Howlin' Mad Read online

  Chapter One:

  No. Just No.

  “No. Just no.”

  Scylla looked at him mournfully, like a puppy that had just received its first telling-off for chewing on a pair of trainers.

  “But… you’re a man!”

  “And?” Brian asked. “How’s that relevant?”

  “Well, men love threeways, don’t they? I thought it was every man’s fantasy?”

  “I’m me, Scylla. The lanky streak of piss with the social skills of an autistic D&D player. Funnily enough, because I suspect I actually am an autistic D&D player. And I don’t even have the charisma and imagination to be the dungeon master. To me, even a two-way has long remained nothing more than a fantasy. Yes, a threesome would be nice. But there’s one small snag.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, Gertie is my Master of Combat, the person whose sole job it is to train me in the arts of killing supernatural creatures.”

  “And?”

  “And you’re a supernatural creature.”

  “She’s not to know that.”

  Brian sighed in exasperation. Scylla was a wonderful girl/fish/Water Nymph, whatever you wanted to call her; beautiful, enthusiastic and, most surprisingly of all, quite enamoured with him despite his lack of any obvious charms. But at the same time she was so naïve that sometimes Brian felt as though he’d just started dating a particularly slow yet strangely well-developed child. Perhaps her naivety was part of her appeal, for she had very little to compare him with, a fact for which he was very grateful. He didn’t find it particularly appealing right now, though. More frustrating. Her newly awakened sexuality was seemingly insatiable and now extended into wanting to try out the same sex (if that’s what it could be called, what with Nymphs all being female), within the bounds of their own bedroom, of course. But her current target was, in Brian’s eyes at least, a big, fat no-no, despite the fact that once upon a time, not so long ago, he’d have been half-tempted by any kind of liaison with the cute and pixy-ish, albeit mildly terrifying, Gertie.

  “You do realise, don’t you?” he asked her. “That when we’re, erm, in the throes of passion, so to speak, you do have a tendency to lose control of your appearance from time to time? Soon as she sees your true, Nymph form, she’ll be out from the covers and wielding my flaming sword before you can say ‘oh crikey, she’s going to kill me with a flaming sword’ right?”

  Scylla shrugged.

  “Maybe she won’t? Maybe she’s more tolerant than you think? You did say she’s pan-sexual, right? Surely they’ve got to be quite tolerant sorts?”

  “Be that as it may, you don’t know her like I do. She’ll go off on one, and big time, trust me. I don’t want to risk it.”

  Scylla pouted.

  “But she’s cute.”

  “Yes. Cute and deadly. Like a kitten, with a Desert Eagle. And I wouldn’t want to be in the same vicinity as an angry one of them either. Now enough with that; I’m gonna pull over here and you’re going to have another go at driving. And this time, try not to mow anyone down.”

  Scylla rolled her eyes as they pulled into the little layby, somewhere between Penzance and Land’s End.

  “He was fine. He hardly even needed any stitches. I don’t even know what the fuss was about.”

  “As a whole, we humans are somewhat less tough than you supernatural types,” Brian reminded her. “A good running-over with a car tends to do us in. You were lucky he rolled up the windscreen and over the roof. If he’d gone under, there’d have been a good chance he’d have been squished.”

  “You wouldn’t have been and you’re human.”

  “I’m special.”

  “Yes,” she grinned. “That you are. Now let’s swap seats. I’m determined to get this right.”

  Brian climbed out from the driver’s side of the Camaro and swapped places with the Nymph, swallowing a big, greasy gulp of nerves as he posted his lanky frame into the passenger side. He wasn’t worried for the car, no; thanks to Master Friedrick’s alchemical ministrations, Bertha was all but indestructible, from her jutting bulldog bumpers to the sculpted leather seats within. But the same couldn’t be said for the other cars on the road. Nor, indeed, the pedestrians. Hence they were well removed in the countryside, hopefully far away from any unwitting targets.

