where they are. I presume they tricked you into attacking Richard."
"They attacked me?" Richard asked, sounding totally oblivious, "Really? I had no idea—!" He fell silent at a look from his wife.
"Could you take us to them?" Abe asked.
Agatha shook her head. "I don't know the way. But one of our friends does." She started limping in the direction of the house. Richard immediately bounded over and offered her his arm, every inch the gentleman, albeit a strange one since he was a werewolf. She gratefully took his arm and let him escort her towards the house.
"I can't imagine what I did with my cane," Agatha muttered, "I must have left it in the house when I heard what a ruckus you were making out here." She glanced over her shoulder and saw Abe and Erica still standing on the sidewalk.
"Come on you two. By the way, I'm Agatha and he's Richard. You can call us Grandma and Grandpa if you like."
Abe looked at Erica. "This is very weird," she whispered.
"They genuinely want to help us—or to get us to help them," Abe said. But Erica does have a point. The night is turning out to be distinctly odd.
Erica shrugged and put her gun back in the holster on her belt. Smiling toothily, Richard held the door open for them and then pulled it closed as they all stepped inside.
Ahead of him, Abe saw Agatha's werewolf body shrink and rearrange itself. A moment later the fish man was looking at a cute little old lady with red hair that was peppered with strands of white. Agatha smoothed her skirt and blouse and then adjusted the knitted shawl covering her shoulders. She beamed up at him, her blue eyes twinkling. Apparently they can choose to transform back when they're not in the moonlight, Abe thought, I'll have to add that to our notes on werewolves. It would appear that there are different types.
"You can put that away, we're not going to hurt you," Richard—now a white haired old man in a grey suit— said, gesturing at Abe's gun.
"Can you blame him for keeping it out after you knocked both of them flat on their backs and gave them a heart attack with all your snarling and slobbering?" Agatha snapped as she retrieved her cane from the astoundingly ugly umbrella stand next to the front door. Agatha quickly limped down the hall and disappeared into the kitchen, followed by Richard.
Abe and Erica trailed behind them. Abe put his gun inside his coat and glanced inside the rooms he passed. The house was full of antique furniture, and everything was painfully neat. When Abe stepped into the kitchen he saw Agatha and Richard over by the counter. A white porcelain teapot and four matching cups and saucers were sitting on the table. Agatha was busy retrieving a tray of cookies from the oven and shooing Richard out of the way as he attempted to help her. She looked up and saw Abe.
"Richard!" she suddenly shouted, making her husband and Abe jump, "Why didn't you offer to take our guests' hats and coats?" she demanded.
"Er, I—"
"Never mind," Agatha sighed with exasperation, "Just do it."
"Actually, I'd prefer to hold onto mine," Abe said quickly.
"Why?"
Abe hesitated and looked at Erica for help.
"You might as well tell them, Blue," she said, "They're werewolves; they have supersensitive noses and eyes. They'll figure out what you are eventually."
Abe nodded and took off his hat, revealing his face. Richard's eyes widened. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, what are you?"
"I'm an Icthyo Sapiens. Quite literally a fish man," Abe said proudly. A little ego never hurt anyone, he thought, especially when you're a freak.
Agatha nodded. "That explains why I've been smelling fish ever since I saw you two. Not that you smell bad, of course," she added hastily.
"You don't seem very surprised to see me," Abe said, genuinely astonished. Based on his experience with new agents he knew people had a tendency to freak out when they first met him. Actually, it's rather nice not to have someone shout 'What the hell is that?'
"We've heard stories about the BPRD and the oddities that live there," Agatha said, plopping the tray of cookies down on the table, "Considering what we've heard, you two are fairly normal looking."
"Thanks…I think," Erica said.
"Tea?" Agatha asked, gesturing at the teapot.
"Er, no thank you," Abe said. He eyed the clock on the wall with some concern. They'd split up with Hellboy half an hour ago and still hadn't heard anything from him or the Professor.
"Nein," Erica added, shaking her head.
