The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) Read online

"What about Angelica?" Maxim asked.

  She smiled weakly. "Perhaps my lone accomplishment. Or perhaps she was predisposed to lycanthropy without my help. But I am happy that she can move on. I am sorry that was not the fortune of your wife."

  The detective listened in silence. Imagining what could have been was as fruitless as lying to oneself about the past. There had been no mystery cure for his relationship with Lola, no more than Nithya could control the tumor in her brain.

  "Hey!" called out Deborah impatiently. Maxim had almost forgotten the hostile terms that encompassed this dialog and looked to Deborah, who was still standing outside on the stoop. "Get on with it."

  Maxim nodded and returned his attention to Nithya. "You haven't saved Angelica yet until she is free from that woman. Where is she?"

  "Holton has her locked in the basement." The woman held out her hands to receive the briefcase.

  Maxim studied the backside of Sycamore Lodge. He hadn't realized the old building had a basement before Nithya's story. There was no entrance against the outside wall, so it was likely that the lone access point was within. His eyes moved to the wolf standing by the back door. Deborah was getting increasingly agitated by their delay. Maxim would need to create some space between her and her captives.

  "Last chance, Deborah," he yelled, holding the reinforced briefcase high above his head. "Send the girl out and I'll give you your money. I promise."

  The breeze grew more intense, and it whipped Deborah's hair wildly about her head. She stared mercilessly at Maxim as he made his demands, then smiled a cruel smile and simply said, "You can't take charge of this one, Maxim."

  The two stood defiantly opposed to each other, neither giving an inch. The detective waved the case in the air as a taunt.

  "It seems that you want more blood on your hands," said the woman. "I think I'll start by cutting Helen's throat." Deborah stepped into the door to retreat inside.

  "No!" screamed Maxim, advancing forward. He couldn't let that happen. He unlatched the briefcase and upended it with both hands. The contents spilled into the dirt. Stacks of bound bills and passports fell to his feet as he shook the case empty. Deborah paused in the threshold of the bar and shot him a look of despair. The detective threw the case to the ground and picked up a wad of cash.

  "What is it that you want more?" he asked, insistent. As a hard wind blew, the detective ripped the tie that held the cash in a bundle. "Misery—or riches?" He ruffled the bills loose from his hands and they were picked up by the angry air, exploding into a mass of individual actors haphazardly fluttering to freedom.

  Deborah could stand it no longer. She sprung from her perch as if propelled by a rifle.

  She closed the distance between them more quickly than Maxim had anticipated, charging straight for the source of her ire. He'd barely drawn the Glock and she was upon him. He fired some reflexive shots. The wolf sidestepped and ducked under the near misses.

  By the time the detective was pulling the trigger a third time, he was tackled by the savage woman. She dragged him to the ground next to the grain bin.

  On his back, Maxim brought the butt of his pistol down on Deborah's head. It was a solid blow but it barely phased her. She overpowered his hand and banged it into the ground until he dropped the weapon.

  Deborah rained down vicious punches to his chest and face. Maxim instinctively drew his arms up to protect himself before he felt the pain that would have buckled his body had he been standing. He tried to kick her off, but she was too strong; in a moment he was helplessly pinned.

  From behind her, a metal briefcase swung around and knocked Deborah in the head. The unexpected strike swept her to the floor, but the agile woman rolled to her feet and faced her attacker. Nithya Rao stood above the woman, wildly swinging her awkward weapon.

  Deborah easily lunged between the blows and swatted the case to the ground. Then she did the same to Nithya, putting her fists together and slamming them into the woman's chest. Nithya sailed backwards ten feet and collapsed in the dirt.

  Maxim struggled to get up as Deborah turned her attention back to him. To complicate matters further, they heard an engine revving loudly. The detective, still on the floor, bent around and saw a metallic gray late-model pickup truck skidding past the lodge and bearing down on them both.

  Gaston, thought Maxim as he saw the big man at the wheel. That meant that Diego couldn't be far behind.

