by Wen Spencer
Table of Contents
1: Joshua
2: Elise
3: Seth
4: Decker
5: Joshua
6: Seth
7: Elise
8: Joshua
9: Elise
10: Seth
11: Elise
12: Decker
13: Joshua
14: Decker
15: Joshua
16: Elise
17: Seth
18: Elise
19: Seth
20: Elise
21: Seth
22: Elise
23: Seth
24: Elise
25: Elise
26: Seth
27: Decker
28: Joshua
29: Joshua
30: Seth
31: Joshua
32: Seth
33: Elise
34: Joshua
35: Decker
36: Seth
37: Elise
38: Seth
39: Joshua
40: Seth
41: Elise
42: Decker
43: Joshua
44: Decker
45: Elise
46: Joshua
47: Seth
48: Elise
49: Decker
50: Joshua
51: Elise
52: Joshua
53: Joshua
54: Seth
55: Decker
56: Joshua
57: Seth
58: Decker
59: Elise
60: Seth
61: Decker
62: Joshua
The Black Wolves of Boston -- eARC
Wen Spencer
Advanced Reader Copy
Unproofed
Baen
From the Romantic Times Sapphire award winning author of the Internationally best-selling Elfhome series.
REBUILD A LIFE, SAVE A CITY
Silas Decker had his world destroyed when he was attacked by vampires outside of New Amsterdam. He has rebuilt his life a dozen times in the last three hundred years---each time less and less successfully. Now he lives alone, buried under a hoarding habit, struggling to find some reason to wake up with the setting of the sun.
Eloise is a Virtue, pledged to hunting evil. What she doesn't know is how to live alone in a city full of strangers who know nothing about monsters.
Seth is the sixteen-year old Prince of Boston, ward of the Wolf King. Now he is left in a city that desperately needs his protection with enemies gathering all around.
Joshua believes he is a normal, college-bound high school senior. His life is shattered when he wakes up in a field, covered with blood, and the prom committee scattered in pieces about him like broken dolls.
These four must now come together to unravel a plot by Wickers, witches who gain power from human sacrifices and have the power to turn any human into their puppet. Four people who lost everything struggle to save Boston by saving each other.
Baen Books by Wen Spencer
Elfhome Series
Tinker
Wolf Who Rules
Elfhome
Wood Sprites
Other Baen Books
Endless Blue
Eight Million Gods
The Black Wolves of Boston
THE BLACK WOLVES OF BOSTON
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Wen Spencer
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 978-1-4814-8246-2
Cover art by Kurt Miller
Illustrations to come
First Baen printing, February 2017
Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: t/k
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acknowledgements Writing a novel is a long and difficult journey. Thankfully I don't do it alone. Thank you to all the people that have listened to me laugh and cry and bang my head against the wall and offered up sage advice.
Heather Bruton Franklin Bryan Brian Chee
Ruth L. Heller, DVM.
Laurel Jamieson Lohrey Nancy Janda
Ellen M. McMicking, D.I.
Nan Nuessle
Hope Erica Ring Larisa Van Winkle Nathan L. Yocum N. A. Young
To my beloved Sunshine Swirl, from your loving Ink Well.
1: Joshua
Joshua really thought it would be easier to catch a rabbit; he was a werewolf, after all. The stupid things, though, could turn on a dime and kept zigging when his body kept zagging.
And then there were the trees.
He hit yet another oak tree, this one only about four inches wide, but enough to knock him down and nearly knock him out when he hit it. Acorns rained down on him. It felt like the oak tree was laughing at him.
"Stupid tree." He kicked it while still lying flat on his back.
There was a loud crack and it toppled slowly away from him.
Joshua groaned and slapped his hands over his eyes. He was doing this at night so no one would see him or know what he'd done. People might not notice if half the trees in the Back Bay Fens Park had face impressions but they weren't going to miss a downed tree.
If he were a real wolf, or at least as real a wolf as he got, then catching a rabbit would be easier. Maybe. At least he probably could zig and zag faster on all fours. He had no idea, though, if he was a traditional werewolf who needed the full moon or the newfangled sparkly kind that could pop the wolf out at any moment, like a very violent and hairy sneeze.
Of course, he wasn't sure if he could kill a rabbit if he managed to catch it. And eating it? The more he chased the stupid things, the less they seemed like tiny fried chickens. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of crispy breaded meat.
"Oh shut..." He froze as he realized that he wasn't alone. Someone was standing behind him, just out of reach. Oddly, he hadn't heard them walk up.
"What exactly," the person drawled out slowly in the tone you use on a misbehaving toddler, "are you trying to do?" Emphasis on trying, because even the trees knew he was failing.
