Summer 2026 Runner-Up

“This was not in the plan,” I scold as I slip into the courtyard and sidle up to Caleb.

We'd arrived at the palatial ranch house separately. That was Rigley’s advice. “A band of thieves should never show up together, even at a masquerade ball.” The theory was sound. Rigley would be the one to know. However, it also meant I couldn't check Caleb's outfit.

The big, stupid werewolf was meant to be dressed like Rigley and I; simple formalwear and a nondescript mask. Nothing to draw attention, just another few guests in lazily put together costumes. Instead, when I walk into the dusty, lantern-lit courtyard, Caleb stands before me dressed as the Big Bad Wolf.

“C’mon,” says the brute softly as he offers me a glass of punch. “It's funny.”

I take the punch in an effort not to make a scene. “I'm not drinking anything our host offers.” I keep my voice light and pleasant, blending in with the buzz of conversation in the courtyard. “Did you forget where we are?”

“You said to act natural,” notes Caleb. “What's more natural than a big strapping man such as myself offering a beautiful lady a drink?”

I level the most soul-piercing glare I can muster at the moron. His grin manages to be even more wolfish than his costume. Reason says I shouldn't have brought him in on this, but as a prophet I can't allow reason to override my visions. He's supposed to be here. I just have to manage him.

“Rigley is going to be making his move shortly,” I say. “Keep your eyes open.”

A chill rushes over my consciousness and I know our host has entered the courtyard. Good. We need him as far away from his office as possible.

I turn to look at Vasquez. He's wearing a sharp, bright red suit that clashes garishly with his unnaturally pale complexion. His black eyes glitter under a red mask, false horns rising from his forehead. Mephistopheles. Fairly on the nose, but not as strikingly as Caleb. I look away, not wishing to draw his eye.

“He knows something's wrong,” says Caleb.

“What are you talking about?” I ask in a hiss.

“He made eye contact with one of his thralls the second he was in the courtyard,” says Caleb. “Now two of them are headed for the north wing. I'm going for Vasquez.”

“That's not in the plan, either,” I say, trying to pin him in place with a glare.

“It's the only way to keep the heat off Rigley,” says Caleb. “Stay clear. I'll handle it.”

“He's a lord, Caleb,” I whisper desperately, trying to look calm. Nearby guests are taking an interest in our back and forth. “He'll enthrall you if you challenge him.”

“He'll try,” sighs Caleb, watching nervously as the thralls make their way to the staircase that leads to the office in the north wing.

I go stock still, looking Caleb in the eye. “The only way you could resist him is if-”

“If I was a lord myself,” finishes Caleb, a wistful smile on his face. There's a deep sorrow in his eyes I had assumed he was unable to feel. “Sorry for all the lies. But we both get what we want tonight, I promise.”

Caleb puts a hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me out of the way, stepping towards the vampire lord.

“Vasquez!” He cries, tearing off his mask.

The lord turns his head slowly, indolently, finally locking eyes with Caleb. A smile creeps over his pale features. White teeth and red gums stand out in the lantern light. The party has come to a dead halt. I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Caleb, Caleb, my dear boy,” says Vasquez. “Let's speak in my office.”

“Here's good,” spits Caleb.

His face stretches out into a muzzle to accommodate his growing, sharpening teeth. Coarse hair sprouts out of the back of his neck, starting at the spine and wrapping around his whole body. He grows a foot taller and claws emerge from his hands. This is the first time I've seen his wolf form. If I had, I'd have known he was a lord. Only a lord could transform into such a breathtaking monstrosity, especially on command like this.

I would like to take the time to rake Caleb over the coals, figure out why he lied to me, and put a silver knife through his heart myself. I'll have to settle for fighting side-by-side with him. For now.

It's instantly obvious who's a guest and who's a thrall. The former scream and run for the exits; the latter charge Caleb or draw guns on him. The two thralls Caleb had mentioned turn back from the staircase and join their brethren in the assault. At least Rigley's in the clear.

I toss my untouched drink aside and pull two derringers from folds in my dress. The nearest thrall is charging towards Caleb and I draw down on him. I only have four shots, and I spend them all making sure he's down. I rush over to the fallen thrall and pry the revolver from his hand as his flesh withers and flecks off his bones in the breeze. I roll under the punch table and toss it over. Glass shatters and ruby red punch splashes over the dust and bricks of the courtyard. I peer out over the table to see I've drawn surprisingly little attention to myself.

Caleb and Vasquez are trading blows in the middle of the courtyard. The vampire lord has thrown aside his mask, but his eyes are now burning red and his elongated canines glint in the moonlight. His claws are thinner than Caleb's, but much longer and no less sharp. Vasquez is no match for Caleb in a one-on-one fight, but his thralls are throwing themselves at the wolf lord.

I check the revolver, muttering my gratitude to Heaven that the bullets are silver-tipped. I look for a clean shot. I take out the thrall furthest from the melee with two shots. The first stops him in his tracks; the second tears through his heart.

Caleb swipes at a thrall who's stood back up despite a gaping chest wound. The thrall goes down but Vasquez takes advantage of the opening and rakes his claws down Caleb's side.

Vasquez locks eyes with me as he reaches the apex of his strike’s follow through. The remaining thralls turn to me as Vasquez presses his advantage against Caleb. I fire three shots, taking down two more thralls. There are three more coming towards me, rage and hunger burning in their red eyes. I am out of ammunition.

