Chapter 9
WOULD HEhave to kill his best friend?
The question hit Bing broadside, making him dizzy even as the possibility sunk in. He’d held on to hope, even after Walter ate whatever weird energy was coiling on the banana. With his werewolf sight, he could see the thing deep inside Walter’s belly, but it didn’t seem to go anywhere. It just coiled, kicked, and bounced like a tiny monkey, unable to break through the thick wall of Walter’s stomach. If Walter was lucky, he’d release the energy in the normal way, passing it through his intestines and out the back end.
That hope died the moment Walter started performing.
Bing was an actor, so he knew the way it worked. He always released his own identity in favor of whatever part he was about to play. Bing faded so Red Wolf could step forward. That was the process of acting.
Except Walter had an extra identity inside him. It jumped and danced in his stomach so that the moment Walter released control, it could step forward. Bing watched helplessly from the side as that pulsing energy abruptly expanded. Ribbons seemed to shake themselves awake before they filled every part of Walter’s body. It happened in a matter of seconds, as if Walter just let down his internal guards and said,Come on in!
Bing pushed forward, but a security guard held him back. He could have gotten by the man. The fight in the trailer had weakened him, but he wasn’t useless.
It was already too late. As he watched, Walter’s energy merged with the coiling monkey’s. They became one person, and beside him, Auntie Sand pumped her fist in delight.
“The Monkey King is born again,” she whispered. “Woe to any who stand in his way.”
“This world does not need another arrogant god,” he said, his special vision scrambling for an answer. If he could grab hold of a tendril of energy, he could unwind the monkey energy the same way he’d unwound the kangaroos’. Maybe.
“Here he comes,” she laughed as she hopped in glee.
It was true. Bing could already see the way the monkey energy was surging forward, itching for a fight.
The scene involved an attack by bandits. Walter was supposed to fight well, but not well enough to prevent his costar from dying. Then in his grief, Walter would turn to witches in order to become Red Wolf.
Bing shifted his gaze to where the stuntmen waited in the wings, ready to attack. They had no idea what was about to hit them.
“Now,” the director mouthed as he cued the stuntmen.
The men attacked. These guys were trained professionals with extensive martial arts skills. They were completely unprepared for the force that was Walter.
Two jumped him, one in front, one from behind. The costar went down, pretending to be completely surprised. Walter stumbled, probably because he was supposed to be drunk. But even as he was going down, the movement changed into a crouch, then a spring. Like a monkey leaping into the air, he spun around and kicked first one stuntman in the chest, then the other in the face.
Impressive. And from the shock on the stuntmen’s faces, completely unplanned.
Walter dropped and grinned, his eyes shining bright under the lights. “Come and get me,” he taunted. “If you can.”
That was a cue to the stuntmen to attack again. The two guys already sporting bruises didn’t waste any time, springing into action and coming at Walter fists-first.
It didn’t work. Walter—or whatever he had become—rebuffed them in true Monkey-style kung fu. Bing knew of the discipline and had seen Walter do it the first day they’d met, but he’d never seen anyone perform it so exquisitely. Drops, spins, and jumps all made to mimic the movements of a monkey had the stuntmen scrambling to defend themselves.
They failed. Walter sprang forward and snapped a guy’s collarbone with a quick stab of his two fingers. Bing wouldn’t have believed it possible—it was just two fingers!—but he heard the crunch and the resulting scream. Everyone froze for a moment. There was no doubt that the man was truly hurt, and so all the actors stopped, as did the crew. Everyone, that is, except Walter. He continued to attack, kicking and punching people in true Monkey style.
It was horrifying. Stuntmen fell away, barely gathering their wits enough to realize they were under real attack. So far Walter had only broken one bone, but if Bing didn’t do something, someone was going to die.
“Sand! Stop this,” he snapped before leaping forward to drag one of the stuntmen out of the way. “He’ll kill them!” She was the one who’d brought out the Monkey King. She was the only one who knew how to put the monkey back in the egg.
Meanwhile, the director was just realizing he had a problem. “Cut! Cut!” he cried, but no one appeared to be listening. Certainly not Walter, who was hooting and laughing like the demigod Monkey.
“Walter, stop!” Bing yelled, turning back to his friend, but there was no response. Worse, Walter was stalking the last stuntman, the only one still on his feet. The fighter was probably the best of the crew, but he was scrambling away as fast as he could while terror twisted his face.
“Monkey is born of pain and rage!” Auntie Sand cried with glee.
“This is a movie!” Bing argued.
“No,” she said with a wide, ugly grin. “You only think it is.”
There was his answer. Whatever everyone else thought was going on, Sand had something completely different planned. She had maneuvered for the energy to spring free, and now blood was going to flow.