Joshua lifted his hands and tilted his head back. A tall, lean young man stood looking down at him with his head tilted slightly in confusion. His long hair was pulled back into a hipster's ponytail. He was wearing a long black coat and a white scarf that fluttered in the chilly wind.
"Landscaping," Joshua said. "I'm the new tree guy for the city of Boston."
"Oh." The man eyed the toppled oak. "I see. I've been watching; you've run into a dozen trees now."
"I'm testing them for rot," Joshua stated firmly. "It's very hard to tell from the outside. You got to thump them good. Like a pumpkin..." He was babbling like a complete idiot now.
The man tilted his head in the other direction. "Aren't you a little short for a tree trimmer?"
Joshua growled in annoyance and climbed to his feet. Not that it helped. Life had always been unfair to him, starting with his last name and ending with turning him into a very inept werewolf. Along the way, for complete shits and giggles, it had made him embarrassingly short too. Joshua only came to the man's shoulder.
Smells had been driving Joshua nuts since he'd woken up a werewolf. It had been the scent of the rabbits that started the entire tr
ying to catch them fiasco. This man smelled of expensive cologne and something faintly sweet that triggered a strange urge to rub against him. Joshua stepped back a couple of steps to lessen the effect; he didn't want a repeat of the fire hydrant incident. Stupid dogs. At least, he assumed it was dogs. He couldn't imagine there were other werewolves out there, walking around on autopilot like he seemed to be half the time, pissing on fire hydrants without realizing what they were doing.
And to top everything off, his stomach growled again. Loudly.
"You're hungry." The man stated it as a fact.
A growl of anger slipped out without him even knowing it was coming. His temper had become something separate from him; it roamed around him like a high school bully looking for victims. Joshua closed his eyes and took a deep breath and found his center. He normally was a much calmer person than this, but normally he was a much less hairy person than this. He actually had five o'clock shadow for the first time in his life.
"Are you some kind of tree police?" Joshua asked without opening his eyes. "Do you feel as if you have some kind of civic duty to come out here and---and---annoy the hell out of me?"
"Well---yes---I do have a civic duty to stop you---that is---if you needed stopping. If you'd kept to simple tree assault, I would have just kept watching. It was fairly entertaining, in a train wreck kind of way. You've moved up to tree homicide."
"Homicide?" Joshua opened his eyes to give the man an annoyed glare. "That implies intent. At most, this is tree slaughter. Maybe even just reckless endangerment---it might not be dead."
They eyed the tree in silence. His kick had sheered the tree trunk off five inches from the roots, leaving behind a jagged white stump, flowing with sap.
"No, that's dead," the man said.
"Yeah." Joshua had to agree. It occurred to Joshua that this person might be undercover cop or some off-duty park ranger or a very lost Canadian Mountie or something. He'd seen Joshua destroy a piece of public property worth hundreds of dollars. The man might try to arrest him. That wouldn't end well for either one of them.
Joshua bolted.
He was out of the park and halfway down the street before he was fully aware that he was running. Another two blocks before he realized that he had no clue where he was going. Another block before he realized that, wherever he was heading, he was getting there amazingly fast. He was running faster than the cars on the street beside him. Not that they were going all that fast, but he was running at least forty miles per hour and he didn't feel...
He missed the fact that the street ended. He missed the turn. He didn't miss the wall.
He hit it and kept going, smashing through wood and drywall in a cartwheeling blur of destruction. There were shelves of pots and pans and dishes and Halloween decorations. Somewhere along the way there was a glass display full of knives.
He came to a stop on the far wall beside a display of jack-o-lantern cookie jars, surrounded by broken china and drifting clouds of plaster. He'd tripped some kind of burglar alarm, probably by flagging half a dozen motion detectors, and a bell was ringing loudly. There was a butcher knife stuck in his thigh. He stared at it, hyperventilating with fear.
He had a knife in his right leg. A big, big knife. In his leg. The two together just looked so wrong it seemed like it had been photoshopped.
People died from things like this! This could kill him. Maybe. He was a werewolf. Knowing what kind of werewolf he was would be very useful right now.
He couldn't catch his breath. He was getting lightheaded. He didn't know if it was from hyperventilating or blood loss or both. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself. He was sure that his judo sensei never had this in mind when he taught Joshua how to meditate.
He heard the crunch of footsteps through the rubble. Oh good! The cops must have shown up. They could get him an ambulance---after they arrested him for something. Breaking and entering. Or just plain breaking. Lots and lots of breaking. His breathing sped up and he opened his eyes.
The tall dude from the park was walking cautiously toward him.
Joshua was beyond caring if he was the police. He pointed at the knife in his leg with both hands and whimpered. "Can't. Breathe."
The dude gave him a long, slightly confused, stare. Pulling a paper bag from the nearby service desk, he crouched beside Joshua. "Here. Breathe into this."
