Wolves and the River of Stone Read Free

sight.”
    “Yes,” Foster said, dragging the word out like he was talking to a toddler, “but werewolves are stuck in the past, bound to tradition even more so than some religious zealots.”
    My smile faltered a little as Foster’s words hit home. Vicky bounced as I failed to dodge a pothole. “So some of them may want to dismember me on general principle?”
    “Thoroughly, and violently.”
    “Awesome,” I muttered.

CHAPTER 3
     
     
    I t turned out Hallsville wasn’t all that far from us, but I was ready to pull out a flyswatter by the time we reached the area. Foster had shoveled down almost half of a crispy rice square and was flitting around the car like a gerbil on crack. I choked the steering wheel and steeled myself against my impulse to swat.
    I ground my teeth and growled, “Why don’t you sit down, Foster?” He responded, but his words blurred together so fast, and at such a high pitch, I couldn’t make sense out of them. I sighed as I rolled down the window, threw out the crispy rice square remnants, and opened the console to reveal my fairy emergency kit. It consisted of a small plastic cup and a flask of Bushmills Irish Whiskey. I poured out a tiny measure and said, “Drink it, or you’re going out the window next.”
    A swooping blur diminished the thimble-sized puddle of whiskey to nothing in a few seconds. Moments later, Foster was laid out on the dashboard with a ridiculous grin on his face. He drummed his fingers in a slow rhythm on the sword pommel slung across his hip and dragged his words out with a sigh. “Oh, yeah, that’s good.”
    I feigned shock, raising my eyebrows. “Holy crap, you speak English!”
    “For crispy rice squares, I’ll do worse than that.” He winked and pretended to shoot me with his thumb and index finger.
    “God help us.” I turned my head to hide a smile as I pulled off Highway 63. The tree line crept up close to the road as we continued north.
    “So what’s the deal with Carter? Are all the werewolves as nice as he is? You know, except for the whole killing necromancers thing?”
    Foster stared at me for a minute, as if waiting for a punch line. “You bloody wish they were all like him. Most of them are like twenty four hour ‘roid rage.”
    I shook my head. “No way, come on. You’ve got to be exaggerating. Carter seems laid back and in control.”
    “No shit, genius.” Foster laughed. “Carter’s the Alpha around here. His presence has to be calming to the rest of the pack or they’d wipe themselves out, not to mention everyone else.”
    I glanced at Foster as he jumped off the dashboard and down to the console. I squinted as the sun flashed off his golden armor. “You’re not kidding, are you?” I said.
    “No, I’m not,” he said as he pulled his sword from its sheath.
    “He’s a werewolf. He’s an Alpha. And he has a white picket fence.” I shook my head and laughed.
    Foster didn’t respond. He stared out the windshield and then turned to look at me. “Do you feel it?”
    My eyes flicked to the surrounding woods. “Yes.” I’d felt it for a while. The horror and anxiety was building around us as we grew closer to the battlefield—it was as if I was diving to the bottom of a deep pool. The dead pushed on the edges of my aura like several feet of water. There was something else out there besides the fallen soldiers. It felt wrong, and angry. “We’re close. Do you feel the ...” I paused, searching for the right word, “darkness?”
    Foster’s mouth flattened into a grim line and he nodded sharply. “Let’s pull off the road. Hide the car.”
    I slowed, the tires crunching on the gravel shoulder, and watched Foster for a moment before I nodded. His gaze never broke from the small rise to the east. We’d been on Mount Zion Church Road for a few minutes when we pulled into an abandoned filling station with real, live gasohol pumps. I parked Vicky behind the rickety structure, grabbed my staff and my focus, and we