Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => London => Muggle London => Topic started by: Kurby Bagnold on November 02, 2018, 11:28:17 PM
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Thursday, November 10
Around 22:15
Post-Moonrise
The full moon gleamed over the streets of Camden, but the storefronts were so bright with the strange, colorful electric Muggle lights that most of the passerby barely seemed to notice. The streets had become busier now as groups of Muggles strolled from bar to bar, talking and laughing, the evening’s revelry and libations adding volume to their chatter.
The silver links of his chainmail rippled silently as Kurby shifted position, his dark gaze scanning the crowd. He’d taken up position at the edge of an alleyway, leaning back against the wall at the side of a shuttered storefront. He’d gotten a few strange looks from some of the Muggles wandering by, but most of them seemed content to ignore him.
This particular posting had been a late addition to the Werewolf Capture Unit’s assignments for the night. They were still keeping a full team stationed up outside of Edinburgh, even though last month’s full moon hadn’t revealed hide or hair of the supposed direwolf[1] that had ravaged a former Azkaban inmate back in September. The other unit members were scattered in the usual places: largely Hogsmeade and Diagon, just in case a flea-ravaged mongrel got any bright ideas.
But earlier that evening, just as the moon was rising, word had come in of a monstrously large dog spotted romping down the street somewhere north of Regent’s Park. The report wasn’t exactly what he’d consider reliable – Kurby suspected that the wizard who’d made it probably hadn’t been sober since the last full moon – but at the very least, it had given him a chance to give himself an assignment. He’d grabbed Li and Harris, one of the newer Muggleborn recruits, and brought them along with them to scout the busy area near the Camden Lock.
His choice of teammates had very quickly proven to be a mistake. Harris never really shut up, and he’d apparently decided to redirect all of the effort that he should have been putting towards watching for lycanthropes into trying to talk Li’s ear off, in some sort of mistaken attempt at instigating a courtship. Kurby had suffered through the chatter for all of three minutes before he’d snapped and brusquely ordered them to find somewhere else to keep watch.
Which had left him here, all alone – not an undesirable situation, all things considered. The sharp chill of the air cut through his leather and silver, making his hair stand on end. Even with all the Muggles streaming by, he’d largely been left alone. There was nothing to do but watch and listen and wait, in anticipation of a hunt.
He sensed more than saw the dark-colored silhouette that cut towards him. Kurby’s gaze flicked over to the approaching figure briefly. Human-shaped – not a wolf, so not a threat on a brightly-lit night like tonight. He didn’t feel like having a conversation with a Muggle, any more than he felt like dealing with any more flying books or drama with Gen. In some twisted way, the full moon was his night off from dealing with nonsense that shouldn’t matter.
“This way’s closed,” he said curtly, attention shifting back to the crowd again. “Find another.”
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"Mmm, you think, uh..." The nasal grumble was gravel and glass.
"Mr. Werewolf is a traffic cop now, good for you." His words were long and drawn out, like he had all the time in the world; he hit all his r's hard. "Thank you for your service."
Lazarus Blackburn posted up against the other side of the alley and tipped his hat back further on his head, then put his hands under his arms. A full moon to a vampire was like a sunny day. Whether the citizens of London noticed, muggle or magical-wise, the pale bare face of the moon did strange things. A little more merry, a little more reckless, a little less perceptive.
And there was, of course, that other thing.
The thing that drew out the Ministry of Magic's spooks, like this fellow. Lazarus had no personal quarrel with the Ministry of Magic; in fact, they hadn't had cause to do dealings in decades. He wrote his name in their book disappeared into the city and into the fold of Terrence Hooker. The coven functioned as a convenient distribution of Approved Sustenance, and they even had their own lovely liaison in Tristian Vaillencourt.
How the vampires had gotten lucky with the Ministry of Magic, Lazarus couldn't imagine. There were no Vampire Hunters employed there, certainly. No, that profession was strictly freelance in this country. But no such luck for werewolves. But then, there wasn't anything lucky about being a werewolf. What a sad way to spend living, never enjoying a full moon.
The angle of the light cut a slice of shadow across Lazarus's face, a crooked and pleasant little smile showing off his kind's particular bite.
"Catch any ... jaywalkers ... yet?" said Lazarus with a grunt of a laugh.
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The werewolf hunter's eyebrows shot up, and he aimed a sharp look at the figure across the alley. Not a Muggle, then. But the wizard seemed a little too still, a little too relaxed to be out and about on Muggle streets in the middle of a full moon. And then there was that flash of a sharp-toothed smile...
Brows raising, Kurby paused, regarding the creature more warily. They couldn't help but announce what they were, vampires.
They were a different sort of monster than a werewolf. Where lycanthropes were most notable for the gratuitous loss of humanity that came with each full moon, vampires took great pride in their self-control. They seemed to revel in their other-ness, to celebrate the loss of humanity that set them apart from the beating hearts around them. Unlike werewolves, they didn't need to lap down wolfsbane all month long to keep themselves docile. The sharp-toothed creatures were coolly sentient, more than capable of making decisions about what was right and what was wrong, even if moral values held no real sway over their reasoning.
But that self-control didn't mean they weren't dangerous. Far from it.
Kurby gave a snort. "Aye, got 'em all tussed up around the corner," he said gruffly. What the hell was a J. Walker? Some sort of blood-sucker slang for a werewolf? How the bleeding hell was he supposed to know what that stupid initial stood for?
Rolling his shoulders back, he checked instinctively for the silver chain at his belt, his wand in its holster. Everything was in its proper place, and Kurby relaxed, even if only slightly. If the gravely-voiced vampire had come to try its luck at taking down a wizard, then at least he'd get to take part in a different sort of night rumble than usual.
