“Is it first blood or is it to the death? What happens in the event of a tie?”
“Miles!” McCoy shouted.
I hazarded a glance at the back seat. Miles looked slightly guilty, but Larsson just looked merry, like someone watching a puppy thrash around with a sock. It was tempting to laugh, but I didn’t want to undermine McCoy’s mom moment.[105]
McCoy let out a deep exasperated sigh, “She can’t answer questions if you don’t give her time to answer.”
Miles honest to God blushed so brightly I nearly got blinded. Larsson chuckled, before turning to Miles. “The function of leadership is to produce more leaders, not more followers,” she formally stated. Miles nodded in understanding, seemingly satiated. I was confused, but busy trying to not be cut off by an asshole in a Camaro.
McCoy, on the other hand, was having none of that, “Great line. Who said it and what do you mean?”
“Ralph Nader,” Larsson replied with a smile, “And what it means is this. I’ve been around the block enough times that I’ve seen how werewolf packs fail and how they succeed. Anyone in a leadership position for long enough gets stagnant and rigid, both in rule and mind. If they don’t have someone like me on the outside keeping them in line and advising them, it goes to shit. As such, I don't really have my own pack really, but rather, I talk to the Alpha of many packs and help them find their own way to guide that is for the betterment of each pack.”
McCoy scoffed, “That’s some vampire shit right there. Are you sure you’re a wolf?”
The tension in the car ratcheted through the roof and Larsson’s smile turned knife-like. I glared at McCoy, but she caught my eye and shook her head. Clearly, she thought she knew what she was doing. And Lord help me, I trusted her enough to let her take point. Maybe it was all the food she had brought me. I would’ve dwelled on the oddity of that sentiment if it wasn’t for the very angry werewolf and very small Miles in the backseat.
Larsson sniffed the air twice and then started to restrain herself, apparently considering the situation. “I see. Not sure how I missed it before. Do your coworkers know who your contact is?”
McCoy gave an overly pronounced shrug, “No, but you apparently do. Understand my worries now?”
Larsson nodded, “And you can understand mine.”
This time McCoy smiled dangerously, “Intimately. Would you care to share, or should I?”
Larsson shook her head, “If you revealed my secrets, I’d be compelled to share yours. I’ll tell.”
McCoy turned around and sat looking satisfied. Despite the newfound trust, I personally wanted to strangle her for being so secretive.[106] However, that might cause some complications, like presenting a disjointed front to the werewolf. Instead, I settled for thinking about sticking her full of daggers and asking questions. If it phased her, it didn’t show.
Larsson sat back and relaxed, “What your illustrious Deputy McCoy is referring to is the fact that my unique ‘Alpha’ gifts all relate to survival. To start, I haven’t visibly aged in nearly four hundred years.”
Miles made an “Oooo,” sound from the back seat but didn’t go much farther.[107] Larsson continued unabated, “Which throws many werewolves through a loop. Most werewolves die in battle or get old. The fact I haven’t is an anomaly that is interpreted so many different ways. Steven Hotchkiss saw it as a good thing and sought my advice often. Brecht Halthorne sees me as an aberration to his way of life and thinking but can’t bring himself to have me killed. Katelyn Walker respects me enough to let the peace stand.”
“And Ipsen?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said with an uncomfortable shrug, turning to look out the window, “If I had to guess, he’s afraid and trying to kill that which he doesn’t understand. Fortunately, or not, that also means that he is being cautious. He’s not sure the full extent of my abilities so he’s not going to push me or take risks.” She chewed her cheek for a second, thinking. No one dared to interrupt her. “Although today indicates something changed. Showing up with several of his Knot[108] to a public location where I’d be isolated sounds like him trying to manufacture an excuse to eliminate me. Means I’ve gone from an anomaly to a threat.”
Miles cut in, “If you have made a point to stay out of pack hierarchies, why are you a threat then? Why target you at all?”
