S. Cedric: Of Fever and Blood

In the next moment, Vauvert realized that they had begun to slip down the roof. There was nothing he could do to stop the slide or the animal. He had lost his weapon when the creature lunged at him.

They hit a chimney. The beast yelped, then snapped its jaws again, trying to get closer to his face.

They continued tumbling down the tin roof.

And as they reached the edge, they toppled over and went into a free fall.

The fall was surreal.

Vauvert felt his bowels jump into his chest.

Then there was the collision that was breathtakingly brutal. His back hit the tiles, shattering them. He thought he might go all the way through the roof, but he did not. Although his arms and legs were free, his back was caught in the sharp-edged debris.

The frothing creature remained on top of him, but still he kept it at arm’s length, his hands holding its neck in a vice grip. The thing roared and thrashed, its jaws snapping inches from his face. Then it began shifting, It had the appearance of a wolf, yet its red eyes held an awareness and cruelty that was beyond animalistic. Suddenly, Vauvert knew he had been right. That thing was none other than Roman Salaville, the man he had chased and shot dead once already. It was Roman Salaville reincarnated in this flesh that was not entirely real. It was his deranged spirit, anyway. He had followed his mistress all the way here.

You see, I came back , the beast’s eyes exulted. Exactly like I told you I would. And now I will slit your throat and feed on your guts. There’s no way out for you .

His muscles bulging, Vauvert squeezed the neck of this animal that had Roman Salaville’s eyes with all his might. And he managed to extricate himself from the bed of shattered tiles.

He rolled to his side and straddled the wolf in the torrent of rain. The beast’s eyes locked on his. Their red brightness was blinding, threatening to sap his energy. All around him, the world started whirling.

Vauvert stopped thinking. Relying on the strength in his abs, he righted himself, breaking more of the tiles in the process, and put a knee down, ready to pivot.

It was now or never.

With a powerful twist that shot pain through every muscle of his body, he swung and tossed the flailing animal over the edge of the roof.

Vauvert could not believe his luck. He kept waiting for the thing to come back. It didn’t. He had actually gotten rid of it, at least temporarily. Kneeling on the tiles, he was freezing. He was hurt. But he was alive. He put both his hands on the roof and let out a sigh that was almost a sob.

Then he got up, trying to catch his breath.

That’s when he saw Leroy leaning against the chimney on the other roof.

Arms extended straight ahead, he was aiming his gun into the storm.

And Vauvert understood why.

There was another beast.

It was perched on the parapet, a slim and black shadow silhouetted by the lightning. Claude. It had to be Claude Salaville. If the one he had just tossed over the roof was Roman, the other animal could only be his brother.

Leroy shot at the creature.

It retreated, with amazing speed, easily navigating the tiles and gutters. In a single bound, it perched itself atop a gable. Its red eyes burned in the dark.

The wolf thrust its head back and began howling.

And from all sides, other howls answered, drowning out the thunder and the clamor of the rain.

Vauvert scanned the other roofs.

He saw another wolf advancing in the rain and then another. Close to a dozen beasts appeared. They climbed the tin slopes with tremendous speed. Their ink-like figures leaped on the chimneys. Their eyes made red swarms in the heart of the storm.

No , he corrected. Not a dozen. Dozens and dozens.

He looked around, trying to pick up any trace of Saint-Clair and the Lombard girl. They were nowhere to be seen.

All the while, the wolves were multiplying.

Eloise was still ahead of her pursuer.

She climbed over a parapet to a flat concrete roof that was cluttered with pipes and cables. But at least she could stand straight up without the fear of falling off the roof, even if she was staggering. Tarpaulin-sheeted scaffolding covered the building’s facade and reached to the roof on the other side of the street. But she didn’t pay any attention. The glass rectangles of the skylights glistening ahead of her were what she cared about. She rushed to the nearest one and banged on it with her fist, to no avail.

“Come on. Come on!”

She hit the skylight harder, with her elbow this time, until the glass broke.

“Yes!”

The sense of jubilation was fleeting. Eloise turned and realized that the woman was still in close pursuit. All she wanted to do now was live.

She struck the skylight’s glass again, trying to clear a way inside.

The shards of broken glass tore into her skin.

She pulled them out and prepared to drop to the floor below. If she did, there was a chance she could make it.

Suddenly, something landed on her back, sending her sprawling against the wet concrete.

She barely had time to comprehend what was happening. Pain shot up her legs, as though they’d been punctured by knives.

She felt herself being dragged, brutally and effortlessly, to the middle of the roof.

There was a terrible stabbing pain in her calves. Then the invisible things attacked her wrists. Her arms were yanked to the sides of her body. It felt as if blades were being driven into her forearms.

Which was, she finally realized, almost the case.

Four black beasts with red eyes were holding her limbs in their frothing jaws. Their teeth were stuck in her calves and wrists, nearly piercing her bones, and now the creatures were pulling her legs and arms apart.

The masked woman appeared above her. Eloise saw that the monster was euphoric behind her mask.

“Oh, it looks like the gods are impatient. It’s time to quench their thirst, as they wish.”

No matter how the girl arches her back and thrashes, the wolves keep her pinned down, powerless, offered. Finally.

Judith Saint-Clair leans over her, taking joy in her screams of terror.

“That’s good. Oh, that’s very good,” she says, her voice drowned by the storm.

She clutches the girl’s sweater and pulls it toward her. The scalpel slowly rips through the wool, stripping the girl inch by inch. “Let me. You’ll see.”

The girl is sobbing as the woman tears away her blouse and then her T-shirt. With one hand firmly planted on the girl’s chest, Judith Saint-Clair slices away what remains of her clothing, exposing her breasts. The girl’s ribcage lifts and collapses faster and faster.

“Now,” she whispers. “Oh, now.”

The triumph of all that she was looking for, yes.

The count is reached, the sacrifice honored.

At last. Under the furious dance of lightning, in the driving rain, the ultimate offering is fulfilled. She feels the vibration in the air. The gods are waiting, invisible and yet so close.

“For you!” she cries at the swirling elements. “For you, oh lords of death and resurrection, who bring disorder across the universe! Come, come, for this sacrifice is for you!”

As if in response, lightning blazes across the sky. With her eyes rolled back and her hips glued to her victim, Judith Saint-Clair begins to sing, to exult. The sound is more like animal shrieking than a song. It is vibrant with the raging power of the sky. The gods are hurling a rushing energy between the worlds just for her. She lets it course through every fiber of her being.

“Dark gods who live beyond death! I entreat you! May the blood flow to you and quench you! Come, come to the scarlet feast!”