"Busy part of town to pick for an evening stroll," he remarked, raising his eyebrows at the vampire. "You out lookin' for a snack in particular, or just tryin' to work up an appetite?"
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Lazarus stood up from leaning and placed his hand on his chest.
"I'm wounded," he said with gently mocking hurt. Lazarus was a peaceful creature and came by blood in the recommended mode. Such was the promise that kept him in good stead all around town. Certainly the nature of his being meant every pumping heart was beating for him, but there were things more important than indulgence. Such as inspiring a mortal mob. No, the werewolf hunter was right - the bright streets of the city would be a risky choice.
The wizard stood like a well-armed man. Confident in his preparations. The concern of what might comforted by the knowledge of what he would. Lazarus knew that trick, too.
Slowly, humming something too quiet to identify, Lazarus scraped his feet on the ground as he paced a little way back into the alley.
"So, did you get our tip?" he asked. "Mmm, maybe not. Tolly's[1] best quality isn't accuracy."
The lack of urgency that colored everything about Lazarus extended even to a might-be werewolf loose in London and related acts of good citizenship.
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The vampire followed up its little one-act drama by stepping back into the darkness of the alley. Like the curtains rolling across the stage after the end of a performance, the shadows folded around it, welcoming the creature into their embrace. Standing so close to it, alone in the darkness despite the thronging street nearby, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
But despite what his instincts might be telling him, the creature didn't seem to have come to threaten him. It didn't even seem particularly interested in trading snipes. Kurby paused, considering his options.
Unlike the werewolves, who had fallen in line behind Fenrir Greyback without so much as a whimper and used the last war to wreak death and dismemberment upon wixes and Muggles alike, the vampire covens of the United Kingdom had never really rallied to Voldemort's side. For the most part, they didn't intentionally try to evade Ministry regulations, they didn't lie to themselves, and they didn't spend half their time whining about how they couldn't help their beastly nature. He'd heard stories about deadly covens and vampire massacres in Eastern Europe, but those sorts of events rarely happened here. With St. Mungo's blood banks replenished,[1], the chance of an incident anywhere near London seemed diminished.
The werewolf hunter stayed silent for a moment longer, mouth pressed shut, and then gave a mental shrug. Li and Harris were close enough to be summoned by Patronus if it came to that. If this vampire had come to toy with him or lure him into some sort of ambush, he'd take the risk.
"Remind me," he said, straightening. The stumbling wizard who had come to report the potential sighting hadn't struck him as the sort to spend his spare time rubbing shoulders with blood suckers, but then, Kurby hadn't felt like interrogating the man's life story. On nights where the full moon was rising, action won out over investigation every time.
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It had been a dozen decades and Lazarus still noticed how wary magic-folk were around his kind. Even when Lazarus was his better self, humming and loose and amiable, the humans were unsettled. Oh, well. That was all bad P.R., then. Can't take it personally, old Laz, you're a once-human now living an inverted life, your existence entirely depending on the blood animating still-humans. How much even was left of the first Lazarus, who'd only spun thirty years against our more recent dozen dozens? Were it the other way around, he'd have been wary too.
"Alright, alright. Here I thought he was in a hurry," Lazarus chuckled. "That's fine, that's fine with me. He wants to take his time. Old Lazarus has plenty. What did we see, what did we say.. hmmm."
He moved a little back and forth scratched his chin and adjusted his hat. He licked his finger and held it to the wind.
"Big. Dog. Monster of a dog. Hmmm, Regents Park. How much do you think made it through the leaky sieve of Mr. Furrow's mind?"
Just exactly enough, Lazarus had hoped, to scare up a couple (not several) of the Werewolf Hunters. No need to be causing an alarm over what might be, could be nothing.
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It didn't take a wix with a mind as sharp as the late, great Albus Dumbledore to formulate a guess as to how to draw out the Werewolf Capture Unit. Kurby listened as the vampire began to share his thoughts, silently appraising. The creature's rambling way of speaking reminded him a bit of the verbal tics shared by the new Head of the Department of Mysteries.
Despite its nature and its predatory canines, this creature didn't come across as immediately threatening. But then, if it had apparently had some reason to try and get the attention of the Ministry and the WCU....
"Enough made it through to get me here," he allowed, matter-of-fact. Admitting that wasn't exactly giving away a great secret. Kurby would much rather risk being drawn into a trap on the full moon than allow a werewolf to rampage unchecked. If this gave the vampire or some other dark creature bright ideas for the future, then so be it.
He glanced back at the street, rubbing a hand over his face. There weren't any known safe houses near here, not in such a crowded neighborhood. If there were really and truly a werewolf nearby, it had to be unregistered -- and it likely had some nefarious purpose to allow itself to transform in the middle of London.
"Who saw the dog?" Kurby looked back at the vampire, his brow furrowing. "Your friend didn't have a lot of details to share. Did you see it?"
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Lazarus laid his hand on his chest again, this time proudly.
"I did, yes. I did see it," he rumbled with a smile.
He really was feeling good about it, his little plan. See a little wrong, do a little good. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't. The Werewolf Hunter hadn't come around yet, still glaring at him from under world-wary brow. A grim professional on a grim errand only to be bidden so by a Drained Fellow. Perhaps his night would improve.
"I saw it. Whispered it to Tolly, sent him off like a moth. But I saw. And you should see it."
Lazarus took a few more steps into the alley, the darkness folding around him.
"Follow me. We'll ... have a look."
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There were probably at least two dozen well-thought out arguments against accompanying the vampire into the dark of the alleyway without telling anyone where he was going. For starters, Kurby was absolutely certain that if he ever heard about any of the kids in the WCU pulling the same stunt, he would have ripped their heads off himself. You didn't go on alone. That was the point of the Capture Unit. If a predator managed to isolate you from your team, that was the first step on a very short road to a certain, brutal death.
