by Cheree Alsop
I had bled for them, I felt responsible for them, and in a strange way, I felt comfortable among them in a way I never thought I would with humans. Thanks to Alia, a part of my soul, the human part, had found itself. She accepted me for who I was without being disappointed in the violence of my past or the instinctual actions of my werewolf nature. She made me feel as if, for once, I fit in without having to look over my shoulder. All things considered, I couldn’t blame my heart for opening itself to her. The hardest part was closing it off again.
I forced a small smile to my lips and said in a level voice, “I’m glad you found each other. Tell Mitch when he gets back to come find me if he has anything to report.”
I opened the door and went inside. Relief that she didn’t follow me to the basement was nearly as welcoming as the sight of the air mattress on the floor. The one I had accidentally popped the other night when Aspen was kidnapped by werewolves lay folded in the corner. Guilt at the sight wasn’t enough to keep me from settling back into the comforting embrace of air-filled plastic covered in blankets that smelled of faint, floral detergent and the stale, cottony scent of sheets that had been stored in a closet for a long time. It was a wonderful smell.
I closed my eyes and let my thoughts settle. Exhaustion powered its way along my limbs as if it had been waiting for just such a lowering of my guard to attack. I couldn’t remember the last time I had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. A lazy smile slid across my face at the thought that I had absolutely nothing to do at that moment except doze off.
I started through the sleep exercises I had been taught at the Lair in my youth in order to fall asleep as quickly as possible. Letting out a calming breath, I concentrated on relaxing all of the muscles of my face, followed by my neck and my chest. My pecs and the muscles that embraced my ribs took the longest, but considering the fact that I had been shot, I couldn’t really blame them. As soon as I felt the tension ease, I let my concentration slip down my arms and then to my wrists and fingers. I returned my focus to my torso, down my legs and then to my toes, willing each muscle to relax until I felt as though I had sunk deep into the embrace of the mattress below me.
A sigh of contentment escaped my lips as the welcoming shadow of slumber stole across my thoughts. There was no danger here. Nothing needed my immediate attention. There were no rounds to run for the Master, checking and protecting the perimeter of the Lair’s forest to ensure nothing sinister or pure crossed its boundaries. There were no werewolves to be fought for rankings, no kitchen brawl to be had in order to eat, and no irons waiting to brand me for whatever stubborn decision I had made that day.
My scars were settled and getting older. Though the many burns that crisscrossed my back, chest, and sides ached from the silver brands that had been used to mark the Master’s displeasure, it was a familiar pain that set my mind to ease. Even the newest scars from the felgul’s claws and the two bullet wounds felt dull enough not to be a bother. Mine was a warrior’s body. Battle-hardened out of necessity, both my human form and wolf one carried the marks of thousands of fights. As ugly as the scars were, I had survived them. Not all at the Lair could say such a thing.
The last, lingering thought before sleep stole completely across me was that it was really, really nice to sleep on blankets on a mattress instead of a hard pallet on the floor. Maybe that was what home felt like.
A howl permeated the air. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head. An answering howl called out.
The humans in the rooms above probably didn’t even hear them. As it was, the sound came tinny and small through the two rectangular panes of glass in windows my shoulders would barely fit through.
Yet the songs curled around my soul, urging me to join them in their run beneath the stars. I made out Mitch’s voice among the others. The werewolf had become a friend, something I never would have expected given our history together in the Lair. To hear him out there running with the brethren and sisters we had grown up with and freed from the Master’s hold made me sit up.
I wanted to be a wolf. There was something so freeing about my wolf form that called to me. I longed for the animalistic thoughts that would chase away the worries of the future. I needed it more than I needed sleep.
A small dot of moonlight rested near my pillow. It was so tempting to put my hand in it. It couldn’t hurt to just feel the moonlight. It had healed my palm after I touched Isley. Just letting it grace my skin couldn’t do any harm.
I slipped my hand beneath the tiny beam and cupped it in my palm as if it was substantial enough to hold. Little motes of dust danced in the pale light like tiny ballerinas reveling in their moment of glory. Another howl trickled through the window. The want to join them surged beneath my veins and I gave into the thought of embracing my wolf side.
Pain so striking and sharp it made me double over on the bed stole my breath. I pulled my legs in and held my torso, breathing shallowly in an effort to stay conscious. I shouldn’t have done it. It was stupid. But I was a werewolf. I needed my wolf form.
The pain sharpened and I was barely able to muffle a cry at the severity of it. I turned my head into the pillow and let out a growl of frustration through my clenched teeth.
“Alright,” I finally said. “Alright. I’m done.”
The pain eased enough for me to draw in a full breath. I stayed curled in the same position, sweat now soaking the sheets that had been so clean. I was grateful I hadn’t popped the mattress, but almost wanted to just to let out some of the pent-up frustration I felt. I was a werewolf that couldn’t phase. I was broken.
A shaky disparaging laugh escaped me. I was more messed up then I had words for.
“Zev?”