"Oh, what a pity. Now it'll all go to waste," the old woman said, frowning a little.
"I'm sure you'll be able to drink—" Erica started.
"Drink it?" Agatha interrupted. She shook her head. "I never touch the stuff."
She picked up a teacup, grabbed a bottle of scotch from the counter and upended its contents into the delicate porcelain teacup. Shocked, Abe and Erica watched the old woman throw her head back and guzzle down the fiery liquid with her pinky properly extended as she help the teacup's dainty handle.
Richard chuckled. "She's a fine Irish woman, isn't she?" he said proudly, "Women today—they aren't like they used to be."
Agatha smiled and put her hands to her cheeks. "You slippery tongued devil! I've gone bright red!"
"Excuse me, not to be rude, but we are trying to catch some murderous werewolves," Abe broke in.
"Of course, but you'll have to meet the others first. Luke is with them. He'll take you where you need to go," Agatha explained, heading for a nearby doorway.
"Others?" Erica asked, looking at Abe with some concern.
"Come on you two! Time's a-wasting!" Agatha exclaimed.
Abe approached the door, his mind elsewhere. Specifically it was exploring the basement, which was full of werewolves. Fortunately Abe could tell none of them were the werewolves they were looking for, the ones in the basement were too peaceful. Although they do feel unusually tense about something, he thought, but it's probably because they know there're strangers in the house.
Agatha pulled the door open and Abe was faced with a flight of stairs going down into the basement. Loud rock and roll music filtered up the stairs. The old woman started down the stairs, one hand holding the tray of cookies, and the other grasping her cane.
"I feel I must warn you. You're in for a bit of a shock, but no need to worry. We're all quite harmless," she called up to them.
Abe descended the stairs, a wary Erica right behind him. Richard brought up the rear.
Even though he knew what to expect Abe stopped at the bottom of the stairs so fast that Erica ran into him. He heard her gasp as she looked over his shoulder and saw what was in the basement. The entire room was full of werewolves. They were all engaged in various activities: some were clustered around a boom box, listening to rock and roll at painfully loud decibels; one female was stretched out on the floor reading a magazine and twitching her tail; and two big males were over at an air hockey table playing a vicious game. The rest were talking and lounging on brightly colored bean bag chairs, butterfly chairs, ottomans, and big fluffy pillows.
"Come on, it's safe," Agatha encouraged.
At her words the entire room went dead silent as all the werewolves turned to stare at Abe and Erica.
"Hey cutie," called a scruffy brown werewolf, winking at Erica as he shuffled a deck of playing cards. Abe couldn't tell if the winking was on purpose or due to a general lack of muscular control in the werewolf's face—he was drooling a little out of the side of his mouth and the right side of his face was completely slack—but Abe glared at him anyway. Behind him Erica muttered something in German that sounded far from being kind. The werewolf's grin only widened.
"Be nice to our guests, Luke," Agatha reprimanded the brown werewolf as Abe and Erica left the stairs, "And you two, either get a room or stop that this instant!" Her cane darted out and whacked a pair of werewolves in a lip lock under the steps. The other werewolves laughed as the pair emerged looking chastened and very embarrassed.
"That's better. And turn that music down, I can't hear myself think!"
"Yes Grandma," the werewolves chorused a little mockingly as a skinny, tawny werewolf turned the boom box off.
Ah, silence, Abe thought with relief.
"They're all your grandchildren?" Erica asked in disbelief.
"Not by blood. We've been adopting, as it were," Agatha said.
"We give them a safe place to transform, so long as they promise not to attack normal humans," Richard explained, "Unfortunately, the werewolves you're looking for don't share our philosophies. They kill for the fun of it."
Just as Professor Broom feared, Abe thought at Erica. She nodded distractedly, clearly uneasy to be surrounded by so many werewolves. Including the one that had been attempting to hit on her.
"And they tried to pin their attacks on us, I might add," Agatha said angrily, banging her tray of cookies down on a table. Her statement was accompanied by furious mutters and growls from the other werewolves.
