Chapter 7

  Deputy Jane Ellis stood outside the sheriff's office as Elias and Silas rode into Dry Gulch. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She shifted from foot to foot.

  "Jane," Silas said, dismounting. "I found your ghost. Meet Elias Granger."

  She looked at Elias, eyes widening. "You're real."

  "Real enough." Elias tied his horse to the rail.

  "Pike was right. He said someone was out there fighting these things," Jane said.

  Silas nodded toward the office. "Show Elias what Pike documented."

  Inside, Jane spread Pike's case files across the desk. Reports, sketches, notes. She pointed to the territory map. "Pike tracked seventeen attacks. Some areas hit repeatedly, others untouched."

  Elias studied the red ink marking attack sites across the territory. "The untouched ones, That’s where I’ve been hunting them."

  "That's what Pike thought." Jane straightened slightly. "Said someone was fighting back." She pulled out a thick folder from the desk drawer. "Pike kept two sets of records. Official reports for territorial review." She tapped the ledger on the desk. "And what he actually found."

  "Pike was getting close to something before he died," Silas added. "What was he working on?"

  Jane opened the folder. Newspaper clippings, hand-drawn maps, witness statements. "Some kind of connection. He was excited the night before he sent me away." She pulled out a sketch of claw marks gouged into wood.

  Elias examined the sketch. Looks like what I’ve seen. "You've seen these marks yourself?"

  "Yes, several places." Jane touched her badge. "Pike taught me to document everything. Said if something happened to him, the evidence needed to survive."

  "But he never wrote down his final theory," Silas said.

  "Pike was careful. Never documented anything until he was certain. Whatever he found died with him."

  "Where exactly did they kill him?" Elias asked.

  "Behind the chapel. During the night while I was gone." Jane's jaw clenched. "Pike always said if anything happened to him, to tell any territory man who came that the answers were in the high country."

  Elias looked up sharply. "He said that specifically?"

  "His exact words. 'The answers are in the high country, Jane. But so are the devils.'"

  The office fell quiet. Jane shifted in her chair. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

  "Pike sent you for help," Elias said finally.

  "Fat lot of good it did anybody." Jane pressed her lips together. "Should've been here. Should've been backing him up."

  "Pike made the right call," Silas said. "Getting word out, bringing reinforcements."

  "Reinforcements." Jane laughed. "One marshal and a ghost story." She looked directly at Elias. "You really think you can stop them? Pike tried for six years and they killed him for it."

  "Pike was gathering evidence," Elias said. "I kill them. Let’s go to the church. I want to see what Pike died trying to figure out."

  Jane adjusted her badge. "I'll come with you. Pike would want someone watching your backs."

  "Three of us might draw attention," Silas said.

  "Good," Jane replied. "Let them see the law isn't giving up."

  Elias nodded.

  They were almost to the chapel steps when a woman approached from the direction of the saloon.

  "Evening, Silas," she said. "I see you brought company."

  "Seraphine LaRue," Silas said. "This is Elias Granger. And you know Deputy Ellis."

  Seraphine studied Elias. "New in town?"

  "He's the one I was looking for," Silas said. "The ghost from the stories."

  Seraphine's eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared. "Ah, so you're real after all."

  "Just a man with a gun," Elias said, watching her.

  "Sugar, we both know that ain't the whole truth." Seraphine glanced toward the chapel, then back to them. "Y'all heading to service?"

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Thought we'd stop in," Jane said.

  "Might want to be careful with Father Merrick today, darling. Something about him feels... unwholesome."

  Elias studied her face. "Unwholesome how?"

  She met his eyes directly. "Trust me on this one. That man's hiding something." She turned and walked away.

  They watched her go. What is she not telling us?

  "We should go. Don't want to miss the service." Jane said.

  Church bells started ringing as they walked toward the chapel.

  Inside, Father Merrick stood at the altar. Gaunt man in black robes with pale skin and dark hair slicked back with oil. Merrick's eyes swept the congregation.

  They took a seat in the back pew.

  The service proceeded normally. Hymns, readings, prayers spoken in unison. Elias kept watching Merrick, the way he moved and how his eyes lingered on certain members of the congregation.

  A woman sat in the third pew with her children clustered around her. The youngest, a girl maybe six years old, kept glancing back toward the door.

  A nervous man fidgeted near the back, his leg bouncing constantly as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

  An old man had taken a spot by the window. His milky eyes squinted toward the altar.

  "Let us pray for our departed sheriff," Merrick said, his voice carrying easily through the small space. "May he find peace in the Lord's embrace."

