"Junior," Hank gasped with relief in his voice. "We're at the reptiles. Totally surrounded by Council—four major dangerous guards and around twelve to fifteen lesser targets. We've been injected and paralyzed. You alone?"
"At the moment, yes, but I can have a posse in about six seconds. Hang tight, Baby Bro, I'm on my way."
"Move it, big Bro. It's ugly here and getting uglier."
"Be there in ten," he said.
"Minutes?" I shouted. Angela would be dead in ten minutes.
"Seconds, little girlie. Ten seconds," Junior promised with a grunt of laughter.
"Thank god," I groused in relief.
"Any humans around you?" Junior asked.
"Negative," Hank answered. "Only Were."
"It's going to be okay, Essie," Hank whispered as Angela's violent beating continued in the background.
"Do you swear?" I demanded in a harsh voice as I forced myself to watch my boss's blood run red over the pavement.
"I do. I swear. Junior might be off his damn rocker, but he's one of the smartest and deadliest sons of bitches I know."
"I hope to hell you're right," I muttered as Dima moaned in pain beside me.
"I know I am, baby. I know I am."
Chapter 16
"Holy sheeeot on a stick in a hula skirt! Is that Brad Pitt shootin' a fight scene for a movie?" Junior bellowed as he and about forty Were Pigeons in both human and bird form came barreling toward the circle from hell we were trapped in.
I knew Were Pigeons existed, but I'd never seen them until now. There were only three known Packs of Pigeons in the world—Chicago, New York and London. In their Were form they looked like Pigeons on steroids—about four times the size of a normal pigeon. However, the razor sharp and unnaturally long fangs were a dead giveaway that they were not typical birds.
Half of the group was in bird form and the other half in human, but with fangs and claws flying. Holy shit, it was an Alfred Hitchcock nightmare on crack.
"Jesus H Christ," Hank gasped as he took in the deadly circus descending on us.
"And then some," I muttered. "Wait. What does the H stand for?"
"What?"
"I mean, I've always wondered. It must stand for something because everyone uses the same initial."
"Um… Henry?" Hank guessed.
"Nice try, Henry James Wilson." I laughed. "I was thinking it might stand for Hesus."
"So his name is Jesus Hesus?" Hank asked, confused.
"I suppose it is a little weird and rhymey," I admitted. "Gross. I think I just got pooped on."
"It's good luck," Hank explained as he tried to move his still useless body. "I just sure as hell hope Junior was clear on who the bad guys were when he briefed the flying, crapping time bombs."
"I'll second that," I mumbled as I watched the drama unfold.
"I love Brad Pitt," an adorable female Pigeon screamed at a decibel that made every Were within a surrounding mile wince in pain.
She tore through the circle along with two dozen others and jumped on the back of the largest, most violent Council guard. He tried to throw her off, but her sharp little claws were embedded tight.
"It is BRAD PITT," she wailed, and then triple-winked at her delighted bloodthirsty friends. The guard was still trying to shake her off when she began pecking a rhythm in his neck that made my teeth hurt and the guard swear in fury and pain.
The family glanced wildly around in confusion. I swear to Jesus Hesus some of them were actually looking for Brad Pitt. The IQ level of these particular Wolves was very low… With a shrill whistle and a quick chorus of yipping, the Pigeons went ballistic on the Wolves. The lupines were screaming and running for their lives as the birds dove and attacked. Their human counterparts pecked the living hell out of the bastards.
Junior was beating the crap out of anything that came close to us. Dima was slowly waking up, but Hank and I were still frozen and useless.
"Junior," I shouted above the din. "Find Angela. She's across the circle. She needs our help."
"I'm on it," he yelled as he placed several Pigeons in front of us for protection.
Never in a million years would I have guessed how freakin' violent Pigeons were. They were tearing the family to shreds and enjoying the hell out of it, if the laughing and backslapping were any indication.
"How did he find forty Pigeons?" I muttered to Hank as I watched in horror.
"Junior can find a needle in a haystack. Finding forty Pigeons would be a no-brainer for him. Plus, I'm pretty sure he does online gaming with Pigeons," Hank explained.
Of course he did.
The crowd thinned dramatically as the death toll of the Wolves rose. The battle was basically over and the Pigeons had definitely won. The birds were as quick as they were violent. Dead bodies disappeared faster than they had fallen to the ground. How were they doing that? That's when I noticed what they were wearing—uniforms. They all had safari uniforms on. The Pigeons worked at the zoo. They were the grounds people, ticket takers, animal caretakers and security.
Freakin' brilliant.
This was the first time I'd come across a Were Pigeon and I was kind of hoping it would be the last. These suckers had ridden the bus in from Crazytown and stayed.
"She's gone," Junior huffed as he wiped his brow in frustration. "Three of the guards got away and they took Angela."