This was the sort of scenario that had popped up in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes during his first year at Hogwarts. He even thought he recalled something about venturing into a dark alleyway with a vampire being the premise of one of his sister's Muggly the Bear Safety Specials. Step One to Surviving the Magical World: Don't be a goddamned idiot.
But here he was, actually considering doing just that.
He could have sent a spell to call in Li and Harris -- but then he'd have to put up with Harris, he thought sourly. Even summoning Level Two via Red Sparks! was an option, though an eminently annoying one. But Kurby didn't feel like playing it safe. He'd spent the past several months chafing at circumstances forced upon him, trapped in situations that he had no power to fix: Zelda's possession, swallowing his pride with Greyfriar, all of the drama with Gen, the Dementor attack on St. Mungo's. After all that, the thought of barreling head-first into trouble against his better judgement somehow had appeal.
Kurby shot the vampire a sharp, almost wolf-like smirk. He unhooked the silver chain from his belt, looping it loosely over his shoulder -- easier to get at if he needed to use it in a hurry.
"Right behind you," he said cheerfully, and followed the creature into the darkness.
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Well, that was easy.
So unexpected was this that Lazarus stopped and stayed for a moment, his own face showing his surprise and skepticism. But the hunter had hoisted his snare.
"Right on."
Lazarus began to slowly move down the alley, watching to see if the wizard would really follow. He did. And he did. And he did. Moments ago Lazarus had been wondering at the existential survival deadlock between magic-folk and the unliving. Wasn't it interesting when things went a little bit differently than usual?
'Don't play with your food,' they always said.
'Why not,' was always his response.
The old maxims on etiquette sur la table were never about personal health, they were always about deviance. Tidy snark set to meter not to care for the liver but to maintain order. That was fine-fine-fine most of the time, but when wizards, werewolves and The Wise all dined together then deviations were necessary.
Confident now that the wizard would follow, Lazarus led the way whistling a tune that couldn't decide if it was in a major or minor key. It just felt like the thing to do because they way he passed was exceptionally dark, even under a full moon. His strides were long and his footfalls were silent. Lazarus knew all the darkest paths along the canal, effortlessly keeping them at a purposeful pace and out of the notice of muggles.
He looked back every so often to check on the wizard, and would mumble something like, "almost there," or, "eyes open."
Soon, they came upon a wall meant to protect pedestrians from the rail tracks on the other side. Lazarus at last came to a stop. He scratched his chin gently with his knuckles. This is it. Tada.
"I saw him down along the tracks. Mmm, no, not safe, I said. This, this is a job for careful hands. Where could I find a pair of those?"
The rhetorical question began to imply the vampire's intentions: a welfare intervention. It was a delicate situation and Lazarus had acted more hastily than he usually needed to. A loose werewolf could maim, curse, and kill; and more, set the pot to boiling. Lazarus had a soft spot for night-time tranquility. A werewolf scare, who did that help?
Lazarus's gaze was quiet and unblinking, watching everything.
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This wasn't quite a hunt, but it was as close as he was probably going to get tonight. Kurby stayed a few paces back from his guide, alert to the darkness all around him as the vampire led the way through the empty alleys and streets, away from the light of the full moon. The jaunty, off-key atmospheric tune that his companion seemed intent on humming made the whole adventure seem more and more like something out of a bad Horror Hour special on the Wizarding Wireless Network.
In some ways, he missed the thrill of it. The past few years, aside from the spurt of attacks that had followed the first Direwolf incident, there had been fewer and fewer werewolf hunts. People were still murdered, but as more werewolves chose to follow Ministry regulations and register, the WCU saw less action during their monthly patrols. It didn't help that his rise in the ranks meant that he spent more time planning and filling out paperwork than he did cracking heads like he used to. Even when he did take a team into the field, he had to make sure that they all made it home safe, rather than trying whatever daredevil tactic came to mind to take down the beast.
At last, they came to a halt in front of a wall. It stood a few feet over his head, made out of large concrete bricks. Kurby eyed it, silently judging what sort of effort it would take to scale it.
He backed up a few paces, glancing over his shoulder to check the darkness behind him one last time. He hadn't seen any sign that they were being followed, but then, his vampire guide had already demonstrated how silently its kind could move.
"How long ago did you see it?" He pulled the hood of his silver chainmail coif over his head, fastening it into place as his eyes flicked over to the vampire. "You sure it was a werewolf in wolf form?"
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Tsk. "Your bedside manner is terrible," Lazarus gently chastised, unsatisfied with the werewolf hunter's reaction.
He placed his hand on top of his hat and with a jerk of his chin, he seemed to suddenly disappear. It happened so quickly and the shadows were so dark, it would be difficult to make out the tiny brown bat jotting up into the air. Two seconds later, Lazarus re-appeared, sitting on top of the wall, still holding his hat onto his head.
"It was a werewolf, Mr. Bagnold," he said from above, choosing this moment to demonstrate that this particular wizard was known. "I've seen werewolves before. Not this one, no no. This one's a newbie. You can tell."
He laughed a little, raspy and low. It felt good to help people.
"Alley oop."
Lazarus once again transformed into a bat, finding his own trousers again (so to speak) in the gravel on the other side of the wall. To his right and left stretched multiple rows of tracks, gently curving out of sight.
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One moment the vampire was standing in front of him, and the next the creature had dissolved into the shadows, leaving nothing but a tiny wisp of darkness that darted towards the top of the wall. A moment later, his guide reappeared, still just as chatty after its sojourn as a bat.
