Chapter 13: Cruel Intentions
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, Luke, Agatha, Richard, the various werewolves, and the plot that isn't from the movie belong to me.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews! And look, a nice number 13 for a chapter that will have many unlucky turns of events for several characters. Contrary to popular belief, I have not fallen off the edge of the Earth; sorry about the long wait for the chapter, but with everything happening in it I think it will have been well worth the wait! As always here are the German to English translations: 'Mein Gott' is My God. Enjoy the chapter!
Elena-Unduli: Yes, Ilsa x Kroenen is very odd. But what do you expect? Ilsa, to me, with her relationships with Kroenen and Rasputin just seems like the kind of person who wants to eat her cake and have it, too.
musicamode: Bad Moon Risin' is one of my favorite songs; I just had to find some way to work it in, and that was perfect!
Schemergirl: The hard part about writing Myers reaction to Erica is making sure I don't repeat ideas from earlier in the story; that would be boring. But, seeing as you enjoyed it, I must have managed it pretty well!
amyltrer: You bet Erica will be meeting Kroenen in this chapter! evil laughter And I fully intend to keep tormenting Kroenen, especially in chapter 14.
DarkCloudRider: Thanks again for the idea about Luke having had a stroke; I mentioned it in this chapter!
"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."—Niccolo Machiavelli
"'Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood and do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on."—Shakespeare, Hamlet
"Cruelty is like bad manners; display it and be shunned. Engage in it and be shamed. Encourage in it and be nothing but an animal."—Anonymous
New York Alleys
Halloween Night
By the time Hellboy had been thrown through the window, fallen several stories, gotten up, and run into the strange, vanishing man in sunglasses, they had all split up. Abe and Broom were still in the library, but as for the others… Hellboy took his eyes off the fleeing Sammael and spared a glance backwards. Myers was behind him, but Erica was nowhere in sight. It was Myers fault: the newbie agent hadn't followed Erica when she had raced outside to help Hellboy, and as a result they had accidentally gone in opposite directions. Which meant Hellboy had no reliable backup, because Erica was presumably lost in the maze of back alleys.
Not that I need any help, Hellboy thought. I just like knowing where everybody is. Guess E's still trying to find us. Damn Myers.
Then he saw what was ahead of him: a busboy had propped open the back door of a restaurant's kitchen to get some fresh air, and he was leaning against the frame taking a smoke break.
The Hell Hound and the boy spotted each other at exactly the same time. The teenager stared, open mouthed, as Sammael snarled, his jaws slavering, and swerved towards the door.
"Aw crap!" Hellboy cursed. He ran faster and was on the monster's heels as it crashed through the doorway. Hellboy raced past the dazed busboy, now lying in the alley, and stepped inside the kitchen. The demon squinted as the bright lights assaulted his eyes and saw Sammael tearing through the kitchen, flinging the green glowing tracking goop everywhere, and scattering pots and screaming chefs in all directions.
"Hey! You can't come in here!" the busboy yelled.
"Sorry!" Hellboy heard Myers reply as the agent entered the kitchen anyway.
Hellboy rolled his eyes and took off after Sammael; the red demon swung himself over a counter and landed on the other side with a floor shuddering thud. The monster roared and crashed unheedingly through a cart piled high with dishes and glassware; the resulting cacophony of breaking china nearly drowned out the monster's snarl as it turned its attentions to the Head Chef. Hellboy started forward—a pot of scalding soup was splashed over his head.
"Ow! What was that for?!" Hellboy growled; he wiped at his eyes and glared down at the panicked cook who had attacked him. The blood drained from the cook's face as he clutched the empty soup pot, and then the man fainted—and fell on Hellboy's tail.
"Damn it!" the demon cursed as he tugged his throbbing tail free. He turned his attention back to the kitchen and spotted the Head Chef expertly wielding a meat cleaver to ward off Sammael; the monster growled with frustration as the Head Chef managed to land a blow to the monster's snout.
"Ha! Take that!" the Head Chef yelled, grinning.
To Hellboy's surprise Sammael actually backed off—and bounded through the swinging double doors that led into the restaurant.
"Oh no you don't!" Hellboy yelled, dashing after it.
Hellboy burst through the kitchen doors and into the dining room of a very fancy restaurant. Everyone in the restaurant stood stock still for a moment, staring open-mouthed at Hellboy and the Hell Hound. Sammael sat on his haunches, his head swinging from side to side as if in confusion, as green tracking goop dripped onto the plush red carpet from the monster's wound. A very pale maître d' standing near the doors looked Hellboy up and down and stuttered out, "Sir, you are dressed inappropriately to be in this establishment."
