The Curious Case of the Werewolf Read Online Free Page B

bother it has been, traveling through Egypt after you these weeks. I had to learn to shave again, and every little cut takes a dog's age to heal. I don't know how you mortals do it. I really don't. I hope you appreciate the risk I'm taking."
    Alessandro licked his lips. This was going to be fun. "Oh, I appreciate it."
    The un-werewolf narrowed his eyes. "Don't you move." He glanced briefly at the archeologist. "Is it true what you found? What he said? Is that there a mummy of a werewolf in Anubis form?"
    "See for yourself," suggested Mr. Tarabotti, hoping the un-werewolf would come within striking distance.
    The un-werewolf didn't take the bait, too old for that. "We used to rule this land. Did you know that?"
    Mr. Caviglia gave a little snort of disbelief.
    "You archaeologists haven't figured that one out yet, have you? They worshipped us as gods. Turned sour on us in the end. Most things do. The god-breaker plague swept the Two Lands and, within a generation, every werewolf had died. We've not been back since because this," he gestured to himself, "is what results."
    "Mortality."
    "And why would you risk everything to follow me here?"
    The un-werewolf looked at Mr. Tarabotti. "Curse-breaker, this mummy is our ancestor. You daylighters," and he included the archaeologist in his contemptuous statement, "have no right. Especially not some crusading religious fanatics. That mummy is the property of the British Government, we have the concession, not the Italians. Ours to study and understand."
    Mr. Tarabotti smiled his tight little smile. "Who said we wanted to study it?"
    The archaeologist and the un-werewolf both looked to him in shock.
    "But the Templars promised."
    Mr. Tarabotti shrugged. "The Templars lied. And we can't very well have the English using it as some kind of pro-supernatural propaganda tool."
    No record and no witnesses.
    He slid the derringer smoothly the rest of the way out of his sleeve and into his hand, turned slightly in the same movement, and shot Mr. Caviglia in the chest at point blank range. The archaeologist fell with a tiny cry of surprise and lay still against the corner of the sarcophagus, slumped and limp.
    "We can't allow you to go babbling about this to the antiquarian community either, I'm afraid." He looked thoughtfully down at the scholar's dead body. "Pity."
    The un-werewolf started, but his gun remained trained on Mr. Tarabotti.
    Alessandro tucked the now-useless pistol into his pocket casually, feeling about for his second one, and narrowed his eyes at the man.
    "What it must be like, seeing that," he tilted his head at the fallen archaeologist, "and knowing you could so easily end up the same way."
    "Do you really think, after hundreds of years, we immortals fear death?"
    "Do the crazy ones, who have lived too long, travel to Egypt to die voluntarily?"
    The un-werewolf shrugged. "Some."
    "So, we find ourselves at an impasse."
    "Mmm, please take your hand out of your jacket, Curse-breaker."
    Mr. Tarabotti did so, tucking his second tiny gun up the end of his other sleeve in a maneuver he'd once learned from a street performer.
    The un-werewolf gestured with his pistol for Mr. Tarabotti to move away from the mummy and toward the door. Cautiously, Alessandro did so. But, near to the entrance, as he passed close to his opponent, he pretended to stumble over a fallen urn, lurching violently to one side.
    The un-werewolf growled at him and stepped threateningly forward.
    Alessandro dove, shifting his weight and lashing up and out with his foot, striking the man's wrist where it held the gun.
    The double barrel discharged a bullet, missing Mr. Tarabotti by a foot, the slug plowing hard into a support column, spitting limestone shards at both men. The un-werewolf swore and rotated the chamber to load his second shot.
    Alessandro rolled, as much as he could, over the small statues and artifacts littering the floor, coming into a crouch covered in thousands of years of dust but with his second gun