A/N: Okay, I don�t know how money is packaged, but it sounded about right. Don�t ask, read on and you�ll find out. Ha ha.
Chapter 10: Party Time? By: DragonMouse ~( 8>
Back at the house, we did actually clean up the blood, throw some laundry in, feed the dog and finish the biscuits, which we then promptly ate. But then, once that was done, we began to get to the true business at hand and I ended up swiping Edward�s laptop form his room so I could somehow get into it and find out who he�d been hunting. After several anxious minutes with Peter staring over my shoulder, I was actually able to _get in_. Can you say security? Once I was finally up and running, it was simple to find the information. The target was one Cyrus �Rus� Howe, a rogue werepanther who wasn�t considered rogue yet by the police, so it was quite illegal. The hit, which is what it truly was, was put out by one Ian Howe, who requested audience with whoever would accept. We were a bit surprised that Edward would take a job with such a clause, but apparently he had. I�m sure he had his reasons.
Ian Howe was accepting �interviews� in an hour at his place of business, the little-known yet highly successful nightclub, the Painted Panther. Peter and I decided to pay him a heavily armed visit as soon as we changed for a hunt. I�d changed into camouflage pants and hiking boots when Pete came back into my room a search of a black tee shirt. He�d snitched a pair of Eddy�s camo pants, but was complaining that his shirts were either too big or too hot. I tossed him a muscle shirt and a dress shirt as I pulled my favorite black one over my head, vaguely disappointed Pete didn�t notice I had no top on. It read, �Sniper. You could run, but you�d only die tired.� I thought it was only fitting for a hunt.
Completely dressed, we made our way to the back of the house where a spacious �game room� was located. It held a standard size pool table, a dartboard, weight bench, punching bag, and a HUGE weapon�s locker. I�d never actually seen the inside of it, but I had my own key, which I used now. As the wide double doors swung open, Pete whistled low between his teeth and I would have, if I knew how. Before us lay an assassin�s treasure-trove. Handguns of all makes and sizes. Barrettas. Brownings. Smith and Wessons. Form little .22s to 9mm to 40 calibers. Several full size shotguns and boxes upon boxes of ammo for them all were neatly hung on hooks or stacked on the bottom. What I didn�t see was the very illegal stuff I knew he had, but this would be illegal enough for us, considering we were well below age.
After brief consideration, I grabbed a 9mm Barretta, checked to see that it was unloaded, then slammed a full magazine home, pulled the slide to cock it and clicked the safety on. Peter picked the same type gun and preformed the exact same steps, just as Edward had shown us not too long ago. Three full silver shot magazines went to each of us, though if we needed that much ammo, the reason Eddy got hurt would be because it was a trap and we�d be in deep shit. In addition, I strapped a silver knife to my right forearm and Pete put one on his calf. We tucked our guns in our pants in a right front cross draw. After locking the cabinet again, we were on our way to the front of the house but when we passed by a full-length mirror in the hall, I had to pause, bringing Pete to a halt with me. There were no words to describe how we looked, except a bit scary. Militia member comes to mind, as does vigilantes. Who, us? Couldn�t be. We�re just a bunch of kids.
As we walked on, he said, �Crys, you know that the tips of your hair are a bit bright, right? I mean, that bleach blonde is like a �shoot here� sign.�
I blinked, then realized that he was right. �There�s a camo hat by the door. Don�t let me forget it, �kay?�
He nodded. �I got your back. And you head.�
*~*
The bike ride to the Painted Panther took about a half an hour straight out of town where the trees actually started showing up and becoming quite dense. We found the club nestled in a stand of trees and looking quite dead. Pete stated as much as we pedaled up the drive.
I glanced at my watch. �What do you expect of a nightclub at 1 o�clock in the afternoon?� He shrugged and we chained our bikes to a handicapped parking sign. Together we walked to the door, and he tried it, only to find it locked. /Oh cummon!/ I thought, though I said nothing, for he was doing enough cursing and door tugging for the both of us.
With no warning, the door opened and Peter staggered back a few feet, but succeeded in not falling on his ass as the man who opened the door stared out at us. His eyes were caramel color, his hair plain brown and spiked, and he regarded us with suspicion, a heavy hand on the door. �Whaddya kids want?�
My hunt companion stood up straighter next to me. �We�re here to meet with Ian Howe.� This was stated with a bit more deepness and grown then was usually in his voice. Probably intimidated by the big guy in front of us who was most likely a bouncer by night. I sure as hell was. I mean, the dude was 6�4� if he was an inch.