She sighed, “Because Steven was my pup. I brought him into the pack, and I raised him up to be a good Alpha. By the Hunting Shroud, I’m expected to seek vengeance against those who made his death happen.” There was a pause as her voice softened, “And Ipsen isn’t wrong. I do want vengeance. But not for the damned Shroud. Stevie was one of the first people to be willing to try for an integrated pack between the generations and I helped.:
She shook her head angrily. “No, that’s not right and unfair. I pushed to make it happen and Stevie was just the person to get it done. However, it wasn’t a popular position. Ipsen, for instance, thought that integration was a sign of Stevie’s weakness. He came to me to see if I’d support his bid for Alpha.”
“Wait,” I cut in, “How does that work? I can’t imagine your relationship with Hotchkiss was private.”
She rocked her head slightly, “No, Ipsen knew. He just couldn’t conceive of someone as old as I am being okay with making peace with the New moon upstarts. He thought my support was because I couldn’t bring myself to condemn Steven and I just needed to be coaxed into it.”
She turned towards the front of the car, “Being snubbed by the person who helped raise you is a much larger deal for werewolves than it is humans. With humans, you can just leave and make something new. For werewolves, you don’t leave a pack, so you’re stuck with this black mark that someone revered left on you. You take your shame, fall, and spend the rest of your days trying to redeem yourself before your elder passes and you’re stuck with that shame forever. No one does it casually or easily. If I spoke out against Stevie, it would destroy his credibility and support and he’d be compelled to step down as Alpha.”
She turned her head again, “Of course, Ipsen was wrong. I pretty much laughed him out of the office and told him I wouldn’t move against blood.” She paused, “That was two months ago. And now Stevie’s dead.” There was a strangled sound that might’ve been a sob, but I made sure not to look. Woman was already dealing with enough, no need to make her moment of weakness public.
✽✽✽
By the time we pulled into the Rockford office, Larsson didn’t even look like she ever cried. She kept her hands down and together, as if they were cuffed and then we quickly moved her into the building and then into a small office.[109] Larsson took a seat at the table and clasped her hands, waiting expectantly.
I sat at the table opposite her and smiled warmly, “So, now that we’re safe here, I’d love to get your testimony so we can move forward with getting a warrant for Ipsen’s arrest.” I pointedly reached over, grabbed the tape recorder from a nearby table, set it on the table, and then clicked it on so that there were no questions about what was going on.
“Please state your legal name for the record.”
Larsson’s hand shot out and jabbed the record button off. “I can’t be recorded. The moment that reaches anyone’s ears, I’m a dead woman.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, “You came to us for protection because you were afraid for your life. Ipsen wants to kill you.” I managed to get out. Levelly even.
“And if it gets out that I gave on the record testimony to the police, he would be one of hundreds,” she retorted.
I felt myself groan and slump. She wasn’t wrong but it didn’t mean I had to like it, “Then why?” I asked.
“Because you only need probable cause to arrest and hold him for 24 hours,” she said. I could hear her smiling without looking up.[110]
I winced. There was no way I wanted the answer to my next question, but I had to ask, “And what do you intend to do with that 24 hours?” I inquired, looking up to her face.
“S
imple,” she said, her voice dropping a few octaves into what I was going to start calling the ‘werewolf register’, “I claim Vengeance for my pup and make my claim to Alpha irrefutable.”
I hate being right.
Chapter 19
Planning
“Okay, but how?” was my inevitable question.
She just kept her face in a smile that I’m sure was supposed to be confident but was just starting to be annoying. I rubbed my temples, trying to resist the growing urge to bang my head against the table. So much for new adventures and unity between law enforcement and werewolves.
McCoy stepped up, “Tennant, may I talk to you and Cross for a second in the hallway?”
I wanted to say no because I was slightly bitter over the vagaries of the car conversation but arguing in front of witnesses is bad form and I was at an impasse anyways. I nodded, and we shuffled out of the room.