"Oh yeah? And that isn't?" Hellboy demanded, pointing to Sammael. Sammael obligingly turned his grotesque head to face the maître d'; his four eyes rolled and his tentacles writhed as he snorted, sending a blast of foul breath right into the man's face. The remaining blood drained from the maître d's face and a mouse-like squeak escaped from his trembling lips as he hid his face behind the round tray he was carrying.
"I thought you'd see things my way," Hellboy said.
And then Sammael roared. The restaurant's patrons sat frozen with fear; then a woman screamed and everything became chaos as the monster bounded through the restaurant, overturning tables. Sammael grabbed a table and threw it at Hellboy; the table smashed into pieces as it hit the wall above the demon's head, showering him with chunks of wood and splinters.
Myers finally disentangled himself from the chaos of the kitchen and stumbled out into the restaurant in time to see Sammael crash through the large front window, followed by Hellboy, who struck the pavement and was immediately off and running after Sammael. The front door was jammed full of fleeing patrons and waiters; Myers hesitated and then leapt through the window and followed Hellboy down the alley beside the restaurant. The alley was blocked by another high wall. And judging by the annoying beep, beep, beep of a truck backing up, there were more civilians on the other side.
Great, Myers thought sarcastically, Just great.
XXXXX
A Street in New York
"Damn Myers," Erica muttered as she shouldered past the brightly costumed revelers clogging the sidewalk. She wasn't angry; she was more irritated than anything else. Who would've thought Myers would go the right way and that I'd end up lost?
She crossed the street, looking left and right as she went, then followed the sidewalk on the other side. Her visions weren't doing her much good: every time she stopped to concentrate on Hellboy's location, he was the same distance away. He was moving too quickly for her to keep up, and Erica was getting frustrated.
She saw a haggard, thin man leaning against a telephone pole; his oddly bright green eyes stared at her from a pointed, jaundiced face. He was a poltergeist. She purposefully met the poltergeist's gaze; he grinned and then turned his attention elsewhere, knowing she was no target for his playful mischief. As she passed him he made an odd gesture at a child; the boy's bag, bulging with candy, spilt at the seams and spilled chocolate and lollypops across the sidewalk. The poltergeist laughed and grinned madly.
Erica kept walking; the poltergeist wasn't doing anything destructive, so she wouldn't interfere. She had a Hell Hound to find.
When she had left the Machen Library Abe had told her to be careful, and she intended to be. Besides the Hell Hound and the possibility that Rasputin and the others were nearby, Halloween was walking the streets of New York. Most of the people out tonight were just out to have fun, but there were also a scattering of things that were not in costume, things that were real, things that were walking unseen because of the anonymity granted to them by the sea of masks. The poltergeist was proof of that.
But regardless of whether they were people or otherwise, they were all in her way. All the sidewalks in New York and half the population has to be on this one, she thought as she pushed against the flow of human bodies. She concentrated on Hellboy again and got an image of him in an alley—
"Hey, great costume!" someone shouted at her. The shout broke Erica's concentration and her mental image dissolved. She suppressed an irritated sigh and turned around to face a woman dressed head to toe in orange; a gaudily painted cardboard cut-out of a pumpkin hung from a string around the woman's neck.
"What're you supposed to be? A ninja?" the pumpkin-woman asked, smiling.
Erica caught sight of her own colorless reflection in the polished glass of a shop window. I am a bit wild looking, but I have reason to be, she thought. And where the hell are Myers and Hellboy now?
"No, no, I got it wrong, didn't I?" the pumpkin-woman asked.
"A vampire, maybe? From that new movie, whats-it-called?" suggested the pumpkin-woman's friend. He was dressed like a ladybug, complete with a ridiculous headband that had antennae on it.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Erica said simply. Behind the ridiculously dressed pair she saw a dark opening in the row of shops: an alley.
She pushed past the man and women—they didn't notice; they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, engaged in a discussion about the name of the movie, blocking the way for all the other now disgruntled pedestrians—and started down the alley.
Now I'm getting somewhere, she thought. Suddenly her earphone crackled to life.
"E, where the hell are you?" Hellboy demanded. He sounded pissed off, but not at her. She could hear very noisy traffic in the background; it was so loud it sounded like he was standing in the middle of a road. And knowing him, that wasn't all that unlikely.
"Lost and trying to find you. Where are you?"