Adrenaline jolted through me at the voice and the pain lowered to a manageable threshold. I sat up and peered toward the stairs. My werewolf eyesight made out a small form standing about halfway down.
“Aspie, are you alright?”
She nodded and walked down the remaining steps. The eight-year-old carried a worn blanket in one hand and a tattered blue teddy bear in the other. Her bare feet made soft pattering sounds on the wooden stairs.
Surprised to see her, I asked, “What time is it?”
“Three forty-seven,” she said without hesitation.
I knew better than to ask the little girl how she knew without looking. Being demon-touched does something to a human, and the girl’s knowing gaze combined with the shine of her old soul through her young green eyes was enough to remind me that I wasn’t dealing with a normal child.
She crossed to the bed.
“Do you want to sit down?” I asked uncertainly.
She nodded, sat on the mattress, and then scooted over so that she leaned against me. Surprised by the unaccustomed closeness of any human, let alone a child, my arm lifted of its own accord and she snuggled against my side. Her acceptance of me had been a shock not only to myself, but Aspen’s family. She apparently didn’t talk to anyone outside of her siblings or mother to the point that she had been taken out of school and taught at home. So, when she chose the stranger who happened to also be a werewolf to befriend, I wasn’t the only one caught off-guard.
“I had a nightmare,” the little girl said.
Her blonde hair stood out in floating wisps that tickled my cheek. I held perfectly still and ignored the urge to sneeze in case that would scare her. I wasn’t sure what scared little girls.
“What was it about?” I asked because it seemed like she was waiting for me to do so.
She held up her bear. “You’d better hold Henry.”
Torn between feeling touched by her offer and scared by what she would say, I accepted her proffered teddy bear. The soft, well-worn fur let out Aspen’s scent of cotton, baby’s breath flowers, and the faint death and pepper notes of the demon who had claimed her.
Worried that Borig was waking up again, I asked, “Was the nightmare Borig’s or yours?”
“Mine,” she replied. She paused and looked up at me. “Actual
ly, it was yours.”
A cold chill brushed across my skin. “Mine?”
She nodded. Her large green eyes searched mine with such intensity that I could see myself reflected in them.
“Zev, you can’t go with the Ankou.”
Ice ran through my veins. “Aspie, where did you hear that word?”
“From Borig,” she replied. “Borig said that if you go with the Ankou, everyone who is with you will die.” Her eyes were steady when she continued, “He said it will be your choice, but if you make the wrong one, it’ll all be on your head.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. I couldn’t tell if Aspen knew what she was warning me of, so I tried to remain calm. “Is Borig talking to you right now?”
She shook her head and her wispy blonde hair stood up with static around her face. “No. He’s sleeping. He said he plans to sleep for a hundred years, but that he liked you and wanted to warn you before you went rushing off somewhere foolish like the afterlife.”
It took me a minute to process that.
The lateness of the hour showed when Aspen rubbed her eyes. “I’m going back to sleep. I don’t think the nightmare will return,” she said, her voice slurred with tiredness.
I nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.” I handed her the teddy bear and she accepted it without a word.
She gave me another hug before she walked up the stairs.
I still wasn’t used to the closeness humans shared. Hugs were prevalent everywhere, yet the tight embrace felt close enough to an attack that I had to remind myself every time that the person doing it wasn’t a threat. Aspen’s hugs were brief, sincere actions that made my breath catch in my throat. If the little girl wasn’t afraid of me after all Borig had said, perhaps there was hope.
But she had mentioned the Ankou.
I rubbed my eyes. Ankou was an ancient name for the Angel of Death. He was known by hundreds, if not thousands, of different titles. But the Ankou was known for more than just being a henchman; he protected and collected lost souls. Why a protector of graveyards and wandering spirits would be caught up in Mrs. Stein’s battle against the dark coven was beyond me. I was getting the feeling that I had agreed to something far past my abilities.
The house phone in the kitchen rang. I wondered who could possibly be calling at the early hour. Nobody had a reason to call for me, so I was just about to lay back down when the door to the basement opened.
“Zev, the phone’s for you,” James called down.
Surprised, I pushed to my feet and hurried up the stairs. No one had ever called for me. I could have counted the number of times I had used a phone on one hand, and that included calling the Willards when Isley had been bitten.
I reached the kitchen to find James leaning against the wall holding the corded phone.
“Did it wake you up?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “Researching,” he replied vaguely. “Don’t tell Mom. I’ve been up since yesterday evening.” His bloodshot eyes and glazed expression matched his words. Mrs. Willard didn’t approve of paranormal research and had banned him from it back before they realized their father’s obsession with the supernatural had been founded in truth. Even though I knew James continued his studies against her will, I wasn’t about to say anything.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I reassured him.
I took the phone he held out. The Willards still used one of the old-fashioned variety with a twisted cord and everything. Mrs. Willard said it reminded her of simpler times. The kids said it was because she always lost the other phone and this way, she could still get in touch with them.
I put the receiver up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Zev, I need your help!” the caller said breathlessly.
“Virgo? What happened?” Any exhaustion I felt vanished at the panic in his voice.