"Who are they?" demanded one of the male werewolves at the air hockey table. He eyed Erica suspiciously and then flat out stared at Abe's far from normal face.
"This is Abe Sapien and Erica Schwarz. They're with the BPRD," Agatha explained, "They're going after those killers."
Her words grabbed the other werewolves' attention.
"Really? As in going to kill them?" the skinny tawny werewolf asked hopefully.
"Kill them?" another scoffed, "More like going to get themselves killed. There's only two of you!"
"We have a team waiting for us," Abe explained.
"They just don't know how to find the werewolves responsible for the attacks," Agatha said, looking pointedly at Luke. The scruffy werewolf's ear flicked at his name, making the two gold hoop earrings in it jangle together. He continued compulsively shuffling his deck of cards. "You want me to take them there, don't you?" he asked, glancing up as he cut the deck.
"Yes. And you better start moving," Agatha said sternly.
"I think it'll be worth my while. I've been wanting to give them what they deserve. And I think the company will be nice," he said, sneaking a sly look at Erica. His honey brown eyes glinted.
"Don't even think about it," she warned, glaring.
"Wait, what about Hellboy?" Abe asked, "He's still out there tracking a werewolf that fled the scene of the attack."
Luke started laughing loudly, attracting stares from everyone in the room.
"Laughing manically doesn't help with trying to prove your sanity," the female werewolf with the magazine muttered. Luke ignored her.
"Haha! Tracking? Hahahaha! He's on a wild goose chase! They would never be stupid enough to leave a trail back to their hideout! Hahahaha! If there's any tracks, you can bet your money on it that they're complete fakes!"
XXXXX
The City's Alleys
Night
Hellboy looked down at the end of the werewolf tracks and then back up at the wall. He swore. There was no way in hell even a werewolf could have scaled the wall without leaving a trace.
"Maybe it reverted to its human form," suggested Agent Moss as he examined the tracks.
"Maybe," Hellboy grunted, spotting one or two human footprints and a few that were half human, half wolf. None of them led out of the dead-end alley. "Damn it, where's Abe when you need him?" the demon muttered. He was beginning to realize that working alone or with one agent had its disadvantages. He flipped his earphone on. "Abe, Erica, where the hell are you guys?" he demanded.
There was silence and the crackle of static, followed by Abe's voice. "Red, you're not going to believe this, but we ran into some friendly werewolves. They want to help us."
"Why?" the demon asked, instantly suspicious.
"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say they want our help. They know where the werewolves responsible for the attacks are, and it turns out the two groups have been conflicting for a long time."
"Blue, please tell me we weren't called in to resolve a gang fight between werewolves."
"We weren't. It's a more dispute over philosophies. More specifically, over whether or not to kill and eat humans. The werewolves responsible for the attacks kill when they want to, the others abhor it. As a result they hate each other. The man-eaters already tricked Erica and I into attacking an innocent werewolf."
"That must'a been interestin'."
"Very funny Hellboy," Erica said sarcastically, her voice sharp even over the earphone, "I thought I was going to die."
"Huh. Sorry I missed it."
"Red, focus. The werewolves we're looking for have a base at a warehouse complex. Meet us there," Abe said, "You might have to use our locators, apparently it's not an easy place to find. Luke—one of the werewolves—is going to lead us there."
"Gotcha. I'll be there in a few minutes," Hellboy said. He turned the earphone off. "Hey, Moss, looks like there's goin' to be some action after all."
XXXXX
A Warehouse Complex
Night
Ten minutes later Hellboy and Agent Moss were walking up to the gate of the warehouse complex. Erica and Abe—now minus his disguise, which was folded neatly on the ground next to the wall—were already there. Hellboy eyed the brown werewolf next to them. The creature's fur stuck out at odd angles and he was leaning against the wall, compulsively shuffling a worn deck of playing cards. The werewolf's mouth was hanging open on the right side and long strands of saliva dripped down his muzzle and hung in the air, shining silver in the moonlight. Erica was eyeing the werewolf with obvious disgust. Other than that she and Abe looked okay in spite of their strange companion.