So it had known who he was when it have approached him. Kurby did his best to ignore the chill that ran down his back, the sense of dread that came from a monster knowing your name. If his guide was in any way representative of its species, then vampires certainly knew how to do 'ominous' a hell of a lot more effectively than werewolves did. But that alone didn't mean that this was a trap or a threat. For all he knew, his vampire guide was simply enamored with its own sense of drama.
But to find out, he'd have to follow the creature to the other side of the wall. Simply apparating himself to the other side seemed too easy; and besides, if he was going to pretend this was a hunt, then he might as well play by the normal rules and avoid the inevitable crack that came with such a spell. Kurby backed up another couple of paces, then took a running start at the wall. This sort of trick had been easier when he'd been eight or ten years younger, but somehow he still managed to scramble just far enough up it that he could get his fingers over the top. That gave him the edge he needed to haul himself up far enough to swing a leg over.
From the top of the wall, he could see the Muggle train tracks stretching in either direction. The werewolf hunter paused there for a moment, head tilted, listening silently as he caught his breath. There was none of the audio cues that he had come to expect: no roaring, no distant howls. No screams.
The vampire was right about one thing, though. New werewolves had a look about them. They often seemed somehow more wild, as if the initial burst of searing pain and blood-thirst that came with their first transformation drove them even farther past the brink of bestial madness.
Kurby lowered himself partway off the wall, and then dropped the rest of the way to the ground, taking most of the impact in his knees.
"I didn't realize vampires had a sense of civic duty," he remarked, glancing carefully at the ground. No sign of footprints, either, but the dirt looked hard-packed -- not the kind that would collect signs of of a werewolf's passage easily. "Did you see which way it went?"
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Lazarus watched with amusement as his mortal 'companion' helfted himself up and over the wall in the most charming mortal manner.
Civic duty?
"This one does."
He hadn't been surprised by human short-sighted assumptions in many decades. Mr. Bagnold, Lazarus did hope, would learn better before his mortal heart ceased its beating. Lazarus tilted his hat back with a flick to the brim and began ambling north-ish along the tracks.
"I can hear him," he said, glancing back. "And smell him."
There was a decommissioned station not far. Indeed, even in the darkness of the walled in tracks, three great dark maws sat in a row up ahead. Inside ran the tracks and inside were the ruins of platforms, stairways, and maintenance passages. All blocked off for public (muggle) safety, but the precautions served little practical impediment to magic folk, vampires, and inexperienced werewolves.
Lazarus's footfalls made very little sound in the ground and the stiff breeze molested not his coat. He felt no chill, the elements learning ages ago they couldn't touch him and seemed to let him be.
"You'll help him," he said. Neither a question nor a command. "Civic duty."
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Kurby barked out a laugh, flashing his teeth at the vampire in a quick, wolfish smile. When it came to werewolves, help was always relative.
But he wasn't planning on killing the beast, not unless everything else failed first. For one, he'd have to deal with paperwork and uncomfortable questions at the Ministry, which he'd done a damned good job of steering clear of the past few years. For another, as idiotically stupid as it was for any werewolf to transform out in public, it was incrementally more forgivable for a newly-turned lycanthrope. Despite all of the money and time that the Ministry wasted on outreach, not everyone who'd been bitten during a full moon immediately sought out help. And since the Ides of March catastrophe two years ago, it had become clear that sometimes new werewolves were turned and released against their will.
They were approaching what looked to be some old abandoned station. Three stone arches stood as a gateway to the darkness, blocked off with wire fencing, with some sort of red and white Muggle barrier in front of it to warn anyone away. Taken together, the blockage didn't look like it would hold up to a werewolf's fierce bite.
It was certainly a convenient place for a newly-turned werewolf to transform, well away from the public. Kurby regarded the entrance to the underground tunnel thoughtfully, and then glanced at the vampire.
It wasn't too late to call in help or to turn back. But somehow, he wanted to carry this through alone. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling that nothing was straightforward anymore; that everything he did was mired in complicated negotiation. This, at least, had an objective that was clear and direct.
With a loud crack, the werewolf hunter vanished. A split second later, he'd reappeared on the other side of the barrier, inside the darkness of the tunnel. The sound was clearly enough to announce their arrival: somewhere ahead, obscured by the darkness, he heard a distant, faint howl.
"Well, you ever decide you want a side job, let me know," he told the vampire, half cheerfully. Sometimes it seemed as if half the goddamned Ministry was only being hired to meet some quota; if they were going to have to be inclusive anyway, they might as well hire a creature whose senses seemed to be potentially useful for Kurby's direct responsibilities. "You want to tag along for this, or are we callin' it square, since you brought me this far?"
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Lazarus's expression turned a dark disapproval when Mr. Bagnold laughed in the night. Vampires and werewolves had no earthly reason to love each each other, but Lazarus felt he had better reason than some. He'd lived and died risking his skin for others, that much he remembered. And his reward? Not the sweet slumber of martyrdom, but an ages-long sentence existing in shadow. A werewolf, they could probably imagine such a fate. Mr. Bagnold? He seemed to find plight a personal offense.
Lazarus Blackburn began to regret his altruism. Bagnold chose the Wizarding way to scale this wall; Lazarus, after a long moment, joined him in his own way.
"Square? You haven't done anything." A pepper of Laz's initial joie de mort had dissolved, now resolved to observe the werewolf hunter in his task. Help or hinder as the situation called for.
Lazarus began to moved down the tunnel, making no account of the pitch blackness, following the same sound Mr. Bagnold could surely hear as well.
