Ulrik

by Steven E Wedel

  As she suspected, the wolves kept their distance. The wounded werewolf dropped back to take the rear position while the black-faced wolf moved up to flank them on the right. They held their positions for the three hours it took Shara and Thomas to find the road where she’d left her truck. Shara looked around for a moment to get her bearings, then pointed west.

  “It’s not far,” she said. She jogged along the muddy road, Thomas moving to her left, between her and the trees where the three wolves moved with them, protected by the forest.

  They came to a rise and Shara saw her truck pulled off the road ahead of them. She slowed her pace, but kept moving, studying the vehicle to determine if it had been disturbed in her absence. There were no footprints in the new snow surrounding it. The windshield and hood were covered with the snow that had fallen during the night. Shara looked toward the trees where the wolves kept even with them. She transferred her gun from her right hand to her left and dug into her jeans pocket for her keys.

  She and Thomas both went to the driver’s side of the truck, keeping the vehicle between them and the woods. Shara unlocked the door and opened it. Thomas jumped inside and moved to the passenger seat, where he quickly changed shape. A shower of black hair floated off him, settling on the seat and floorboard of the truck. Shara looked away and saw that the three wolves had emerged from the woods and were sitting in the snow, watching them. She stepped away from the cab and raised the gun over the bed of the truck. She fired quickly, pointing but not aiming at the center wolf.

  The animals scattered as soon as they saw her arm raising. Shara’s shot missed, but the wolves retreated to the cover of the trees. She jumped into the cab of the truck, slammed the door and started the engine. Snow had built up around the tires. Shara took a deep breath to calm herself, made sure the four-wheel-drive was engaged, then put the SUV in gear and gently tapped the accelerator. A moment later she had the vehicle turned around and was racing up the road toward the highway.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the heater?” Thomas asked.

  Shara couldn’t help but laugh. “What? Is it kind of cold sitting there stark naked?”

  “Aye, a little,” Thomas said, reaching for the heater controls. Warm air flowed into the cab.

  “There are clothes in the toolbox in the bed of the truck,” Shara said. “They’re Chris’s, but I think they’ll fit you okay. When we get close to the highway I’ll pull over and get them for you.”

  Shara stopped about fifty yards from the highway. She felt sure the trailing wolves could not have kept up with her, but she looked around carefully before getting out of the truck, and kept her gun with her, anyway. She opened the toolbox mounted in the bed and pulled out a rolled set of Chris’s stained thermal coveralls. She tossed them inside to Thomas and waited outside while he dressed. Then she got in and pulled onto the highway.

  “We’ll be home in about thirty minutes,” she said.

  “You realize they know your son is gone?” Thomas asked.

  Shara’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I guess so,” she said.

  “Those three will carry word back that we don’t have the boy with us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, lass, that all bets are off. Fenris and his followers will stop at nothing to find Joey now.”

  “Fenris? Who is that?”

  “He is an old werewolf. Some say as old as Ulrik. He has been an adversary of Ulrik for a long, long time. He does not want the Mother of the Pack to breed. And he does not want her offspring to come to power.”

  “This is too much,” Shara said. “I … I just don’t understand it all. Are you talking about Joey – my Joey – leading werewolves in some kind of war against regular people?”

  “Perhaps,” Thomas said. “But there are other ways. Political power, for instance. Celebrity. I don’t know what his plan is.”

  “But he wants werewolves to be in power over regular people?”

  “I haven’t heard it from his mouth, but that would be the general belief about the prophecy.”

  “But …” Shara struggled with the thought. “That makes Ulrik the bad guy.”

  Thomas smiled. “It is a matter of perception, lass. Fenris wants you and your son dead. Which of the two evils do you choose? And, we mustn’t forget, there are other, smaller factions with their own ideas.”

  Before she could say more, they rounded a curve in the highway and came in sight of the wall surrounding her home. She was slowing down when she noticed the gate was open.