"Chasin' stinky, where else?"
"I need a location, HB. Like whatever road you're standing in the middle of."
Hellboy only grunted in response. "Listen, E, I got this. Go back to the library. Mr. Blue Fins could use the help. He wants you to look at something."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," came his curt reply.
Erica sighed. She'd spent the past few minutes running around the streets of New York and hadn't even gotten to see any of the action. But that might be a good thing, she reflected, considering my high degree of involvement with the last two missions. And anyway, Hellboy needs to get his attitude worked out of his system. He's always like this after he's grounded.
"Hey, Abe?" she said, speaking into her earphone.
"Yes?"
"I'm on my way back. Hellboy says he's got it under control."
She decided to walk through the alleys to get back to the Machen Library. The sidewalks were so crowed that it would actually be faster, and it wasn't like she was afraid of being mugged or anything. She was safe.
XXXXX
An Alley in New York
Kroenen crouched on the edge of the apartment building roof, waiting. The wind blew against his back, curled around him, and swirled off into the darkness, but he wasn't cold. He looked over the rooftops; he was only a block or so from the Machen Library. Erica was nearby; he could feel her presence on the edge of his mind. The sand in his veins writhed as he felt her frustration come to him through the blood bond he shared with her. Yes, she was very close. All he had to do was wait.
He was a patient man, but his excitement was making it difficult for him to sit still; he took off his left glove and idly picked at the crumbling cement on the edge of the roof, crushing it between his mechanical fingertips. In the past sixty years Kroenen hadn't faced a foe who had succeeded in doing anything more serious than harassing him. Tonight that would change. I've been looking forward to this fight with you, Erica, he thought, gazing out over the rooftops.
The assassin's muscles tensed as his eyes caught moment in the alley below. His waiting had been rewarded; the streetlight at the end of the alley cast just enough light for him to recognize the young woman wearing a black trench coat: Erica.
How convenient. She's alone. I thought she might be, Kroenen thought. His fingers gripped the key of his clockwork heart; a few practiced flicks of his wrist had his clockwork ticking smoothly, ready for action. I know my Angel too well, he thought with satisfaction. He silently descended from his perch and started down the fire escape. She's walked right into my trap.
Down in the alley, the blue light of the locator on Erica's belt shone eerily in the darkness as she strode along. She hummed a vague tune under her breath, idly trying to remember the words. It really is a nice night; I wish I could just join the crowds and enjoy it. And I can't imagine Abe really needs me for anything back at the library…
A bizarre, tingly sensation set the skin on her neck crawling; the disquieting sensation moved down from her neck to her shoulders, and then down her back, following her spine. Erica's humming died away and she shuddered violently.
Someone—or something, given that it was Halloween—was watching her.
Erica reached for the handles of her baton swords; her hands slid easily around the hilts, almost like she was slipping on a pair of favorite gloves. She gripped the hilts and stopped walking. She glanced around, pretending to be casual about it. The alley was empty except for the misshapen, grotesque shadows of a dumpster and some overflowing trashcans.
Still, that feeling…
The presence was oddly familiar; dark—something she felt more instinctively than with her senses. She strained her ears for the slightest sound and peered into the darkness that surrounded her. Her efforts were useless: the dim, sickly yellow light of the distant streetlight was too far away; the alley was hung with thick folds of darkness that seemed to ooze from the brick walls. Now she was uneasy. Erica turned around in a full circle, not bothering to be subtle about it. But there was nothing there.
Above her Kroenen slunk through the shadows that clung to the fire escape, silently advancing towards the object of his murderous obsession. He silently clambered onto the railing of the fire escape and perched above Erica, his eyes locked on her. Only a short drop of a few feet separated them. He watched her; she was completely oblivious of his presence but seemed aware of her impending doom: she was scanning every inch of her surroundings. Kroenen's hands tightened on the railing and his muscles tensed as he prepared to spring.
And that was when he spotted the puddle of rainwater near her feet—and that the dark water was reflecting his mask as if he were looking into a mirror.
Scheiße! Kroenen cursed mentally. He had made a mistake.
Erica turned in place. Nothing. There's nothing here, she thought, trying to reinforce what her eyes told her. But her gut instinct still rebelled.