-
Here they were, adventuring into the darkness: him, his undead guide, and whatever flea-ridden nightmare lay waiting up ahead. Kurby felt uncannily, grimly cheerful about the whole thing. It had been a long time -- since before Bruce Ballentyne had been bitten, before Mainwaring had left and come back again, before he'd finally been allowed to take the reigns of the WCU himself -- since a hunt had felt this low stakes, just him and whatever might lay ahead in the darkness.
There was no reason to worry about anyone's safety, whether it was a bystander or his teammates. Even his civically-minded companion wasn't really at any sort of risk in facing a werewolf; the creature could simply transform itself into a bat and flitter away. For once, it was just him and the monster. It felt satisfyingly freeing.
As they moved slowly into the abandoned station, the space seemed to be getting darker and darker. The light of the full moon couldn't penetrate here; the shadows were so deep that he couldn't see even a few inches ahead of him. Kurby crept forward slowly, rolling each step, feeling his way along pace by pace so that he wouldn't trip over the uneven ground. Craning his senses, he tried to listen ahead, to get a sense of where the werewolf might be in the darkness.
But try as he might, he couldn't hear it. The werewolf had let out a howl, and then gone silent, as it might if it were hunting something. And it occurred to Kurby suddenly, even though he knew that the vampire had been just ahead of him, that he couldn't hear his undead guide, either.
The werewolf hunter went still in his tracks. Here in the pitch blackness of the abandoned train station, he might not be able to see anything trapped here with him, but both of the monsters in the darkness could surely sense him.
"Lumos Maxima," he called out, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand.
As he drew back his wand and flicked it again, the tip exploded with a bright, blinding light. With another jerk of his wand, Kurby sent the luminescent ball soaring toward the ceiling of the abandoned station, casting bright light all around them. Even if it meant that he gave up any hope of the element of surprise, at least now he and the monsters were on equal ground.
With the spell overhead, he could make out the inside of the station now. The entire space seemed a little larger than a Quidditch field, with stone walls and a dark, cave-like ceiling overhead. An old, rusty-looking train car sat parked by a platform; both looked like they hadn't seen use in many years.
And up ahead, letting out an enormous roar as it twisted away from the sudden light, was quite possibly the biggest lycanthrope he had ever seen in his fifteen years of hunting.
Kurby's face went gray.
He grabbed for his silver chain as he faced it, gripping the metal tightly in both hands. There was only one type of werewolf that he had ever known to get so big: a direwolf, one of the cursed abominations created by the Wizarding Blood Alliance. Suddenly, the noncommittal details and hazy timeline of the vampire's story seemed all the more striking.
"When did you see that thing come down here?" he snapped at the vampire, taking a step back away from the direwolf.
-
The wizard blasted the station in sharp-white wand-light with only as much warning as his incantation allowed. Lazarus, generally unprepared for this kind of uncomfortable illumination, swore under his breath and disappeared into the sharp shadow of a maintenance passage.
"Very subtle," he groused from the opening. The darkness had been no barrier to Lazarus a moment before when he'd thought he'd spotted the werewolf moving around up ahead. And now the wizard's light burned away any ambiguity: there he was, and he was massive. In a blink Lazarus was at Bagnold's side, again, holding his hat in a way to shade his eyes from the glare.
"Hard to say..." Lazarus muttered in response, actually surprised at what he'd found. The night's sightings ticked by in his memory, the oddities adding up. The beast loping through Regents Park at sunset. Laz had very well figured it was a dog at first and thought nothing of it. It was staying hidden and Laz had other things in his head. He'd have forgotten it if he hadn't seen it again, seen it more clearly. Followed it at some distance, following it no further than where Laz and Bags had hopped the old wall. 'New', Lazarus had thought. Funny how it seemed skittish. Choosy about where it was going.
"No, that's not right at all..." he muttered.
The werewolf, bigger than any Lazarus had ever seen, was a hulking and heavy sight. Jutting angles, coarse hair, slavering and panting maw. His stance now, head low, hackles up, clawed hands the size of car tires hanging ready. In a flash, the werewolf lashed out and sliced four perfect gashes in the side of the abandoned rail car. The sound echoed, nails-on-a-chalkboard times a thousand.
Lazarus made a sound like a nervous laugh, an ashy cough. "Hmm hmm, doesn't bode well for you trusting old Laz does it..."
Oh, Lazarus, this is what happens. He'd have a hard time getting over the damning narrative of luring a wizard into a werewolves den then leaving him to die.
-
The situation didn't bode well for him allowing 'old Laz' to continue along with its happy undead existence right now, but who was counting? Kurby clenched his teeth so hard he practically ground through the enamel. Eyes locked on the direwolf, he backed up one step, and then two, moving slowly back away from it.
Hell. What the bleeding hell was he supposed to do? Kurby backed up another step as the direwolf threw back its head and let out a terrifying howl. This wasn't a forest; there were no friendly tree roots to transfigure, and no soft ground that he could enchant to give way underneath it. He could apparate the hell away from here, but then there would be nothing keeping this goddamned thing trapped in the tunnel. And to hell with calling in the other two-thirds of his team: Harris, for one, would probably just get his head ripped off the second he came face to face with this beast.
Before he could make a decision, the direwolf charged at him, its teeth and claws slashing. Instinctively, he grabbed onto the vampire's coat and yanked on it, apparating them both away with a CRACK.
An instant later, they had reappeared on top of the rusting train car. Gritting his teeth, Kurby instantly let go of the vampire, not really caring if his undead companion had found his footing or not.
"Just break my neck and suck my blood to start with next time!" he snapped at it, his attention already focused back on the direwolf.
