The Night Beat, From the Necropolis Enforcement Files Read Free

good in that he was the most powerful vamp on the scene, so he could probably do the most damage. It was bad, however, because Ken lost concentration for some reason, and Jack came out of that happy “it’s all good” vamp stupor and took a good look around.
    I moved out of werewolf form and into wolf, in the hopes I’d look more normal, so to speak. I also managed to catch hold and dig my claws in so I wasn’t flailing around like Slimy was using me for fly-fishing bait. So I had a good view of Jack.
    He was a cop on Prosaic City’s Night Beat. They only took the best, and the ones who could handle the more-than-weird. Even so, he was a human and one of the things those of us in Necropolis Enforcement swore to -- aside from the standard protect and serve stuff -- was that we’d do our best to never let the humans know this wasn’t really their city.
    Now Jack was staring at pretty much every undead known to man and a couple man didn’t really know about. All we were missing was a zombie to cover every trope -- the mummies were already there, being dragged along by Slimy -- and the minute H.P. arrived, that was going to be covered, too.
    As I tried to figure out which was going to be worse -- Slimy stomping around using my city as a midnight buffet or Jack having to have a serious memory wipe -- he reached into the sedan. And pulled out our riot gun, which was a lot more like a bazooka, and aimed.
    “All of you, let go on three!” I knew that tone of voice. It was the one Jack used that told all listeners he was the man in charge.
    “Is he serious?” Amanda asked me.
    “One….”
    “He seems serious,” Maurice offered.
    “Two….”
    “He means it!” I shouted. “Everybody, do it!”
    “Three.”

Chapter 5
     
    We went flying -- in the vamps’ cases under their own control -- as Jack fired. The riot gun held a lot of shots and it looked like he planned to use them all.
    I hit the wall over the trashcans and fell onto the top of one. Mercifully, the lid was down and the thing was packed so full I didn’t crash through. I was between Jack and Slimy, so I had a great view. Which was nice, because I’d spent a lot of time being the tetherball and I couldn’t really move.
    Jack was firing, calmly and consistently, laying down a steady stream that hit Slimy all over the place. He was also advancing while firing. Slimy, meanwhile, seemed somewhat rocked but not stopped, and he was advancing, too. At current rate and speed, they were going to slam into each other in front of me.
    Jack knew it, too. He maneuvered himself in front of me, so he was between me and the monster.
    I, as the Count put it, panted after Jack because he was literally the most manly man I’d ever met, seen or smelled. And he was in full-on manly mode at the moment. I was lucky the moon wasn’t full -- I’d have been crawling on the ground in front of him, whining, with my tail up, in between rolling on my back and offering the full on “I’m your puppy mamma” routine. Hey, there are some things a weregirl can’t control.
    “Can you move?” he asked me, still watching Slimy and firing steadily.
    “Sort of.”
    One of the undead benefits is an ability to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. As a werewolf, I had enhanced senses under normal situations, let alone during battles. So I’d counted the number of shots because I could and you learned to do things like that because they helped you stay unalive. And I knew Jack was out of ammo.
    He did, too. He tossed the gun back towards the car, turned, grabbed me, flung me over his shoulder, and ran. It would’ve been more comfortable if I’d been in human or werewolf form, but I didn’t complain. Slimy stomped the trashcan I’d been on about two seconds after Jack grabbed me.
    We reached the car and he tossed me in it. I got the impression he was going to attempt to drive away, but he went to the trunk. I remembered what we had in the trunk. “I don’t think an urban