The towering creature raised clawed hands, and blinked. Gretta’s snarl calmed and she stood with heaving chest, looking down at the young girl. The beast let out a final rumbling growl and lowered a massive, bloodstained hand on top of the girl’s head. The child flinched ever so slightly at the touch. More of the cowering pack, now transformed back to mere humans, scraped forward, cringing on the ground.
Ignoring them, Gretta kicked into the mound of dead, and reached down to wrench her battle-axe free from Samuel the traitor. Gretta was a woman again, bloodied and flecked with gore. She fastened the axe on her back and adjusted her tattered cloak. She pointed at several of the survivors. “You and you. Bury them under the floor. Then you will all come with me. I have a place where I am gathering everyone.”
One of the miserable wretches crawled forward. “We are with you, Gretta. We didn’t fight.”
“No, you didn’t.” Gretta sneered at the supplicant. “At least they did.”
The Valkyrie waited by the door as holes were dug for the dead. With some interest she watched the girl who had confronted her. The girl helped dig, with an occasional glance over her shoulder at Gretta. The little thing was bold, and Gretta briefly wondered if she should be killed.
After the dead were hidden in shallow graves, the wretched survivors gathered their meager belongings and trudged out behind their leader. The ramshackle door slammed shut on the cellar, leaving behind the stench of blood and waste.
After a few minutes, a shadow stirred in a deep corner. A figure rose from behind a pile of detritus. He smelled of urine and dirt because he had covered himself in those substances before secreting himself in the cellar when the beasts has gone out yesterday. Filthy scents had covered his normal human smell from the gathered lycanthropes.
Malcolm had gone from trailing what he thought was a single rogue werewolf to finding a den of the creatures in the heart of London. That was horrific enough, but then she appeared.
Gretta Aldfather. Close enough to touch. The multitudes that she had slaughtered in her long life were unknown. Clearly, she was preparing to raise her totals.
Malcolm stepped around the mounds of freshly turned earth and made his way out of the bloodstained cellar. He needed to find a way to wash this filth from him. And then he needed help.
Chapter Seventeen
Simon kicked his way through dense, wet brush. His heavy boots were caked with mud and his trousers were wet up to the knees. His breath misted before him. Still, his strength was back and he felt invigorated to be out on a crisp fall morning. He also felt the inebriating filaments of aether winding through him, lightening his mood.
He slapped a sodden branch aside and found himself on a narrow path in the forest. It was a useful track toward Hartley Hall. If he were approaching the house, this would be a natural path to use.
Simon took a heavy clay tablet from under his arm. It was about the width of a dinner plate and several inches thick. One side was inscribed with reversed runes that he had incised into the wet clay last night before baking it hard overnight. He set the tablet on the ground, rune side down, and knelt in the mud. He pressed a hand onto the circle and began to recite. As he spoke, the clay grew warm and glowed green. He spat out the final phrase and felt aether rush from him to the tablet and into the earth. With red raw fingers, he pried up the clay piece to see faint green runes glowing in the wet dirt.
Something huge slammed into his back. He was hurled into the brush. The scent of wet fur and the sound of ragged breathing surrounded him. He saw teeth and a huge pink tongue.
Aethelred licked his face. The wolfhound threw back his massive head and released a long, deep howl. Simon laughed and tossed an arm around the jovial dog’s neck.
“A bit of warning next time, eh?”
“Mr. Archer!” Kate’s voice cut through the forest.
“Here, Miss Anstruther.”
Kate waded through low-hanging branches and pushed onto the path. She wore a long, thick coat and heavy boots. Her hair, as usual, was wild around her face. She looked down curiously at the man and dog. “It’s a bit damp to be frolicking on the ground, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Thoroughly soaked, Simon climbed to his feet with Aethelred pressing against him, panting happily.
Kate snapped her fingers and the dog came dutifully to her side. “I knew Aethelred would find you.”
Simon retrieved the clay tablet from the undergrowth, cleaning wet weeds from it. “His penchant for silent stalking is as amusing as ever.”
Kate eyed the tablet with interest. “Is it working?”
“Well, I assume. I’ve set ten wards around the grounds. I’d like to put a least ten more to be sure.”
She walked to where the faint imprint of the circle lay in the mud. “I don’t see anything.”
“Good. We don’t want a glowing beacon to warn intruders.”