I felt it as he looked us up and down, eyes pausing at the guns, then again at my knife sheath, very black even against my pretty good tan. After he�d taken in our weaponry and dress, he came back to our faces where he blinked. We�d let them freeze over into our game faces, showing that we weren�t your normal teens with cap guns. Loud and clear in my mind I heard /Oh shit./, but it wasn�t _my_ thought. Well, now I know the answer to my question about weres. I gave a smile that was actually a snarl and the bouncer�s face didn�t flinch. He�s pretty good.
Finally, he nodded and stepped out of the way of the door. �Okay. Follow me. He�s in the back.� Honestly, I was surprised he�d let two armed people have his back. Either he didn�t take us seriously or he was mighty cocky. Hoping for the latter because we got too much of the former. He led us through the main area with all the chairs upturned on the tables, lights dark, no peanuts on the tables. Just looked weird. We went through a door on the other side marked with one of those �Authorized Personnel Only� signs. �More takers on the hit, Boss,� the man said as we came through the door, a noticeable chuckle in his voice.
The back room was pretty spacious, done up like a living room with a large screen TV, a couple comfy looking chairs and a small kitchen off to one side. Nice. Right now, the thing getting my attention was the people, six of them, not counting us, with the head-honcho, supposedly, in the biggest Lay-Z-Boy in the room. He smiled politely up at us. �I am Ian Howe, leader of the Painted Panthers. So you two want to kill my brother?�
�If your brother is Cyrus Howe, then yes,� I gave in reply. Ian nodded, grimly, determinedly. He looked only about 25 and wiry, not like he could hold a group that contained folks like Mr. Bouncer, but his eyes held a fire, as if they danced with his power.
�That�s him. I want him dead because he purposefully infected my three-year-old daughter with lycanthropy. I should mention that he is a bit mentally unstable. I�d kill him myself except he- he�s my brother. Exactly twelve months older. We were best friends. I want him dead, but _I_ can�t kill him, you see? How did you find out and what makes you think you can succeed?�
I glanced at Pete, not sure what to say. �Well,� I started, �my dad did the hunt last night. Your brother got lucky and he got really hurt. We want payback.�
�He taught us how to hunt,� Peter threw in. �We�ve both killed before, and that was before the training.�
After our little declarations, a silence settled over the room as Ian considered our case and us. With a slight smile, I let my mental blocks slide open a bit and gave out a very strong thought of /Please/. His head shot up and he focused all of his attention on me. What a reaction. �Psychic?� he questioned.
�Not technically. I don�t see the future or the past. I can�t talk to anyone but animals,� I explained, shrugging. Quickly, I added, �And weres.�
He clapped his hands together and grinned, sitting forward in his chair. �The Speaker. You are the Speaker.� Noting my confused look, he continued. �Every now and then, a Speaker is born who can communicate mentally with animals. They always do something important with their lives, especially related to animals. It�s one of the _rarest_ preternatural gifts _ever_. You and your companion may hunt Rus with my blessing. Don�t get killed though. It isn�t good if a Speaker dies young.�
�Especially for the Speaker,� Pete quipped. I elbowed him in the ribs, but grinned all the same. Hard to deny a truth like that.
*~*
Tromping through the woods a half an hour later, I couldn�t help but thinking that I�d actually do something important. Some folks go through their entire lives wondering if they�ll do anything worth while and I knew. Great. Grand. Wonderful. Now I actually have to put forth an effort. But if I didn�t pay attention to the here and now, I�d end up dead and not worrying about the future. I blinked hard, sighed, and adjusted my glasses. Briefly, I transferred my gun to my left hand and wiped my sweaty right palm on my thigh, then traded it back. This dude, Cyrus, was one cocky punk. He infects his niece with lycanthropy, which severely ticks off his brother, and has the gall to take up residence in the big woods behind said brother�s place of business. What a jerk.
After taking another cautious glance around, I stopped and tapped Peter on the shoulder. He glanced briefly at me, an acknowledgement and a go-ahead that he was listening, then his eyes were prowling the woods again. �I�m gonna look for him. Maybe even try to get into his head, get him to come out so we can shoot him nice and easy.�
He nodded. �That�d be helpful. Don�t worry, I�ve got you covered.� Pete tipped a wink my way that left my toes tingling and my cheeks hot. He�s such a flirt. But he had to watch out for both of us because I am basically defenseless when my mind is out communing with nature.
Careful to make sure the safety was on my gun, I dropped my arms to my sides, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and opened my mind. I kept repeating /Human. Big male. Smells like animal./ like a chant in my head. Some animal that this rung true with would signal me. Sure enough, /Over here/ rang through my head. I asked the creature if I could come in it�s head and take a look around. It granted permission quite readily and when I opened my eyes again, I was a good 12 feet above the ground, perched on a limb. Glancing down at myself I saw dainty clawed paws. Huh. A cat.
