“Run!” shouted Father Paul.
Allen was already moving, Amy and Penny right behind him. He heard the pistol shots at his back, the metallic tunks of slugs piercing armor. He didn’t look back. He had the stone. He would take it to his mistress.
Allen and the girls made it past the ghost knights right before they closed the circle. He hit the stairs and went up, grunting as he carried the box, sweat oozing from every pore. Gunshots echoed behind him.
He kept going. Up and up.
Father Paul watched Allen and the girls make it past the knights, but the suits of armor closed in, cutting him off. He and Finnegan had been surrounded.
They fired until their magazines clicked empty, the shots punching useless holes in the armor plating.
“No good, Boss,” Finnegan said. “Got any magic wands?”
Father Paul grabbed an urn off a nearby pillar, launched it at the nearest knight with a two-handed throw. It struck the helmet, exploded in a cloud of ash, the helmet clattering away, shards of clay flying. The knight dropped its sword, began to twirl in a lost circle without its head to guide it.
Finnegan dove for the sword, grabbed it, popped to his feet and swung the blade, lopped off the metal arm of a knight that had been coming up behind Father Paul, who knelt and scooped up another sword.
They parried clumsy blows from the ghost knights. The clattering suits of armor were slow and awkward, but sheer numbers threatened to swamp the priests.
“Cut your way to the door,” Father Paul shouted over the clanging weapons.
They hacked at limbs, sent helmets flying.
They were almost to the door when a knight thrust a long blade into Finnegan’s chest. The big Irishman yelled, kicked away the empty suit of armor, pulled the sword out of himself, and let it fall to the floor. Blood gushed. He stumbled after Father Paul through the door to the other side. He collapsed, rolled onto his back.
“Oh, no.” Father Paul knelt next to Finnegan.
“The door.” Blood gurgled from Finnegan’s mouth.
Ghost knights still lumbered after them.
Father Paul grabbed the lever, shoved it back into place. The door began to roll shut just as one of the ghost knights attempted to step through. The heavy stone door tried to close, jammed the suit of armor, slowly crushing it like an old car at a junkyard. It stayed jammed like that, a few of the ghost knight’s gauntleted fingers still twitching, helmet crushed flat.
Father Paul returned to Finnegan. “We’ll get you to a doctor. Hang on.”
Finnegan laughed, his teeth stained red. “Don’t kid me, okay? Get out of here.”
“Shut up, you stupid Irish lump. Just stay still. I’ll find a phone, and then we’ll call in some help. It won’t take too long to-”
Father Paul realized he wasn’t talking to anyone anymore. Finnegan’s eyes stared at nothing, lifeless and empty.
It had been a long time since Father Paul had performed last rites; he stumbled though them half blind, tears blurring his vision.
FORTY-NINE
Allen’s shoulders and forearms burned with effort. The metal handles of the lead box dug harshly into his fingers, ground against the bones.
The girls were screeching something high-pitched and panicked behind him. He tuned it out. He had to deliver the stone or die trying. The compulsion throbbing within him was almost painful now.
Panting, he made it to the top of the stairs. He staggered through the cathedral to the front door, pausing only once to breathe deeply and lean against a pew.
“Wait!” Penny called after him. “We have to go back for Father Paul.”
Allen didn’t wait; he jogged to the front door and kicked it open.
And froze in his tracks.
A thick fog had rolled in, gray and damp. It completely shrouded the cathedral. Allen couldn’t see three feet in front of him. Amy and Penny halted behind Allen, gaping at the fog.
“Where did this come from?” Penny asked.
Amy shook her head. “I don’t think it’s natural.”
“I have to go.” Allen began to walk into the fog.
Penny and Amy both grabbed him.
“What?” He shrugged them off. “Let me go.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Amy tightened her grip on Allen.
A steady gust of wind, nearly arctic, blew their hair back from their faces. They shrunk from it, startled.
The fog began to swirl. It split apart, a passage through the gray opening up before them. A tunnel in the mist.
There she stood at the end, an eerie blue glow around her.
“Cassandra,” breathed Allen. He stumbled toward her.
Penny grabbed for him but missed. “What are you doing, idiot?”
“We’ve got to help him,” Amy said. “She’s controlling him.”