  “Keep driving, Shara. Keep driving. Don’t look,” Thomas said. “Go. Go on.”

  Shara forced her eyes away from the open gate and the flashing lights of police cars inside the wall. She drove on, but couldn’t help glancing in the rearview mirror. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Thomas answered. “Drive toward town. You know the little motel on the outskirts, on this road? I have a room and a car. Take me there. I’ll drive back to your house and see what I can learn.”

  Shara nodded and drove.

  Chris, what is going on? Where are you?

  Ulrik

  The track through the thick belt of trees was no more than two worn ruts made by the passage of infrequent truck tires. Roots and holes caused Ulrik to bounce in his seat as he maneuvered the many sharp turns he’d purposefully cultivated through the forest. Shadows, with the occasional dappling of filtered sunlight, played over his windshield as he edged forward.

  Then he emerged from the shade to face a wide expanse of very flat glass, mowed short – too short to hide any approaching figures, be they man or wolf. The forest he’d just left stretched in a semi-circle around the plain until it met the base of a bald brown mountain at the western end of the plain. The mountain was called the Lonely Giant by the Mexican locals. The forest and mountain enclosed nearly one hundred square acres of grassy plain, and in the middle of the open area stood a house.

  Ulrik let the truck idle for a moment before killing the engine. He looked at the immaculate house standing firmly in front of him, his mind wandering through its history.

  The house had originally been built by a Confederate officer at the end of the American Civil War. Captain James O’Hare, a third-generation Mississippian of Irish descent, had seen the war was going badly for the South earlier than most. Possessing more prudence than honor, he abandoned his unit, dug up the gold he’d buried at the outbreak of war, sold everything he owned, and moved his family to Mexico, where he bought a large parcel of land and built an exact replica of his ante-bellum plantation house.

  The captain died of syphilis within a year and his wife soon followed him to the grave, leaving behind an eleven-year-old daughter and five-year-old son. An aunt and uncle from North Carolina had been persuaded to come and care for the children, but after a year in Mexico they’d returned to the South, taking the orphaned children with them. The daughter, Margaret O’Hare, hated the Reconstruction Era and returned to the house in Mexico when she was old enough to claim the property. She married well, but died young. Her brother was later killed in Indian Territory as he was traveling to Mexico to visit his sister, unaware she was already dead and buried.

  The house remained in the family of Margaret’s husband, Juan Jimenez, for almost fifty years, until his son moved north to California, where he sold the house and land to an American for enough money to live comfortably in Monterey.

  Ulrik had returned to the massive house many times since then, using it as his private retreat. As he sat in his truck in the driveway before the stable he’d long ago had converted into a garage, he remembered the last times he’d come here, just after taking Dora from her life of poverty in New Orleans. They’d only lived there a short while before moving further north, to Tijuana, where she had been killed in a busy street. He had wanted to return to the house following Dora’s death, but knew he was being watched. It was imperative this house remain unknown to Fenris and his followers.

&
nbsp; I wanted to retreat to this place and mourn for you, sweet Dora. I was unable to protect you.

  “I am an old man,” he said softly.

  The front door of the house opened. Pedro Martinez and his wife Maria came to stand on the porch that stretched the length of the front of the house. Ulrik found it hard to face the couple. They had taken good care of the house for many years. He recalled hiring them shortly after they were married, before Pedro developed the paunch that strained the belt around his waist and before Maria had a strand of gray in her hair. Until now, when he came back, he would always allow his staff to stay in the house with him. But this time would be different. He sighed and threw open the door of his truck.

  “Senor Ulrik,” Pedro said, coming from the porch, a smile on his face and his hand outstretched. “It is good to see you home again.”

  “Thank you,” Ulrik said, shaking the hand. He released the other man and turned to the bed of his pickup. Pedro came to help with the luggage and supplies and together they carried the suitcases and boxes into the house. The smells of cooking came from the kitchen area, making Ulrik smile. He looked to Maria. “I am in time for dinner?”