McCoy then guided us down the hallway to the kitchenette, where she turned on the fan, started the microwave, and started playing music on her phone before even uttering a word. When she did, she explicitly faced Miles and asked, “So, what do you think her plan is?” while simultaneously knocking on my brain. I thought about letting her in and was immediately slammed by a solid block of thought. Not an individual thought or sentence, but an entire brick of thought that unfurled into a short paragraph of text. It gave me a headache, but what I eventually got was this, formatted something like the Star Wars opening crawl:
“I’m not sure if the sound barriers will actually work, so I’m sticking to mental communication. Sorry for intruding on your brain twice in one day. It’s far worse for me than it is for you. Regardless, I think I know what her plan is and can get something workable for both us and the MCD, if you let me talk to her one-on-one. The end result will be Voigt dead and we’ll have a long-term ally in the werewolves, at no minimal risk to ourselves and others.”
“Think you know? Weren’t you reading her mind?” I responded.
I got the impression of her shaking her head, “Once she figured out who my CI was, she’s been actively thinking about pushing me out. I can break through it, but she might catch me. Alternatively, I can go ask in person.”
“And who exactly is your ‘contact’ and why does that make her think that she could talk to you one on one?” I fired back. There was a sense of caution and uncertainty as, I think, she considered telling me. In the actual world, I was vaguely aware of Miles responding.
“I’m not sure, but I’d guess something involving Voigt which would make Ipsen’s shot to the top a lot less solid. Perhaps killing Voigt, herself?”
The aura of uncertainty dissipated and was replaced with a sense of reluctant determination. “I can’t say who it is exactly, but the fact I’m affiliated at all gives the impression that I’m walking more on their side of the world than the law.”
My immediate response that unfortunately went through was, “Impression, not truth?” I didn’t know you could mentally project a snub before that moment.
I regretted it immediately, and then a hurt feeling flooded out from McCoy’s mental projection. The connection faltered as the pain settled in. “I can see why you think that, and I know I’m not exactly liked around the office, but I believe in the job and what we’re doing. I just need you back me here so we can stop Voigt.”
I wobbled back to reality for a second due to the failing mental link. I wasn’t sure if it was the prolonged conversation or my snub that damaged her mental communication to the point of degradation.
“.... well, then she must have a way to find ….” Miles continued before I snapped back to the mental bridge. Fucking hell, what had I gotten myself into? I almost missed going door to door checking in on MARA recipients. Fuck, I was stalling. What was I supposed to do here?
Well, there was really only one thing to do. I had already said I trusted her, what was one more leap of faith?
“I don’t like it, but you say it’ll stop Voigt.” I felt her mentally nod, “The go cut the damn deal.”
A wave of gratefulness rushed from her and the connection failed out. Apparently, time had actually passed this time as Miles was clearly much farther along in the conversation.
“.... still, it might be a thing we could research,” he ended with dedication.
I looked up at McCoy who was nodding along, tiredly though with a weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there minutes ago. “Well, that makes sense,” she agreed, “The question comes down to how we can spin that to our advantage. I think I’ve got an idea for that though. Can I go talk to Larsson?” she asked, tilting her head at me.
I nodded and felt my vision swim slightly as my brain wasn’t used to the sense of body parts actually moving.
She smiled and left the room, taking her phone with her.
I turned to Miles, “How long were you two talking for?”
“McCoy and I have been talking for five minutes,” He responded automatically before looking at me, concern crossing his face. “You okay? You looked really spacy.”
I rubbed my eyes, “Long ass day. Long. Ass. Day.”
✽✽✽
Forty-five minutes later McCoy yelled from down the hall interrupting my power nap. Miles put away his phone, I smoothed my hair, and we trudged back into the small office taking seats around the small table. There was an awkward silence as we all sat there, all of our eyes slowly moving to McCoy. She gave us all a nervous smile, clearly flustered with being the center of attention.
Hesitantly, she spoke. “So, we have a plan to deal with Voigt and we think it’ll work. It’s simple enough.”
I raised my eyebrow, “Go on.”