The cold autumn wind whistled down the alley, bringing an odd scent to her nose. It, too, was familiar; like leather and boot polish and something else she couldn't quite place. But it didn't matter; the scent set her nerves on fire and they screamed danger at her. The softly moaning wind caught several withered leaves and caused them to take a life of their own; they skittered mouse-like across the pavement at her feet. Unnerved, Erica glanced down at the dry rustle and spotted a puddle with the reflection of the starless night sky on its surface. The position of the reflected moon reminded her how late it was. I should be getting back. Wait. What the…? She peered down at the puddle. Something else was reflected in the dark water. Something hanging above her. And wearing a familiar black mask.
Kroenen.
Erica's heart stopped. She stared, horror-struck by the unexpected, nightmarish image. She was suddenly aware of the soft ticking filling the night air, and of the other smell she hadn't been able to place. It was blood. A scream thrashed around in her throat, trying to claw its way out, but she silenced it by biting her lip so hard that she tasted blood.
Slowly, she raised her head. Two soulless dark lenses stared back down at her.
And then Kroenen jumped from the fire escape.
Erica didn't think; she quickly backed out from under him and drew her baton swords. A short distance away from her Kroenen landed gracefully—but disturbingly spider-like—on his feet with his baton swords drawn. The blades glittered malevolently; the eyes of his mask were fixed on her. Erica's heart started up again, hammering loudly in her chest as her brain screamed at her to run, run, RUN! She ignored it; if she ran she would end up with a knife in her back.
"Erica," Kroenen hissed softly, menacingly; murderously.
Slowly, elegantly, Kroenen moved to her right, trying to circle around her and unnerve her at the same time. She turned so she could keep facing him directly; if she lost sight of him she'd be dead—
Kroenen rushed at her and she blocked his blades, fending off the attack as he passed. She raised her blades to attack—he was gone. He had disappeared into the shadows.
"Damn it," Erica muttered, cursing the darkness. She wished the light from the distant street penetrated the alley; being blind around Kroenen was a death sentence. He, unlike her, could see in the dark. Which meant he knew where she was. Erica looked around nervously, her heart hammering. Kroenen's raspy breathing was practically in her ear—and still she couldn't see him. There was a rush of movement behind her and she whirled around as his swords came down, shining like lightening in the dark alley and slicing towards her throat and stomach. She blocked his blades, and before the sharp sound of clashing metal had died he had melted into the night again, leaving her breathless.
He's too damned fast,Erica thought. She turned in place, determined not to let him get behind her again. He was like a shadow: invisible in the night and as impossible to catch as smoke.
"Enjoying our game of cat and mouse?" Kroenen's disembodied voice called mockingly from the darkness surrounding her.
"Stop toying with me," Erica snapped, scanning the shadows as she tried to pinpoint where his voice was coming from. "If you're going to attack me, just do it!"
"But where's the fun in that? There would be no time for you to prepare for a good fight—and that would be so disappointing for me, when I've been looking forward to it for all these years. I don't want to just kill you and be done with it; I want it to be something worth remembering."
The assassin watched Erica from the shadows; the suspense of waiting for his next attack was practically killing her. She's afraid, he thought with a thrill. Everything about her—her movements, her expressions, her breathing—told him she was wonderfully, deliciously afraid of him.
He saw Erica glance furtively at the shadows and then reach for the blue light on her locator, intending to alert the others that she was in danger.
"Oh, no, Erica," Kroenen hissed, spitting her name like a curse. "No one will interfere!"
He sheathed his left baton sword and rushed from the darkness as she turned towards his voice. He grabbed her arm, slipped behind her, and put his blade to her throat. Kroenen felt Erica's body tense as she froze, not daring to move. He held her arm in an iron grip and yanked roughly, pulling her backwards until she ran into his chest. She was trapped!
"That's better, Erica. It's astonishing how well you can behave when you have a knife at your throat," he murmured. "You're making this much more difficult than it needs to be."
"Difficult? Of course I am! I don't want to die!" Erica gritted out through her clenched teeth. Her fear had made her angry.
"I know." Kroenen released his bruising grip on her arm but kept the blade at her throat with the edge digging into her skin, threatening to cut. "So don't move. You know the consequences should you disobey."
Kroenen's left hand reached for the utility belt clipped around her waist. Erica shuddered with anger and disgust as she felt his fingers fasten on the belt's clasp and begin to undo it one handed.
"Get your damn hands off of me!"
"Shh," he murmured. He dug the blade into her throat a little harder to silence her. "I'm as eager to get back to our fight as you are. I just want to ensure we aren't interrupted by any of your friends."
With a soft metallic clatter the clasp came undone and the belt came loose. Kroenen held it up so she could see it and then deliberately closed his left hand around the glowing blue light—and crushed it.
