The Wolfman (32 page)

But before they could arrive he heard a sound and turned to look up at the roof of the building on the far side of the hedges, and there, framed against a rounded curve of the moon, was the monster.

Every instinct told Aberline to run. He saw his death up there. He saw hell itself crouching atop a stone griffin, the Devil himself in true form. He wanted to run.

And he did run.

Toward the building.

T
HE WOLFMAN
’
S HUNGER
was a furnace that could not be fed. It screamed within him, demanding meat, demanding blood.

It leaped from the back of the griffin and began running along the edges of the building, jumping from one rooftop to another with ease, sometimes dropping to all fours to spring faster than a racehorse, sometimes climbing, always moving, a blur of darkness against the smiling face of the Goddess of the Hunt.

Aberline ran as fast as he could, trying to keep pace with the monster. He saw it leap from a building and land badly, scrambling for purchase at the edge of the building across the way.

“Got you!” Aberline hissed. He stopped and stood with his legs braced, raised his pistol in both hands, closed one eye and fired.

The first bullet tore a chunk of brick and dust from the wall a foot from the monster’s shoulder. Aberline drew a breath, corrected and fired again. And again. He could see the back of the creature’s shirt puff with each impact. He fired and fired until the hammer clicked on an empty cylinder.

The Wolfman did not fall. It did not falter. It threw a growl over its shoulder and then hauled itself over the edge of the building and vanished.

Aberline cursed and kept running.

He had no idea what he would do, or could do. He had just used the last of his cartridges.

T
WO BOBBIES ON
horseback heard the bleat of whistles and then six spaced gunshots. They turned and tracked the echoes to the far side of the park.

“That’s the Asylum,” growled Pettit. “Jailers have let another madman slip out.”

“Bloody loonies ought to be put down,” answered Frost as he kicked his mount into a jump to clear a row of hedges. They angled toward the center of the park, the quickest route to the Asylum, but both horses suddenly cried out and reared as a wave of screaming people broke from under the shadows of the trees and surged toward them in a mass.

“What the bloody ’ell?” demanded Pettit.

“All the loonies have broken out,” warned Frost as he drew his baton. But the crowd that surged toward them and past them were not inmates in straightjackets or prison pajamas. They were businessmen and clerks, ladies and street musicians, wealthy children and shabby beggars. The only thing that unified them was the absolute terror written onto each face.

The tide of shrieking, panicked people washed past them, spilling out into the streets, running away from the row of buildings near the Asylum.

The two bobbies stood up in the stirrups and looked beyond the trees at the buildings and at the thing that ran from rooftop to rooftop.

“Oh my God . . . ,” they said in perfect chorus.

A
BERLINE BROKE FROM
the park and ran toward a knot of constables hurrying his way on foot.

“Are you armed?” he demanded.

Two of them produced pistols and one man in the back had a shotgun.

“Give me your gun,” he demanded and the nearest officer handed over a heavy pistol. “And all your bullets. Come on, hurry, damn you.”

The wave of panicking people were sweeping toward him, but Aberline crashed into them, shoving people roughly out of his way. The bobbies fanned out behind him in a muscular phalanx off of which the mob rebounded.

“There!” called one of the officers, and Aberline saw that the creature had changed direction, heading now toward the center of town. They pelted after him, racing
down streets, cutting through alleys. When they ran down a shadowy street that proved to be a dead-ended mews, Aberline stopped, cursing in frustration.

Music floated through an open window to their left, and immediately Aberline ran that way. He didn’t even pause at the door but crashed into it with two burly sergeants on either side. The door was ripped from its hinges and the officers pounded over it, crashing into the middle of a gathering of richly dressed toffs seated on sofas and ornate chairs as a string quartet played some pastoral confection. The music screeched to a sour halt and the gathered gentry cried out in shock and protest, but Aberline had no time for détente. He led his men through the house, kicked open the back door, and ran into the yard. He raised his pistol, expecting the monster to be leaping from that rooftop to the next, but there was no movement.

The monster had changed direction. They’d lost him.

B
EYOND THE WALL
were bright lights and the smell of meat. The Wolfman narrowed its yellow eyes and watched as people—scores of them—moved through the streets. Hot spittle dripped from its teeth as its muzzle wrinkled back in a hunting snarl.

It crept forward, selecting the perfect prey. . . .

A
BERLINE RAN DOWN
the alley and burst out into the street in time to see two of his best detectives, Carter and Adams, jumping down from an armored wagon.

“Carter! You got a pistol?”

“Yes, sir. We’re both—”

“Good,” Aberline snapped. “Follow me. The rest of
you men, find a way to get to the rooftops. Spread out and find this thing.” But he paused and jabbed a finger into Adams’ chest. “Telegraph the yard. Issue weapons to everyone. Now!”

Aberline slapped Carter on the shoulder and the two of them ran.

Between puffing breaths, Aberline asked, “Carter . . . does the Yard have any silver bullets?”

Carter ran ten steps before he replied. “Silver?”

T
HE WOLFMAN WAS
blocks away, running along the rooftops, tracking the movement of the herds of prey below. The greed of its own appetite made it indecisive. Each new one he saw looked more enticing than the last. Drool flew from his mouth and spattered the slashed remains of Lawrence Talbot’s white shirt.

A
S ABERLINE AND
Carter burst from the maze of alleys they saw a large group of bobbies running in a pack toward the commotion. When the officers saw Aberline they ran to meet him.

“Carter, take half of these men . . . gather whomever else you can and protect the streets. Who knows where this beast will strike. The rest of you come with me.”