"Who would'a thought you two would find the action first," Hellboy grinned.
"If you hadn't insisted on splitting up, we wouldn't have," Erica pointed out.
Hellboy blew a stream of cigar smoke into the air as he peered through the slightly rusted iron bars of the gates. Forty feet away the huge, brooding warehouses crouched in rows in the darkness. The moonlight reflected off the windows, making them look like blind eyes. "Cheerful place, isn't it?" Hellboy said, "So, do we have a plan?"
"Kill anything that moves?" Luke suggested, "Not counting me, of course."
"Yeah, but how are we gonna tell you apart from the bad guys?" Hellboy asked, "And stop shufflin' those damn cards! It's annoyin'!"
The werewolf glared a little but stowed the cards in a small leather pouch hanging around his neck. "You'll be able to tell me apart because I won't be trying to rip your throat out," he said calmly. He added as an after thought, "And I'm wearing two gold hoops."
"Thanks," Hellboy said sarcastically. He glanced back up at the warehouse, "Abe, Erica, any suggestions?" the demon asked.
"Ja," Erica said, scanning the shadows, "based on how weird tonight has been, expect the unexpected."
"But doesn't that make the unexpected the expected?" Luke asked.
"Ha ha. Very funny. I'm not amused," she muttered.
"I would suggest that we spilt up and go in from different—"
Abe was interrupted by a piercing, unearthly howl. A moment later a huge black werewolf appeared on the roof of one of the buildings, his reddish eyes glaring down at them.
"Well, so much for havin' a plan," Hellboy observed, stubbing his cigar stump out on the wall, "Let's move!"
With one heave the demon tore the gate off its hinges and tossed it aside. He ran inside. Erica followed him just in time to see him take a shot at the face grinning over the roof. He missed. The werewolf snarled down at them and then drew its head back and disappeared. Hellboy started climbing a metal service ladder built onto the side of the building. Agent Moss scrambled up after him.
"Honestly, I don't know whether to go to this thing or just watch it on the news," Luke muttered. Then he ran at the wall of the warehouse and ran up the vertical surface, digging his claws into the concrete to get a foothold—
CRASH!
A white werewolf exploded through the second story window of the warehouse, sending a rain of broken glass down on Erica's and Abe's heads. Erica ducked and shielded her eyes with her arm as the shards fell on her head and back. When she looked up the white werewolf was racing across the pavement, looking for all the world like some kind of ghost or apparition—wearing a pink ribbon tied around its neck in a neat bow. The werewolf paused for a second in front of another warehouse to rip the doors off the hinges and then disappeared inside.
Okay, did I just see what I thought I did? Erica thought. One glance at Abe confirmed her suspicions. His eyes were very wide. Obviously he had seen the pink bow too.
"Got a plan?" Erica asked as she peered into the huge dark, silent depths of the building.
"Don't get bitten," Abe said seriously, stepping inside.
"Thanks a lot!" she said derisively.
She stood just inside the doors, staring at the row after row of crates stacked as high as a three story building. Others were piled on the floor at varying heights. Each row was also intersected by another set of rows perpendicular to the first.
It's like a giant maze! Erica thought, That werewolf could be anywhere!
With their guns held ready to fire, Erica and Abe slowly advanced down the row in front of them. Erica's eyes darted right and then left, searching the deep shadows that clung to the crates in the dim light of the warehouse. It was so quiet she could clearly hear her own breathing and the soft bubbling sound of Abe's respirator. Abe was scanning the area, his outstretched palm turning from the floor to the crates. Erica glanced up at the ceiling and then along the top of the crates. That werewolf is up there watching us, she thought. The instinctual feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach confirmed her thoughts. They were being watched. The feeling intensified as they neared one of the 'crossroads'. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest.
"Abe—"
"Erica! Move!" the fish man shouted, jumping to the side.
