Page 34 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

Carlita was sprawled on the asphalt, legs splayed, and only her hands behind her holding her up into a half-seated position. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and from both nostrils, the result of the large pieces of shrapnel from the explosion. Blood Bones had broken free. Smoke, almost like a dense, soup-like fog, hung lazily along the crack dividing Main Street, obscuring Carlita’s view of what had risen. Smiling bitterly, Carlita turned her head to the side and spat, a rivulet of red splattering against the black road. She held herself up with one arm while she used the back of her other arm to wipe her mouth partially clean. Whether she liked it or not—and she hated admitting defeat—her end had come. She turned her eyes to look out at where the explosion had come from the crack in the street.

Bit by bit, the smoke laying like a haze on Main Street began to dissipate. At first, he was nothing more than a shadow in the haze, but as more of the smoke cleared away, Carlita could see him more clearly. The black of his cloak intensified, the outline of his hood became sharper. Bloody Bones stood next to the large hole in the center of Main Street, the large crack running in either direction away from it. Carlita didn’t bother to rise to her feet since one only rises to greet someone they respect. She stayed there on the ground, watching as Bloody Bones raised his head and bright red eyes, and gleaming teeth peered out at her.

Carlita sighed, shaking her head at the sight.

She didn’t want to be resigned to the fact that he had risen—yet again—but looking into the depths of his hood, her eyes meeting his, there was no denying the fact. He was back.

Bloody Bones walked casually towards her, the bottom of his cloak rustling in the breeze, sweeping away lingering smoke in wisps as he approached.

“We meet again, Oracle.” Bloody Bones chuckled deeply, warmly, as if greeting an old friend. Of course, Carlita and Bloody Bones had known each other for a long time—but they were not friends. “You haven’t aged a day.”

He stopped before her, barely the length of a dining table between them.

“Well, you look like shit.” Carlita shrugged, then coughed.

More blood.

Bloody Bones cackled.

At the far end of the street, Andrew stood on all fours next to a fallen, headless werewolf, the other werewolf’s neck clasped tightly between his teeth.

“You did your very best for a very long time, old friend.” Bloody Bones spoke. “But, inevitably, you failed.”

“Friend?” Carlita snorted, blood dribbling from her nose as she ignored the pain in her side. “Honey, I give my friends rides to the airport. I wouldn’t take you to the corner store.”

Bloody Bones raised his arm.

A flash of light.

And Carlita fell back against the street, her skull making a sickening crunching noise against the asphalt.

Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing.

Andrew, in his wolf form, stared in horror as the werewolf in his grasp thrashed, trying to get away. With a quick jerk, Andrew tore the throat of the other werewolf, then let him drop to the street. He stared at the scene at the other end of Main Street, horrified at the death of Carlita. If she was dead…

There was only one thing to do.

He turned on all four legs and ran as quickly as he could, one of his legs hurt and refusing to work right.

There was only one place that was safe now.

If only he could get there on his hurt leg.

Bloody Bones smiled wickedly down at his first real kill since freeing himself from his prison, his red eyes and white fangs gleaming down at the oracle who was no more. Sharply, he tilted his head back and howled, summoning his wolves. He howled until he heard the answer of howls in the distance. Soon, they would come. And he could continue his quest. In the meantime…

Bloody Bones turned, his cloak dancing around him as he turned towards Barkley’s Hardware. He had one more score to settle. Swiftly, without a second thought, he glided across the street and through the door of the old man’s shop.

Moments later, Jackson Barkley’s screams pealed through the air.

Then Main Street was silent.

Except for the howls of approaching wolves.

Ibiza was one of my favorite party destinations when I was in the middle of my (possibly—depending upon whom you ask) illustrious career as an international movie and rock star. Off the east coast of Spain, before one gets to Mallorca, Ibiza is a great place to get away from everything that a celebrity would want to get away from at times. There was the good food, the nightlife, other celebrities who understood my pain and troubles, the relaxation—though I did little of that—and the ability to just escape from what my life had become. It was on Ibiza, at a night club, off my head on Ecstasy, that I ran into Shepard Bachman. Horrible name, but also horribly famous.

Shepard Bachman, like myself, was an out and proud male actor from Hollywood, there to enjoy all of the hedonism the island had to offer. Possibly more famous than myself, Shepard had a few years on me, as far as careers go, so he’d had more time to work on his stock. He’d starred in more movies—even some of those superhero movies that make a billion dollars worldwide—and had the clout that made everyone desire him. When I had walked into the club with my “friends” and went to the VIP area to sit down at our reserved banquette, people noticed. When Shepard walked into the club, it was like a parting of the Red Sea. People didn’t just notice—they were starstruck.

One way or another, he had ended up sitting next to me at my table, trading war stories, sipping obscenely expensive cocktails and champagne, laughing like he hadn’t a care in the world. Maybe he didn’t. I wasn’t Shepard. I only knew the troubles of Jacob Michaels. For hours that night, we talked, laughed, drank too many drinks, popped a couple tabs of Ecstasy—the good stuff, none of that crap cut with meth—and danced like we expected the morning to bring about the end of the world. Within hours, pictures of us together would end up on blogs and tabloid sites, even some of the more reputable news sites. However, in those hours together, the world ceased to exist.