The Wolves of London Book 2: The House of Striker
Chapter 7

(Chapter song ‘Taking Care Of Business' by Bachman-Turner Overdrive)

ZEN-Present Day

‘Sighting confirmed. Coordinates sent to your GPS.’

“Thanks, Jolen. These magic suppressors better work this time.” I scowl as I communicate through my helmet to Sentinel.

‘The tests were sound, Zen. Don’t worry.’

I snort. “Right. How long was I a goat?”

‘How long are you going to hang that over my head? We changed you back.’

“As long as I’m breathing, you will suffer my guilt trips.” I narrow my eyes and hit the throttle on my bike. I speed up the highway to a house that will have a menace to society in it that should have been taken care of a while ago, but he got away. All due to crap suppression.

‘Whatever, Zen. Just make sure it’s applied fully. If not, he may change you to a cow next.’

“Was that a crack about my weight?” I pass several cars.

‘What? No…’

“Listen. I know I’ve been binge eating a lot lately, but I’m not a cow. I’ve been dealing with a lot of stress, and…” Cars honk as I weave in and out of traffic. My engines rumbles and I ignore them.

‘Zen… Stop. We didn’t tell you Avery was seen two countries over to have you lash your stress out on us. He’s not here, so you can calm down.’

“Sorry, but that can change.” I narrow my lips and speed up as I come to the off ramp I need.

‘He would be the dumbest guy on the planet to show up now. Stop worrying.’

“Yeah, ok. Honestly, these jobs are just getting to me. Between the increase in violations and the council...I need a vacation…or a raise.” I furrow my brow.

‘We all could use one, but monsters don’t take vacations. And you pay us, so raises? That’s on you.’

“Yeah, I know.” I groan and turn onto a small highway.

I pull up my GPS on my bikes control panel and turn down a dirt country road. Dust billows out behind my rear bike tire and my engine roars as I follow the beep to the last known location of the man in dark.

At the edge of a forest, I pull my bike over. My tires crunch gravel as I slow to a stop and thud my boots down on the ground. I kick out the kickstand and lift my leg over the seat. I pull out my phone and text that I’m at the location. My GPS button turns blue as it locks on my location. If he teleports me anywhere, Sentinel will see it.

I pocket my phone and pull my gun. I don’t know if he’s seen me coming, so I hold my gun ready to fire blessed bullets with crosses carved in them. They sting, slow him down and dilutes his magical capabilities and that makes me happy.

Why do I want to kill him? Blood magic. Illegal in most countries across the globe. The only ones who get a pass are those licensed to use it. This is done after extensive background checks done by the Cleaners. Beings like witches are watched. If they cross that line, humans get free reign to take them out for it.

Blood magic is the worst of the dark magic because a good portion if it requires the sacrifice of the innocent. Mostly humans.

This guy I’m hunting crossed that line back in California and now has set up shop in Copenhagen, Denmark.

It figures he’d set up shop here. Now, I have the added pressure of getting in and out fast. In the last hour after crossing the border, I’ve broken about 39 treaty agreements. As long as the fight doesn’t get to the city, Demetri will never know I was in his territory. Again. Not that it should matter, but he’s so damn sensitive.

It is curious that this guy would step foot in vamp territory. He may be magical, but he doesn’t stand a chance against entire country filled with bloodsuckers. He’s either over confident or stupid as fuck.

Once I reach the tree line, I duck down behind the bushes. I asses the property containing a large old mansion. He wishes. Most of these guys are losers who try to steal and hex their way through life. None of them actually worked hard a day in their lives. I always replace it funny that they try to pass themselves off as successful. We know better. They killed the real guy and took his place.

Not seeing movement, I crouch run across the open property to the front window of the house. I adjust the fingers on my gun and lift up to peek over the window sill. I quickly look inside and see furniture, but no bodies. Keeping low, I move to the front door. I walk up the steps, crouch to the door, and slowly stand. I lay my hand on the door handle. Just as I do, I look into the small half moon window of the door.

My eyes widen. “Ah, crap.”

Inside, a tall, blonde man in black raises his hand. A green ball of magic forms and he throws it at the door.

“SHIT!” I dive off the porch just as the door and half the wall explodes into splinters, fire and smoke.

I groan on the ground and roll over to my but. I dust off the broken pieces of the house, then look to the hole that’s smoking and the dust is falling to the floor. I hold back a second to see if he comes out, and when he doesn’t, I get up. I holster my gun and pull out my two billy clubs, also blessed by a priest. I’m going to beat his ass for that…then shoot him.

I cautiously walk up the steps to the door. Flaming wood breaks off the wall and falls as I spin the batons in my hands, side step over the threshold, and side step into the house. The sounds of my boots stepping on broken wood and glass fill the quiet of the house.

I search the entire first floor and the back of the property and end up in the kitchen. My stomach turns as I see the counters are filled with jars of blood, hair and pieces of bodies. “Warlocks.” I say with disgust as I pick up a jar, inspect it, put it down, then continue to search for the psychopath.