Amy ran toward Allen, but Cassandra moved like a blur, was in front of the girl in a split second, catching her across the jaw with a sharp backhand. Amy yelped and crumpled to the ground.
Allen fell at Cassandra’s feet, pushed the box toward her, panting, almost unconscious from the exertion. “I b-brought it. Please. Just like you asked.”
Cassandra reached down, brushed her fingers against Allen’s check. Her touch felt like ice. “My wonderful brave boy.”
“Hands off, bitch.” Penny stood twenty feet away. She kicked off her deck shoes. “He’s mine.”
Cassandra’s slow smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Go away, little girl. Before you get hurt.”
“It’s go time.” Penny flexed her hands. Her face twitched. The transformation was abrupt and shocking, fur sprouting and spreading, mouth deforming, long savage teeth growing. Arms and shoulders stretching the fabric of the T-shirt but not ripping it. Razor claws at the ends of her long fingers.
Allen looked up from his place at the vampire’s feet, eyes wide. He’d seen the wolf, but he hadn’t seen her like this. She’d changed into some stage between human and wolf. It was still Penny’s face, but vicious, snarling, covered in fur. Penny preferred the term lycanthrope, but there was no doubt in Allen’s mind.
This was a werewolf.
Cassandra’s smile showed genuine amusement this time. “One of the old lupine clan. I’d heard there were still some of your kind about. This might prove sporting after all.”
Cassandra darted at Penny with lightning speed, hands outstretched, but the werewolf ducked under her reach raked claws across the vampire’s belly. Cassandra hissed pain, retaliated with a swift backhand, a glancing blow to Penny’s head. She growled, backed away. They squared off, circling around each other.
Penny leaped, claws out. Cassandra put a foot against her chest and fell back, kicked, used Penny’s own weight to send her sailing into the fog. Cassandra stood, fists up. Everything went dead quiet. A sad little part of Allen’s brain told him to get the hell up and run, but he only lay there. Watching and waiting.
Penny flew snarling out of the fog, striking at Cassandra’s face, three long rents in the flesh of the vampire’s cheek. No blood. Allen watched in amazement as the wounds closed over, the skin smooth once more.
The werewolf attacked again.
Cassandra stepped forward, caught Penny in midleap, held her by the throat, lifted her off the ground. The werewolf snarled and kicked. Cassandra balled up her fist and punched Penny with alarming might square in the forehead. Penny made the sound of a wounded animal, head flopped, dazed. Cassandra lifted the werewolf with both hands, hurled her flailing into the fog.
Allen heard her land with a crunch and a yelp.
The silence stretched. Penny didn’t return.
Cassandra smiled down at Allen. “That little distraction has been taken care of. Come. Bring the stone.”
Allen tried to lift the box. He had nothing left and collapsed to the ground. “I can’t.”
“Never mind, my darling.” Cassandra lifted the box like it was a basket of laundry, tucked it under one arm. With her other hand she lifted Allen to his feet. “Let us be going.”
Allen hesitated. “You have the stone. Can’t I stay? I… I’m so tired.”
Her eyes caught his. “Allen.”
The bite mark on his inner thigh flared hot. Desire for her radiated from it, soaked into every part of his body.
“Come along, Allen.”
A dreamy grin split Allen’s face. “Yes, of course. I obey, mistress.”
She took him by the hand, and they disappeared into the fog.
Amy felt a throbbing in her head, dirt and grit on her face. How long had she been lying there on the ground? Only a few minutes maybe. She started to push herself up, felt hands lifting her. She turned, fist ready to strike.
“It’s just me,” Father Paul said. “Easy does it.”
He helped her up. She immediately looked around, peering into the fog. “Oh, God. Where are they?”
“I just got here,” the priest said.
She told him about Cassandra. “I don’t know what happened after that.”
“The vampire took him,” came a voice from the fog.
Penny limped through the mist. She looked pale, hair matted. She held her side. “I landed kind of far away.”
Father Paul rushed to her side, helped hold her up. “What happened?”
“She has Allen. And the philosopher’s stone.”
“Damn.”
Another figure emerged from the fog, startling them. It was Father Starkes.
“Where have you been?” Father Paul didn’t try to hide his irritation. “I told you to guard the door.”