Oddawa, Ep.3: The Schedule

The ScheduleThe tip of Nadine’s Fluevog narrowly missed Faces’ chin. Had she connected, he was sure, he would have been knocked cold. From the corner of the courtyard, he had seen her clean Jasper’s clock with one kick.

Nadine was a superb fighter, but, in a dimly lit courtyard, she was no match against a shadow that she could barely see. She was a hornet’s nest of swift limbs, fists, and feet, but, with a nearly invisible and almost intangible target, she was highly vulnerable.

Faces had no choice, but to tickle her.

“Faces! Is that you,” Nadine squealed through her agonized laughter. “What hell are you doing?”

Faces shrugged off the morph, and returned to his human form. “Backing you up, of course. Why are you so on edge?”

“Because I’m not supposed to have any backup tonight,” she pointed a long finger into his face. “This is my night off.”

“No, it’s not. It’s Thursday.”

“I switched shifts with Kean,” Nadine took hold of his chin and shook it. “Check the schedule!”

The Schedule 2“Why wasn’t I alerted?” Faces pulled out his phone and checked the schedule. “When there’s a change in shifts, I’m supposed to be alerted.” The blood drained from his face. “Oh, Jesus. Kean is on Bate Island, meeting a French werewolf, and on his own.”

“With no back-up,” Nadine stammered.

“With no backup,” Faces repeated, as his mind raced through the possibilities of what had gone wrong. Why wasn’t I alerted?

“We’ve got to help him,” Nadine insisted.

“I’ve got my car.” Faces turned and bolted in the direction of where it was parked.

Nadine followed and they called out to each other in unison, “We better stop at a liquor store.”

Neither of them noticed the creature that followed them.

To be continued…

Read Episode 1

Oddawa, Ep. 2: A Bat Out of Hull.

Bat 1Kean heard the casings hit the pavilion’s concrete floor one by one. That was the good news. It meant he was still alive. The bad news was that he now had three red hot bullets searing in his back, and he was lying face down in the muddy grass.

One thing was certain: he could use a drink.

Kean rolled over onto his elbow and shot blindly into the shadows under the pavillion, emptying his clip. He pushed himself to his feet and made a dash for the car.

Three more shots were fired and one caught Kean in the shoulder. He fell roughly to the cement in front of the car’s rear wheel. He dragged himself, as quickly as he could, to the other side of the car.

Where the hell was his backup? Where the hell was Faces?

Bat 2Leaning against the wheel of the car, bleeding heavily, Kean realized that it had been a fairly rash decision to meet a French werewolf at a place called Bate Island. Apparently, the pun had been intended.

The information the werewolf had promised to impart, however, was too tantalizing to resist. Even the offer of information was in itself remarkable.

French and English werefolk rarely interact and the French werefolk never deign to interact with an English pleb. If the two solitudes was to be popped — and by the French side — it had to be for something serious. Something very serious.

Kean, for that reason, assumed the meeting would be legitimate. Why invite an English pleb to meet, if you’re only looking for a light snack? It doesn’t make any sense, when there are so many drunk English plebs walking the strip in Hull on any given Friday night.

Kean also hadn’t expected any gunplay, even if things went off the rails. Werefolk on either side of the river rarely packed heat. Of course, because the French werefolk did everything ass-backwards, Kean wouldn’t even be surprised if the bullets in his back were made out of silver.

God damn it, he needed a drink. Where in the hell was Faces?

Bat 3Kean dropped to his belly and looked under the car towards the pavilion. He couldn’t make out any movement. He was tempted to squeeze off a few rounds, then, he heard the heavy panting above him. The werewolf was much faster than he had expected.

The good news was that Kean wasn’t dead yet. The bad news was that he would have to talk his way out of certain death, using his crappy high school French.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked in broken French. “You called the meeting.”

“You weren’t suppose to tell anyone about it,” the werewolf growled in flawless English.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Kean answered, as he rolled over slowly, leaving his pistol on the cement.

The werewolf was uglier than Kean had expected. He had assumed the French werefolk would be a bit more stylish than their English counterparts.