  Outside, the last light was fading. Shadows deepened in the chapel corners.

  "The wolves circle us, brothers and sisters," Merrick said, gripping the pulpit. "They test our faith. Test our resolve." Merrick's gaze lingered on the children. His tongue flicked across his lips. "But we need not fear. For I shall guide you through the darkness."

  The nervous man's leg bounced frantically. The woman in the third pew pulled her youngest closer. The child was staring at Merrick with wide eyes.

  "Some of us are called to serve," Merrick said. "Called to... special purposes."

  Merrick's posture shifted. The way his mouth moved when he spoke. Don’t like the looks of this.

  A woman in the front pew shifted uncomfortably. An old farmer near the window kept glancing at the exits.

  "The weak must be... guided," Merrick continued. "The faithful shall be delivered."

  The chapel grew darker as the sun dropped below the horizon. Only candlelight remained.

  His fingernails looked different now. Darker, longer than they should be. When he gripped the pulpit, his knuckles showed fine dark hair that hadn't been there when the service started.

  The woman's youngest started to whimper. She tried to hush the child, but the little girl kept staring at Merrick.

  The nervous man couldn't sit still anymore. He stood abruptly, then sat back down, then stood again. "Something ain't right," he muttered.

  "Hush," someone whispered.

  But he wasn't wrong. Others were starting to notice too. Merrick's eyes would flash yellow when the light hit them wrong. His smile showed teeth that seemed too pointed. Something about the shape of his face wasn't quite right.

  "The hunt begins tonight, brothers and sisters," Merrick said. "The faithful shall feast."

  The old man by the window squinted toward the altar. "What's wrong with the preacher's hands?"

  More murmurs now. Shifting in seats.

  "Look at his nails..." The nervous man's voice cracked. "Those ain't human hands!"

  People in front started backing away, pressing into those behind them. Someone screamed, a short, sharp sound quickly cut off.

  "The weak shall feed the strong." Merrick's eyes blazed yellow in the dim chapel light as he surveyed his flock.

  "Tonight we hunt!" Merrick howled.

  His body convulsed. Bones cracked and shifted. Black hair exploded across his skin, tearing through his robes. His face elongated into a snout, teeth lengthening into fangs. His hands twisted into claws that splintered the pulpit where he gripped it.

  The werewolf threw back its head and howled.

  Elias drew his revolver.

  The congregation exploded into motion. Screaming. Scrambling over pews. The woman grabbed her children, shoving them toward the aisle. Others pushed and trampled toward the door.

  Can’t get a clear shot.

  The werewolf launched from the altar. A man near the back stumbled. Claws caught him. Merrick's jaws closed on his throat. Blood sprayed across the nearest pews.

  Jane and Silas had moved the other way in the pew, toward the front.

  Jane fired. The shot cracked loud in the enclosed space. Blood bloomed on the werewolf's shoulder.

  "Won't work," Silas said, gun up but no clean angle past the fleeing townspeople. "You need silver."

  The werewolf's head snapped toward them. Yellow eyes fixed on Silas.

  He knows.

  Merrick released the corpse.

  He's going to run.

  The werewolf spun and launched itself through the nearest window. Glass exploded outward. The creature disappeared into the darkness.

  Elias pushed through the crowd still jamming the doorway. Screaming. Sobbing. A woman clutched her children. The old farmer was trying to help someone who'd been trampled.

  He reached the shattered window. Looked out into the night.

  Gone. But not far.

  Elias turned back. The chapel was emptying now, people stumbling over each other to get out. Jane stood frozen, staring at her revolver. Silas moved toward the dead man, then stopped.

  "Jane," Elias said. "You need silver bullets."

  She looked up at him, face pale. "That was... that was really—"

  "A werewolf. Yes." Elias looked at Silas. "Get her silver. Protect the townspeople. I'm going after Merrick."

  "Alone?" Silas asked. "That thing just—"

  "I can handle it."

  Jane shook her head. "We should stick together. That's how Pike would've—"

  "Pike's dead. Someone needs to keep these people safe. That's you two."

  Silas studied him for a moment, then nodded.

  Elias moved toward the broken window. Then he heard it. A howl in the distance. East toward the edge of town.

  Another answered from the south. Then a third from the north.

  Pack is here.

  "There's more of them," Jane said quietly.

  "Always are." Elias swung a leg through the window frame. "Find a safe location and get people moving to it. Silver bullets, Jane. Don't go out there without them.” He turned and looked at Silas. "Keep them alive. Don't know how many are out there."

  He dropped through the window into the night.