The creature had skidded to a halt as its prey had disappeared mid-pounce. Snarling, it whirled around with a limberness that a monster that big really didn't have a right to possess and charged back at the train car. It slammed into the rusty metal with a loud crash, rocking the carriage back so hard that Kurby nearly lost his footing. He dropped to a crouch, reaching out his free hand to steady himself against the train car's roof.
-
How long had it been since Lazarus had felt more than concern? More than mild dread or apprehension? When was the last time he'd found himself responsible for the well-being of a mortal? Had to be more years than the werewolf hunter had been breathing.
The wizard's Apparition all but completely stunned Lazarus and he fell hard to his knees, ears ringing. The roar of the werewolf and the harangue of the human were enough to quickly pull him out of it just in time to see the werewolf turn on a dime and charge again. Lazarus knew he was strong but not this strong, so although he doubted the beast could end his cursed existence he'd never overpower it. But what he did have was a supernatural quickness that the naked eye (and werewolves) could never match.
In a second he was across the station.
"Hey, Hairy," he rasped. Thank the stars the beast lunged for him. Just as he closed in, Lazarus moved across the space again. The werewolf roared in frustration, stalled and angry at the moving prey.
"Get handy with the wand, Bagnold," he suggested prepared to run again.
-
The train car dropped back into place and Kurby had braced himself to hang on through a second assault, when all of a sudden the vampire's voice called out from across the abandoned station. Startled, the werewolf hunter froze; he glanced back behind him, and then squinted across the underground chamber.
Huh. Apparently Old Laz had decided to do more than just jabber at him or lead him into a trap.
Silently, Kurby moved over to the far side of the train car. A moment later, he dropped down off the side of it, landing on the old platform. Like the rest of the abandoned station, the shadowy space looked like it hadn't been used in years. The tiles were dusty under his feet, and the ceiling was lower here, lined with burned-out electric lights. From the wall, old Muggle advertisements peered out at him through yellowed plastic.
"Get handy with the wand, Bagnold!" the vampire called.
Kurby glanced past the train car down the tracks. Most of the tracks seemed to disappear into the darkness; one or two of them, though, seemed to lead to a dead-end against a stone wall, some sort of waiting area for trains pulled off the main tracks.
It would be easy to run; to apparate away and then return with back-up. But even if the vampire was already mostly dead, he wasn't going to just abandon someone to a goddamned direwolf. The next-simplest solution -- killing the direwolf -- would create headaches of its own.
He began to gather his chain up again, studying the old train car as he slid the loops over his arm. It looked too heavy to levitate by himself, but it had wheels.
Freeing his wand again, he fired off a burst of blue sparks. The jet of cerulean light shot up towards the ceiling like a flare, hovering over a portion of the tracks in front of the train car to mark it.
"Give me five seconds and then get it over there!" he called to the vampire.
-
Lazarus's 'ready' stance looked more like he was waiting for a train or having a smoke around the corner. It was certainly in contradiction to his current anxiety in a situation he'd never been in before. He couldn't help but wonder what the coven was going to think of this, if they found out. But there was no time to think about community fall-out. Bagnold was on his toes again with a plan.
Laz had to skitter once more as Kurby disappeared from sight. There was the signal, and the plan, but there was something that Lazarus didn't trust about the stoic, hardened man who was called Hunter.
"You're going to help him, right?" Zip. "That is to say, not killing?" Zip.
The direwolf tracked Lazarus never tiring. But Laz wasn't ready to hand him over if the destination was potter's field.
"Sh-!" Too close that time!
-
He'd already started to move and cast the first couple of enchantments when the vampire had called out again.
Of course. Kurby stopped short, gritting his teeth. Of course he'd end up getting led into this mess by a well-meaning vampire who not only insisted on trying to be helpful, but actually appeared to care about the fate of the direwolf that was trying to slaughter them both.
"It's a goddamned werewolf!" he shouted back, frustration evident in his voice. He'd dropped a Muggle automobile on one once, for Merlin's sake; they were resilient.
What the hell was he supposed to do? Sing it to sleep? Offer to take it for a walk? If he didn't hit it hard enough to knock it down, then he didn't stand a chance of restraining it, and then he really would have to try and kill it.
-
He was scaring the wizard. Was that fear? Hard to tell. Shouting fell into many categories. Whatever it was, there was urgency. The wizard had asked for five seconds. How many had passed? A few by now, had to be. Lazarus wanted more assurances that the werewolf's life would be spared, but none would come. Who was to blame if it died? The Hunter who could only do one thing? Or the Lazarus who'd led the Hunter here?
"Plagued by conundrums," he said to himself before taking off a final time to stand below the blue light. His arrival in the trap was evidence of which end of the dilemma he'd chosen. He'd chosen to follow the course through and trust the wizard. He leaned one shoulder against the train car waiting for the werewolf and to see how this string of fate would pan out.
"Psst!" was the signal Kurby got from Lazarus that the werewolf was charging into place, taking the bait.
-
The vampire didn’t respond immediately to his shout. Kurby clenched his teeth, trying to think quickly. It wasn’t as if he’d drawn his knife and gone straight for the direwolf’s throat. The thing was big enough that it would probably be perfectly fine, even if it were hit by the speeding Hogwarts Express.
You’ll help him, the vampire had said. But his job wasn’t to help werewolves — particularly not unregistered ones, which most certainly included the current direwolf. It was to keep the public safe.
They didn’t have time to debate this. If Old Laz the vampire wasn’t going to cooperate with him, then he’d have to figure something else out.
But his argument had apparently been enough to change the vampire’s mind after all. ”Psst!” the undead creature hissed from the front of the train.
That was enough of a signal, even if it came without preamble. Kurby disappeared with a loud crack.
The snarling direwolf was charging toward the vampire when Kurby reappeared on top of the train. He judged the distance, and then apparated again a split second later, this time reappearing to the right of the direwolf’s path.