A crate crashed to the floor where he had been standing, the impact sending vibrations through the floor. She looked up as another crate toppled toward her and she quickly leapt out of the way. An ominous creaking came from her left. Erica slowly turned around. The blood drained from her face as she saw an entire wall of massive crates teetering precariously. They teetered, rocked, and then fell—straight towards her. She ran. The crates crashed to the floor with a deafening thud and the sound of splintering wood and snapping metal. The last crate smashed into pieces on the concrete floor and then there was silence. Erica turned and gazed up at the huge pile of shattered crates and debris and felt her stomach tighten with fear. Where's Abe? She thought frantically.
"Blue?" she called anxiously.
"I'm all right," he called from the other side of the pile. Erica sighed with relief.
The sound of deep, barking laughter came from somewhere in the darkness. Without thinking Erica aimed at the sound and fired. The laughing continued. She gazed up at the pile of smashed crates separating her from Abe. Climbing it would make her vulnerable to attack. But so will being alone, she thought. A white flash of fur and pink ribbon caught her eye as the werewolf darted across the smashed crates he had pushed over.
BANG!
Abe's shot echoed through the enormous building. The werewolf ran faster. Erica followed, running in between the rows of crates, her eyes on the white werewolf. If only I could get closer…
Suddenly the werewolf leapt from the top of the crates. She heard him hit the floor on the opposite side of the row she was on. Erica sped up, running toward the end of the row. There were no more intersecting rows, she and the werewolf had no other choice but to go straight ahead. With any luck we'll run into each other at the end, she thought.
That was when she saw that at the end of the row there was a forty foot space, and then a wall with piles of crates at the bottom and a row of large glass windows at the top. She ran faster. The werewolf is going to try to escape, she realized, I can't let him reach the windows.
She reached the end of the row and pressed her back up against the last crate and peered around the edge at the space between her and the windows. Dim moonlight filtered in through the grime encrusted windows and covered the floor with pale rectangular patches of light. She could hear the werewolf on the other side of her row coming closer. She cocked her gun and waited as the sounds drew nearer.
The soft shuffling sound of paws came from her left, on the other side of the crate, accompanied by the sound of panting. Erica held her breath. There was only one crate between her and the werewolf. She quickly glanced around the corner and saw the black nose and white muzzle, followed by the head and a paw—She pulled her head back around the crate before the werewolf could see her. She held her breath as he passed by and then shifted her position so she could watch him cross the empty space in front of the windows. She slowly, carefully aimed her gun at the creature, waiting for the perfect moment to shoot. She didn't want to miss when she was this close.
The white werewolf reached the pile of crates by the window and bounded up. There was a soft, hollow thud as he landed on top of a crate. He jumped again and again, drawing closer to the top of the pile. Erica adjusted her aim, waiting for the werewolf's back to be positioned so she could shoot him through the heart.
The werewolf crouched on top of the pile of crates, right in front of the window as if about to launch himself through the glass. He paused, admiring his own reflection in the glass, and adjusted the pink bow around his neck. Erica smiled as she saw the werewolf's body clearly silhouetted against the light. Perfect shot, she thought, coolly taking aim. She pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The shot shattered the silence with a sound like a firework going off at close range. The white werewolf collapsed backwards and fell, tumbling down the pile of crates. His body hit the concrete floor with a nauseating sound that reminded Erica of the all too familiar sound of a sledgehammer striking flesh—a sound she had heard too often when she had worked with Ilsa during WWII. Erica stepped out from her hiding place. The werewolf moaned and his front paws twitched, then flailed around as he tried to get to his feet. He wasn't dead. But he clearly couldn't get up either. Mildly surprised at his resilience, Erica carefully approached the white werewolf, her gun trained on his head. She saw the werewolf's white fur was stained crimson around a bullet hole in the center of his back, just above his waist. Her bullet had struck the werewolf's lower spine and paralyzed his back legs.
Hearing her footsteps the werewolf pushed itself up on his front legs and turned his huge head to face her. His mouth opened in a snarl—its front legs buckled and the werewolf fell to the floor with a howl of frustration and pain. Erica walked towards the struggling creature, her gun aimed at its skull. The werewolf's tongue lolled out of its mouth as it gasped for air. The red tinted eyes glared up at her.
