Dustin is a man of many talents. That was Gabriel’s thought as he perched himself on the edge of Dustin’s bed. He sat with his head resting on his fist and tried to guess where the hell he’d hide the key that’d get him to his meeting with the shaman. Gabriel heaved a sigh, he knew it was all coming to a head, and all their actions from this point forth would have a severe effect on the outcome. His outcome, his chance to get his inner wolf back. The thing he’d yearned for, more than anything in his life, apart from a good woman hanging on his arm as a mate. Megan was cool, but… and it was a big but, she was a little out of control (mentally). That was what Gabriel thought as he scanned the room for possible hiding places.

Yeah! Megan's cool but a real fucking nut job. Shit!

If it’d been daytime, he might’ve had a much easier chance of locating the hiding place for the key. An amber-tinged light (from years of dust) didn't help much, and he felt he was in the house of shadows, more than a motel room. Gabriel sucked in through taut lips as he looked at the furniture. In the bottom of the drawer, under clothes would be okay if you were under the age of six, but not for a veteran of the forces of the good old US of A. Under furniture was too obvious and too much effort. Dustin must’ve found somewhere easy, accessible, and a place you'd never think of looking.

Gabriel walked around the room casually looking for a sign. It didn't come. The last thing he wanted to do was call Maria and tell her they were shit-out-of-luck and that he couldn't find it. There was too much at stake for that to happen. Too much.

Gabriel muttered Oh shit! under his breath and sat back on the edge of the bed. His attention was grabbed by a scratching sound over by the wall. In the wall? The other side of the wall? It was faint, but it was there. He stood and crept closer. He pushed his ear against the creamy-colored wallpaper and listened. The sound was lower, much lower.

He got to his knees.

He never heard the creak of the door behind him. "What the hell you doing?" Willy asked.

Gabriel raised his hand. Willy saw he meant shush. He shushed.

Gabriel crawled on his hands and knees. A waft of cool air pushed against his face. He stared at the air vent and shook his head with a wry grin on his face that Willy couldn't see.

Dustin, you sly old dog, you.

Gabriel ran his fingertip over the floorboard. A dark smear appeared. He turned his head and showed Willy the tip of his finger.

"Found it!"

Gabriel pulled a coin from his pocket. With some effort, he managed to unfasten the screws enough to turn them with his fingers. The grill swung on the last remaining screw. Willy stood at his side, and they stared inside the hole at the Ziplock bag which was slightly gnawed at the corner (by what appeared to be a very inquisitive mouse). He reached into the air vent and took the plastic between his thumb and forefinger. The key was as it was, and looked undamaged. Bones tied by human hair. Gabriel stood, and Willy saw the beaming smile on his face. He looked like he'd found the Holy Grail —to Gabriel that was precisely what it was, the meaning of life.

"Willy, my good friend, I'm gonna be a wolf again, very soon."

"Not that soon," Willy replied. "You won't go tonight, and the shaman doesn't work days. And then when you get to see them, they’ll want something else which you need to f..."

"Okay Willy, I get the point," he replied with a scornful scowl on his face. "Within forty-eight hours I’ll be a wolf again. How’s that fit in with your assumption of what’ll happen?"

"Yeah! That should do it," Willy commented as Gabriel pushed the grill back against the hole and stood. "What happens now?

Gabriel dusted off his jeans and walked to the hallway with Willy. There was only him and Megan in the motel, so making everyone aware he’d found the key was a little obvious, maybe one of them could be linked to Sanders…

Nah! Impossible.

They reached the bar area in silence. Megan looked up from the newspaper, turning her head toward the two guys. "Where’ve you two been?"

"Hunting."

"Eh!"

Gabriel threw the small Ziploc on the bar counter next to the newspaper. He pulled a couple of glasses from the rack and proceeded to pour Willy and himself a well-earned drink.

"That there Meg, that’s the key to my future, my future back to being a wolf."

Megan looked at the plastic bag with a little curiosity —she had more curiosity going on in the back of her mind. She hid that. Megan lifted her head and mentioned it didn't look anything like a key. Gabriel commented it was the access to the shaman. That was the last part, it was handed to Dustin in the cemetery when they fought the skirmish.