The name of the store was "Kitchen Kitsch" and the paper bag was red with white spots all over it. The bag inflated and deflated like one of the Mario Brothers' mushrooms. He couldn't stop whimpering. He sounded like a kicked puppy and it was freaking him out nearly as much as the knife.
Joshua took the bag away from his mouth long enough to pant out. "Call 911." Which got him another long stare. "Call 911!"
The dude pointed to the left. "Look over there!"
"Huh?" Joshua couldn't see anything beyond scattered pots and pans and a wall of Halloween decorations.
The man jerked the knife out of Joshua's leg.
Joshua yelped and lashed out in sheer reflex. It wasn't a solid hit but the man tumbled away from him, taking the knife with him. "You're not supposed to take it out! Only doctors are supposed to take it out! Don't you know basic first aid?"
"You're a werewolf." The man called from behind a display of vampire kitchen timers. "You can only be killed by cutting your head off."
It was comforting for only a moment. Then Joshua realized that the dude still had a seriously huge knife in his hand.
The part of him that was crying like a kicked puppy took off running. Unfortunately it took the rest of him with it.
"No! Nononono!" He cried even as he bolted. This was what scared him about being a werewolf. He wasn't in control of his body anymore. Because of his last name and small size, he'd always been a target of bullies. He'd learned early that they could hurt him but they couldn't control him if he didn't let them. And then he learned martial arts and they couldn't even hurt him anymore. In the last twenty-four hours, it had been as if he was strapped into a rollercoaster: all he could do was go for the ride and scream a lot. His fear was that the ride would be through other people. He'd become like the monster that made him, tearing his way through humans like they were so many blood-filled water balloons.
He was away from everyone he loved, but he wasn't away from people. There was a city full of strangers he could kill.
He knew nothing about werewolves but what was in the movies. He hadn't even believed they existed until he was attacked. The tall dude, though, knew.
Joshua managed to force his body to make a left-hand turn at the corner, and again once he was across the street, and then a third time. He came looping past the Kitchen Kitsch where the tall dude was standing in the hole in the wall.
"You're really conflicted about this running away part, aren't you?" the dude said as Joshua dashed past him.
"Yes!" He tried to put on the brakes but his body kept running. He could smell his own blood on the man and his body wanted nothing to do with that.
The dude wasn't standing in the hole as Joshua came looping back toward the Kitchen Kitsch a second time. Joshua was afraid he'd lost the man. He was so focused on the opposite side of the street that he nearly ran into the glass door that opened out in front of him. A hand caught him, jerking him into the building.
He tumbled through a roll and came up in front of a steaming tray of crab rangoons. They were fried golden brown, still so hot that they burned his throat a little going down. Next to them were giant-sized pot stickers, the outside fried crispy and the inside a big ball of heavenly-tasting ground pork.
"Don't use your fingers." The dude shoved a plate into his hands.
"I can't pay for this. I don't have any money." Joshua thumped a heaping spoonful of sesame chicken onto the plate and ate like a dog. He was sure that's not what the man meant by "don't use your fingers" but at the moment, it was all Joshua could manage.
"I'm treating you." The man filled another plate with beef and broccoli and
handed it to Joshua. "Sit down and use chopsticks. I'll bring you more food."
The man brought four plates filled with meat dishes. He watched Joshua stab the beef chunks with his chopsticks and went off to find forks. He carefully slid two across the table and then sat on the other side of the booth to watch Joshua wolf down the food as fast as humanly possible.
"Mank mou," Joshua mumbled around garlic shrimp.
"You're welcome."
Joshua realized the man wasn't eating, so he pushed one of the plates toward him.
The man waved off the offering. "I'm allergic."
A weird silence fell at the table as Joshua ate. It felt too comfortable to be eating with someone he didn't know. His father liked to say that just because someone was being nice to you at the moment, it didn't mean they were good people. The dude looked as if he could be a college student but there was something about him that made him feel much older to Joshua. Maybe it was the way he sat; patient stillness, like an old man who had been alive so long he wasn't impatient for the moment to be over. His eyes were dark, dark brown. Crow's feet were beginning to form at the corners, but they seemed more like laugh lines. At some point in his life, the man had smiled a lot, but he wasn't smiling now.
Joshua blushed as he realized he was sitting, staring into a guy's eyes. And the guy---all clean and elegantly dressed---was staring back as if sizing him up. And he'd just bought Joshua dinner.
He swallowed down the mouthful of food he was currently chewing and asked, "Is this some kind of a date? It better not be. I'm not gay. Not there's anything wrong with being gay. I'm not..." At least he was fairly sure he wasn't. He was seriously lacking in terms of interaction with girls, with the exception of sparring partners, since he was the only boy in class of similar size. It probably was better not to bring that up. "I'm not."
