With speed like a striking snake, the beast charged. It grabbed the elderly servant around the throat, lifting him like a rag doll into the air. The man’s gurgling scream was stifled.
Simon ran forward with a hoarse growl, uttering a dead word, and the sword flared blue. He drove the glowing blade into the werewolf’s side. The beast arched with a screech, throwing a powerful arm at Simon. He ducked, yanking out the blade as he did, and darted back as the creature turned toward him, dropping the servant. The werewolf attacked, but Simon’s blade darted like lightning to parry the wicked blows. A long claw caught the blade flat and sent the weapon skittering across the floor.
Nick extended his arms out to his side, gathering a wind, and slammed his hands together to blast it toward the monster. The force of the gale hurled the beast against a glass-fronted cabinet.
Simon uttered another phrase and wrenched the ornate mirror off the wall. It weighed several hundred pounds at least, but he wielded it like it was merely a lady’s vanity glass instead of something twice his height and breadth. He swung it about and slammed it against the hairy back of his opponent with an explosion of glass and dust. He hadn’t expected it to do anything more than to stagger the werewolf momentarily, but to his surprise the creature screamed an unholy sound and flailed in agony. Simon looked at the smashed glittering remnants on the floor.
“The glass,” Nick shouted, “must have a silver amalgam on it.”
Simon snatched a large sliver of broken mirror like a dagger, slicing the werewolf. The beast snarled and clutched its chest though the wound was a shallow one. Simon ran for his sword nearby as Nick tossed another fireball over Simon’s shoulder and struck the beast in the face. Blinded by pain and flame, the werewolf spun and bounded out the open door into the hallway. Simon cursed and tore out after it.
A lone figure stood facing the beast. A slender figure. A woman. It was Kate Anstruther.
Dread filled his soul at the thought of another death he could not prevent. “Get the bloody hell out of here,” Simon roared at her.
But she did not. Instead she strode forward, her hand reaching into her bag of all things. The idiot. The monstrous Lord Oakham was no Sir William Titchmarsh.
Kate’s hand whipped out the bulb filled with the debilitating dust and squeezed it in the werewolf’s face. The creature howled again, staggering backward, and sneezing violently. Instead of bowling through the determined woman toward the stairs, where a few onlookers stood in shock, it blindly fumbled across the hall, smashing through a closed door.
“Mad dog!” Kate shouted loudly, scattering the guests gathered behind her. They fled back down the way they had come.
Simon ran at the creature, tackling it. They tumbled into the room. He summoned his strength and grabbed hold of the muscular arms, jerking them back and trying to pin the beast into submission. But the werewolf could not be contained. It flexed and gave a mighty heave, throwing Simon into the path of the onrushing Kate and Nick. They all went down hard.
Indignant shouts revealed they were not alone in the room. Simon’s blood went cold. He caught the heady aroma of burning opium. Four men and one woman were slumped over couches and high-backed chairs. Simon stumbled to his feet and lunged at the beast, but the werewolf was faster and leapt atop the mahogany billiard table in the center of the room, then among the languid revelers. They did nothing to protect themselves, merely staring at the horrific apparition in dumb fascination as if it were a product of the drug, as they went down under its fearsome claws and teeth. Simon grabbed the werewolf by the shoulders and flung it across the room.
Kate ran to one wall with a coat of arms crisscrossed by two swords. She yanked free a gleaming saber and took a stance between the wounded victims and the werewolf. Moans and screams filled the air along with the stench of blood. When Simon shoved her away, she shoved him back and stood her ground. The beast rose yet again to its feet. It was a mass of berserk fury. Simon thought her either foolhardy or bloody brave, but he wasn’t about to let her test her mettle against such unbridled rage.
Nick charged while the werewolf’s attention was on Simon and Kate. His hand sparked again into flame and he landed a grip on the beast’s muzzle, sending a wash of fire across the creature. It screamed as its skin began to smoke. Kate darted in suddenly and made an expert thrust between the ribs. The werewolf lashed out and caught Nick, flinging him against the wall. Howling, it turned on Kate. She backed away.