“My people say otherwise,” snarled the werewolf. A pearl of bloody drool fell from one of his canines.

“Ok, clearly, there has been some kind of misunderstanding.” Kean sat himself up against the wheel of the car. “We can sort this out.”

“That’s not going to happen,” the werewolf spat, as he pointed his pistol at Kean’s head.

Bat 4When the darkness of the the night shifted behind the werewolf, Kean assumed it was because he was about to black out. It was the sound of the large leathery wings that reminded Kean that he had turned his back to the pavilion earlier only because he had heard some kind of movement behind him in the darkness.

The leathery darkness enveloped the werewolf so quickly, it didn’t even have a chance to fire a round. The sound of the crunch was hideous. The werewolf’s body hit the ground in front of Kean, gushing blood from his headless neck.

Seconds later, the werewolf was human once more, just as headless, and the blood was already soaking through Kean’s pants.

Kean pulled himself up and watched the leathery darkness move across the night’s sky, silhouetted by the starlight.

It was a bat alright. A really big giant sized bat. Kean had never seen one so large. Ever.

Bat 5

Thankfully, it looked to be heading across the river towards Hull. As Kean sighed in relief, against the stars of the night, he saw it start to turn back.

“Goddamn it, Faces, where are you?” Kean shouted, as he fumbled with his pistol, struggling to reload.

As the thing came closer and closer, Kean realized that a 9mm round was unlikely to do much damage against it.

“I guess Nadine was right,” Kean whispered to himself. “No one lives forever.”

To be continued ….

Read Ep.1: The Rat.

Oddawa, Ep. 1: The Rat

The Rat 1Nadine had always known her Fluevog boots were sturdy. She didn’t realize how sturdy, until Jasper hit the cobblestones of the Jeanne D’Arc courtyard like a sack of wet potatoes. She rarely got a clean knockout, with a single roundhouse kick.

Fluevogs: fashionable yet functional.

As she waited to see if Jasper would get back up, she also realized that it had been very wise to put on tights earlier in the evening. A roundhouse kick, in a too-short tunic dress, is not entirely modest.

Jasper, she now suspected, hadn’t been knocked out by the kick, but had instead passed out from the flashing that went along with it.

Of course, when she had left her home that evening, she didn’t expect to run into Jasper. It was meant to be a quiet night out with Jim, after her many nights out trying to find Jasper.

The plan had been for a bit of dinner, a bit of theatre, and a bit of romancing. Well, a lot of romancing, if Nadine had her way. One long sweaty multiple orgasm of romancing.

Nadine was a girl who needed quality time with her man. A lot of quality time.

Then, as she stood in yet another interminably long line for the women’s washroom at intermission, she spotted Jasper, skulking through the lobby of the NAC.

She fired Jim a text message, telling him not to wait up, and she tailed Jasper from a safe distance, as he picked his way along the canal, up the stairs to Rideau street, and then down Sussex into the Market.

When Jasper slipped into the courtyard, Nadine decided there would be enough privacy for the quick chat she needed to have with him. She hadn’t anticipated Jasper’s gun. Fortunately, he hadn’t anticipated her Fluevogs.

The Rat 2Nadine didn’t like to fight, but, when she had to, she knew how to finish it quickly.

The dilemma, of course, was that Jasper could not provide the information she needed when he was out cold. The boys would not be pleased, she realized, if she got this close to Jasper and did not find out what they needed to know.

Two things suddenly occurred to Nadine. First, she really had to pee. Second, Jasper had all but disappeared.

Poking out of the pile of clothes that Jasper had been wearing a few seconds ago, there was now the head of a fairly large rat.

Now, that’s strange, she thought. Very strange. Wererats are humans that turn into rats — not rats that turn into humans. This is not a good sign.

She poked the rat with the toe of her boot to see if it was unconscious. When it did not stir, she crouched to search Jasper’s pockets. She did not notice, however, the long dark shadow that crept out of the far corner of the courtyard and fell across her back.

To be continued…