  The next events happened in a heartbeat, but some combination of heightened awareness and adrenalin allowed Maxim to take in every detail.

  The detective saw Deborah reach into the small of her back.

  He frantically rolled toward his weapon and scooped it out of the dirt.

  Maxim heard shots ring out and kept his head down, but as he turned to his opponent, he saw that she was firing on Gaston's truck.

  The windshield shattered into a spider web of fragments, somehow held together except for the distinct holes that the bullets had traveled through in front of the driver's seat. Some of the rounds must have hit their mark because Maxim swore that he saw a streak of crimson paint the broken glass.

  Deborah, meanwhile, was attempting to flee from the path of the impending vehicle. She ran toward it at an angle as she fired, trying to sidestep it. Maxim raised his weapon and shot at her as he pressed his back into the abandoned farm structure. He couldn't tell if his aim was true.

  Suddenly, Gaston turned the truck sharply to the left. Deborah was almost nimble enough to avoid the maneuver, but the broad steel bumper of the pickup caught her hip and slammed her to the ground. Her weapon flew from her hand and she was pulled under the careening vehicle. Deborah was dragged through the dirt until the tire bounced over her body.

  In that moment, Maxim realized the truck was about to barrel into him.

  The detective leaped from the ground to his left. The pickup, massive at this immediate proximity, smashed into the large grain bin just a foot from his right arm. The impact was catastrophic, pushing shards of glass and slivers of metal forward. Gaston's truck, which had seemed to have been moving impossibly fast to stop, was instantly motionless and half-embedded in a corrugated metal wall.

  Maxim had only half a moment to breathe as he steadied his feet and gripped his pistol tightly, eyes searching the ground where Deborah should have been. The reprieve was not long enough to get to safety.

  A colossal sound, like that of a stampede of buffalo charging his direction, assaulted his ears. Maxim's feet were swept forward suddenly by an unyielding wave of rotten grain spilling out from the fractured bin behind him. The detective fell on his backside and fought to get up out of the sliding wheat, but it was acting as if it were quicksand. As he struggled, the deluge continued to pour over his body and head, burying him under its increasing weight.

  The detective tried to take a panicked breath and sucked in the harsh grain. He coughed it up and the rancid stench almost caused him to pass out. Maxim moved to cover his mouth so he had space to breathe as the load over him got heavier, and he was afraid he would be crushed.

  Hold on to the gun, he thought. Hold on to the gun.

  iii.

  Diego ducked underneath the half-open door to the Sycamore Lodge storeroom. He had seen Maxim slide it open moments before. The detective was now drawing attention to the back of the lot. This was the biker's best chance to sneak in and find Angelica.

  The room was full of garbage and kegs. Up a couple of stone steps, double doors provided side access to the bar. Diego peeked through the small panes of glass in the metal doors and saw a hallway. A small closet was open on his right and the entire length of the left wall was shared with the kitchen, which had two entrances. At the end, the passage intersected with another hallway that eased travel between the main lodge area and the back of the building.

  The biker jumped as he saw Nithya taking this same path, crossing past him in the other hall, followed closely behind by her captor. Deborah was pushing her toward the back. Perhaps this sideshow wo
uld allow the biker to move unnoticed within.

  After waiting a short time to make sure Deborah wasn't coming back, Diego slipped the door open and quietly entered through the threshold. One by one, Diego took each agonizing step with supreme caution. The doorways to the kitchen had swinging doors with windows. Looking inside revealed nothing but ovens, flattops, and other appliances stained with grease. As he reached the end of the passage, the biker took a breath and peeked around to the back.

  The rear door was closed. Diego could see Deborah through its large window, standing with her arms crossed looking on at some development outside. The hall down in the opposite direction looked clear. With silent haste, the biker walked backwards, watching the dangerous woman the whole way until he found himself in the familiar confines of Sycamore Lodge.

  The bar looked empty but the biker heard startled gasps. A clump of people were tied up in the corner that he had just walked away from. He didn't know any of them. More importantly, Angelica was nowhere to be seen. Was she not here at all? Is that why Maxim didn't make the trade and left Gutierrez stranded outside?

