Ferghus waved his hand in front of him, creating a barrier of fire. Imogen squeezed her fist again and more quills flew. This time, they hit the fire wall and frayed in the air. The Irishmen started to laugh, but then suddenly he jerked, and his eyes went wide. He staggered and his mouth opened. He paused, as if waiting to see what would happen. He started to breathe hard.
He glared at the young woman clad in mourning. “What did you do? What in hell did you do?” He lowered his head, summoning his focus and pushed a hand toward Imogen. A column of searing flame roared out at her. She screamed and leapt to the side with her black gown catching fire. Behind her, the drapes flared into red flame and several panes of glass shattered.
“No!” Charlotte shouted. She bounded two steps and jumped onto the back of the sofa. Her frame was already beginning to grow, arms lengthening, legs turning powerful and oddly jointed. Her pretty frock ripped as muscles expanded. By the time she sprang from the back of the furniture, her furious expression hardened and exploded into dark snarling features with monstrous eyes and rows of sharp teeth.
Ferghus stumbled back, unprepared for this new horror that launched at him. He raised his arm in feeble defense as the werewolf slammed into his chest. They piled back against the bookshelves. Claws and teeth ripped into him. The room filled with the whoosh of igniting books.
Malcolm distantly heard the sound of the werewolf’s satisfying snarling. The crackling roar of walls and books and furniture igniting surrounded him. Something slammed against the flaming wooden prison of the door and shifted it off his legs and hip. He pushed frantically with his bare hands. Ignoring the pain, he hauled himself out to find Imogen slumped over the end of the smoldering door. She struggled to rise. Malcolm didn’t see any blood, but much of her mourning clothes were burned away. He placed a hand on her to keep her still but she struggled under it, her inhuman eyes focused on the fight behind them.
Malcolm turned and saw Charlotte with her jaws clamped down hard on Ferghus’s shoulder. The elemental’s hand was around her neck trying to dislodge her. It suddenly flared with an intense flame that bloomed over Charlotte, obscuring her. The smell of burning flesh reached Malcolm, cloying at his throat. Bile rose when he realized Ferghus was roasting the child alive. Charlotte’s growls suddenly became a high-pitched screech of pain and distress. Her claws scrabbled across the Irishman’s chest. Ferghus screamed in panic and a wave of blistering heat roared over Malcolm, forcing him to dive for cover.
Ferghus and Charlotte careened off a wall and the flames abated momentarily. Malcolm scrambled to his feet and saw Charlotte. Most of the fur of her upper torso and face was seared off, revealing burned glistening red flesh beneath that boiled into blisters. She had little control over her movements, her pathetic scorched limbs sagged. Still her jaws remained locked on Ferghus, refusing to release the elemental.
“No!” Malcolm shouted, fumbling for his pistols, but they weren’t there. He didn’t pause to search for them. Instead he picked up a heavy fireplace poker from the floor. With both hands, he swung the iron pole and connected with Ferghus’s back. The Irishman howled and swung his fiery left hand. The Scotsman roared in rage and slammed the hard iron against the man’s hand. Bones shattered. Ferghus screamed.
“Charlotte, let go!” Malcolm hoarsely shouted into the searing air.
The young werewolf continued to clamp down on the fire elemental out of pure instinct or excruciating pain. Her sobs of agony could still be heard over the crackling of the flames. Ferghus flailed wildly in an attempt to dislodge her. Charlotte blindly bit deeper. The agony caused fire to surge like a molten fissure from Ferghus’s shattered arm. Gobs of flames flew outward and slapped against Charlotte’s burnt flesh, charring it black. Her skin cracked and peeled away. Fire licked at Malcolm’s shirt, but it didn’t stop him from swinging the iron poker against the Irishman’s spine.
Charlotte could hold on no longer. Even her instinct failed. Her massive jaws tore a chunk of muscle from Ferghus as her ravaged body slumped to the floor. With a harsh rattling breath, she collapsed and didn’t move. Malcolm could barely recognize her charred form and all sense of reason fled.
The iron bar crashed down into Ferghus’s unprotected gut, bending him over. When the man collapsed on the burning rug, Malcolm kicked him onto his back. He sank to his knees, straddling the fire elemental. Malcolm dropped the bar and began beating Ferghus with his fists. The Irishman’s head snapped back and forth with the blows, blood spurting from his mouth and nose, splattering the room and Malcolm alike. Ferghus lifted a feeble arm to fend Malcolm off, but the Scotsman shoved it aside and continued his brutal attack.
From a great distance, he recognized Imogen’s cries. Flames rolled along the ceiling like a lake of fire. Bits of hot ash floated in the air around him. All he saw was the monster trapped under his fists. Rage blinded him. Deafened him.
Ferghus had stopped moving, no longer even defending himself, limp on the bloody floor. Malcolm didn’t stop.
Someone grabbed him from behind. “Malcolm! Enough!”