  “Right, so make sure you’re in Park, then switch on the engine.” Scylla did as instructed, pressing the button that provoked the V8 engine into rumbling life, the entire vehicle beneath them throbbing with pent up power. The Nymph half-closed her eyes in pleasure at the thrumming growl. “And keep your bloody eyes open; that’s what got us into trouble the last time.”

  With a sigh, Scylla opened her eyes again and looked down at the gear lever.

  “So, first I press the red button right?”

  Brian all but slapped her hand away from the big red button that jutted from the side of the gear lever. A button that he knew from first-hand experience unleashed the full potential of the tuned-up engine in one ferocious and nigh-uncontrollable surge of pants-soiling power.

  “No. Not the red button. Never the red button.”

  “Why? What does it do?”

  “Causes mayhem, and enough of that follows me around at the best of times.”

  “Fine. So remind me again what I’m supposed to do. I’m all new to this, remember.”

  “Slide the gear lever forwards into Drive.”

  She did as he told her, the entire car gently thudding with the sound of the transmission engaging, Bertha starting to roll forwards slowly of her own accord. Scylla let out a girlish giggle.

  “And now I press the noisy pedal, yes?”

  “Gently,” Brian warned her.

  Gently to a Water Nymph, a creature of strength suited to living within the crushing depths of the cold and unforgiving ocean, obviously meant something entirely different to what it did to Brian; she planted her foot firmly down on the accelerator and Brian gasped as the Camaro launched itself forwards, spraying gravel behind it as they catapulted down the road on a torrent of noise.

  “For ffff…” Brian whimpered, his breath stolen by the acceleration that crushed him into the leather seat.

  Scylla merely laughed.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of it now,” she told him, seemingly oblivious to his terror.

  “Corner coming up,” Brian finally managed to choke out, spying the tall hedgerow and dry stone wall growing nearer. Nearer still. Too near now, the car still hurtling along at a rate of far too many knots. “Brake,” he gasped. “Brake. BRAKE!”

  Scylla rolled her eyes and did so, about a hundred yards later than Brian would have been comfortable with, slamming on the anchors with such force that his eyeballs were nearly pulled from their sockets, before she steered the car around the corner with an aplomb he wouldn’t have believed, the rear tyres lighting up with smoke as they drifted yet somehow maintained the right course.

  “God, you’re such a drama-queen,” she berated him, as she straightened the car.

  “And you’re a maniac,” he replied, feeling his heart beating a tap-dancer’s tattoo in his chest. “Anyhow, I thought you’d never driven before. How did you manage to get us round the corner at such speed? That was some Tokyo Drift shit right there. Even I couldn’t have done that, and cars used to be my bread and butter.”

  The Nymph shrugged her dainty shoulders, hands gripping the steering wheel loosely as she only half paid attention to the road ahead.

  “It’s easy once you grasp the basics. Apart from all your weird human societal customs, most things on land are easy compared to living in the sea. I’m assuming you’ve never tried to hold onto the dorsal fin of an Orca as it breaches and jumps through the air?”

  “Surprisingly enou
gh, no. I must have missed that game when it was doing the rounds of the school playground.”

  “I have and it’s a lot harder to pick up than this, let me tell you. They’re mardy buggers at the best of times. Killer whale bronco we used to call it. Grab an Orca – or a Great White, for that matter, either will do, they’re both feisty bastards – and hold on as long as you can as it tries to throw you off. Good sport. Me and the girls used to play that for hours, until the Orca grew tired and stopped trying. Then my sisters would usually eat it.”

  “Good sport,” he slowly repeated, staring at her in his usual mixture of curiosity and wariness. “I suppose you’ve no choice but to find ways to amuse yourself when you live for centuries in the cold sea.”

  “Indeed. There was also electric eel limbo, that was a good one. And sword-fish chicken.”

  “I can imagine. If it’s all the same, I’ll stick to Xbox.”

  Scylla turned to him, a quizzical look on her face.

  “What’s Xbox?”

  Brian laughed.

  “Oh boy, you’re in for a treat. When we get back to mine, I’ll… shit!”