"Ah! The sneaky fuckers had it all this time?"

"Yeah! He showed me, and I forgot about it."

Megan saw red. She held it back, but she felt like ripping his head off at that precise moment. "You forgot? How the fucking hell can you forget about something this damn important?"

He shook his head. "I've got to take it to Kelvin, and then he's going into the Dirty D."

"By himself?"

"Yeah! There’s only Maria and us. We don't want to risk anyone else getting nabbed." Gabriel finished his drink and stood. He picked up the small bag and slipped it into his shirt pocket. "I'm going, see you later."

"Wait up! Don't you want me to come with you?"

Megan's thoughts whizzed through her mind like a whirling wind. Dustin —the key —Kelvin —the Dirty D. Fuck it’s gonna go down.

"It's okay. You stay here, I won’t be that long. I'm only dropping it off and escorting Maria back here."

Megan would’ve usually pushed a little harder to go so she'd be able to see what was going on. BUT, what she needed to do was get upstairs to her cell phone and text Sanders what was happening. As soon as Gabriel had gone would be the right timing.

Gabriel grabbed his jacket. He kissed Megan on the cheek and walked from the motel entrance. Megan carried on reading the paper or looking at it. She wasn't reading anything. She folded the paper and finished her drink. She sighed and stretched her arms to signal she was tired, and that it was time for bed. She stood to leave. She had plenty of time to text Sanders.

Willy's phone vibrated on the bar. "Oh! I got a message for you, from Gabriel."

Megan was puzzled. He'd just left, and he was already sending her a message. "What does he want?"

Willy scrolled to the message body. "Tell Megan I've got her cell phone. Mine’s got a dead battery."

"It appears you think you're a tough man?"

Dustin coughed then ran his tongue over his lips. He tasted the dried blood. He chuckled. "And here was me thinking it was you who has delusions of grandeur?"

Sanders signaled to the vlads who stood with the socks ready in their hands. First one, and then the other. They slammed the pool balls onto Dustin's stomach. He coughed again. This time he licked his lips, and the taste of blood was fresh.

"You'll have to come up with something else. This just isn't working out for either of us.”

Sanders scowled. His voice scratched at Dustin's eardrum like fingernails on a blackboard. "It can only get worse, or it can simply stop if you tell me the location of the shaman."

"If only I could."

Dustin heard Sanders walk around the table. Sanders knew the water torture was failing miserably. Dustin listened to a sigh.

"Move him to the chair."

Dustin felt hands grab hold of his arms as the sheet that constricted his body slackened. He was lifted to his feet. His boots hit the floor, and his legs buckled. The hands tightened their grip under his armpit and raised him. They carried him across the wooden floor. The tips of his boots caught on floorboards as his feet glided a millimeter from the floor. He was pulled backward and the chair pushed against the backs of his legs. He sat. His wrists were shackled and then it fell silent for a second or two.

A hand tugged on the old sacking. His head was freed from its confines. Dustin squinted to adjust his eyes. He coughed to clear his lungs from all the fibers he'd sucked in. Bright spotlights shone in his face. A body stood between the lights like an angel lit from the heavens above. Dustin knew it was no angel. It was Sanders, the demented egomaniac who wanted to create a race of daywalkers for his own doing.

"Let's try something a little different, and maybe you’ll remember where the shaman resides."

Dustin thought Sanders could try what he wanted. He wasn't going to say anything, and if he did, it wouldn't be the full truth.

"Hold him."

Dustin felt an arm wrap tightly around his forehead. His wrist held tight against the arm of the chair —he felt it was either a barber’s chair or a dentist’s chair, due to the comfort.

Sanders finally walked from the light, and Dustin laid eyes on him for the first time. He peered into the blue eyes. Dustin saw Sanders had no iris. His eyes were solid blue. Sapphire blue.

Sanders turned his back. Dustin's eyes squinted. Drops of water filled his tear ducts, although they weren't tears. It was a response to the needle that forced its way underneath his fingernail.

Motherfucker.

