“You!” she says. And then she punches me in the face.
“Ow! Gods, I actually prefer the ice cream.” I dodge another punch, then kick her in the stomach. She doubles over, stumbling back. “I don’t want to hurt you! Any of you! I’ve got to get to the werewolf.”
“We won’t let you hurt him!” The Slayer with the stick pushes herself up. In the darkness, she’s an indistinct mass of gorgeous curly dark hair and whirling kicks and fists. I dodge, jump up, grab a low branch, then swing a double kick into her chest. She flies backward, landing hard. The third one I hit with the phone is still on the ground, crying. It was a phone. I can’t have hurt her that bad.
The ice cream one has recovered. “He is our friend.”
“I’m not going to kill him! I’m trying to save him! And I’m trying to save you three, assuming you stop punching me.” I dodge a fist from the curly-haired Slayer. “Seriously! Stop. I’m on your side. I’m not going to kill the werewolf. I might have to knock him out so he doesn’t bite anyone, but that’s it.”
“It won’t be a …” There’s a whistling noise and we all throw ourselves down as a tranquilizer dart sings past us.
“Three hunters,” I hiss. “I promise I’m on your side. Let’s work together.”
“Taylor’s going to be useless,” the curly-haired Slayer whispers, gesturing at the crying Slayer. “And I—I don’t want to do any of this either.”
“Grab her and get her somewhere safe, then.” I look at the ice cream Slayer. “I’m Nina.”
“Chao-Ahn.” She frowns at me. Then she turns to the other Slayer. “Maricruz, get her out. Cling to the edges of the trees. We’ll find you when we’ve finished this.”
But Chao-Ahn’s hands are shaking, her full lips trembling. Come to think of it, all their attacks were clumsy, and their faces in the moonlight look terrified. Something’s happened that I don’t know about. Maybe Von Alston drugged them, or hurt them before releasing them as some sort of a handicap. My protective instinct flares, momentarily overpowering my punch-kick-kill instincts.
I shake my head. “No, you three should stay together. You’ll be stronger that way, and then I won’t have to worry about stumbling into one of you and attacking by accident again. I only have one job if you three are safe, and that’s getting the werewolf out alive. I can do it. I promise. Go to the edge of the tree line. I passed a huge dead oak on my way in. Climb it and wait.”
“For what?” Maricruz, the curly-haired one, asks. Taylor is wiping her face and standing with Chao-Ahn’s help.
“My signal.”
Chao-Ahn hands me my phone. “What signal?”
“The bat signal. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. You’ll know it’s me on account of I’m not a dude. Go!”
They hesitate for only a second, then take off running in the direction I came. I hope the hunter who shot at us doesn’t follow them. “Oh no,” I cry out, rolling my eyes. “I twisted my ankle. Don’t leave me behind! Wait for me!”
I jump for the lowest branch and silently pull myself up. It’s not long before the clumsy footsteps of a man trying for stealth in brand-new combat boots announces the presence of one of the hunters. I watch as the beard steps right beneath me, then two steps past. I drop to the ground and tap him on the shoulder.
“What the—” He whirls around, his face finding my fist.
“How’s that for pain tolerance?” I step over his prone, unconscious body, then relieve him of his weapons. I pick him up by one arm and a leg, swing him a few times to get momentum, and then launch him straight up into the trees. He catches on several branches about fifteen feet up, suspended like a rag doll. “Sleep tight,” I sing, then hurry deeper into the trees. As I run, I check over his gear.
“Bloody cheaters!” I curse, looking at a small device with a green dot blipping regularly. They know exactly where the werewolf is. What kind of a hunt is that? I adjust my course and pick up speed. I have to beat the other two. Beard took a detour, more determined to get me than get the werewolf, but I can’t count on that for the other hunters.
I watch, nervous, as the green dot gets closer and closer. Well, as I get closer and closer to it. It’s not moving at all, and hasn’t since I started looking. Did they drug the werewolf, too? It wouldn’t surprise me. None of these creeps would actually risk their lives for this. They want the imitation of life-and-death struggle, the pretense of it.
I slow down. I’m almost on the dot. Another possibility occurs to me—the other two have already killed the werewolf, and I’m about to run into them and a dead body. Do werewolves turn back into humans if they die? Or does their body stay forever in that state? Rhys would know. I hope I don’t find out.
Holding my breath, I creep up to a small clearing bathed in the cold light of the full moon. Sitting cross-legged in the middle, eyes closed, hands on his knees, is … a rather petite white man. Spiky reddish hair, nice face, flowing baggy clothes that could either be skater chic or Eastern mystic in origin. I look around, confused, but there’s not a slavering, fanged werewolf in sight.
“Hey,” I whisper. I have Beard’s big knife in my hand. This guy could be a hunter? He doesn’t look like one, though. The other two were in full gear. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“Wow. Those are big questions.” He opens his eyes and stares at me, nodding slowly. “Is it harder or easier to answer them as a Slayer? Because on the one hand, chosen! On the other hand, didn’t choose. Wow. Wow. Oh, you were probably asking my name.” He glances upward where the moon shines over us. “I’m trying really hard to stay calm right now. So if you could not stab me, I’d appreciate it. But this is fun. They told me there’d be another Slayer who would probably kill me. I liked my odds, though. I have good luck with Slayers, generally.”
“Are you—the werewolf? Did Von Alston mix up his order forms or something?”
The man stands, stretching. “I’m of the wolfish persuasion on occasion. But I didn’t feel like it tonight. Are we gonna go? I think we should go.”
“Right. Yeah.” I’m so confused. “Actually, before we go, they put a tracker on you.”
He checks his pockets, then pulls out a tiny metal cylinder the size of a pill. “I just thought the butler had wandering hands.”
I take the tracker. “Go to the edge of the tree line. There’s a huge dead oak. Can’t miss it. The other Slayers are waiting there for my signal.”
“Cool.” He sticks his hands back in his pockets and meanders out of the clearing.
Tracker on me, I go the opposite direction. In the end, it’s too easy. I climb a tree, wait until I hear two hunters approaching from either side, and then snap a branch. They both shoot their tranquilizers at each other, and then two bodies go down with loud thuds.
I drop back to the ground, relieve them of their weapons, and then give them the same tree treatment as Beard. Too bad they’re human, I think. Then I cringe. Where did that come from?
Feeling a little dirty with the realization that I would have liked to hurt them a lot more than I did, I run toward the dead oak. I don’t want to leave Doug in that house any longer than I have to, and my work is almost done.