  “Not sure why you needed to tell me that, but fine.”

  Brian’s eyes widened in fear as he caught sight of the tractor suddenly appearing on the left from a gap in the side of the tall hedges. They were wont to do that down here in rural Cornwall, especially on narrow single-track roads such as this, always patiently waiting, biding their time as the farmer strained to hear the sound of an approaching car, before, with a grin on their bearded faces, pulling out to scare the living daylight out of the unwary tourists. But no tourists, Brian and Scylla. And where most would be trundling along at a comfortable forty miles per hour, Scylla, with her lack of any fear and in control of a potent muscle car, was launching them down the road at seventy. The most experienced driver would have struggled to stop them in time, and Scylla wasn’t the most experienced of drivers, so, instead of hitting the brakes, she simply grunted and swerved to the right, not knowing what else to do.

  In any other car, the two would have been crushed to death, torn apart by twisted spars of metal as the car impacted the dry stone wall. As it was, Bertha simply punched clean through the barrier, hurling rough-hewn granite everywhere before slewing to a halt in the muddy turnip field, her glass and bodywork entirely unmarked by the enormous impact. Brian sat there hyperventilating, knuckles white as he grasped the door handle, having never been more grateful for Bertha’s KITT-like invulnerability. A liberal coating of unicorn piss mixed with Knacker tears worked as well, it seemed, as any molecular-bonded shell.

  “So what’s this Xbox all about?” Scylla asked, as the car settled into the mud.

  Brian slowly turned to her, mouth opening and closing like a fish with no words venturing forth. Before he could even frame his response, a voice called out from behind them, the farmer climbing down from his tractor and hurrying across the field.

  “You alright?”

  Brian climbed out of the car and held himself unsteadily against the roof, before fixing the man with a stare that would have done Medusa proud.

  “No! We just drove through a fucking wall! How alright do you think we could possibly be?”

  The farmer slowed and shrugged.

  “Was only askin’.”

  “What were you thinking, just pulling straight out into the road like that?”

  “Didn’t think anyone was coming.”

  “Could you not hear this thing?” Brian asked, exasperated, as he pointed at the quartet of enormous, howitzer exhausts that still burbled as they poked from the rear of the car. “Sounds like the Somme and Krakatoa had a colic baby!”

  “Thought it was thunder.”

  Brian stared up into the blue Spring sky, not a cloud to be seen in any direction.

  “Are you mental?”

  A sudden roar from those burbling exhausts and a tsunami wave of mud and mulched turnips rose up to coat Brian from head to toe.

  “I think the car’s stuck, Brian,” came Scylla’s laugh from inside the car.

  Brian wiped his face clean of what he strongly suspected was manure, before staring daggers through the rear window at the Nymph grinning at him in the rear view mirror.

  “Lemme grab me tractor,” the old farmer nodded to Brian. “I’ll have you out of here dreckly.”

  Dreckly, thought Brian darkly, couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Two:

  Times Were A Changing

  Brian had been thankful that at least nobody else had been involved in the accident. After seeing the mess Bertha had made of the granite wall, he’d shuddered to think what damage she’d have wrought upon an opposing car and the occupants within. And so it had been that he’d driven home himself, his home that is, not Scylla’s, for he suspected Xboxes didn’t work particularly well beneath the salty Atlantic brine.

  Midday and the afternoon had passed in a haze of Red Bull and video games, the former purely for Brian that he might keep up with the Nymph’s frantic and seemingly inexhaustible enthusiasm, the latter an education for Scylla, who had never before played a computer game. As frustratingly as ever, she’d proved herself incredibly adept at picking up the new skills, beating his kill-to-death ratio on Call of Duty with only two matches of practice. But then why should Brian have been surprised, he’d mused to himself? Brian was perhaps the least talented person he knew, with nary a hobby nor interest to his name outside of movies, music and gaming. He’d always been the last to be picked in any sports at school. Always the lanky rake for women to compare unfavourably to his more-muscled and filled-out peers. That he was a killer of vampires and other such lethal creatures was merely thanks to the ring which bestowed upon him strength, speed and magical powers like those he’d long used in his role-playing games. And even the ring had only fallen into his possession through pure fluke. By all rights, his friend Neil, altogether smarter, braver and considerably better-looking than himself should have been chosen.