The crunch of the splintering plastic and metal made Erica's stomach twist sickeningly. Her hope of help vanished. Scheiße, she thought. A moment later Kroenen grabbed the earphone clipped to her ear and ripped the device off; he tossed it down the alley and it was swallowed by the night.
Kroenen held his hand up in front of her face. Erica tensed, expecting him to hit her, and then stared with a kind of fascinated horror. Is his hand…metal? An uncomfortable memory flashed before her mind's eye: she had stabbed his left wrist as they fought in the ruins; doubtless the explosion of the portal generator had finished the destruction she had begun.
Kroenen flexed his fingers and rolled his wrist. "Ingenious, isn't it?" He didn't wait for a reply; he seized her ponytail and pulled, forcing her head backwards and exposing her throat even more. Now it was hard for her to breathe; he savored the moment as he listened to her gasping for breath. There was an edge of panic to her breathing, now; his skeletal grin widened and he twined his mechanical fingers through her hair.
"And just think, I owe it all to you," he murmured in her ear; his voice, dangerously calm and polite, dripped with venom. "I'm not bitter at all. And to prove my gratitude, I'm going to return the favor."
Erica's stomach clenched. OH. MY. GOD. Her mind raced as she desperately tried to think of a way out that wouldn't end with her throat cut or one of her hands severed. She had to do something. NOW.
"Right hand or left?" he asked. "I'm actually giving you a choice; something you didn't give—"
Erica slammed her body backwards against his chest. Kroenen stumbled and the arm holding his baton sword left her throat and flailed at the air—Erica swiftly brought her baton sword up to protect her throat; there was a horrible, metallic shriek as the two blades connected. Kroenen pulled at her hair—she whipped her other baton sword behind her head and sheared off the few inches of hair he was holding onto. She spun around to face him.
They stood a few feet apart, staring at each other. Erica's chest heaved and the unevenly cut ends of her hair fell gently around her face and tickled her neck. The eyes of Kroenen's mask glinted eerily as he gazed down at the short chestnut strands of hair he held; he dropped them and they drifted down to the pavement.
He came at her; his attack forced her back against the rough brick wall of the alley. One of his baton swords glanced off her crossed blades and sank into the brick an inch from her head. He snarled, tugged his blade free, and struck at her again, twisting one of his blades so it caught one of her baton swords and tore it from her grasp; her blade landed several feet away, out of her reach. Kroenen immediately snatched at her wrist and hurled her away from the wall and out into the alley—Erica's arms flailed as she tried to regain her balance—he hooked one of his feet around her ankle and pulled—Erica's legs slipped out from under her and she fell to the ground with a cry. Her face smashed into the ground and the rough pavement spilt her lip open. She spotted her utility belt lying on the ground beside her and her heart leapt as she spotted the dagger on it. Maybe if I can reach—! The piercing whistle of Kroenen's descending blades alerted her to her danger; she rolled over and brought up her remaining baton sword as his blades came down on her body.
CRASH!
He pressed down, mercilessly forcing the sharp edge of her own sword closer and closer to her face. Erica's arm shook as she tried desperately to maintain the few precious inches of space between her face and the blades. Her free hand scrabbled frantically at the ground as she tried to reach her utility belt; her fingers touched the cool handle of the dagger and she snatched at it, then pulled it free! She spotted Kroenen's boot—and stabbed him. She felt the blade go through the leather boot and sink into his flesh. Kroenen snarled and backed off as she pulled the dagger free; by the time she scrambled to her feet he was on her again.
Erica realized she had to do something. She couldn't fight forever, and she couldn't kill Kroenen because he couldn't die. She simply could not win. She had to buy herself some time; with any luck BPRD would figure out that she was missing and send help. But she wouldn't live that long unless she could keep Kroenen away from her. Maybe surprising him would make him more cautious of her and give her time. But what was something he wouldn't expect from her? He wouldn't expect surrender, but that wouldn't get me anywhere. I have to defend myself, she thought as she blocked another blow. I have to fight, and Kroenen expects me to fight—but he wouldn't expect me to run! Of course, neither would I. I can't outrun him, and if I lose sight of him, I'll be dead for sure.
She took a deep breath; she knew what she was about to do was practically suicidal. Kroenen's baton sword sliced towards her—Erica ducked under his arm and plunged her dagger deep into his stomach, then pulled up sharply on the blade, slicing through cloth and flesh. White sand poured from the gash like water; dust rose in the clear night air as the sand cascaded down Kroenen's body.
