Chicagoland by Gail Martin (important books to read TXT) 📕

spinning on its side beneath and beyond the car nearest me. I knew the heavy steel of the wall of parked cars would shelter us, although broken glass was still a hazard. I trusted my magically metallic skin to protect us.

The stray dog that had been following us bolted from where it had been lounging near the corner. I saw running paws beneath the car’s chassis, and for an awful moment, feared it intended to retrieve what I’d thrown in a deadly game of fetch. I couldn’t see what happened next, but the case didn’t come sailing back over the car, and the explosion, when it came, sounded muffled along with a heavy thump and a weird echo.

Ness tried, unsuccessfully, to push me off, probably wanting to breathe. Krukis’s power left me, taking about thirty extra pounds or more with it. I rolled to one side, and Ness gasped for air.

“What the hell?” Anger flashed in his eyes, and I figured he was one of those guys who covered his fear with bluster.

“Saving your life. You’re welcome,” I replied, getting to my feet and dusting myself off. The restaurant patrons wisely stayed inside, obviously native Chicagoans.

Ness’s cheek had a nice scrape, and he might have a black eye. One arm curled around his chest, and I felt a little guilty about the ribs. With luck, he wouldn’t have a concussion too. Then again, if I hadn’t gotten the bomb out of his hands, he’d have been confetti, so it was still a win.

West came running up. “I lost him,” he admitted. “I looked back, and that stray dog grabbed the case and pitched it into the garbage truck. What in the name of God is going on?”

Stray dog. “Oh, shit. The dogs. Lassiter Davis probably put a literal ‘tail’ on us. I wonder if he was curious or if he suspected something from Duval.”

Ness had gathered his wits enough to speak to the beat cops who came to investigate, and flashing his badge made our departure quick and uncomplicated. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel—then I want to know all the stuff you haven’t told me.”

“That might take a while,” I replied.

“I’ve got all night,” Ness said in a voice that didn’t allow for leeway.

He pulled the Buick into the lot behind The Drake Hotel. Night had fallen, and the lot looked a little too dark for my taste. It didn’t register with me until we’d all gotten out of the car that the overhead lights had been shot out.

Duval was waiting for us. This time, he didn’t waste time on human weapons like explosives. He raced from the well of the loading dock, transformed into his beast. Coarse gray hair covered his too-long arms and gaunt body. Clawed hands and feet posed a distinct danger, as did the big fangs prominent in his lantern-jawed face.

Ness and West had their guns out and firing while I sent up a plea to my patron. I didn’t wait to feel his power this time, knowing that my regular immortality protected me from the worst Duval could dish out, short of ripping off my head. Krukis could probably fix even that if he thought I was worth the effort.

“Joe—stay back!” Ness yelled. I ignored him and rushed Duval, putting on the kind of speed no one expects from a guy with my bulk.

Colliding with Duval’s rougarou felt like hitting a hairy wall. He was solid muscle and strong as a bear. Claws raked down my arm, raising bloody gouges and hurting like a son of a bitch. Ness and West yelled for me to get out of the way so they could resume target practice, but none of their shots had slowed down the creature. Maybe if they’d put one between his eyes, but both G-men went for center mass, just like they were trained to do.

The rougarou wrestled me to the ground, and I planted my feet and flipped us, trying to shift my grip so I could get to the machete on my belt. West knew what I was fighting, but he’d never seen one before. From the stream of profanity coming from Ness, the Fed had no idea what was going on.

Finally, I felt Krukis’s power kick in. I rammed my elbow into the rougarou’s chest and then launched an uppercut that shattered his jaw. A well-placed back kick with my boot broke a leg. That bought me time to roll to my knees, pull my machete, and scythe it right through Duval’s neck, sending the head tumbling as blood fountained.

“What the everlasting fuck?” Ness roared.

West had already holstered his gun and went to retrieve the monster’s head, carrying it by the hair like I’d seen in a painting somewhere. An empty barrel on the loading dock caught my eye. I jogged over for it as the adrenaline of the fight left me, and Krukis took back his magic for what I hoped was the last time tonight. Thanks to him, the gashes in my arm were already healed.

Neither of us answered Ness until we’d crammed Duval’s body and his head into the barrel and gotten the lid on. I wondered if he’d stay in his rougarou form, or if whatever poor bastard opened the barrel would find a naked, headless man inside. I didn’t much care. One part of our problem was out of the way.

“Rougarou,” I finally answered Ness, as if that was sufficient, and among the right people, it would have been.

“What?”

“Rougarou,” I repeated slowly. “Kinda like a Canadian werewolf, only not really. That was Duval, trying to finish the job since the bomb didn’t work.”

“That creature was Jules Duval?” Ness looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but the occult was my territory, and so I had home-court advantage.

“Yep. And most likely the one who Capone controlled to kill the North Side Gang in the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre. You said they’d been shredded.”

West nudged me. “We should leave before anyone notices the blood.”

I