“The book’s gone, Zev! Someone stole it!”
“What book?” My mind raced. “Why are you calling me instead of the cops?”
“Because it’s the book of…well…the book you came for the first day we met,” he replied.
My breath caught. If the book by Parakin Prisma was gone, there was much more at stake than a simple book theft. No wonder he didn’t want to give details over the phone.
“Can I pick you up?” he asked. “If we don’t track it down….”
Parakin Prisma’s works contained spells, talismans, and all manner of information on the paranormal. If that book fell into the wrong hands, Virgo’s family and the werewolves could be in serious trouble.
“I’ll meet you out front,” I told him.
I hung up the phone at the same time that the whisper of a footstep met my ear. I spun with my hand raised, ready to take down any would-be assailant.
“Whoa!” James said. He backed away with his hands up to show that he was unarmed. “My bad.” When I put my hands down, he grinned. “Sorry. I forget that sneaking around a trained werewolf soldier isn’t exactly a good idea.”
I shook my head with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t be so jumpy.”
He grabbed a gallon of milk from the refrigerator along with two white objects. He tossed me one before removing the cap from the milk jug.
I caught the item without a second thought and studied the cylindrical tube. “What’s this?”
He was busy drinking from the jug of milk. He lowered it just enough to say, “String cheese,” before he took another gulp.
I smelled the plastic packaging. “This isn’t cheese.”
He lowered the milk and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Give it a try.” He shoved the milk jug back into the refrigerator and closed it. “Milk and cheese are what every man needs.”
I watched him pull the edges of the plastic packaging apart and remove the cheese. Doing the same, I found myself holding what may have once been cheese but looked completely foreign.
“Pull the sides down,” James directed. “Like this.”
He used his fingernail to separate a piece from the others and pulled it down in a string. He put it in his mouth and made a show of chewing it. “See.”
I followed his directions until I had a small piece of the cheese, then put it in my mouth as well. A smile spread across my face at the taste.
“It’s good, right?” James said. “I’m not sure if it’s pure cheese, but its pure goodness. It’s my favorite comfort food.”
I took a bite of the cheese without separating it into strings.
James stared at me. “You can’t eat it like that!”
“Why not?” I asked, baffled. “It tastes the same.”
“I, well, I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve never thought of it before. But it’s barbaric!”
I had seen enough barbaric things to chuckle at the idea of eating cheese in bites instead of strings as in the same category. “You’re ridiculous,” I told him and took another bite.
“Stop!” he said. “You’re ruining the fun of it!”
He proceeded to hold up his cheese, pull off another string with dramatic slowness, and put it with a theatrical flourish onto his tongue. “See. It’s fun. Don’t ruin the fun.”
Still not sure what he was getting at, but realizing it was important to him, I pulled off another string and ate it. It still tasted the same, and the wolf side of me didn’t enjoy eating in smaller quantities when I could gulp it down in a single bite, but I decided to humor him.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s…fun?” I said as more of a question than a statement.
He grinned. “Yes. It is.” He peeled off another few strands, then glanced at me. “String cheese was one of my dad’s favorites. He used to share it with Lia and me when we were kids.”
Understanding as to why eating it correctly was so important to him dawned on me. I nodded. “It’s really good. Thanks for sharing it with me.”
“Anytime,” he replied. He motioned toward the refrigerator. “Have as many as you want. Mom always keeps it in stock.”
&nbs
p; “I will. Thanks.” My conversation with his little sister made me ask, “James, did your dad ever do any research on the Ankou?”
James’ eyebrows lifted. “The Bringer of Death? I’m not sure. I can see if Mom kept any of his books.”
Impressed that he knew the title, I nodded. “That would be great. This thing with the Steins is a little more intense than I was thinking. I’d feel better if I was a little more prepared.”
James saluted me with his string cheese. “No problem. I’ll have some info for you later today if I’m lucky.”
“Thanks,” I told him.
Favors were so easily asked of humans. It still set me on edge considering that any favor given in the Lair had been done with strings attached, and those strings usually meant pain in some way. And they had nothing to do with cheese.
As I sat on the porch and waited for Virgo’s blue truck, one such memory surfaced.
“I’m giving you this on condition that you owe me,” the older werewolf said.
He towered above me. I couldn’t have been more than eight years old at the time. My instincts whispered in the back of my mind that I shouldn’t trust him, but the werewolf had done nothing to wrong me so far, and the ham hock he held out smelled so good my stomach won over my mind.
“I’ll remember,” I replied.
The nod he gave before handing over the prized, meaty bone could have carried more weight to it than a simple offer of food should have, but I was too hungry to notice. I hid the bone under my shirt and practically ran back to my little sanctuary. It was nothing more than one of the many, many small caves in the Lair wall that had been furnished only with a pallet on the floor, but it was mine. The faint smell of the werewolf who had lived there before was a reminder that I was stronger than he had been.
I had taken one bite of the raw meat before a voice spoke outside the door.
“What do you have there?”
I chewed quickly in the hopes of another bite before the werewolf appeared.