Erica let go of the dagger and scooped up her baton sword from the ground. And she ran.
Kroenen stood still for a moment, just as surprised by her attack and his wound as much as he was surprised by the incredibly stupid decision Erica had just made. But he recovered quickly. If I was really trying to kill you, Erica, you'd get yourself killed faster by trying to escape from me this way, he thought. He plucked her dagger from his stomach and tossed it away. He ran after her. The assassin lived for the chase, the hunt; he knew Erica wouldn't get far: he'd already tired her with their battle. She glanced back at him as she ran; her pale face was like a glowing beacon in the darkness, and Kroenen saw her eyes widen with fear as she realized he was following her.
Erica ran; her jackboots pounded against the pavement and splashed through a muddy puddle that had spread out from a blocked gutter. Kroenen's footsteps were silent; she had no idea how close or far behind he was.
And at the moment, she was too afraid to look.
XXXXX
A Street in New York
Myers's hand was covered in blood, and his arm was throbbing painfully. Not far from where he stood, the road was blocked by the van Hellboy had smashed, as well as by the cars that had swerved to avoid colliding with the van. Police car lights flashed and civilians milled around, trying to get a closer look at the road. And now Hellboy was gone.
I can't believe this. My first day on the job and I nearly get eaten by a monster, run over by a car, and then the guy I'm supposed to be watching gives me the slip, Myers thought. And now I'm going to have to tell the Professor. Great. Just great.
XXXXX
The Machen Library
New York
Broom watched as agents went about their designated jobs; some marked off the smashed glass cases with tape, others snapped photographs or wrote on notepads. Abe was in the center of the room, standing over a pile of broken glass and what was unmistakably a black rose and baton sword—both of which, Broom knew, had to belong to Kroenen; Erica had never entered the library. Abe hadn't touched them yet; he was waiting for Erica to get back so he could see if she had any ideas about why they had been left behind.
"Professor."
Broom turned to see Manning approaching him, stiff and frowning as usual. Manning opened his mouth to continue—Agent Moss suddenly appeared beside Broom and cut in.
"Myers just called in," Agent Moss reported, ignoring Manning's irritated frown. "The bad news is Hellboy is missing. He turned off his locator and no one's been able to reach him since then."
Professor Broom's heart sank, but he couldn't say he was surprised—just disappointed. He glanced at Manning and saw the man's face contort with frustration and anger; Agent Moss saw it too and smiled sheepishly at the Professor, as if to apologize for his bad timing.
"The good news is that Hellboy killed Sammael," Agent Moss said. "And all the agents are accounted for and uninjured with the exception of Agent Myers, who sustained some minor cuts and bruises on his arm from being hit by a car."
"Great. I love it when I don't have to inform the departed's dear ones that it's going to be a closed casket funeral," Manning said in an irritated tone.
The Professor ignored him; he was used to Manning by now. Very used to him; Broom smiled slightly, he knew word for word the speech Manning was about to make about how Hellboy kept escaping.
"And Erica?" Abe asked, approaching them.
Moss frowned. "I don't know. Myers didn't say anything about her."
"She should have been back by now, Professor," Abe said, his dark eyes full of worry.
"I agree," Broom replied.
"I'll check where she is," Moss said. He pulled a PDA from his pocket and turned it on; the small display revealed an electronic map of New York City. Moss used the stylus to zoom in on the area around the library and then handed the PDA to Professor Broom. Now the map was covered in tiny blinking blue dots labeled with names; if Hellboy hadn't vanished to visit Liz, there would have been a red dot on the map to represent him. Yellow dotted lines traced the paths the blue dots had taken. Broom's eyes searched the map for Erica's name. He didn't see it, so, thinking he had missed it, he scanned the screen again. And then again.
"Erica isn't on it," Abe said quietly.
The fish man pointed to a yellow dotted line that ended abruptly in a maze of alleys, as if it had been sheared off with an axe. There was no dot, no name.
"Her locator must have been damaged," Moss suggested. "Or she turned it off for some reason. We can call her, see if she answers her earphone."
"That won't be necessary," said Abe quietly. His voice was strained, and there was a faraway look in his black eyes that the Professor knew meant the fish man was psychically searching for Erica. "She's not wearing it anymore. Kroenen found her."
There was dead silence for several seconds. "Where is she?" Broom asked, his voice tense with worry. His pulse shot up until his heart was racing dizzyingly, and he clutched his cane for support.
