Ten Silver Bullets Read online

  Since the sun was already up, I decided to head to a different part of the city. There was an untrained witch that I needed to shake down for information about another case. I needed money, and I had bills to pay, bootleg liquor to buy. I squinted as the sun continued to rise and listened to the conversations around me—English and French of different dialects all mixed together to create their own patois. Frank Garcon’s case was high profile, but also low priority for the time being. The loup garou could wait.

  *

  I fumbled for my keys, trying to balance my recent purchases in my other hand. Occult books mostly, just a little bit of light reading before bed. It was past midnight, almost dawn, and the streetlight near my apartment was out. Trying to force my key into the lock in the dark wasn’t my idea of a good time. Thankfully, the clouds parted and a shimmer shaft of moonlight shone down around me. Damn that was bright…Almost as if it was—

  “Shit,” I swore as I looked up at the sky.

  The moon hovered hugely just above the horizon, almost a complete white orb. Only a tiny sliver was still dark. How could it almost be a full moon again? It had only been a little more than a couple weeks since Jackson and I went to Frank Garcon’s house, right? I closed my eyes and leaned against my door, letting my forehead rest against the wood. How could I have been so stupid? Losing track of time when there was a werewolf involved, that was just sloppy. Sloppy got you killed.

  I finally got the door open and stumbled inside. I dropped the books on the ground and made my way to the table. I collapsed into one of the chairs and reached for one of the bottles. I took a long drink, sputtering at the poor quality of the booze. After a few seconds the alcohol did its job, calming my nerves and focusing my mind, even though the room swam a tiny bit.

  Frank Garcon was now my number one priority. He must know that the full moon was coming; he could probably feel it in its blood. He’s already killed his wife. He was out there somewhere in the city or the bayous without his safety nets. He was dangerous and unpredictable, and unless I could find him soon, a lot of innocent people were going to die.

  I staggered to my feet and made my way to an antique armoire I kept against the wall. I didn’t know how old it was, but it was made from gnarled oak, and the front doors were covered in protective runes. And to keep unwanted non-magical folk out, I also had a giant lock to keep the doors shut. I reached into my shirt and pulled out the key I wore around my neck.

  I unlocked the lock and threw open the cabinet. Swords and knives of all sizes lined the inside of the cabinet. Not what I was looking for. I didn’t want to fight Frank at close range. Instead I reached for the guns and ammo that coated the shelves inside the cabinet. I opened a small wooden box and almost threw it against the floor in frustration. What the fuck was wrong with me the past few months? I was losing my edge. Why hadn’t I had more silver bullets made? Only four silver slugs inscribed with Celtic runes gleamed up at me from inside the box. The Sidhe would have tortured me for a week if I had made a mistake like that.

  “Fuck it. They’ll have to do.”

  I loaded them into a revolver and grabbed a second one loaded with normal bullets just in case. I shoved the gun with normal bullets into a shoulder holster and put the “wolf killer” into my coat pocket for easier access. No time to refill my flask this time. Damn. I hated doing these kinds of jobs stone sober.

  I hurried out of my apartment and headed deep into the French Quarter. There were small shops there that claimed to house mediums and “psychics.” Most of them were fake. Con the tourists and idiots that came looking for a little bit of “Caribbean hoodoo” or whatever. Not this one, though. Only the right people with connections knew that Solange was the real deal. She was part of New Orleans’ community, and she heard things. A good place for information if you could afford her prices.

  I didn’t run there, but I didn’t try for subtlety, either. Thankfully there were still lights on inside the small brick building. A painted sign hanging above the door advertised Solange’s various services: palm reading, crystal ball gazing, tarot, and even séances. The standard stuff.

  I went into her shop, brushing aside the strands of beads hanging from the inside of the doorway. The place smelled of spices and cooked chicken, maybe left over from dinner.

  “Come in, come in. Sit down.” Solange’s voice came from deeper within the shop that doubled as her home. Her accent was thick as if she had just come from one of the Caribbean islands. Tourists probably thought it made her sound more mystical or something.

  Under the dim lighting, I made my way through the entryway and found the familiar round table covered with a thick, purple tablecloth. The edges of the circular tablecloth were decorated with elaborate representations of the signs of the zodiac along with the sun and the moon. I sat down and drummed my fingers against the table, a way to let out my frantic energy.

  Solange appeared through another beaded doorway and slowly made her way to the table. She smiled when she saw it was me. Even though her brown face was wrinkled and shrivelled, her eyes shone brightly in the low lighting. Her grey dreadlocks hung well past her shoulders.

  “Ah, Sam,” she said. Her accent lessened. She exaggerated it when regular customers came to her place. “Somehow I had a feeling I’d be seeing you soon.”

  “A vision?”

  She shrugged as if to say maybe. Her eyes laughed at me.

  I took a stack of bills out of my pocket and set them down on the table, probably more than I should have been spending. But I needed to make sure I had the best info. She took the money and made it disappear somewhere under the table.

  “What do you need to know, my boy?”

  “What do you know about a man named Frank Garcon?” I asked.

  “The loup?”