I walk down a hall, and look up the stairs. What are the chances of him being up there? I take the stairs slowly and watch my head as I near the top. When the halls of the dark house appear empty, I take the last steps and start checking the rooms.

I peek around doorframes, scan the dark, then move on. I turn to a door on the opposite side of the hall. I tilt my head and walk to it as I stare at the heavy duty slide lock. I place my hand and my ear on the door and listen. My brows cinch as I hear what I think is soft whimpers.

I quietly slide the lock open and turn the handle. As I open the door, the whimpers get louder and more panicked.

I stick my head in and a look of concern crosses my face.

Two women are tied to a radiator wearing what looks like white silk nightgowns. They’re crying and trying to free themselves. Their mouths are gagged and their blonde hair is matted. They’re eyes are wild and both have eye makeup stains down their flushed cheeks.

They see me and start to scream and shout muffled words at me.

I rush into the room and throw my finger to my lips and hold a hand out. “Shh…shhh…shhh.”

They struggle more as I drop on the floor front of them and remove their gags.

“Hjælp.”

“Hjælp venligst.”

“Han er et monster.”

“Han vil dræbe os.”

I nod as they plead to me. I begin untying them and try to calm them down. “Ok. Ok. If that all means get me the fuck out of here, I’m on it, alright? Just shut up for a second.” I harshly whisper as I glance back at the door then proceed to free their hands.

I rip their binds off, stand, and pull them to their feet.

“Tak skal du have.”

“Gud tak. Tak skal du have.”

They hug and cry on me. “Ok!” I push them off me, and point to the door. “Go. Run! Don’t look back. Just go!”

The one girl grabs me. “Come, too.” Her eyes lock with mine.

“I’m cool. I’m taking care of this guy. Go!!” I shove them, and they give me one last look before bolting out the door.

I pick up my clubs off the floor, twirl them and eye the door. “Now, where’s the dickwad.” I grit as I walk out of the room.

I turn down another hall and inspect more rooms. I open a door and scrunch my brow.

The room is all black. There’s no window and in the middle is a table covered in black cloth. There’s cuffs with chains attached to the floor where hands and feet are. There’s candles all around the floor and the floor and ceiling are covered in gold symbols. Witches runes. The dickwad’s room of horrors.

I walk around the room and see instruments of torture and a book on a stand. I walk over and look at the book with what looks like blood splashed on it. I lift the cover with one finger and see the old drawings of warlocks killing and torturing people in gruesome ways. I cringe and shut the book.

I walk over to the table and you can smell the iron in the blood soaked cloth.

“Do you know how long it took to replace two virgins?”

I whip around and replace myself staring into the brown eyes of the pale, blonde man. His hair is long and pulled back in a ponytail. He’s my height and not overly muscular. Which means… I can take him.

“Fuck!” I yelp and give him a backhanded strike of my club across the face.

A blast of white light flashes the moment my club connects with his skin. He screams and stumbles back as I back off.

I catch my breath as I eye him and ready my feet. I twirl the batons and smirk. “Didn’t like that, did ya? Those damn holy weapons pack a punch.”

He snarls his lip as he stands straight. There’s a burn mark where my baton hit him. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

I smile and ready my weapons. “I know. But I really don’t have anything better to do except kick your ass. So, I might as well take my time and enjoy it.” I say with snark as I tick my head.

He huffs a laugh. “Lady, you have a lot to learn about Warlocks.”

I nod. “Sure. Ok.” I flip my baton and throw it at his chest. As it flies, prongs snap out of the end and they land in his chest at his heart. They close with a chunk of his skin and shirt in its claws. He yells and grabs the baton but his hands burn. His shirt smokes as his skin sizzles under the tip of the baton.

“AHH! FUCK!!” He drops to a knee and tries desperately to pull it out.

I saunter across the floor. “Funny. I thought this would be harder. Anyway. I've studied your kind since I was four. I personally wrote the blessing that’s attacking you right now. I made sure the priest that delivered it was devout and authentic. I even made sure the silver in your skin was cleaned to 99.99 percent.” I squat down to him. “I know that right now, your power is at its lowest. You need the forth full moon of the year to peak your magic which is tonight. I also know the reason you sacrifice virgins is to triple that magic output for the entire coven. But if you lose one, the coven has to start the ritual all over again. Assuming they can replace the 13th warlock to replace you, that is. If not, they’re stuck doing parlor tricks on street corners until they do. Which is highly unlikely since you idiots don’t like each other. So, I would say, I know you better than you know yourself.” I raise a brow and chew the inside of my lip smartly.

He lowers his eyes to me and glares. “There’s one thing you forgot.”

I lean to him. “What’s that?”

“You’re little baton doesn’t stop all my magic.” He growls.

He raises his hand to the baton and blasts it. My face fills with shock and I fall back. I scramble to my feet as the baton rips off his body, taking a chunk of burned skin with it.

He throws up his hand and blasts a ball my way. I dive behind the table and the floor explodes where I was. I pop up and aim my gun. I fire off shots as he gets to his feet and runs out the door. He didn’t teleport. He must be hurting. Good.