At the loud sound, the creature turned midstride to lunge at him, but Kurby was already moving. He dropped to one knee and cracked the silver chain like a whip, aiming at the direwolf’s upper right foreleg. As it struck, the chain wrapped around the creature’s limb. Kurby grabbed onto the other end of the chain with both hands and yanked hard, pulling the enormous monster off-balance as it fell fully onto the tracks.
The direwolf let out a horrific roar as it fell, pulled suddenly and violently off-balance. Quick as he could, Kurby cast a Sticking Charm to the other end of the chain, attaching it to a wooden railroad tie as he scrambled back. It might only hold the direwolf for a few seconds, but that was all the time that he’d need.
Except now the vampire was in the way, leaning against the old train car. “Move!” Kurby snapped at him as he tugged one of his silver rings off his right ring finger.
-
String of fate, indeed. The tool of Bagnold's trade was not wand as the vampire suspected, but a length shimmering chain. A neck-breaking take-down, violent but deft. A spray of gravel in front of his fate as the werewolf hunter snatched the fellow in the nick of time.
“Move!”
"Pardon," Lazarus trotted out of the way like a theatre-goer coming in late from intermission. He was in the way and had almost forgot himself. The werewolf hunter, he acted with a plan. He acted with the confident improvisation that comes from many repetitions in varying scenarios. Lazarus related, at least maybe he did. He'd been a fire fighter. How is a werewolf like a conflagration? A riddle in want of an answer. He slipped clear but, intrigued and still concerned for werewolf welfare, stayed close. Just out of reach, he hoped.
He put his hands in his pocket and leaned to the side. "Big, isn't he?" he asked with a calmness that contrasted Bagnold's intensity. "What do you reckon?"
-
The wood was cracking, the snarling direwolf was seconds from freeing itself, and now the vampire wanted to have a conversation. Kurby ignored him as he apparated once again, this time to a spot only a few meters away, where he could see the back of the train car. With a fluid motion, he tossed the silver ring back behind the train, and then cast a quick Confringo curse after it.
In his spare time, he’d always enjoyed tinkering with spells and charms. After he had joined the Werewolf Capture Unit as a young adult, Kurby had shifted most of his hobby to improving on defensive tools. Magic and active spells weren’t very useful against werewolves, and so he’d had to find other, more creative ways to give himself an edge. The silver rings were a useful trick: they built up kinetic energy as he moved, and could then be triggered to let out all of the energy that they had stored. The resulting blast of force wasn’t enough to knock out a werewolf, but it could certainly knock one back a few feet and give him breathing room.
Struck with the Blasting Curse, the silver ring exploded.
He’d braced himself for the energy from the shockwave, dropping with an arm to protect his head, and it was still nearly enough to knock him flat. The blast exploded into the back of the old train car, slamming it forward. With its wheels newly enchanted to spin more freely, the train rocketed into the direwolf, culminating in one final, magnificent, thunderous crash.
-
Lazarus had not been ready. The explosion was bright, hot, deafening in the contained area. He was knocked back and his hat flew off. Before he hit the ground, instinct kicked in; he changed himself into a bat and fled into a dark alcove. He couldn't tell what had happened to the werewolf or the wizard. His ears were ringing and he had stars in his eyes. His angry little squeaks might have only been audible to dogs and cats.
A minute later he began to gather up his wits, and alit back on the ground in his own two shoes. He picked up his hat, dusted it off and slowly approached the wrecked train car.
"That's a nice trick..." The wizard truly abhorred subtlety it seemed. Maybe Lazarus had stolen it all up. Nice trick indeed. Bring the whole roof down and muggle police with it. He wondered how much time before someone topside got anxious.
As he got closer, his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. He stopped. There was blood. Bad blood. He put his hat on.
"Hmmm, something doesn't smell right here, Bagnold. What now, fella?" he mumbled.
-
The explosion had rocked the underground station. Kurby waited half a beat, giving the ringing in his ears a chance to subside a little, and then carefully and cautiously climbed to his feet. He didn't think the dire wolf would be able to shake off a collision like that, but if it did, he wanted to be able to move.
The vampire had already begun to move towards the wreck, looking a little dazed. Old Laz stopped short, his nostrils flaring. "Hmmm, something doesn't smell right here, Bagnold," he mumbled. "What now, fella?"
Kurby was already assessing the wreckage, dark eyes scanning over the remains of the train. The front of it looked like it had been as mangled by its impact with the direwolf as the monster probably was by the train car. Underneath the twisted metal, he thought he could see something feebly moving, starting to stir.
Werewolves recovered quickly. He didn't want to waste any time.
The light from his Lumos Maxima spell was starting to fade, so Kurby quickly cast it again, sending a second ball of light soaring towards the roof of the underground station. He pointed his wand at a piece of the nearby railway track and cast a silent Levitation charm on it. It took a moment of straining for it to finally begin to lift free, one creaking inch at a time, popping out the long nails that had been keeping it anchored in place one by one.
"It'll be fine," he informed the vampire shortly as he began to direct the piece of rail to float over near the direwolf. It probably would be; it took a lot to kill a werewolf, and a direwolf was even bigger. He didn't want to waste any time in getting it more securely constrained. "When it turns back into itself tomorrow, it'll probably just have a goddamned headache."
-
It'll be fine? What was 'it'? A stand in for the general state of the world? Or the poor kid who'd been hit by a train.
"You're the expert," he said with some doubt, tugging at his hat again against the light.
He pointed up. "Wish you wouldn't do that, with the light. Something with more ambience might be nice. Got a spell for that?"