She nodded slightly, “Okay, so here’s how it goes. Once we arrest Ipsen, we let it be known that Larsson is being held at a safe house on the lake and you’re guarding her. Voigt’s already shown that he’s willing to do stupid things to get food sources, and both you and Larsson being a viable snatch for him will probably be enough to lure him in. Once he’s there, we bait him over to the lake, anchor him to something heavy and drag him out into the lake. Once he’s there, let the anchor hold him down while he drowns repeatedly. Problem solved.”
Miles and I exchanged skeptical glances and I could feel pain building at my temples. Simple, but so many places this could and probably would go wrong. Still, it had potential. Drowning at the very least would weaken him, I said mentally running the numbers.[111] It wasn’t a no, so the question became how do we make it a yes?
“Setting aside the fact that we’re using people as bait for a second, let’s just list all the ways this can go wrong and try to make those work. Maybe the four of us can come up with a better plan.” I reached over and grabbed a pad of paper and pen, looking at the group contemplatively.
Miles chimed in, “Issue the first, fading out.”
“Well, the first question I have,” Larsson cut in, “Is how the fuck can he fade out? That’s supposed to be a werewolf only thing. A second gen-werewolf thing.”
Miles and McCoy looked at me. Great, my job to fill her in. With no way to do it tactfully, I gave the straight truth. “So, we think he gets the powers of those he eats. We’re not sure what’s all included in that. Best case scenario, only things in Native American mythos. Worst case, everything.”
Immediately Larsson rebutted, “But Hotchkiss couldn’t fade.”
Well, that was as close to a confirmation as we would likely get that Hotchkiss was first-gen. McCoy leaned back and answered for me, bringing the questions we had originally came to Rockford for to the front. “But Hotchkiss isn’t the only one missing, is he?”
A look of concern crossed Larsson’s face. Her lips pursed before offering, “I know that Ipsen has been sending hunting parties after Voigt. Not all of those have come back.” There was a moment of silence and then a collective shudder as we considered the implications of that particular revelation.
Miles was the first to broach the practical question, “Is there anything el
se we should be worried about?”
Larsson shook her head almost reflexively before pausing and tilting her head slightly, “Nothing exceptional, but I suppose that doesn’t tell you what we’re looking at. Standard second-generation werewolf abilities. Strength, speed, claws, minor regeneration, improved senses, and of course, fading out.”
So, nothing I couldn’t have found in the ARCHIVIST records. I wasn’t sure if that was a statement of how good ARCHIVIST was or how little she was willing to share. Given her comments about MCD files, I was willing to bet the second. Still, accusing her of holding back on us wouldn’t get us anywhere. Pushing the paranoia aside, I turned our concern into a question, “Right, so how do we stop him from fading?”
Larsson paused and then heavily sighed. After a few seconds, she started to talk. It was slow at first, her tone clearly reluctant. “Well, if he fades like a werewolf, stopping him from fading is an easy enough fix. There’s an upper limit to what people can take with them while Fading and you have to take everything you’re connected to. Anchor him with enough mass and he won’t be able to fade without being pulled back.”
I made a mental note to shackle any werewolf to a building in future arrests and moved forward before she lost her nerve and didn’t tell us more werewolf secrets and weaknesses.
“Okay, but what about him just breaking the cord attaching him to the deadweight?” I retorted.
Miles chipped in, “Get a galvanized high carbon steel wire, woven if possible, to attach whatever we’re sticking in him to the mass. Breaking through that, especially underwater, will be damn impossible. Get a high enough tensile rating and we could probably reel it up and use it again if need be.”
“Right, so what about the actual spearing mechanism?”
McCoy shrugged, “Figured you could TK lob it through his body. Get a solid stick, and we’re set.”
That, that was surprisingly simple. I looked at the notepad again and ran through the plan in my mind. There weren’t any issues I could find, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any issues. I did a second scan, just to be sure, before addressing the group. “Okay, this might actually work. I think we can sell Slate on this.”
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