I lower my gun and chase after him. Just as I step through the door, two blasts hit the wall and floor. They explode holes and throw debris my way. I shield myself and whip my gun into the hall. I squeeze off two shots, and he uses his magic to throw them back at me. I duck as they shoot through the wood.

“Jesus.” I breathe, and look around the doorframe. He takes off and runs down the hall.

I run after him, and turn where he did. He runs down the stairs, and I’m right on his ass.

He turns, picks up a couch with his magic, and throws it in my way. I leap over it and fire at him. I hit his side and he yells out. White light flashes when the bullet goes through his skin. He stumbles, then runs to the back of the house. He opens the sliding door and I shoot. The glass shatters as he opens it and leaps out onto the patio.

He runs around the pool and I run in the opposite direction. I grab a bucket at the pool shed, quickly grab some water and just as he was about to run out to the property, I throw the water on him. He covers himself, but is thrown to the ground by it. His skin starts to fry and he screams bloody murder as he tries to rip his shirt off. He arches back as his skin cracks and white light shines between them.

I look down and pull out a silver flask. “Huh. I didn’t think it would work, but apparently holy water and salt water do mix.”

He’s panting and whining as his hair and face turn black and burns.

I stand over him. “For the violation of practicing blood magic, you do not pass go and you don’t collect 200 dollars.”

His dying eyes glare at me as I reach down and grab his shirt.

“NO! YOU CAN'T! I DEMAND A TRIAL!” He tries to fight my grip, but the holy water suppresses his strength as well as his magic.

“Sure thing.” I say as I drag his ass to the pool. “I read the charges and replace you guilty.” I smile.

“WHAT?”

“See you in appeals.” I pull my boot back and kick his head hard enough to send him over the edge of the pool and he lands in the water.

As soon as his body hit, the water beans to boil and white light flashes like lightning from him across the water. He thrashes and screams as his body catches fire under and above the water.

“Cool.” I watch in amazement then he screams bloody murder before the entire pool explodes. A mushroom cloud of water blasts out into the air and I hit the ground and cover my head. Gallons of water splashes down on me and all around the property.

I uncover my head and I’m drenched. I stand and swallow. I walk to the edge and look into the pool that only has a few feet of water left in the deep end. Floating in it are pieces of the blackened warlock.

I wipe the water off my face, straighten my biker jacket and raise my chin. “Case closed.” I spin on my toes and walk off the property.

As I round the house and cross the lawn, I press the communicator in my ear. “It’s done.”

‘Awesome. Is he ready for containment?’

“Well…” I scrunch my nose as I enter the trees.

‘You have to be kidding me! Zen!’

“He wanted a trial, I have him one.” Once at my bike, I take off my jacket and shake out the water. I lay it on my seat and wring out my hair and shirt.

‘We are supposed to be collecting! We have a deadline!’

“Jolen. This guy deserved it. He had two women captive. I wasn't letting him off.” I scowl.

‘Just… get back here. We'll have to replace another one before Miranda replaces out.’

“I can handle Miranda. Stop giving me death row baddies and I won’t kill them. It’s simple.” I shrug and watch the road with my hands on my hips.

‘Stop being judge and executioner. You know she’s funding us, right?’

“Okay. Okay. God, stop being a girl.” I scowl and throw on my jacket.

‘I’m not being a girl, Zen! I’m a concerned employee who needs this job! I also don’t want to become one of Miranda’s pets! This is about all of us…’

I turn to the woods. “Shut up!” I bark. “There’s something…”

‘What? What do you mean something?’

I pull my gun and walk to the tree line. I scan the trees and listen. I suddenly got this feeling like I was being watched.

‘Zen.’

I step past the first couple of trees and look around. I raise my gun and side step to a bush. I keep my eye trained on the space behind it through the branches. When I get close, I reach out to the 6 foot bush, quickly shove the branches to the side and throw my gun into the space.

The forest floor flies up and I yelp as a rabbit bolts from under the bush and runs into the forest. I hold my heart, catch my breath and lower my gun.

‘Zen! Report!’

I close my eyes and calm my heart. “Nothing. I thought I saw something. It’s fine. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. I have a council meeting in the morning. Striker out.”

I walk back to my bike and throw my leg over the seat. I start the bike and ready my helmet just as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up again, and I look to the forest. I twist my lips and put my helmet on. I rev the throttle and give the trunks one last look. I slam my visor down, hit the gas and spin the bike around. Gravel and dirt fly from my wheels as I rejoin the road and head to the highway.

I’m a hunter. I hunt and kill. This collection thing is getting on my nerves. I have no idea why my great-grandfather would set up shop with the Foundation, but she’s now part of the House of Striker for some reason. It’s a situation I mean to end. There’s just some monsters you can’t let live and Miranda wants them. I don’t know what for, and frankly, I don’t care. But I’m sick and tired of being dictated to by her like I don’t own the place. This is my house and my hunters. If she doesn’t like that, she can collect her own monsters.

The Cleaners and the Foundation are getting a divorce as soon as I replace her.