  “Si,” she said, nodding.

  They ate. Ulrik was glad to finally have a meal cooked by a woman who understood the mystery and passion of food.. He knew he would miss Maria, but he simply could not risk letting her and Pedro stay. When the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, Ulrik asked Maria to join him and Pedro at the table.

  “You have both been very good to me,” Ulrik said. “You have kept my house in perfect order, never stolen from me and always welcomed me when I returned here.” He paused, took a deep breath, and added, “But I am afraid I must release you from my service.”

  Maria let out a little gasp, her hand flying to cover her mouth as her eyes moved from Ulrik to her husband.

  “I do not understand, senor,” Pedro said. “We have done something wrong?”

  “No,” Ulrik said, shaking his head. “I am going to give you enough money to let you live comfortably. I will miss you. But you must take the money and go. Get far away from here. There will soon be many … guests arriving. You will not want to know some of them.”

  “How – how much money?” Maria asked.

  Ulrik smiled. The woman had always been practical, and he loved her for it. He took a folded check from his shirt pocket and pushed it across the table, watching their eyes widen as they read the amount.

  “Gracias,” Maria whispered, crossing herself quickly and looking toward the ceiling. Then her hands found her husband’s arm and clung to him.

  “Senor, are you sure?” Pedro asked.

  “Yes, Pedro. Very sure. It is best. Please stay here tonight,” Ulrik said. “Perhaps tomorrow Maria would be kind enough to make me one final breakfast before you leave.”

  “Si! Si!” she answered, nodding vigorously.

  “And then you must go,” Ulrik said. “Leave Las Sombras. It will become very dangerous soon.”

  Pedro nodded. Maria still clung to his arm. The check lay untouched before them. Ulrik took another deep breath, smiled, and said, “Now, you should retire for the night. I think you have plans to make. I will go upstairs soon. I, too, must plan.”

  With many more expressions of gratitude, the couple rose from their chairs. Pedro gingerly picked up the check, as if fearing it would break, folded it and put it in his own shirt pocket. They left the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind them, and at last and Ulrik heard them almost running to the room they shared at the back of the lower level of the house.

  “It is a simple life when money can make one happy,” he mused. When he heard the bedroom door close in the back of the house, he rose and made his way out of the kitchen and up the grand staircase. He stopped before coming to the door of the master bedroom, instead opening the door to a smaller, adjoining room. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  Though smaller than the master bedroom, this room was still very large, with a king-size bed, antique furnishings and a private patio. The room had been larger once, but adding a bathroom between this room and the master bedroom had necessitated making one of the rooms smaller. Ulrik thought for a moment and realized he could no longer tally the amount of money he had spent keeping this house livable, up-to-date and secure for almost one hundred years.

  But I always knew I would need it.

  He shook his head. That wasn’t true. He had hoped, but in time he’d given up the quest to find the Mother, believing his hideaway would never be used to raise her Alpha son. And now …

  Joey will be happy here.

  Ulrik smiled, then went through the adjoining bathroom to his own bedroom. He sat down at the ornate desk, opened an address book and lifted the receiver from a replica antique telephone. He made the first of many calls. The phone at the other end was picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice answered.

  “It is time, Cheryl,” Ulrik said. “The Pack must gather.”

  There was a pause, then the woman said, “I can be there late tomorrow.”

  Ulrik broke the connection and dialed the next number.

  Kiona

  Kiona Brokentooth watched the boy in the seat next to her. He was sleeping, slouched to the left in the seat of the commercial airliner, a wisp of his fair hair hanging over one closed eye. He rested peacefully. Kiona smiled, happy the boy felt safe enough to sleep so contentedly next to her so soon after she’d found him in the woods of Montana.

  As a flight attendant made her way up the aisle collecting empty cups and snack wrappers, the airplane’s pilot came over the intercom, announcing they were ready to begin the descent into San Antonio, Texas.