  Alas, the winds of fate were fickle and cruel and not without a twisted sense of humour.

  There were, however, certain benefits to being the new Helsing, though. The car for one, which drew envious looks wherever he drove, as though people wondered how such a scruffy and unassuming-looking character as himself might possess such a beast as Bertha where they could not, despite being more talented, more canny with their money and, no doubt, harder working. The annual million pounds deposited into his bank account didn’t hurt either, the looming credit card debts and lack of food of his former life now but a distant and happily forgotten memory. In addition, despite his longstanding lack of confidence and social skills, he’d found himself becoming more comfortable in his own skin too. Even a quick stroll through Penzance town centre once upon a time would have led to him avoiding the gazes of strangers; his height had often made him a target for the jibes and mockery of the local chavs, as he’d strolled past them, a giraffe howled at by a mob of cackling hyenas. And yet now, knowing that he was stronger than they, and possessed of powers that they daren’t even dream existed, he had started to come out of his shell, like a snail braving the open air after being persistently mobbed by Burberry-clad birds. A particularly cynical and sarcastic snail, for sure, one that might prove too bitter for any French chef, despite copious lashings of garlic butter, but a snail no longer confined to the seclusion of its own shell at least.

  And that, Brian thought, was progress.

  “That was awesome. What other games do you have?” Scylla asked, rounding on him with that intense stare he’d at once become so familiar with of late and yet still startled him with its eagerness every time.

  He’d never had a girl so interested in him before. So absorbed and eager to learn about every facet of his life. He knew, of course, that it was not entirely about him, but about human life as a whole; Water Nymphs, for the most part, treated humans as nothing more than cattle, to be plundered and feasted upon at will. Scylla’s own sisters, who lived off t
he coast of Newquay, had until recently felt the same, until Brian had illuminated them as to the pleasures of take-away food. Now, rather than long-pork, they feasted upon Crispy Fried real Pork, from their local Chinese. But Scylla was – and always had been – different, in many strange and confusing ways. Firstly, and somewhat unusually for a carnivorous sea-creature possessed of immense strength and razor teeth, she was a vegan, a cause of much mockery by her peers. Secondly, rather than viewing humans as short-lived and insignificant monkeys, she’d always been fascinated by them. From the moment he’d first laid eyes upon her in the noisy nightclub, Leeroy’s, that night in Newquay, he’d seen the energy, the lust for life in her, plain as day. And now, freed from the burden of trying to protect mankind from her sisters’ own hunger for man-flesh, and having found a willing partner and increasingly-tired mentor in Brian, she’d thrown herself into learning everything she could about humanity. It was refreshing, thought Brian, to have such a beautiful young woman hanging onto his every word as though gospel.

  It was also exhausting.

  “God, too many to even start to list,” Brian replied, gesturing to the enormous pile next to his console. “I’ve shooters, role-playing games, racing games. Take your pick.”

  “I want to play them all.”

  “That would take months.”

  “Then let’s start now!”

  Scylla made to move to the leaning tower of Xbox, but just then a loud beep hailed from Brian’s phone. He rummaged in the kangaroo pouch of his Iron Maiden hoody for it, then stared at the screen and groaned.

  “Who is it?” the Nymph asked him.

  “Work. Next mission is ready for me and I need to go in for some mission-specific training. Chances are I’ll go straight onto the mission after training, so I might be a couple of days. You’re more than welcome to stay here, if you like. Gives you a chance to blast through some video games. And the Chinese opposite the Co-Op does a mean sweet and sour bean curds.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” she told him, an excited smile on her face.

  A smile that made him absolutely certain before he’d even been told that there was no chance in hell it would be a better idea. Nonetheless, he humoured her.