  "Where are the others?" he asked impatiently.

  One of the truckers said, "She took the woman out back."

  Diego wasn't here for Nithya. "Anyone else?"

  The group just shrugged. An older woman gave the only other information. "We haven't seen anyone else besides Detective Dwyer."

  Diego's heart sunk. According to Melody, Mom would have been the last one to see Angelica. If she wasn't here...

  He shook the thought from his mind and stomped to the front door, peeked past the shade, and swung it open. The biker waved in the rookie sitting on his Scrambler.

  Diego rushed to the bar and looked for something sharp. He snatched up a pair of scissors and joined Gutierrez as he came inside. As they walked to the hostages, Diego put his arm across the officer's chest to stop him. They needed to cross the view of the hallway to get to the corner. Diego poked his head over and still saw Deborah outside, looking away. The biker nodded and they quickly moved past.

  "We're gonna get you out of here," said Gutierrez to the others as he saw Diego cutting through the plastic ties around their legs. The rookie looked down at his black leather clothes. "I'm a police officer." The man pulled a utility knife from his pocket and followed Diego's lead.

  "Where else could Deborah be hiding somebody?" asked Diego in a rushed voice.

  The older woman answered again. "Uh, kitchen, storeroom, basement, bathrooms—"

  Diego cut the woman's hands free. "Where's the basement?"

  She pointed around the corner to the area where the stage was—where Diego had stabbed Steve. The red sconces that lit the bar and hallway were absent in the dance area, and although the eerie light carried well where it was not obstructed, much of the side room was left bathed in shadow.

  The group froze as they all heard the creak of the back door. Diego put his finger to his lips to tell the others to be silent. They could hear Maxim yelling in the distance and the biker gripped the scissors tightly. Then the door slammed shut and they heard gunshots. That was Gaston's cue.

  Diego jumped into the hallway and saw no one there. He helped up the older woman and looked to Gutierrez. "Get them all out of here." Then the biker jumped to the stone floor and headed to the darkness in the back. He pressed himself past a heavy door and then found another. After undoing the deadbolt, it revealed a stone staircase down.

  Light emanated from the depths, and as Diego carefully made his way down the steep steps, he saw a single bulb hanging from a chain. It illuminated cramped quarters, not very useful for more than storage because of their size, but even lacking for that due to the difficult entrance.

  Lining the wall were several green plastic drums, the same type that had recently made their way to the bottom of Paradise Tank. The biker realized that the bar was in between the train yard and the farmhouse. This dusky cellar was likely where the victims had met their ends before being packed and shipped off like cargo.

  Lying in the corner, peacefully asleep in a weathered cot, was his sister.

  "Angelica!" cried Diego. "Wake up. Are you okay?" He shook her shoulders to rouse her and clipped the ties around her hands and feet. The girl opened her eyes and smiled weakly. Her face was bloody and bruised but she was in one piece. As Diego helped her sit, he realized that she lacked strength and must have been drugged. "It's okay, it's okay," he said, drawing her arm around him and standing up.

  The first few paces were difficult, and the biker thought he would have trouble at the stairs, but Angelica contributed more of her power to the effort as she shook the numbness away. Very quickly the two were through the shadow and back under the tendrils of the red lights.

  The bar was empty, its door flung open to the cold wind inside. Diego flipped up a single blind with the tip of his scissors and saw Gutierrez in the road, leading the five rescued men and women towards the town on foot.

  "Go join them, Angelica," said Diego firmly. He noticed his sister's confused expression. "I'll be along in a minute."

  Angelica shook her head. "I'm staying with you."

  "That would be a first," said a sardonic voice from behind them. They started at the sound and saw Mom standing in the back hallway, holding the metal case that she had suffered for. She limped ahead and clutched her right hip with her arm, which was bleeding from a bullet wound. On her left, the entire side of her face was obscured by a mix of dirt and blood. She didn't look well as she stood there, but somehow, managing supreme composure, she still summoned the audacity to be dangerous.