Abe shook his head, his brow furrowed with frustration and concern. "I don't know. Alleys, somewhere. But she's still alive."
"Great time for Hellboy to be missing," Moss said tensely, he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of anxiety. "Just goes to show that no matter how bad the situation is, it can get worse. I'll send some agents to look for—"
"No. Don't," Abe said, his voice heavy. He shook his head slowly. "It won't do any good. Erica could be anywhere, and sending agents out to look for her will only risk more lives. Erica can do this. I know she can. We just have to wait, and do what we can here…."
For a moment, Broom forgot himself, and reached out to put a comforting hand on the fish man's slumped shoulders, but just as the Professor realized what he was doing and pulled away, Abe turned and silently wandered back to the sword and rose lying on the floor.
Manning raised an eyebrow. "What's with him?"
XXXXX
An Alley in New York
The cold autumn air ripped through Erica's throat as she gasped for breath. Kroenen was still behind her. She had tried to lose the assassin by turning down other alleys, but had only succeeded in getting herself lost.
And behind her, Kroenen—damn him!—was adding to her fear for his own amusement; his whispery, harsh voice carried through the night so clearly that it was as if he was beside her as he hissed out an obscene, chant-like lullaby:
"Soon I'll lay you down to sleep, I pray that Hell, your soul to keep…"
Ahead of her, Erica spotted a break in the alley where another alley crossed it: another alley she could run down, a way for her to escape from the nightmarish maze of concrete and brick. A faint spark of hope rose in her and she ran faster, though her muscles burned and threatened to cramp. Maybe if—I—can get—ahead, she thought.
"If you should die before my thirst for blood I slake, I pray that Darkness, your soul to take!"
She reached the crossroads and went left—a black form leapt at her from the cover of a cluster of trashcans! Erica yelped and jerked away, but she wasn't fast enough; the black form barked as she crashed into it and they both tumbled to the ground; the pavement bit roughly into her knees and cheek and forehead. Erica moaned and slowly sat up, slightly stunned. Blood dripped from the cuts on her face. A yard away the very large stray dog scrambled to its feet and growled at her before it took off and vanished into the darkness.
Erica got to her feet and glanced behind her. She almost died: Kroenen hadn't wasted any time; he had caught up and was only a few meters away. Her muscles protested as she wearily started running again; the skin on her spine crawled as she sensed the closing proximity of the assassin's blades.
Kroenen glanced down as he passed the spot where Erica's blood lay in crimson streaks that shone wetly in the moonlight. The memory of stabbing her in the shoulder sixty years ago sprang into his mind: her blood all over his blades, his hands, his clothes. He came to one conclusion: it hadn't been enough. He wanted more. More of that delicious scarlet colored liquid, every beautiful drop falling in agonizing payment for her treachery.
Besides, he loved the color.
Fortunately he knew he was about to see a lot if it: Erica wasn't going anywhere.
Erica was exhausted; her lungs felt like she was breathing razor blades instead of cold autumn air. She spotted a light ahead of her where the alley narrowed and curved right. Her heart leapt with the hope that the light was coming from the street, that she could run out there and lose herself among the crowds and traffic where Kroenen wouldn't follow. She rounded the turn. And slid to a stop.
"Mein Gott," she murmured, barely able to speak through her gasping. I am going to die.
The light was only moonlight. The solid, blank walls of buildings rose up before her on three sides. There were no windows, no doors to force open; no rainspout to climb up. It was a dead end. There was nowhere left to go. And her fate was somewhere behind her, closing in on her.
Erica wanted to cry and scream with rage at the same time. There was no way, after all she had been through, that it was going to end like this. What would the BPRD think when they found what was left of her? What would the Professor think? Or Hellboy, who had grown up knowing her? Or Abe? Abe, she thought, God, Abe!
She couldn't fight anymore; she was exhausted. Her chest heaved with exertion as she turned around to face the only exit and entry to the dead end; she wanted to be able to see Kroenen when he rounded the corner. He's going to kill me, she thought, he's going to kill me. Oh, God…
Kroenen appeared, the shadows melting from his body. His mask and the intricate designs on his chest plate glimmered eerily in the moonlight. Upon seeing her, he slowed to a walk, and a slow one, like a spider that knew its prey was trapped securely in its web—he knew he could take his time to deliver the killing blow. The ticking of his clockwork heart was unnaturally loud in the tense silence of the alley.