"Who are you?" the werewolf growled, staring past her gun at her face.
"Someone who's not supposed to exist," she answered harshly.
And then she pulled the trigger. The werewolf shuddered once and then went limp. It was dead. The fur began to disappear and the muzzle shrank as the body transformed back into a human. The change was automatic and brought on by death. Erica averted her eyes and walked away. I hate looking at dead werewolves when they transform back, she thought, Seeing them dead in human form makes me feel like a murderer.
Her earphone crackled to life. "Erica?" Abe's asked, sounding concerned.
"I'm fine," she answered, "I got the werewolf. Where are you?"
"In a row of crates, where else?" he replied dryly.
"Meet me at the doors, I'll be there in a few minutes," she said.
Erica smiled as she walked down a long row of crates, heading towards the door. A job well done, she thought. She could dimly hear Hellboy pursuing the black werewolf somewhere outside the warehouse. Erica put her gun back in its holster on her belt. Tonight has been really strange, and that's saying something coming from me, she thought, but we'll get to go home soon, and Halloween is coming, so all this craziness will slow down. She reached the end of the row and was jerked from her thoughts by the sight of a werewolf standing in the door-less opening with its back to her. She froze for a moment. Did the black werewolf get away from Hellboy? She wondered. But no, this one was smaller. She relaxed. It's only Luke.
"Luke, I killed the white werewolf. What are you doing here? Did you and Hellboy get the other one already?"
"No. And I'm going to kill you!" the werewolf roared, whirling around to face her.
She felt her heart stop as she stared at the huge bared teeth and heavily scarred face. The two eyes glared at her, one cloudy with blindness and the other green eye hazy with the red light of madness. Human blood stained the werewolf's lips and the fur on his muzzle. He wasn't Luke.
"Mein Gott," she muttered, slowly backing away. Professor Broom had been right about there being more than two werewolves. But why hadn't Luke mentioned how many there were?
"Murderer!" the werewolf snarled.
"Let he who is not guilty of sin cast the first stone," she said grimly. The werewolf snarled in response and she almost retched at the smell of human flesh on the creature's breath.
She drew a silver dagger and dodged to the side as a huge arm swung toward her—cruel claws grabbed her waist in an iron grip and picked her up into the air. The werewolf growled and opened his jaws to bite her—she forced the dagger deep into the taught muscles of the werewolf's arm. The werewolf howled in pain and, enraged, flung her away as easily as if she were a rag doll. She flew through the doorway and slammed into the pavement outside the building. Her momentum sent her tumbling head over heels and she grabbed at the ground. The rough pavement tore mercilessly into her palms but she succeeded in stopping herself. She scrambled to her feet as the werewolf charged at her, his claws gouging deep scratches in the blacktop as he ran at her.
She pulled her gun from the holster on her belt. If I get out of this alive, I'm going to kill Luke, she thought.
XXXXX
Moldavia
A Tavern
Night
The wind whistled chillingly around the wooden frame of the only window in the room. Kroenen stared through the glass panes, listening to the soft sound of snow swirling against it. It sounded like sand scraping and sliding across metal.
Though it was very late at night the sounds of a few lingering customers could be heard downstairs in the tavern. The scrape of a chair across the wooden floor and the distinctive clink of mugs filtered up the stairs, down the hall, and through the door into his room. Kroenen ignored them and turned back to his work.
Blades covered the table top in front of him: daggers, knives. But his baton swords held his gaze. He picked one up, lovingly wrapping his hand around the blade's grip. He admired the way the candlelight in the room reflected on the gleaming, flawless surface. The light danced along the script writing engraved into the blade's surface: Alles für Deutschland. Everything for Germany. He smiled inwardly. The blades were function and beauty all rolled up into one nice little package. Perfection.