  "Where's Maxim?" asked an exasperated Diego.

  The woman gave a careless shrug. "That man was in such a rush to join his wife."

  The biker took a step forward as his hand tightened on the scissors.

  Deborah smirked. "You planning on cutting my nails?" The woman moved into the center of the room and looked at Angelica standing to the side, forlorn, avoiding eye contact. "Diego de la Torre. You walked into this bar two weeks ago with a focused desire—to rescue your baby sister. It must pain you to know that she is now part of my family as well, sharing blood with those you have mindlessly slaughtered. Still," said Deborah, approaching the man, "she is alive and you have accomplished your objective. Don't tell me that you require something else?"

  The biker heaved his shoulders as he listened to the smug words. He had tried to leave on civil terms in the train yard before. She had ordered them shot down. Now Maxim was dead because of her, and maybe Gaston and Nithya as well, and who knows how many others.

  Diego stood firm, blocking her path to the door.

  Deborah took a final step to bring herself immediately in front of the biker. She cocked her head and the light caught her ravaged visage. The true horrors of her heart had finally breached the surface of her skin, even if the wounds only lasted until the next time she healed. Ignoring the pain she must have been in, she stared him down and held up the briefcase. "A deal is a deal: the money for your sister."

  The biker ground his jaw down in frustration. He looked to Angelica, young and hurt. Diego knew he couldn't overpower a werewolf, even a wounded one, and he knew any action on his part would pull his sister into harm. The man swallowed his pride and took a step to the side, clearing access for Deborah to exit.

  The wolf smiled triumphantly as her eyes flashed orange. She strutted as she walked past him.

  Angelica, having already been beaten and still drugged, kept back. As Diego watched her standing there weakly, covered in blood, he knew that she was a wolf and that she would heal as well. She was strong inside, no matter the feelings that welled up within him when he saw her in that condition. It dawned on him that the sweet, innocent projection he had of his sister was a relic of the past. It didn't do either of them good anymore.

  A horrible feeling burned within Diego that caused him to feel that he was committing a great wrong. It was the same creeping sensation that the biker had nearly drowned in wh
en he'd hunted werewolves, and it had caused him to ultimately quit. Only this time, Diego was much more receptive to the realization.

  "It wasn't my deal," stated the biker, and he swiftly swung his arm around, burying the blades of the scissors in the back of Deborah's neck. The woman turned halfway around and locked her evil eyes on him once again. "Maxim was my friend," he said.

  Deborah was not prepared to go down so easily.

  She slammed the metal case against Diego's chest. It knocked the wind from him and he crashed into a neighboring table. As he fell to the floor, he thought he heard his sister scream, but he was gasping for breath and could not recover.

  Angelica leaped at Deborah fiercely and threw a barrage of punches. Deborah fell and dropped the case, but she kicked out and caught Angelica, who was already partly dizzy, in the head.

  The biker pulled himself up on the table and looked for the scissors. He didn't know where they'd gone and didn't see any other weapons nearby.

  Both women regained their feet and continued battering each other. Deborah's leg was failing her—she could not move and roll away from strikes as she once could—but she was by far the stronger of the two. She reverted to absorbing Angelica's blows and, when the moment was right, caught her with a haymaker square in the stomach. Diego's sister flew over a table and landed on another.

  Diego was unarmed, but he suddenly noticed that the scissors still protruded from the back of the wolf's neck. In a final effort, he ran to the woman and reached for the blade. Deborah Holton turned and caught his neck with her wounded arm.

  Diego's boots left the wood floor. The wolf lifted him and squeezed, and he felt the airway in his throat constrict. He tried kicking the woman but she was too powerful. He could only watch helplessly as his sister lay on the floor, groaning.

  A gunshot rang out. Then another. And another. The death grip around Diego's neck loosened. As the biker took in a deep breath, he heard two more shots and watched the luster depart from Deborah's bright eyes. They both crumpled to the floor.