"Running wasn't one of your better ideas," Kroenen said quietly. "Why waste all that energy running away when you knew I would catch you and leave your mangled body out for the ravens?" His voice was soft and pleasant, but vehement. It was a sharp contrast with his words, and all the more frightening because of it.
"I had to try something."
Kroenen approached her leisurely, and Erica backed away from him; he watched her patiently until her back was almost against the opposite wall. She stood there looking at him, unable to go any further. She was still trying to recover from running; the hot air she breathed out turned into little puffs of white fog that dissipated into the night.
"I thought you were going to escape me a few times. A turn here, a turn there, and you'd be gone. But no. And I'm so glad you didn't; you've escaped me for far too long," he said. He laughed softly at the fear on her face. "No need to look so tense, Erica; you look like you're in front of a firing squad. But then, they would be faster than I intend to be with you, no?" He beckoned. "Come here."
Erica, of course, didn't move.
Kroenen chuckled. "I didn't expect you to obey. You've always been too proud to submit. So I will come to you."
XXXXX
A Bar in New York
The bar was packed with people celebrating Halloween. Some were celebrating a little too much: a few drunks were getting rowdy over at one of the tables; they had made a makeshift 'tail' out of a paper straw wrapper and safety pin and were attempting to pin it onto someone dressed like a donkey. Halloween themed music was blasting over the speaker system, and the DJ had turned on some brightly colored lights that whirled and threw their beams crazily around the room.
A slender, young Native American sat at the bar, compulsively shuffling a worn deck of playing cards and idly watching the TV on the wall across from him. His long brown-black hair was tied back in a loose ponytail to show off the two gold hoops he had in one ear. On the back of his neck, above the collar of his black leather jacket, was the beginning of a black tattoo of a slender vine of thorns; beneath his jacket it wandered across his shoulders and spiraled down his arms. The right side of the man's face was slack; he'd lost his muscular control in it years ago due to a stroke. Of course, his injury in that fight two years ago with Ezekiel hadn't helped. But Ezekiel was dead now. The man grinned.
A drunken man dressed as a cowboy plunked himself down on the barstool beside the Native American. "So, what're you?" the cowboy asked, staring pointedly at the slack side of the Native American's face. "I mean, dressed as?"
"Myself," he snapped. Then, feeling hurt, added sarcastically, "Isn't my face nice? Don't need a mask at all, do I, someone as handsome as me?"
"And humble too," the man muttered. Obviously the man was too drunk to realize what had been meant, or that he was being rude. The Native American rolled his eyes.
Suddenly the door was pushed open by a very large black dog. No one moved to stop it, though there was general laughter as people spotted it. The dog made straight for the Native American at the bar and put its big front paws on his knees. The dog's pink tongue hung out as it panted; its bright blue eyes were oddly human.
"Cute dog," the cowboy remarked, "Is he yours?"
"I'm a she, thank you. And I'm not a dog," the large black 'dog' said; the drunk cowboy stared open mouthed. The young werewolf turned her attention back to the Native American, who continued idly shuffling his deck of cards. "Luke, that woman that helped us a few day ago—Erica—she ran into me in an alley. She's in trouble. Some guy dressed like a ninja is trying to kill her."
"Cutie's in trouble? I knew it. I warned her before I left last time." Luke shook his head and the hoops in his ears jangled. He neatened up his cards and tapped them sharply on the counter to get them even before he put them in a pocket of his jacket. The black werewolf got down on all fours again as Luke spun around on the bar stool to face the two tables behind him.
"Hey!" Luke yelled above the music, "Hey! Richard and Agatha's group! Yes, you! Cutie's gotten herself in trouble again."
Most of the people in the bar looked at Luke as if he'd had too much to drink. But the people at the two tables—all of them werewolves in human form—tossed back the rest of their drinks and stood up. Their eyes glinted and their fingers curled in anticipation of their transformation.
"Come on," Luke said; he opened the door and stepped out into the night. The others, werewolves too young to enter the bar, were lounging on a bench; it was in shadow, so they all looked human enough, though they could have remained werewolves if they'd chosen. But all of that would change when they stepped into the moonlight, regardless of the phase of the moon. Luke beckoned to them, grinning. "Let's go sink our teeth into some assassin!"
Author's Notes: Cliffhanger! What will happen to Erica? Will Luke and the other werewolves get there in time? What will Abe do? And where's Hellboy? All this and more to be answered in chapter 14, along with a surprise! Also, for anyone wondering, or who thought it seemed familiar, Kroenen's 'obscene lullaby' was actually a well known child's prayer before I twisted it. Please review!