  You’d better be there, John.

  Kiona turned her attention from the boy to the window on her right. She could see lights on the ground below, but they were too sparse to be San Antonio proper. She knew John Redleaf would be waiting for her. He had always been reliable. And he loved her just enough to not fail her when she’d stressed the importance of this mission.

  The plane bounced a little as it encountered some minor turbulence. Beside her, the boy stirred but did not waken. Kiona turned her attention back to him.

  I was there for him when his mother was not.

  She’d seen Joey climb the gate of his parents’ fortress from her usual hiding place in the woods just out of sight of their surveillance cameras. She’d watched Shara run after the boy and she saw when Shara faced the wolf her son had become. With the snow making it easy to track the boy, Kiona had waited, watching to see what Shara would do. She wasn’t surprised to see the Mother drive out of the iron gate in her truck. Kiona then turned her attention to tracking the boy, taking her time, sure Fenris and his company had missed the spectacle and knowing that she would easily find Joey before Shara could.

  She hadn’t counted on Thomas McGrath. Looking out the airplane window, Kiona grimaced at the memory of realizing she wasn’t the only wolf tracking the youngster. The fight hadn’t been nearly what she would have expected from McGrath.

  He was soft. They say he’s been soft since they killed his woman in Oklahoma.

  “No culls,” Kiona whispered. “He got what he needed. What’s best for the Pack.”

  The need to go after Joey had prevented Kiona from staying to actually witness Thomas’s death. The wounds were deep. He’s dead. He has to be dead. He lost too much blood. I left him weak and exposed. If the cold and hunger doesn’t kill him, Fenris’s followers will.

  When she found Joey again, the boy was quick to trust her. She’d been surprised by that. The other boys she kidnapped over the decades had all been skittish at first, sometimes never warming to her before they died or Ulrik found her and took them away. But then, Joey wasn’t like other boys; he already had the Gift. She’d simply found Joey where he was hiding beneath the low-hanging branches of a fir tree and changed her shape in front of him. He’d crawled from his hiding spot and,
when she knelt before him, pushed his head against her shoulder.

  Kiona turned her attention back to the sleeping child, remembering putting her arms around the young Alpha and holding him close. At last you are mine. She’d known all along she was destined to be the Mother, even if it was as a surrogate.

  A few moments later and the plane’s wheels were kissing the runway in San Antonio. Joey woke up and looked around groggily. Kiona patted him on the leg. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re just landing.”

  “Is this the last time?” he asked.

  “No. One more plane ride, then we’ll be done.”

  “Tonight?” he whined.

  “Yes. But it’s a small plane. It’ll be a completely different experience. We’ll land at a ranch. You’ll have fun there, and you can sleep in a bed that will be all yours.”

  “All mine?”

  “Yes. You’ll have your own room. You’ll be living there for a while.”

  “My mom will come soon?”

  Kiona smiled and lied. “Yes, your mother will be coming soon. I’m sure of it.”

  “Aunt Kiona?”

  “Yes, Joey?” Kiona felt her smile widening. She’d insisted the boy use a family name to address her.

  “The man we’re going to stay with. You said his name is Ulrik?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mom told me about him.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that if I ever met him I wasn’t supposed to talk to him unless she was with me,” he said. “She told me to stay away from him unless she was with me.”

  Kiona smiled warmly. “Oh, it’s okay, Joey. You’re with me. Aunt Kiona will protect you. Besides, Ulrik isn’t so bad. Not like Thomas, that wolf-man I fought for you.”

  The plane taxied to a stop and people jumped up and began pulling luggage from overhead bins, crowding the center aisle so that nobody could move for a while. Kiona remained seated, ignoring everyone else.

  Ulrik isn’t so bad.

  Then why am I deliberately taking a different route than we agreed to? Why am I taking John Redleaf with me?