  “Was I the only one who didn’t know?” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

  She waited for me to continue.

  “He killed his wife,” I told her. “Ate her heart right out of her chest.”

  Solange’s smile faded. A troubled look came over her face. It made her look ancient.

  “His wards were good,” she said.

  I shook my head. “Somebody tampered with them. The circles were broken when I went to his house.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

  Damn. I don’t think I’d ever heard her say she hadn’t heard something before. Wonderful. “Do you know where he is?”

  Her dreadlocks swayed as she shook her head.

  “Can you find him with these? They’re a couple of weeks old.”

  I pulled out the handkerchief with the fur and blood and handed it to her. She put them on the table and closed her eyes. She placed her palms on top of them and took deep breaths. The air in the room seemed to get colder, and the lights flickered. I licked my lips. Damn I wished I had a drink. Solange continued to run her hands over the bloody handkerchief. Underneath the taut skin of her eyelids, I could see her eyes twitching back and forth.

  “I hear water. Smell salt,” Solange murmured. “Sounds of ships. In the port. A white tree and red bricks. There’s fear in the air.” She opened her eyes and gasped for air. The lights and temperature in her place returned to normal. “That’s all I can get from these. If you had come sooner I could have gotten a better read.”

  I looked away. “I lost track of time.”

  “Foolish boy,” she chided, but there was genuine concern in her voice. “You do know what time it is, don’t you?”

  I started to look down at my watch, but she interrupted me.

  “Tonight is the lune de sang. The blood moon,” she said. “The creature’s blood frenzy will be at its highest point all year.”

  Wonderful. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Good luck,” she said.

  *

  My nerves were on edge from the countless cups of coffee I drank during the day. A smart man would have tried to sleep or done other things to prepare.
All I did was alternate between coffee and booze. Sometimes both mixed together. Acid bubbled in my stomach as I stalked the streets down on the waterfront near the port. Rows and rows of nearly identical warehouses lined the streets. Thankfully, the streets were deserted as Jackson had come through for me after I called him asking him to clear out the port. But there were still too many warehouses for me to check. All I had to go on was something about a goddamn white tree.

  The sun had already sunk below the horizon, and night was fast approaching. I wanted to draw my coat tighter around myself, but I needed to keep my guns easily accessible. It was a big fucking gamble waiting until almost dark to go after Frank. But it would’ve been a lot harder to clear out the area during the day; questions without easy answers would have been asked. And I bet that he would have been holed up somewhere during the day. He’d be out in the open tonight.

  I wandered around stacks of wooden crates and barrels. There were a few parked cars and trucks scattered around. I could hear rats scurrying around in the shadows. Maybe they knew where Frank was hiding. Sadly, I’d never heard of anyone with the power to speak to or control rats. I had to do this the old fashioned way.

  The last of the sun’s light faded, and the first twinkling stars filled the bruised sky. No clouds in sight. They might have bought me a little more time before Frank transformed, though I doubted it with the Blood Moon being out tonight.

  I was nearing the end of one of the rows of warehouses. I squinted in the darkness, trying to see anything, any sign that would give me a clue. Cold sweat started to collect under my arms. Definitely more from the approaching hangover than fear. My head pounded in time with my pulse. I could feel it in my temples, a goddamn drum beat.

  I stopped for a second to steady myself and patted my coat pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of the gun inside it. Four bullets would have to be enough. Something caught my eye as I looked down at my feet. A dark coloured stain of some kind. Not motor oil. I squatted down to get a closer look. Blood. Fairly fresh. Maybe only a couple of days old. I looked up at the warehouse closest to me. There, painted on the side—Aspen Shipping. Their logo was a white tree. I was close.

  I drew the gun with the silver bullets and raised it. Despite the hangover, my hands were still steady. The blood trail lead deeper into the shadows, into an alley between two of the Aspen Shipping warehouses. Whose blood was it? Frank’s or somebody else’s? There was a stack of crates taller than me near the back of the alley, almost like a barricade. The blood trail stopped in front of the barricade. I hesitated, shifting the grip on my gun. Nothing moved except for a slight breeze coming off the water. If Frank was back there, he had to know I was out here.

  “Frank?” I called out. “Frank Garcon?”

  There was no reply, but I thought I heard something shift and move behind the barricade.

  “Come on out Frank. I just want to talk,” I said. “I’m Sam Fortune, a private eye. I know what you are.”

  “You should leave!” A trembling voice called from the back of the alley.

  “I can’t do that Frank. Just come talk,” I urged. If he had heard of me, then he probably knew I was going to kill him. It wasn’t my first choice, but it was definitely the most expedient solution.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Frank said, either to himself or to me I didn’t know. “We had precautions. They should have worked.”

  I licked my lips. “The wards? I saw those. They were damn good, but somebody messed with them. Do you know who?”

  “No! Where’s my wife? Where is she? I think I killed her.”

  What? Did he not remember tearing his wife’s heart out weeks ago?

  “She’s dead, Frank. Come on out of there. We’ll talk about it,” I said trying to make my voice sound as reassuring as possible. “You killed her, but I’m not a cop. I’m not going to arrest you.”