With no time to reload or try to steal another gun, I throw the pistol end over end at the nearest thrall. The butt of the gun crushes their nose with a sickening crunch. I pull a small silver knife hidden in my belt with one hand and tear my silver cross necklace from my neck with the other. They stagger at the sight of the glinting metal symbol. It won't keep them from ripping my throat out, but it will give them pause. I need every second I can get.

Over the thralls’ shoulders I see that Caleb isn't letting Vasquez force his advantage. The werewolf takes a few nasty blows from the vampire's claws, but fights through them rather than curling up or backing away. The deep gouges in his arms and chest will heal as long as no one puts silver through his heart. He falls on Vasquez like a crumbling stone wall. His size and weight are enough to throw the vampire off balance.

The first thrall reaches me and I slash at his outstretched arms with my silver blade. It bites deep and the thrall howls.

The second thrall shoves past him and rakes her claws over my outstretched arm. The wound will scar, joining the ever-growing network of thin, pale lines on my arms. I round about with my knife and plunge it into her heart. That wound will never have a chance to scar.

The third thrall has reached me and the battle becomes a desperate struggle to keep my arms between their claws and my body.

Vasquez still hasn't recovered from Caleb's reckless assault. The vampire doesn't share the wolf's fortitude and has been reduced to a cringing mass of cuts and gashes, stolen blood spilling to the ground beneath him. His body warps and melts into a shadow as he tries to flee. It would have worked on nearly anyone else, but Caleb reaches out and grabs a fistful of Vasquez's scruff, slamming him into the ground. Vasquez reconstitutes into his corporeal form and staggers to his knees, crouched on the ground at Caleb's feet.

“Caleb,” he calls from behind a bloodied forearm. “There is so much I could do for you. I have money, power, land…”

The thralls are backing off of me now and slinking back towards their master. Before I can warn Caleb, he's already pulled a long silver stiletto from his boot and brought it up into Vasquez’s ribs, hauling him up off the ground. Caleb is standing at his full height. He holds Vasquez at eye level. The vampire lord dangles from the knife, his feet kicking weakly like a hanged man's.

“For my brothers,” says Caleb.

He twists the knife, and Vasquez's red eyes go wide and flicker back to their natural state of glittering black-brown before glazing over. The crumbling of the body to desiccated flakes and brittle bones is unsettling, but it's that brief spark of lucidity that always haunts me the most. Do they beg forgiveness in those moments?

The thralls look around frantically, freshly wakened from their nightmarish reality. They scatter and flee the courtyard. I scramble to grab a gun, but a huge paw closes over my hand.

“They're free,” growls Caleb in a low voice. “Let them go make their own choices now.”

Rigley bursts into the courtyard. “What are you two doing!? Let's get out of here before someone else shows up!”

“You have the crucifix?” I ask.

Rigley nods. The wiry thief is sweating like a hog and staring dubiously at Caleb's wolf form.

“We ride for the monastery,” I say. “We get paid, then we never speak to each other again.”

Caleb de-transforms. We bandage up our wounds and make our way to the monastery. My head is on a swivel for the entirety of the grueling ride. I'm sure a bullet will punch into my back at any moment, but my paranoia is misplaced. Vasquez is dead, and if he had any friends they're not on our trail. Yet.

We return the crucifix to grateful monks at the isolated desert mission. Rigley takes his payment and rides off without a goodbye. Caleb walks out of the monastery with me and leans on the post my horse is tied to.

“I was turned as a kid,” he says.

“Many are,” I huff as I untie my horse. “Few become lords.”

Caleb holds up his hands in an effort to placate me. “The lord who turned me was cruel. Even by werewolf standards.” His eyes shift in something akin to panic. I wonder what he's reliving. “When I grew powerful enough, I killed him. I enthralled the rest of the pack to myself, and all of a sudden I'm a lord. I tried to keep the pack on the straight and narrow. It was tough, but we were making progress. No killing people, living off cattle, that kind of thing.” Caleb is squirming now, his hands rubbing the fresh bandages the monks wrapped around his wounded arms. “That's when Vasquez showed up. My former lord had been paying him tribute. I didn't plan to. I told him I'd move the pack elsewhere. He agreed.” Caleb's eyes darken. “The following night he returned, this time with an army of thralls. My pack–my brothers–were slaughtered before my eyes. I lost control. Blacked out. I must have fought like a demon, because I woke up covered in blood and shivering in the middle of the desert. When I found out Vasquez was still alive, I swore on the moon I'd end him. This job gave me the opportunity I needed to get close.”

“I ought to slay you where you stand,” I bite off.

Caleb barks out a harsh laugh. Harsh, but not humorless. “You might just be able to. But it was your God who saw fit to invite me along, was it not? Feels rather… inhospitable to go and kill me now.” The werewolf unties his own horse and leaps into the saddle. He flashes me one of his winning, wolfish grins. “But I know. This was not in the plan.”

I realize I'm still holding my own horse's lead, transfixed. Caleb tips his hat and rides off into the desert. I shake my head and mount my horse, trotting off in the opposite direction. No, this was not in the plan. I touch the silver cross around my neck and look skyward. At least, it wasn't in my plan.