Dustin's chest heaved as he called on his wolf. He felt his teeth creak as his jaw clamped shut. Sanders grabbed the second finger. The fire scorched into the tip of his finger. His tear ducts let go, and glistening globules of water ran down his cheeks. Sanders stepped back, and Dustin looked at the two sewing machine needles that protruded from the ends of his fingers.

Mind over matter. Mind over matter.

His body (his inner wolf) embraced the pain. He pushed his mind back to when he was shot in the camp. That was real pain. The needles were nothing.

"Does anything come to mind now?" Sanders asked.

Dustin looked at the gaunt face that stared in his direction. The jaundiced cheeks sunk hard between the cheekbone and the jawbone. Raspberry-colored splodges spread through Sanders’ receding hairline. Dustin finally saw why Sanders was desperate to find the shaman. It wasn't only to create a super race. It was because he...

Sanders was dying.

Now it all makes sense. Edmund couldn't help him, and now he's turned to the pack as a last-ditch attempt to stay alive.

"Yeah, something comes to mind."

"Good, and that might be?"

"It might be that you're not looking your best. Aren’t you feeling well?"

Sanders coughed and flicked the needles under Dustin's fingernails. Pain shot through his hand. He exhaled slowly through gritted teeth. His eyes washed wet, and his head started to swim.

Sanders grinned. "I'm on top of the world."

That's the fucking closest you're going to get to it, that's for sure.

Sanders stood with his hands clasped in front of him. He stared at Dustin as if trying to understand what was going on in Dustin's mind, and also what he might be scheming and planning. Sanders knew escape was out of the question. Dustin was one, and the disused theater —Dustin had surmised correctly, was full of vlads in the lobby. All they waited for was the signal from Sanders of where to go. No life was sacred in the hunt for the shaman (only Sanders’ own life), so whoever got in the way would be cast aside. Turned into a vlad or turning in your grave. That was how Sanders mentality approached the situation.

Dustin heard the phrrb—phrrb of a cell phone. Sanders reached into the pocket of his jacket that almost reached the floor. Dustin saw the blood-red lining. Why do all vampires like blood-red, it’s a little cliché? The dim light from the cell lit the yellow-stained teeth which sat in the jaundiced cheeks of Sanders. He raised his head and smiled some more. Dustin wished he hadn't.

"It appears the remainder of the pack is making a move without you," he commented.

Dustin furrowed his brow like a newly sliced loaf of bread. He guessed what the pack was doing, but to the extent of what they were doing it, he wasn't sure.

"Your protégé called Kelvin, he’s about to make a visit to the Dirty D. You have no pack members to protect him. You failed, and now there’s only Maria, Megan, and that human. Gabriel, whatever use he might be."

Laugh your head off; he's the one who killed your Edmund.

Sanders did as the message said and never responded to the message. Megan made sure to include that. Twice. It wasn't hers and Willy wouldn't be too pleased if he received a text message from the leader of the vlads. Sanders slipped the phone back into his jacket. He ordered the vlads to watch over Dustin. If they felt the urge to question him some more, there were some scalpel blades on the table which hurt a whole lot more than needles under the fingernails. They stood on the stage and nodded. They'd no intention of letting Sanders down, and they relished in the fact they could inflict some pain onto Dustin like he’d inflicted onto their brothers in the cemetery.

Sanders strolled back toward the spotlights and toward the stairs of the stage. "Grabbing Kelvin isn't going to help you," Dustin bellowed.

Sanders turned. His silhouette stood there and responded to Dustin's comment. "I think it will. We’ll soon have the shaman’s location and Kelvin’s hybrid blood again."

"That's still not enough," Dustin remarked as a stray salty tear reached his lips.

"Yes, I know. We might know where the location is, but getting a sitting is a little more complicated."

"No shit!" Dustin replied. But Dustin was the one strapped to a chair with needles sticking under his fingernails.

Sanders gave one final sigh before he answered and vanished past the spotlights. "It must be my lucky night," he said. He stepped back in front of the lights so Dustin could see the gleeful expression on his face. 

"The spotlight’s on me. My heart’s full of rage. I'll make it very clear to you, all the world's my stage."