Lazarus didn't actually expect or care for a reaction to that. He held his hat as he leaned closer. The werewolf was breathing. Lazarus had to admit Bagnold's evaluation that the apprehension had not been catastrophic for the guy was coming true. But there was that fetid smelling blood blackening its fur. Lazarus wrinkled his nose again and covered his mouth.
"Mmm, something's wrong with this one, Bags. Not the train. Blood's bad. Worse than usual."
Werewolves were unappetizing, full moon or not. Superstitions abound that discouraged draining that lot. But this one, it was worse. Much worse. Much more wrong.
-
He was too focused on tugging up the railing in pieces and then using it to build a makeshift cage around the direwolf to acknowledge Old Laz’s request for mood lighting. Kurby merely grunted, sweat beading on his forehead as he managed to tear another section free and then levitated it into place. The last step would be melding the metal together and then placing what enchantments he could, in hopes that it would hold until help could arrive.
But the vampire hadn’t stopped talking. Kurby blinked, momentarily looking away from his task after he dropped the second piece of rail in place.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his brows furrowing. Was the vampire having some kind of freak out because there was too much blood around? “It’s not dead. Even if there’s blood, it’s going to be fine.”
-
Lazarus withdrew from the pile of fur, bone, and foreboding.
"That's starting to look plain as daylight, mister. Hmm, yea, but his blood. Something not right about the blood that's pooling."
He hefted himself effortlessly onto the platform, the smell becoming uncomfortable. He drew a cigarette from his pocket and a plastic lighter. Get the taste out of his nostrils.
"Maybe this is something you should know in your business. Might want to write this down, but werewolf blood is unappetizing. Edible but eh."
Lazarus drew in a long pull and let the smoke fill his mouth and nose. He let is seep out slowly as he continued.
"Calling him unappetizing is charitable. Worse than rotting."
He gestured with the lit cigarette. "What is he, then?"
-
The vampire had a way of speaking in riddles that made his head want to ache. Kurby tore himself away from his spellwork, finally focusing fully on his guide.
Evidently, vampires didn’t like werewolf blood. That wasn’t something that he had encountered before, but then, he hadn’t exactly spent much time associating with any vampires before Old Laz. It was interesting to think that one type of supernatural predator apparently didn’t like to feast on the other, for whatever reason. He filed that bit of information away to mull over later.
So the vampire didn’t normally like to feed on werewolves, but this werewolf’s blood smelled especially —
The facts clicked suddenly into place.
Kurby grimaced, glancing back in the direction of the fallen lycanthrope.
“The Daily Prophet started callin’ them direwolves,” he replied, looking steadily back at Old Laz. Now that the fight was over and the adrenaline was wearing off, the first burst of exhaustion was starting to sink in. Kurby swallowed, trying to force the feeling back. He had to stay focused until the damned thing was fully restrained and the rest of his team was here.
He shrugged in the vampire’s direction. “They’re bigger and stronger than normal werewolves, and they transform for a full three days, instead of just at night during the full moon. A bunch of purist terrorists managed to manipulate the normal werewolf curse and create them a couple of years ago, hopin’ they could surprise everyone with werewolf attacks during the day. This is the first one I’ve seen in more than two years.”
-
Lazarus leaned back into a band of shadow and moved his hat more to the back of his head.
"Now that's worthwhile innovation. I figure why not? Not enough chaos here that one can't set a clock by the tortured howls anymore," he spun, not shorting on the sarcasm. Purists? Nothing was pure. Nobody. Vampires in Lazarus's many years, either by curse or nature or boredom, slowly 'checked out' on the rapid cycling of mortal theatre and politic. Look what they'd done this time, he thought sadly.
He was quiet for a moment. The thrill from earlier in the night was gone. Lazarus wasn't entirely sure what he'd caused. Two years seemed a long time to lose track of something like this. Was finding one a blessing or a curse? Would this change what would happen to the wizard under the blood and fur? It occurred to him only then that it could be a witch. A different narrative than the one he'd invented earlier - an inexperienced werewolf slinking about doing their best. The naivete of an ancient, maybe.
He waved a weathered hand.
"Well, there you are. Good deed done, I guess."
Lazarus coughed a laugh.
-
Kurby's eyebrows raised as the vampire...seemed to praise the creation of the direwolves? By now, he'd been exposed enough to the creature's rhetorical speech patterns that he took it with a grain of salt. It was possible that Old Laz was trying to be sarcastic.
"Good deed done, then," he agreed, giving the vampire a nod. "Thanks."
Exhaustion was definitely starting to set in now, but he still had hours and hours of work ahead of him. Kurby paused, glancing over at where the direwolf was still weakly moving, half-encased in the rail that he'd already levitated over. As soon as he sent word to the rest of his team, this small space was going to become very busy.
Which begged one final question.
"You want to get out of here before the rest of the Ministry shows up?" he asked, his brows knitting as he glanced at the vampire. "I don't want to detract from you doin' your civic duty, but I don't know how you want all of this to go over."
-
"Hm?" Lazarus lifted his eyebrows. He'd been watching the beast breathe, hearing its air rattle in and out. The poor devil would come out of it.
Bagnold was opening up a window for him to flutter out of. A comforting opportunity for the both of them, Laz didn't doubt. Lazarus wasn't inclined to participate in explanations, justifications or intercessions for that matter. Yeah, yeah, this was where this ended. Ended with Bagnold and his friends taking the werewolf to bed.
Any assurances he'd wanted before had already floated away through the chainlink fence in the breeze of a passing train car. For now he'd have to leave things to the professionals.
"Might as well," he said.
He flicked the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it to snuff its tiny light. Lazarus clapped Bagnold on the shoulder as he passed.
"Don't mention it."
Fin