“Put together what you can. I’ll be in the library shoring up our defenses.” Before she stepped away, he took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Kate, we can survive this. Our resources are extraordinary.”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I intend to make these things regret they ever laid eyes on my home.”
Simon laughed and sent her on her way, watching her figure move down the hall, first at a quick walk, then breaking into a run. He turned, stepping around a valet carrying a double armload of muskets followed by a young lad with powder horns and shot bags draped off his shoulders. A footman was standing on a chair, wrenching swords off ancestral displays.
As he neared the library, a strange sound made itself known. He stopped to listen, the crease in his brow deepening. There was so much activity in the house he wondered what it could be. It reverberated the dust motes floating in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. Several servants also stopped work in confusion. They watched Simon pass toward the front door, and he gave them a confident smile that he didn’t quite feel.
He threw back the front door and stepped out onto the portico. The rumbling grew louder and Simon felt the vibrations in his chest. From the distant forest, birds rose in alarm into the morning sky.
A dust cloud appeared on the yew-lined drive that ran straight from the house. Then a roaring shape rose into view. It didn’t seem to be a living creature. It was squat, much smaller than a carriage, and lower to the ground than a horse. Sunlight glinted off metal. Simon blocked the glare with his hand in an attempt to discern if it was friend or foe.
Then he saw Malcolm. The Scotsman’s face bobbed to the side of the main bulk of the thing. Clearly, it was a vehicle of some sort, but nothing Simon had ever seen or heard before. He now thought he recognized Penny Carter hunched low in the center.
Strange, flailing shapes broke through the smoke behind the vehicle. Greyish brown figures rocked forward, then back. Long arms. Fierce snouts.
Werewolves. At least three of them loping in close pursuit and gaining fast.
Simon leapt from the portico and started up the gravel path toward the oncoming chaos. A bright flash of light came from his left and a streak of fire shot toward the rumbling mechanical thing. A blossom of flame hit one of the werewolves, sending it cartwheeling into the distance.
Nick appeared at a run, angling in on Simon and raising a smoking hand. He stopped and wound up his arm like a cricket bowler. He pitched another fireball toward the roaring vehicle. It flared across the lawn and crashed into a second werewolf.
Simon ran harder at the approaching machine. Penny waved him aside, shouting unheard. Malcolm was trying to twist in the small side buggy with a pistol in his fist. Simon caught the Scotsman’s eye and prayed the man’s wary look showed that he grasped what Simon was intending.
Simon took several more long-legged strides and just as the vehicle reached him, he leapt into the air. Malcolm fell flat against the sloping metal sidecarriage. Simon drew up his legs and sailed over the Scotsman’s head, shouting an ancient word and feeling the runic tattoo spark on his chest.
A werewolf was just ready to strike the bike but looked up in surprise as a figure hurtled at it. Simon caught the creature with an outstretched arm against its throat. It was driven off its feet as if it had collided with a sturdy tree limb. The werewolf toppled back into the gravel, rolling over and over. Simon landed hard and fell into a crouch, sliding onto his knees. He leapt up and brought a fist against the werewolf’s head like a blacksmith’s hammer. Simon pounced on its back and started smashing the thing’s head. When it snapped at him, he seized it by the snout and gave a terrible wrench. He heard the satisfying sound of its jaw cracking.
A figure appeared in front of Simon. He reared up, ready to strike, but saw it was Nick. The older magician’s hands were both aflame and he stood facing away, as if challenging someone in the distance. Simon saw the other two werewolves crouching some fifty yards away in the grass, glaring at them. He took a position next to Nick. He felt blood dripping down his face and was grateful it wasn’t his. A rustling sound to his other side heralded the arrival of Malcolm with both massive Lancasters ready.
Nick started toward the creatures. “Let’s get them.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Malcolm said. “They’re scouts. Mere fodder. And they’re luring us.”
“There are only two,” Nick snarled. “Scared?”
The Scotsman’s face was ice. “There are more than two, and bigger ones. You just won’t see them until it’s too late.”
“He’s right, Nick.” Simon scanned the area to ensure they weren’t being flanked. He noticed Penny twenty-five yards behind them, about halfway to the house, with some outrageous brass blunderbuss on her shoulder.