Kroenen admired well-designed and well made weapons. And he especially liked the feel of his twin baton swords in his hands: they were Death himself imprisoned in steel. But he had time to kill in a much more purposeful manner than simply admiring his blades. He picked up a dagger and began sharpening its edges, filling the room with a harsh grating noise far worse than fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. Kroenen was used to the eerie sound. It was just one of many he was accustomed to, including screaming.
He stopped working for a moment, hearing the door of the tavern bang as the last customers hastily exited the building. Apparently they were unappreciative of the skin crawling sound coming from his room. His skull-like grin widened at the thought of their frightened faces. Then his expression faltered as he felt another presence on the edge of his mind. But he was alone…
In a flash his eyesight darkened and the room disappeared as his sight was directed inwards. The sand in his veins hissed and squirmed like an angry cobra trapped in his blood vessels. Almost like his blood was trying to get away from something—Then he knew.
Ah. Erica, he thought, Our blood bond. The connection was faint, but strong enough that he felt an emotion he had often shared with her in the past: the elation of killing. Though she's apparently doing something 'good'. It seems she's killed another werewolf. A moment later the connection faded and was gone.
Kroenen shifted slightly in his chair and compulsively pulled the battered black and white photograph of The Three from the pocket of his trench coat.
"Don't worry," he murmured, his eyes locked Erica's figure in the photograph, "I'll honor my promise to you. And when we do meet, Heaven nor Hell will interfere then."
The dim yellow light in the room flickered as a small draft sent the candle flames dancing. The door closed softly and the familiar sounds that accompanied Ilsa reached his ears. He glanced at her as she set a small bag on the floor near the door. Realizing that he still had the photograph in his hand, Kroenen furtively slipped it back inside his pocket. He wasn't quick enough. Or she just knows me too well, he thought, seeing Ilsa throw a disapproving glance in his direction. Thankfully she didn't say anything. She strode to the fireplace and viciously threw another log on the fire. Red sparks cascaded down to the grate and then abruptly changed direction as they were sucked up the chimney with the smoke. Ilsa unceremoniously flopped down in a chair near the fire and stared at him. Kroenen ignored her and resumed sharpening his dagger. He wasn't going to bother to ask her why she was in his room and not in her own. She'll eventually either tell me or get up and leave.
"What are you doing?" Ilsa asked, breaking the silence.
"Use your eyes, you're not blind," he retorted, his words exact and clipped. Now they were even, his words to her dirty look.
"Which is why I saw you looking at that photograph. Again. Why?"
"I felt…" he gestured, trying to explain, "Erica killed something. Someone."
Ilsa's expression darkened and her blue eyes became icy. "At least the Seven Gods of Chaos have prevented her from using her visions to spy on us," she said. Her face contorted with anger, "Damn her," Ilsa hissed.
"Believe me, she doesn't need your help," Kroenen said dryly, "She's quite good at damning herself."
Ilsa laughed. The sound was as cold as the howling wind outside. "I've always thought it was strange she thought betraying us was the 'right' thing to do. The right thing? Since when did she have morals? And with everything she's done she's insane if she thinks she can save her soul."
Kroenen nodded in agreement. "She owes it to the Ogdru Jahad. They will destroy her soul when I sacrifice her to them." His voice dripped with pure venom.
Ilsa smiled at him. Revenge was what motivated Kroenen now. He had thought about almost nothing else over the past six decades. I hope I'm there to watch him kill Erica, she thought. Ilsa wanted revenge too. Though indirectly, Erica had killed Grigory—or pushed him as close to death as he could go. But as much as she wanted revenge Ilsa also knew that Erica would kill her in a fight. Consequently she was more than happy to watch Kroenen do the work, especially since his desire for revenge had become an obsession that was slowly driving him insane. His fight to the death with Erica will certainly be something to see, she thought.
Ilsa leaned back in her chair and watched Kroenen polishing the blades laid out on the table. We're so close, she thought with a surge of satisfaction and elation, tomorrow night Grigory Rasputin will be back. After that she knew Erica would be killed and the Ogdru Jahad would be released from their prison. Paradise was what awaited their loyal followers. She could see it as clearly as if it were a vision. So much will be gained, she thought happily. Her happiness evaporated as she glanced at the clockwork assassin, But something will be lost as well.
