The Warlock in Spite of Himself - Warlock 01 by Cristopher Stasheff Page A

with your God,' said the werewolf, 'for your hour has come.'
    Fur appeared on the backs of his hands, and his fingernails grew, curving outward. Forehead and cheeks sprouted fur; nose, mouth, and chin slipped together and bulged, tapering outward to a muzzle. His ears moved upward to the top of his head and stretched into points. He flung off the dark cloak; his whole body was silvery fur, his legs had become haunches.
    He dropped to all fours. His upper arms shortened and his forearms lengthened; his hands had become paws. A tail sprouted and grew into a long, silvery plume.
    The silver wolf crouched close to the earth, snarling, growling low in its throat, and sprang.
    Rod whirled aside, but the wolf managed to change course mid-air just enough; its teeth ripped Rod's forearm from elbow in to wrist. The wolf landed and spun about with a howl of joy. It crouched, tongue lolling out, then it sprang again.
    Rod ducked, dropping to one knee, but the wolf checked itself in midleap and fell on top of him. Its hindlegs clawed at his chest; the great jaws fumbled for a hold on his spine.
    Rod surged to his feet, bowing forward and shoving against the wolf's belly with all his strength. The wolf went flying, but its claws had raked Rod's back open.
    The wolf landed on its back, hard, and howled with the pain. It scrambled to its feet and stalked around Rod in a circle, growling with blood-lust.
    Rod pivoted, keeping his face toward the wolf. How do you handle a werewolf? Fess would know, but Fess was still out of order. The wolf snarled and leaped for Rod's throat.
    Rod crouched low and lunged with his hand stiffened. His fingers caught the wolf right in the solar plexus.
    Rod leaped back, falling into a crouch. The wolf clawed at the ground, struggling to regain its breath as life poured back into its nerves. Rod circled around it, widdershins for luck.
    How do you fight a werewolf?
    Wolfbane, obviously.
    But Rod couldn't tell wolfbane from poison ivy without a botany text. The wolf dragged in a long, grating breath and rose into a crouch. It snarled and began to prowl, widdershins around Rod, watching for an opening.
    So much for widdershins, Rod thought, and reversed direction, turning clockwise in an attempt to get behind the wolf.
    The wolf sprang.
    Rod pivoted aside and let fly a right jab at the wolf's jaw; but the wolf caught his fist in its teeth.
    Rod bellowed with pain and kicked the beast in the belly. Fang went down for a breather again, freeing Rod's hand as the toothy jaws gaped for air.
    Silver bullets. But chemical sidearms had been out of vogue for thousands of years, and the DDT had gone off the silver standard quite a while before.
    A crucifix. Rod made a firm resolution to take up religion. He needed a hobby, anyway.
    His furry friend had meanwhile pulled itself back together. Haunches tensed, it sprang.
    Rod sidestepped, but the wolf had apparently counted on his so doing. It landed full on his chest, slavering jaws snapping for Rod's jugular vein.
    Rod fell on his back. He pulled up his legs, planted his feet in the wolf's belly, and shoved, catapulting the canine clear of his corpus. The wolf fell hard and squirmed, getting its feet under its body. What else didn't werewolves like?
    Garlic.
    Rod circled around the wolf, fumbling in his purse for the garlic sausage left over from dinner.
    The wolf spread its jaws wide and hacked a cough. Rod munched a mouthful of sausage.
    The wolf came to its feet with an ugly, very determined growl. It tensed and sprang.
    Rod caught the beast under the forelegs, staggering back under the weight of its body, and breathed full in its face. He dropped the wolf and sprang away.
    The wolf rolled, spitting and coughing, drew in a shuddering gasp, and collapsed.
    Its form stretched, relaxed, and slowly stretched again - and a tall, lean wiry man lay naked, facedown, in the grass, unconscious body heaving with great panting breaths.
    Rod sank to his knees. Saved by garlic