Greg, A Bite Out of Shape

I launched myself through the dining room window just as the intruder leapt onto the back wall of the property. Instead of jumping straight over, he made a hard left, duffle bag dangling from around one arm, and ran along the brick wall. He sprinted across with ease. No doubt another creature. Not a vamp. Definitely not a witch. Most likely, given my old pal Dmitri's recent investments, a werewolf.

Although it was cloudy, the brightness of the moon was evident. Not quite at full yet, but too close for comfort when dealing with a wolf.

And a fast one, dang it!

At first I made to dissolve. I couldn't transform into a beast like Dmitri—my knees felt shot but I wasn't that old—but I could swing a cloud of bats. Yeah, another one of the tricks up our sleeves. Easy for any vamp. Course, any vamp with enough blood in their system. Fangs how'd Dmitri manage to shift when he was so starved? My body refused to change. Mouth went dry and legs numb instead. At least my wrist was finally back in place.

An old-fashioned chase it was then.

On foot.

Over graves.

Maybe I could--

Nah, suck it up old vamp.

I ran.

Simple to see how Rosemond's ghost could've tricked Dmitri's former lovers to their demises out back. Swear I felt skeletons rolling under my feet as I dashed across the frozen ground. The graveyard was overrun with weeds and upturned earth. Julian was real slacking on the landscaping duties (poor sap). My foot snagged once on a root.

Either that or a restless corpse aiming to dish out some karmic retribution for some of yours truly's past missteps.

(Let's just say I've dug up worse than weeds in a kirkyard or two and move right along, shall we? We got a chase scene to catch up on.)

I made it to the wall just as the thief approached the side of the neighboring building; a brick midrise with a winding fire escape. I jumped, one heel pushing off the wall. The wind was cold and biting against my cheeks. Barely a blink later, my feet landed firmly atop it.

Behind Dmitri and Sloane's home was a typical, narrow, Philly alley. A dead end, cobble stoned street barely wide enough to fit a single sedan down it. Little brick rowhomes were neatly tucked together on the opposite side, creating a quaint corral. The scents of the city hit my nose roughly here. Gasoline and trash and piss and coffee and the decay of the graveyard, frozen dog shit. Too much to properly get a whiff of the fleeing culprit, even as I closed in on him, to try and confirm his creature status.

But I kept running after him. Didn't bother to shout. They never stop when you yell, why try?

To my surprise, the thief didn't leap into the alley. He jumped, catching the fire escape on the back of the midrise. Mother fanger. My guess is he aimed to make back around to the other side without having to cut through Dmitri's property again, or get stuck in the alley, in front of those nice human houses.

No doubt the metal of the fire escape was cold, possibly slippery with ice. One of his gloved hands slid right off the bar. As his hulking form dangled, it was clear he'd dressed for the occasion. All in black, from running shoes to sweatpants and hoodie, ski mask and all. Even the duffle blended in. How cliché.

Whilst he swung from the escape, legs kicking, the bag slid off his shoulder.

Give you three guesses as to what made the muffled clanking noises inside.

I dove for it.

My fingers curled around the strap.

"Don't think that belongs to you!" I said around distended fangs.

Thief snatched the bag at the same time, locking us in a tug of war. He was a werewolf. Certain of it. Downwind of him I could smell the sweat and musk and beast on him. The only bits of his face visible behind the ski mask was his snarl, full of yellowed and overlapping dog teeth. Eyes glowed amber. Muscles bulged in his arms. The sleeve of his black sweater tore at the wrist of his hand holding the bag strap, partially revealing a tattoo. Cursive writing. A name? Something bella.

The zipper popped under the strain of us both pulling on the bag. A human bone poked out alright. Looked like a humerus.

But I never found graverobbing to be all that funny.

A horrific screech filled the air. Caught us both off guard, our attention snapping back to manor we'd just run from.

From the same window I escaped, Dmitri's hellish bat form exploded into the night. He flapped his wings hard, ascending recklessly into the clouds, in full view his neighbors, if they bothered to peek out their windows. Fangs. He could be a real idiot.

The wolf took advantage of the distraction. He yanked hard on the bag. His hefty weight swung him like a pendulum on the escape, tipping me forward, my toes scraping the brick as I was flung off the wall.

For a moment, I levitated, bracing my hand against the building to steady myself. But before I could regain composure the wolf jammed his heel into my shoulder.

It dislocated. Because that's my luck, isn't it? Pain seared through my arm as my fingers went numb, releasing the strap. I fell. Back hit the worn cobbled stones hard (not a good week for this jacket), my skull bouncing off it a moment later. My vision blurred, the world warbling for a moment as a headache flared to life.

Above me, two back clad werewolves trapezed across my vision. As the sudden headache subsided into a dull throb, he morphed back into one form and pulled himself around the other side of the building, vanishing.

I allowed myself to lie on my back and let the little fractures in my bones heal for a moment, sucking in the cold night air.

You really botched this one, old boy. Nice work.

Above me, I caught the standard Magistrate flying V formation of a unit of harpies swoop out from the clouds, wings flapping in perfect synchronization as their altitude lowered. Didn't get my hopes up the shrieking ladies would catch the thief. More likely a traffic stop was in store for Dmitri, after that tantrum.

But to my continued surprise the harpies descended toward the house. The house a werewolf just broke into and stole the bones of a vampire's dead wife. What use did a werewolf have for bones? Other than chewing. No sense in puzzling them back together with no meat and sinew for glue.

He didn't even get them all. In fact, he must've noticed the skull was missing breaking into that crypt. It be hard not to.

My swimming head drifted back to the commotion in the house. The cut power. Screaming from the other rooms. No way the wolf had time to break in and then out to the graveyard a second later, luring the vampires out...

This was a two-man job.

Isla.