Kroenen felt her gaze and glanced up at her. For a few moments she silently looked into the dark voids of the lenses that hid his eyes. Then she stood up and retrieved the bag she had left on the floor near the door. She carefully removed the bag's contents, two glass wine flutes and a bottle of red wine, and set them on the table where he was working. Kroenen put aside his weapons and watched her with his head tilted to one side, curious.
"Does it bring back memories, Karl?" she asked as she poured the blood red wine into the glasses.
"Ja," he admitted, half grudgingly, "Not all of them pleasant."
Apparently the memory of toasting their future success with red wine on October 9, 1944 was still vivid in his mind. Ilsa wouldn't have expected any less. She set one of the wineglasses in front of Kroenen. As she had anticipated, he stood up and somewhat awkwardly unbuckled the two straps that held on his mask. He slowly removed his gasmask and gently set it on the table, all the while watching her for any sign of revulsion at his grotesque features. He thrived on it. Ilsa knew this and smiled sweetly at him, just to spite him. Though she had seen his face often enough in the past she knew she would never truly get used to it. If death was ever given a human body, she thought, he would look like Kroenen.
Kroenen's lidless eyes stared out at her from a face covered in thick scar tissue. The pale abused skin surrounded the constantly weeping, raw flesh where his eyelids and lips had once been. The gruesome appearance of his face was added to by his lack of eyebrows and the taught, deeply creased skin where his flesh had been forcibly and inartistically drawn back together by stitches. His one redeeming feature was his eyes. Unlike the rest of his face his blue eyes were still hauntingly beautiful and crystal clear. Beautiful, Ilsa thought. She raised her wineglass and the apparition-like man did the same.
"To Grigory Rasputin and the Seven Gods of Chaos," she whispered.
"And to Germany," Kroenen added, his voice just as quiet.
Ilsa drank, watching the living cadaver over the sparkling rim of her glass. Kroenen leaned his head back and allowed the wine to trickle into his mouth and down his throat. He tilted his head forward again before he was finished swallowing it all and half of the wine ran out between his teeth and dribbled down his face, neck, and chest. Strings of saliva mixed with wine hung from his mouth like pale red-purple ribbons of spider silk. He quickly lapped them up, licking at his exposed teeth and gums, now stained red. He was obviously enjoying himself.
Ilsa laughed at him, but not cruelly. She was half surprised to find that the smile on her lips was genuine. But really, she knew she shouldn't have been so surprised. She was drinking wine with Death personified, why shouldn't she enjoy herself? It was what she had wanted and what she had intended. What was it he told me recently? She wondered, Ah yes, what Grigory doesn't know won't hurt us. In her eyes loyalty was a ridiculous idea, and one that only fools and cowards adhered to. She was devoted to Grigory, yes, but faithful never. In a way she was as much a traitor as Erica was.
There's something really wonderful about flirting with Death—providing you don't die, of course, Ilsa thought. She watched him finish draining the wine from his glass.
What Grigory doesn't know won't hurt us.
Leaving her wineglass on the table Ilsa stood up and opened the door that joined their rooms. She paused in the doorway and looked back at Kroenen. He was watching her expectantly. One last chance, Ilsa thought, tomorrow Grigory will be back and it'll be too late. One last chance.
"I think there might be space for you in my room, providing you get lonely. Or need a change of scenery," Ilsa said suggestively.
She didn't have to make her invitation twice.
Author's Notes: So you all finally got me to write some I x K! I think they definitely stole the show in this chapter; I enjoyed writing about them the most. What did you think of the unconventional werewolves? Who was your favorite? And the cliffie with Erica? And cookies for anyone who caught onto Professor Broom purposefully avoiding Abe! Next chapter the issue with the werewolves will be cleared up and we will get very, very close to Grigory's resurrection! Please Review!