So, I shot him.

You’re not surprised.  You know what an amateur with a gun is like, and, well, in the words of Xander Cage, “I had my leg in a cast for about three months. All I did was play first-person shooter video games.”

Which isn’t true, but it’s kind of relevant to the story, because a lot of what I know about shooting I learned from beating all the versions I can of “House of the Dead.”

It didn’t prepare me for the feeling of pulling the trigger, the sudden way time stood still (I grasped “bullet time” in a way “the Matrix” hadn’t prepared me for) as the projectile (what was in that spell, Viktor?  An arrow of Apollo and Artemis?) did this crazy shimmery rush towards the Wolf (it was coming at me – that gave it the capital letter) and my instincts suddenly made war on each other, one set demanding, “This isn’t real fighting!  You need to engage!  Go bite it!” and another saying, “Run!  Run while you still can, doughboy!” as well as an actual moral objection, “You’re going to hurt something!  Something that lives and breathes!” along with a dash of, “Wow, it looks like your aim wasn’t that bad,” hubris, and all the mundane bits like, “Whoa.  That had a kick,” and catching my breath from the pace Viktor had taken into the valley, and another beat of Ivan’s ailing heart as his domain began to fail, and well, I was overwhelmed.

Only for an instant, less than a heartbeat, and then some victor was declared in my head because I started running toward and shouting at the beast.  I don’t even know if I had managed words in my first exhale of noise, but I did see Viktor turn, surprised.  I ended up yelling, “You stupid mage! It’s a waste of a good talent!  Why are wizards such idiots?”  I went on in that vein, as the inky darkness of the wolf started to shrink, black shadow turning into black hair, white teeth into drawn skin, only the eyes remaining the same until they closed in pain.

“Stupid sorcerors,” I muttered.  Yeah, I lapse perilously close to alliteration when I’m grumpy.  Or should that be “annoyed and angry?”  Nevermind.

Viktor just grunted. “You spoke his name,” he said. He stared at Artur.

“And he appeared?  That’s not one of my usual tricks,” I said.

“It is a signature of demons,” Viktor corrected.

“It’s a small world,” I pointed out.  “Besides, you have to speak it with will and purpose.”

“It is, as you say, a small world.”  He looked out.  “It gets smaller.”

A lot can happen in a heartbeat, they say.  “What did I shoot him with?”

“It is, as they say, complicated.  A simple enough spell, but it draws on many sources.”

Artur managed something.  I didn’t recognize it, and hoped Viktor understood it.  He nodded.  “He said, `If you are afraid of wolves, don’t go into the woods.'”

“`If you can’t stand a cooked man, don’t go into the kitchen?’  It’s not going to make it into a book of phrases.”  I looked down at Artur.  Then I kicked him, hard, in the side.

“What was that for?” Viktor looked confused.

“They say never to kick a man when he’s down.  I disagree.  It’s the best time to kick him because he’s near my feet.  Besides, I can’t hold him.  I couldn’t explain to the police why there’s a bunch of dead bodies in a restaurant down the street and how Artur, here is involved.  But I can make him take me to Nellie, and I will if I have to kick him every step of the way.”

Artur raised an eyebrow.  “Art going to kill her?”

I shook my head.  “No one’s going to kill anybody.  I’m still sick in the gut from what I’ve seen and done tonight. ”  I kicked him again, and he groaned.  I was making sure to kick him where the shot broke his spell.  “But I’m human and my real power is in adapting to change, so no promises.”

Artur curled up a little, and I aimed for him a third time before Viktor put up his hand.  “Enough!  He is in no pain from your kicking.  He has lost his sense of connection between forms.”  The huntsman looked at me.  “We still must find Ivan.”

Artur started spitting out something more, but Viktor only kicked him in a way that made him really curl up.  Yeah, I was a bit of a wuss.  Viktor didn’t seem worried about say, breaking a few ribs.

“Do you want to stay here?” Viktor asked, ignoring Artur’s whimpering.

“Unless I can leash him, I don’t want to go where I can’t see him.”  I glared at Artur.

“I can leave him with the hounds, but we must hurry.  If he is to be believed,” he gestured to Artur, “Ivan is not far, but he is in not good shape.”

“Hurry back,” I decided.  “Do you have any more of those guns?”

“The wolves, they will have dissolved with Artur’s spells.”   Viktor pointed at one of the borzoi and gave it some commands.  “This one, I named Nikolai.  He will protect you.  Whatever Artur is,” and he showed teeth, “Nikolai will rip out his throat if needed.”

I felt a little better.  “Like I said, hurry.”

Viktor nodded and was gone.

I got out of where I judged was Artur’s reach, and crouched down a little.  “So,” I said.  “In English, this time, are you a demon?”

Artur grimaced.

“Not much of an answer.  Guess you weren’t needing that throat, which means to me that yes, you’re an Outsider.  Humans like that not-bleeding-from-the-jugular thing.”  I started to get up.

“No.”

“So many things you could be answering, but not very helpful.  Nikolai?” I asked, and I pet the hound as he came near me, eyes never straying from Artur’s form.

“No, I am not all demon.  I helped you.  I thought you would see the beast for what she was and close her gate.”  His words were punctuated with gasps for air.

“I was working on it.  Not all demon, so, what, vampire?  Cursed?  I just ask out of curiosity.”  Well, curiosity and because it meant something more to research how to stop.

“Scry says you were eating with…” he breathed out a few words.  “Witches, not working.”

“My work habits don’t leave innocent folks drained of life force.   Besides, I don’t like people scrying on me.  I’m entitled to my privacy.  It’s in the Constitution, I think.”

He managed an aborted chuckle.  “No innocents.  Ivan called them to trap me.  Took shadows to shape, look like people.  He speaks with the dead.”

I had to admit, it was possible.  I didn’t poke at them and do any lab tests or anything.  “I heard that.”

“I’m… hunter.  He has…bad heart.”  I couldn’t tell if it was any easier or getting worse for Artur to speak.  I wasn’t coming any closer, though.  I’d seen, like, at least one horror movie in my life.  Artur convulsed, and his skin started to crack and peel like flakes of…

Oh, bleepin’ demons.

He was beginning to burn.  “Nikolai, pee on him or something.  I need him alive!”

The dog looked startled, and moved away from me.  I followed the direction he was going, in part not to watch Artur.  It was a good thing I did, because I saw Viktor and Ivan returning from wherever the huntsman had been fetching the necromancer.  Yeah, that’s probably the term for it.

I saw Ivan’s eyes smoulder, literally, from where he was leaning on Viktor.  He looked…old and grey.

“No, seriously, the gate’s still open.  Ivan, don’t–”

He pulled away from Viktor and I saw one of Viktor’s guns from where he had hidden it behind the other sorceror.  It was small in his hand.  He smiled at me, and pulled the trigger.

A lot can change in a heartbeat.

Like Viktor slugging Ivan, and Artur shedding his skin, and the bolt was still coming at me, and I saw it, it was so slow?  Why couldn’t I just move out of the way?  And then as the last of Artur’s skin came loose, and my eyes wanted to make sense of the being underneath it, but then he grabbed me, and Nikolai licked my hand, and I saw all of the light – so much light, light that blinded rather than illuminated, and I felt the gate open and all of us being swallowed, as if the gate was something alive…

…and in my head, all I could hear was a single heartbeat.