Malcolm grinned and flipped back his long coat and pulled his sleek Lancaster pistols. He nodded toward a grove of trees. “There.”
The darkness abruptly shifted and a lanky form moved just shy of the line of trees. Then others moved on the western side. A howl reverberated through the woods outside. Reflexively it brought the hair standing straight on end along Simon’s skin.
“Here they come!” shouted Malcolm in a voice that boomed through most of the house. A horde of werewolves broke from the darkness of the trees and swarmed through the mazelike hedges like an onrushing wave. Simon’s hand slapped the wall beside him and his skin smoldered with wisps of greenish smoke. Within fifty yards of the house, runic symbols flared to life on the ground under the charging beasts. Explosions sounded on all sides of the house as the traps were triggered. The werewolves were flung up into the air as the runic bombs exploded. The surprised pack retreated and milled together back at the edge of the forest.
“God Almighty,” Malcolm whispered with a quick glance of amazement at Simon.
Beads of sweat appeared on Simon’s brow as he controlled the magic of the runes outside. His intense stare never left the window. “There’s our girl.”
From the edge of the woods, a figure stepped forth into the moonlight and Malcolm exhaled sharply. The giant creature’s light grey fur shone almost white, as did the enormous battle-axe clenched in her right hand like a banner of war. It stood almost as tall as she. Her howl of rage shook the glass in front of Simon. An exclamation slipped unintentionally from his lips. Simon took in the heavily scarred leather armor that Gretta wore and the huge helmet adorned with a terrifying wolf’s head.
“She won’t stop till she gets what she wants,” Malcolm warned.
“That won’t happen,” Simon stated, his mouth drawn to a thin line.
Gretta threw back her shaggy head and howled again, loud enough to make Simon wince. Suddenly the werewolves all darted forward. They crossed the garden quickly, vaulting the torn bodies of their comrades. Simon placed his hand lightly on the doorframe beside him, his demeanor unflinching as five huge, slavering werewolves rushed onto the brick walkway, charging at him with nothing but a pane of thin glass to protect him. His muscles strained as primal aether surged through him.
Malcolm stepped back to raise his weapons but held his fire, his eyes narrowed to determined slits.
The werewolves launched themselves at the two men, but instead impacted something hard. Amidst a bright flash of light they were thrown back violently into the others rushing forward behind them.
Malcolm gave a shout of victory. “Losh!”
“I’m surprised it held.” The sheen on Simon’s forehead grew more pronounced. “Not my most elegant casting.”
Werewolves gathered themselves and rushed the barrier again. The light flashed hot and more of the creatures were bloodied and killed. Still Gretta drove her pack forward.
Another horde of werewolves tore out of the darkness and threw themselves at the barrier. They tore against the runic protections with tooth and claw, screaming in pain but refusing to quit.
Gretta fixed Simon with an icy glare through the glass. She snarled at him with stark hatred, knowing full well who was responsible for the deaths of so many of her soldiers. She lifted her massive axe and threw it tumbling end over end straight at Simon’s head.
It crashed directly in front of Simon’s face and embedded itself in the wall of magic. It was an attempt to break his concentration. It failed. He shouted defiance in a hoarse roar and the runes held with another flash of bright light. His own body echoed the flare as the tattoos all rewrote themselves furiously over his skin.
Most of her pack was flung back, either dead or quivering hurt. Gretta stood rooted to the ground and roared in anger, bearing the brunt of the blast. Her weapon was heaved back toward her with tremendous force and she caught it in one large, fearsome, clawed hand. Then she sprung straight at Simon.
He tried to reconnect the runes again, but his body was spent. He felt his muscles weakening.
“Let it go!” Malcolm shouted.
Simon knew he was right. His meager protections would be useless now against the fury of this werewolf, and he would need his reserves. At least he had winnowed the pack. He released his hold on the wall, his fingers contorted with rigid stiffness. Malcolm grabbed his waistband and hauled him back into the room.
Gretta crashed through the glass. Four werewolves rushed in behind her. Around the house more crashes could be heard. A sliver of light traced a rune on Simon’s forearm and he knelt. The scribe put his hand down and a violent rumble of earth swept the smaller werewolves off their feet.