Malcolm stepped out from behind Simon, both pistols firing rhythmically, all the shells slamming into Gretta, forcing her back with each impact. The silver seemed to have little effect on her, but her scream of pain was so massive that spittle sprayed over both men.
“MacFarlane,” she roared. “I’ll eviscerate you! What you did to my wulfsyl killed some of my pack.”
Malcolm grinned wickedly in response.
Simon leaned against a chair, breathing roughly, trying to tap into any energy he had left. A werewolf leapt for him. He reached out for his walking stick on the table. Spinning around and pulling out the sword, he stabbed the beast. He said a single word and the blade glowed. The werewolf suddenly went rigid, and its slobbering jaws snapped shut so hard that it bit through its tongue. The werewolf convulsed and lay still.
Malcolm sprang back to Simon’s side, and together the two men faced Gretta and two werewolves climbing back to their feet. The third one lay struggling across the jagged teeth of the broken French doors. Glass jutted up through its neck. Bright red blood sprayed the floor. The little silver dust coating the panes worked well enough on the rabble.
“Gretta’s mine,” Malcolm snarled.
“By all means,” was Simon’s reply with a weary wave of his hand.
Gretta swung her massive axe toward Malcolm’s head. The Scotsman ducked just in time to hear the weapon whistle over him. It was followed by a swipe of claws that Malcolm barely dodged by flinging himself over a couch. The furniture disappeared in a flurry of horsehair stuffing and oaken splinters. Malcolm rose over the shambles and swung out with a claw of his own. The blade of his knife struck her deep in the shoulder just shy of her chest. Her cry was agonizing since the man’s blade was laced with pure silver.
An explosion abruptly rocked the house and dust shook loose from the ceiling. Penny, no doubt. The sound of musketry came from various directions as the men of Hartley Hall laid into the enemy. Simon’s heart pounded with pride. That was all the contemplation he was permitted as two more werewolves sprang at him. With a whisper on his lips, he dug into his reserves once more for strength.
Simon stabbed his sword deep into the throat of the first one. It fell into him, but he didn’t stagger, his feet rooted to the floor. His hands dug deep into its fur and he threw its limp body into the path of the second one. They collided and crashed in a heap. Another creature entered the room so Simon hefted one of Kate’s fine sofas and flung it at the newcomer. Its attention was on Gretta and Malcolm so the hurtling furniture took it full in the face, driving it back on its haunches and out of the room. By then the other werewolf had disentangled itself from its dead brethren and was stalking Simon with a slavering roar.
There was a fire glowing in the fireplace. Simon maneuvered so that he crossed close in front of it. His hand found a symbol he had scrawled previously on the hearth. With a word, he threw himself to the side, just as the jaws of the werewolf closed on the meat of his biceps. The fireplace belched a furnace of flame, engulfing the werewolf. The heat washed over Simon, making his skin prickle. The escaping hiss of the flames caught Gretta also, but Malcolm managed to dart aside at the last moment, separating them momentarily. The stench of burnt hair and flesh filled the room. Gretta’s leather harness smoldered. The bottom of Malcolm’s coat flickered with flame.
Simon gained his feet unsteadily and staggered at Gretta. Her attention was on Malcolm. The Scotsman was breathing heavily and bleeding from a number of wounds. Simon ran her through with a whispered word.
Gretta screamed and struck out. Her large, clawed hand slammed against Simon. His chest constricted in agony, then he was flying through the air. He impacted against the wall. Simon held on to consciousness by an act of sheer will, nothing more, but his body didn’t respond beyond that. His breath was a wheezing attempt. He raised his head with trembling neck muscles to see the massive werewolf stalking toward him. Her leather armor sizzled and her fur was singed black as coal.
Suddenly Malcolm leapt into view with pistols firing another barrage. Gretta staggered, but then surged forward in a berserker rage so fast that Simon couldn’t see her. Her massive head snapped at Malcolm and he barely had time to drop his pistols and hold her jaws at bay. She shook her head free and battered Malcolm across the head. He flew back into the unsteady Simon, and the Scotsman collapsed into unconsciousness. Simon struggled to raise his sword.
Gretta’s clawed hands crunched through plaster behind them. To Simon’s amazement, the wall shifted. She pulled back, creating a shuddering rain of dust and a deafening creak of timber. Gretta vanished amidst a deep rumbling sound and an avalanche of bricks and timber. Simon raised his hands but there was no stopping the side of the house and part of the floor above from coming down on top of them.
Chapter Twenty-four