"But..." it mumbled, in puzzlement or in fear, "...what is happening?"
The dark symbols that covered him over were dissolving, losing coherence, and the voice emanating from beyond the grave had become a hollow, empty thing.
"This is no killing blow," she heard him say, then his head shook from side to side as if biting flies assailed him.
"No, it isn't," she said, "But, in the hands of someone who loves your son, it's enough.
“You didn't understand, but I did. Every time Clement came close to Braze, I saw your markings fade just a little, and Braze himself said that he felt a peace that he hasn't had in years. When I asked him what he meant, he replied that it was nothing less than blessed silence. If only for a short time, Braze was no longer overshadowed by his past.
“Then, the Journeyman himself confirmed my suspicions.”
Sara stepped close to the werewolf before her, its face twisting as the dark colors shifted and curled like a dying fire, then took hold of the sword's haft.
With a voice that had become weak, the thing said, "But, I love my son...."
"What you think you feel for him is not love," she said, as she held the sword's haft in both hands, "It's a corruption of love and it...is...wrong."
There was a momentary flare in the creature's eyes, then Sara heard its voice one last time.
There were no words, only a howl, a sound that echoed as it dwindled like a stone cast down a well without end.
"Take it out, Sara. Quickly…before it finishes the job." Braze's voice was weak but it was his voice and his alone.
With a quick tug, the sword came free of his flesh and Braze staggered to his feet, one hand clasped tightly to the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and pattered to the floor.
Sara let the sword fall to the floor, then rushed to her man.
"We need to get you to a hospital," she said.
Braze chuckled gently and pulled his hand away from his side. There where just a moment before an open wound bled, a wrinkled line of pink flesh was all that remained to mark the sword's passage.
He reached out to Sara, pulling her close to him, and with infinite care he rubbed his nose against hers.
"Being a werewolf has its advantages, my love."
Sara smiled and replied, "It looks like I have a lot to learn on the subject."
Braze smiled back at her as she held his body in her hands. And everywhere her hands wandered, there was only clean, vibrant skin, with no trace of shadow to be found.
"I shall be only too happy to teach you."
Lips upon lips, the world around them ceased to exist as they lost themselves in a kiss that went on and on and on....
The End
Afterword
“Ewww...it’s just so gross,” Agate said, wrinkling her nose.
Opal shrugged and moved one of the pieces closer to another then sat back upon her haunches to survey the result.
“Could’a been worse,” Opal replied, at last, “He could’a made us go out and pick up trash along the highway or something.”
Agate stood up and tried to brush the wrinkles out of the jumpsuit she was wearing. It was much too large for her, made of a thin nylon meant to be disposable, exactly the sort of thing professional painters wear and throw away at the end of each day.
“Well, whatever,” she said then paused as she reconsidered, “But, did you hear the way he said that...‘you must atone for your errors’?”
She put her hands on her hips and the plastic suit made a faint crackling sound.
“I mean who in the hell does he think is?”
Opal stood up beside her, a plastic bag in one hand. She fished around inside it then brought out a piece of folded cardboard.
“He’s our leader, Agate. And he’s right. I got too rambunctious for my own good. Both of us did.”
She unfolded the cardboard then bent down to stand it upright among the remains at their feet.
They both looked down at the words neatly painted on the makeshift sign, neither of them saying anything more.
At some silent signal, the two sultry women turned away then walked back to the barn and followed the dirt road leading away for a short distance.
Together, like mirror images or extraordinarily talented pantomime artists, they stripped off their jumpsuits, the rubber gloves on their hands, and the plastic booties from their feet.
They set it all in a small pile, then Agate squirted the entire contents of a small can of lighter fluid over everything.
One of them struck a match, then both women stepped to the side as black smoke rose into an otherwise bright, blue sky.
“Could’a been worse,” Opal repeated.
Agate nodded, then said brightly, “Hey Ope, what say we go for a nice run?”
“Sounds like a plan,” said the light skinned woman.
Then, like a cool summer breeze, two wolves, one light, the other dark, slipped into the forest. They made no sound as they ran and if anyone had been there to see them, they could have well imagined that the wolves were no more than a trick of shadow and light, no more substantial than the half-remembered echo of a dream of ghosts cloaked in the skins of animals.
A crow fluttered down from the clear sky to perch upon a bare tree branch. Then another descended to take a place beside the first. It did not take long for a third to join them as their glittering black eyes peered down at the old, abandoned well.
In front of it, body parts had been carefully placed to form the general shape of a man. A completely deconstructed man; a thick, leather belt coiled beside him.
And while the crows themselves could not read the words upon the cardboard sign, someone else would arrive eventually who could and this is what they would see:
Here lies a very bad man.
He got what he deserved, tho.
A thick odor wafted from the old well. It was strong enough that when they were done reading that sign, someone was bound to look down inside.
What they would find then would be all the proof they needed to know that the sign maker was right.
~~~
Clement shifted. The corner of the raised tomb was not very comfortable. Whoever made it had never intended that anyone sit on it. The truth being that sitting there like that was disrespectful.
Clement did not care, though. Not anymore.
A crowbar leaned against a second tomb in front of him. Its heavy lid had been pried slightly to one side, just enough to allow a man’s hand and arm to reach within.
The grey eyed man sighed. It was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined.
At last, he stood up just as a heavy hand settled upon his shoulder.
Clement startled, then he was spinning round at the same time as his own hand flew to his side, to a sword he no longer wore.
The Nephilim looked down at him, then shook its head.
“Are you certain of this, human?”
The man flexed his empty fist, then looked back down at the opened tomb.
“It seems about as good as anywhere else to put it,” he said.
A corner of the giant’s mouth lifted slightly in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.
“And you accuse me of being circuitous with my words.”
Clement only shrugged, then said, “Let’s just say I might have picked that up from you.”
The two of them fell silent then, both looking down at the ground. There, like a forgotten thing, a sword forged by an angel lay upon the gravel at the man’s feet.
The Nephilim eased his way beside Clement and the two of them sat down.
“And if I said that I regret it, human. Or, that I shall never do such a thing again...what then?”
Its voice was already deep, but the tone had grown heavier with undisguised remorse.
Clement sighed.
“I don’t think it matters. Chasing after vampires has lost its charms for me.”
The stone creature did not answer for a time, but when it did, Clement thought he heard something like enthusiasm.
“There are still uses for that sword, Clement. Can I call you that?”
The grey eyed man simply nodded.
“There are other things that prey upon men on this earth. Other things than blood drinkers or werewolves.
“Ancient things that are a fitting match to your talents and to the power of your blade.”
Clement did not respond. But neither did he turn away.
“I have caught the scent of such a one. She is old, older than they who lie at rest here, older even than these hills...this entire nation.
“And she is not the only one. However, she alone has proven herself to be wickedly crafty, only now finding the means to elevate herself from being simply malicious toward a dark magic that would render her positively malevolent.”
Clement sighed, then said, “Ok, I’m listening. But can’t you just get to the point for once? Just tell me what the hell you’re talking about, already.”
The Nephilim grumbled, then cleared its throat.
“Yes. Well. I speak of a creature who has committed a crime against me and my race.
“She has dared despoil the last resting place of a Nephilim, stealing an artifact that she must not be allowed to keep.”
Clement reached down to the sword, then stood up, hefting it.
“And you need my help?”
The Nephilim stood as well, his enormous shadow falling over the grey eyed man as he said, “Yes, I do.”
Clement turned away, saying over his shoulder, “And you have a plan, I suppose?”
The creature replied, “I do. But it is not without danger. For it to be successful, I must place my very life in your hands.”