The frightening wolfish countenance appeared to be grinning, and Charlotte actually licked him in exuberant elation. Her massive hairy hand pulled him upright so fast, his head spun. Then she whirled back to the fight. Her great long limbs took hold of a gentleman who looked quite respectable but for his exposed rib cage. She threw him into a faltering group of undead, tumbling them over. Malcolm shook his head to clear it, rubbing at the growing goose egg on the back of his skull. His throat convulsed when he tried to talk, and he swallowed painfully.
Malcolm glanced at Barnes, who was pressing his left fist into Eleanor’s exposed chest cavity. Even while doing so, the necromancer was looking up in shock at the terrifying lycanthrope stomping through the remains of the undead. His robed acolytes around the altar were grasping one another in horror, but they crowded closer around Barnes. He pulled his hand away and the ring on his finger glowed and smoked.
The two brides had moved between Malcolm and the altar. He took the chance to shoot them, staggering them. Charlotte pounced. The brides fought silently, taking hammerblows from the werewolf while swarming her, tearing and biting the huge beast. Charlotte cried out in pain, twisting her gigantic frame, trying to pull Madeleine off her back and shake Cecilia from her arm.
Suddenly a sickly green light filled the cavernous church. It convulsed within the confines of the walls and fell like a blanket to cover the floor, hovering like a dead fog before the tendrils seeped into the earth and out under the cracks in the door. Whatever magic Barnes was conjuring, he had succeeded.
Malcolm staggered forward as Charlotte took a firm grip on Madeleine, her huge hand covering the undead face. She lifted the cadaver high over her head and slammed it down onto its sister, driving them both off their feet. The werewolf snarled and stamped onto the writhing pair, crushing them hard to the floor.
“Charlotte, hold still.” Malcolm struggled to keep his pistol leveled at the head of one of the undead. Madeleine’s eyes swiveled toward the open bore of the barrel. He pulled the trigger four times, emptying the weapon into her.
Charlotte reached down and grabbed the second bride by the shoulder. Without taking her foot off the thing’s abdomen, the werewolf pulled up with all her unnatural might. There was a moment when Charlotte growled with effort, and then Cecilia’s frame tore neatly in two, leaving the beast holding the upper torso over her head. She then threw it across the church. The remnants of the two brides stopped writhing although they were likely not yet truly dead. They simply had run out of reason to fight.
Even though Malcolm was watching a large werewolf, he couldn’t help but see the little girl with blood on her hands and a decapitated corpse under her foot. He took involuntary steps back.
Charlotte looked up, regarding him with curious eyes. Her nearly unintelligible voice ground out, “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not scared. Just surprised.” Malcolm spun around, remembering the point of the entire bloody event and intent on dealing with Barnes. However, the necromancer was gone, departed with his living followers. Only Eleanor remained behind, dead on the altar.
“Damn it.” He limped up the aisle where he saw the familiar desecration wrought on the young poet. He found an altar cloth on the floor and draped it over her naked body.
“Chase?” Charlotte prowled about the altar on all fours, sniffing the air.
“No. Barnes is done for tonight and I don’t want to invite him to wreak any further damage on his followers or on innocent bystanders.” Malcolm leaned on the altar for support and shook his head at how much that sounded like Simon. “I had a shot and didn’t take it. I could have prevented all this.”
The beast pressed her head against Malcolm’s shoulder affectionately. He patted her gently, then froze in horror, realizing what he was doing. He couldn’t tell if she was smiling or snarling at him the way her lips curled back.
Her chest chuffed deeply, almost like a laugh. She squatted on the ground and stared up at him. “Are you happy to see me?”
Malcolm let out an exasperated breath, not wanting to tell her the truth. The child would insist on coming with him everywhere on every assignment. He shook his head in frustration, but then replied quietly, “Yes, lass. I’m happy to see you.”
She giggled though it sounded nothing like the little girl he knew.
“We’d best go,” Malcolm said, staggering slightly.
Charlotte grabbed Malcolm and threw him over her muscled shoulder.
“Blast it, girl! I can walk.” Malcolm pushed himself out of the werewolf’s disturbingly gentle grasp back onto the floor. He brushed himself off. Then he slowly made for the heavy wooden doors on the west end and shoved them open, allowing the brisk air to sweep inside the church. It revived him.
Charlotte could have easily outdistanced him but instead she bounded around him on all fours like Kate’s overexcited wolfhound. Across the cemetery, dark shadows dotted the ground covered with a light dusting of snow. At first Malcolm thought more dead were rising now that Barnes had completed his ritual, but they were only the lonely shapes of the numerous tombstones.
“I told you not to follow me,” Malcolm scolded in a less-than-convincing voice.
Charlotte’s massive head tilted and she laughed, or at least he hoped the sound she was making was laughter. It was hard to tell.
Chapter Twenty-three