Looking around, I quickly spotted Cyrus Howe one branch down from me at about 11 feet up. He was barefoot, wearing a scruffy, cruddy pair of jeans and using those feet and one hand to perch there, the other hand formed into a set of claws. Dang, he�s good if he�s got partial transformation skills. And Rus was watching something. More like stalking, really. I followed his line of sight as best I could and saw that he was stalking _us_! Pete wasn�t even looking this way! I tried to shout to get his attention, but I was a freakin� CAT. I had to get back to my own body, right then. I left the cat�s mind just as Cyrus left his limb and slammed into my own body just a hair before the were slammed into me, his claws tearing through the flesh of my arm.
Even as I landed hard on my ass, the creature sprung away form me, keeping me between him and Peter, who�d spun, already sighting. My arm was liquid fire from my shoulder to my fingertips, though it was my upper arm that�d caught the brunt of it. Our bad guy was dancing around, keeping his eyes on peter but glancing at me, expression hungry. Oh boy. And I�d lost my gun in the fall. I couldn�t pull my knife, because I�d placed it for a left handed draw, but my left arm was cooperating. I looked at my arm, at the blood running down to pool in the leaves in strange patterns and tried to wiggle my fingers, which didn�t cooperate. /So this is what shock feels like/ I mused.
I looked up again, arm still blazing, when Pete yelled my name, probably thinking I�d passed out. Rus was much closer to me then before. Maybe I _had_ passed out. Then I realized with a start that I had a weapon, and not just the piddly li�l knife. A snarl crossed my face and I focused my mind on his. �This was my favorite shirt, you bastard,� I ground out as I opened my mind as wide as I could. Letting him feel my pain. Forcing it on him. He screamed as I had not, surprise can do that to you, clutched his own arm and fell to his knees. Behind me, Pete scrambled into a better position and a shot rang out, catching the man in the upper left chest. He went sprawling over backwards with the force of it. �Peter Parnell,� I scolded, ��I wanted to do that.�
He wandered toward me, stooping to pick up something on the way, then handed my lost gun down to me. �Put one through his brain for good measure then. We�ve gotta get _you_ to the hospital this time.�
Scowling at the thought of a hospital, I tried to stand and found it a no-go. Maybe a hospital isn�t such a bad idea... Pete grabbed me under my good arm and working together, we got me to my feet, though how long I�d stay there was yet to be seen. But I was determined to put a bullet in the man who�d ripped apart my arm and, with it, the sleeve of my favorite shirt. Bastard. Silently, I thanked whoever might be up there in heaven that he�d gotten my left arm and I could still shoot. So another shot rang out as I put a neat little black hole in his forehead, clicked the safety back on and shoved it down the front of my pants once again.
Pete had removed my black dress shirt that he wore and folded it up so it could be wrapped around my arm and cinched tight. Which hurt like a bitch, I might add. Then we tramped back through the woods in the direction from which we came, wondering if I�d be able to ride my bike all the way back home. Above us, thunder rolled across the sky, issuing from clouds we hadn�t seen gathering due to our little scuffle. God condemning what we did? Naw, couldn�t be...
*~*
When we got back to the Painted Panther, Ian sent two of his minions, er, friends, out to the area we described to verify Cyrus�s departure from this world. We weren�t allowed to leave until they came dragging the bloody and lifeless, and by now a little wet, body in, slung between them. I guess it wouldn�t do to pay us if didn�t do the job. Good business and all that... They wanted to look at my arm while we waited, bandage it up all right and proper, but then resolved that the shirt had slowed at least some of the bleeding and if it was untied, the flow may begin again. That and I wanted no one touching my arm until anesthetic was on hand. �Ouch� doesn�t _begin_ to describe it. Unfortunately, they didn�t offer to let me wash up and I didn�t ask, so the blood drying on my arm was becoming tight and itchy. Blech.
Once Rus Howe was laid out and found sufficiently deceased, Ian produced a backpack from behind his recliner that he tossed to Pete. �Payment in full on the bounty,� was all he said. Peter opened the pack and found it containing five wads of 100-dollar bills. Fifty thousand smackers staring at us. I picked up a pack, hefted it in my one hand and managed to flip through, making sure the serial numbers changed. They did, but it pays to be cautious. I tossed it back in and after zipping, Peter slung it over his shoulder and we headed for the door while the panthers gathered around their ex-comrade, a feral look in their eyes.
~( 8>