  An almost animal sounding wail erupted from behind the barricade. Finally it trailed away and his voice, rougher now, returned. “No! I can’t go with you. I can’t let them catch me! I’m a killer. Nobody will listen to me.”

  His voice trailed away with those last words, as if he was speaking through a mouth not designed for talking. Oh shit! I spared a quick glance at the night sky, only to see the giant red tinged moon hanging directly above us. I dove to the ground as a grey blur launched itself through the air from behind the barricade. I swore was my knee banged against the concrete, and I nearly lost my grip on my pistol. Frank snarled as his leap carried him past me.

  I rolled over to my back, trying to get back on my feet. I squeezed the trigger twice and the pistol barked in my hand, almost overpowering the werewolf’s roar. Impossibly fast, Frank dodged to one side and the bullets went wide. Spent. Wasted. Fuck. I tried to line up my next shot, but he tensed for a split second before jumping up onto the warehouse roofs, kicking dust and loose shingles down at me.

  Gun in hand I ran out of the alleyway into the more open row of warehouses. Every couple of steps I looked over my shoulder, trying to see if he was following me. He was faster than I thought he would be. The orange Blood Moon must have enhanced his powers. Even the enhancements the Sidhe gave me might not be enough to take him down, especially since I wasted the element of surprise.

  A lithe silhouette ran along the rooftops, leaping across the gaps, a black blur against the moon and stars. Every few seconds Frank would howl, a scream that froze the blood in my veins. I had to get away from the docks, into the more populated sections of the city. There he might get distracted by easier prey. Was that cold? Of course it was, but it was my life on the line. Better somebody else than me.

  I saw the main boulevard that led toward my possible escape. My lungs burned as I forced myself to run faster. Still not fast enough. I looked behind me right as Frank leaped once more. I threw up my arms to protect my face as the speeding mass of muscle and fur smashed into me. My back smacked against the ground, driving the air out of my lungs. Bright lights of pain exploded in my vision, and I bit through part of my tongue. We were a jumbled mass of tangled limps as we rolled along the ground, carried by the force of his attack. We came to a stop on the hard ground, with Frank’s completely transformed face inches from mine.

  Drool dripped from his slavering jaws onto my face, and two burning lupine eyes stared at me. Rows and rows of fangs and razor sharp teeth. I threw up my left arm, driving my elbow into the werewolf’s snout. I used it to force his jaws away from my throat. My muscles strained in protest, and my body was still moving too slowly. Stunned from the impact. Dimly, I remembered that my other hand still held the gun with my last silver bullets. I fought a desperate, flailing struggle to keep him from tearing into me. I pried my gun arm free from his grip as his claws tore right through my coat, shirt, and skin, but I didn’t feel the pain.

  I shoved the gun to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. The gunshot muffled all other sounds, and instantly Frank’s body went limp. The snout shrank back into a human nose and the fur retreated back into his skin. Almost as quickly as he had transformed, he turned back into a man. His limp body pressed down on top of me. Even without all his extra muscle, he was still heavy. I lay there for a second, gasping for breath as blood and other gore leaked out of the exit wound. The streams of blood ran down the side of his head and dripped down onto me. I didn’t care that it ruined my jacket and shirt. I’d buy ten new jackets to celebrate the fact that I had just beat a werewolf in close combat.

  I caught my breath and rolled his naked, cooling corpse off of me. The pain coming from the gouges in my arm hit me, and I clenched my jaw shut to stop from shouting. Damn. I really needed a drink this time. At least I hadn’t been bitten. Then I would have been royally fucked.

  I gingerly climbed to my feet, wincing as more pain fought its way up and down my body. No broken bones, but I knew I would be sore for weeks. I put the gun back in my pocket and started to limp away from the corpse. Jackson could take care of that.


  One thought ate away at my giddiness. I still had no idea who had tampered with Frank’s wards. I couldn’t question either of the Garcons anymore. I was no closer to figuring out why all this happened than when I started. More importantly, it meant I had no idea who to demand payment from. Shit. I hated pro bono work.

  COMPTIME

  By Rebecca Snow

  “As of now, all requests for overtime are denied,” Ms. Morgan-Jones said. Pounding her palm on the lacquered conference table, she left behind a hand-shaped smear. “No more frivolous waste. Our bottom line is too high, and we need to bring costs down.” She dropped into the mesh-backed office chair and stared at her gathered employees. “You all need to work harder while you’re on the clock, so you can finish your daily tasks. No more breaks to show your neighbor the latest trending YouTube video, I don’t care if the new monitors are more lifelike than looking out a picture window. No catching up at the water cooler for twenty minutes on Monday about weekend dalliances. This is not a reality show, people. And no more pawning your work on someone who’s already done his own. You pull your own weight, or I’ll find someone who will.” She peered over the top of her black rimmed spectacles, making eye contact with each of her workers in turn. “Understand?”

  Slow nods peppered the room. A whispered chorus of “Yes, ma’ams” slithered from the dedicated staff.

  “Good,” Ms. Morgan-Jones said. She pushed herself up from the swiveling chair and gathered papers from the table. “This meeting is adjourned.”