At the Behest of the Dead by Timothy W. Long Page A

red, I sighed with ecstasy as the smell washed over me.
    The first thing I did was extract a spare vial from my belt and lean over to fill it. The blood was cold, which meant it was old and dying, but it would come in handy in future potions.
    I walked into it, robes held high , and waited.

    Chapter Five
     
    K nee deep in a blood-mire, I hid between two buildings that were at least a hundred years old and covered in dust, mites, and spiders. My legs were going weak because I’d been here for an hour. I wanted to fall over, drop shaking to the ground, and just rest. Then I heard the sound again and I hoped it wasn’t Detective Andrews trying to sneak up on me.
    Glamo ured to the gills, the glyphs pulsed against my skin with the beat of my heart. The shield was warm against my chest and the glyph I’d readied still throbbed in front of my eyes.
    The snuffling continued , and I took the same vial I had used earlier and extracted another dose of the demon spoor. The potion worked to hide my scent, and the smell of the mire would help confuse the animal. The two together, with any luck, would keep me safe until I could sneak up on the beast.
    I would need something powerful if the changer came at me in its form. I went by memory and extracted a bottle that was good for at least one very short term fireball. No sense in burning down the city, again. I held the potion up before me and, with my thumb and forefinger, slid the little cork stopper out.  Only the thing slipped out of my grip and hit the edge of the bloody patch and bounced for an eternity across the old paved road now gone to waste.
    Oh c rap!
    There was a flash in the dark, just on the edge of my perception. I could sense a shape that was huge and hulking.
    The thing was much smarter than I gave it credit for. It faded from one shadow to the next on the ledge above then dropped with a thump behind me. I turned slowly, fearful of what I would see.
    I would like to say that the thing wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be . That it was a smaller version of the creature I had suspected. I’d like to say it was just a man with knives in the night, seeking out victims for some mindless violence.
    It was none of those things.
    The shape rose before my eyes, a hulking form of shaggy fur and bristling claws. The head was elongated like that of a large dog. Its nose snuffled and tested the air as it looked for me, and I realized that the glyphs and potion were keeping me hidden.
    It was a full-blown werewolf in the depths of transformation and it looked really pissed.
    I didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The beast towered over me at seven and a half feet. Its snout tested the air again as it slid one massive foot forward. Its claws were easily five or six inches long and they dripped fresh blood.
    The werewolf stepped toward me. A vial’s little lead cap flew through the air, over his head, and hit the wall to his side.
    He spun around and I tossed the contents of the vial at him. Words wove through the air as I forced the liquid to action. A burst of flame caught it unawares and rushed past its head, sing eing its hair. There was a little bit more of the stuff in the vial so I hurled it as well while the werewolf backed away in fear.
    Then it did something I did not expect. It dropped low as the flame passed over its head and then sprang up and into the air. It was a calculated move that was not normal for something in the throes of transformation. A thing that is all animal needed to kill, hunt, hide, and turn again. It wasn’t even a full moon for Gaia’s sake.
    I shook out the rema ins of the vial I’d accelerated with the spell and fell backwards into a roll that put me on my feet a couple of feet away. Blood from the mire splattered the walls and floor in obscene patterns.
    Then I did a little repeat of the night before. I ran.
    The bottle hit a barrier and went up in an explosion that shook everything around me. An ocean of dust swept off the walls and