Wild Card

by Mark Henwick

  “We’re back on,” I whispered in her ear. “Say as little as possible, don’t lie. Yes, I’ve taken you on in my House. Think of it as my Athanate clan if you like. Your job is to do back-office investigations—forensics, databases, that sort of thing. Out there, you’re going to need to do exactly what I tell you, without question, to convince them that’s true. If they think it’s not true, their instinct will tell them to kill you. Understood?”

  She lowered her head. Maybe the extent of what she’d gotten into was becoming a little clearer.

  We walked her back to the waiting group.

  Melissa had been wearing her glasses rather than her contact lenses. They’d barely survived the beating they’d given her. One lens was cracked down the middle. Silas handed them over and towered over us.

  “Pretty eyes,” he said to Melissa. “Keep them that way. Don’t spy on us, don’t get clever, or I’ll rip those eyes out myself.”

  I shoved him back. He moved, not as angry as I thought he might be. Doctor Noble, his own ranting aside, seemed to have had a calming influence on the group.

  “Since you’re investigating, do you have anything new to tell us?” Felix said. He sounded almost reasonable now.

  Melissa leaned shakily on me. “I don’t know how much of what Amber and I have discussed has been passed on yet,” she said, cleverly implying there was a lot in progress between her and me. “I don’t have conclusions. Background stuff? How about this: Unless the perp is just using something mechanical, he’s getting bigger and stronger over time.”

  “What do you mean bigger?” Felix’s eyes narrowed. I picked up that was something he’d suspected.

  “The test bites—”

  I stopped her. “From the top, please.”

  Melissa took a breath and steadied herself before rerunning the argument that the thigh bites were a test or demonstration of strength.

  “And the damage to the bones shows both a bigger jaw and more force over time,” she concluded.

  “Not a characteristic,” Felix said triumphantly, looking across at Noble. He’d gone quiet and just dipped his head to acknowledge, his mouth curving down thoughtfully. Silas and Ricky shook their heads. Ursula folded her arms.

  There was obviously disagreement in the pack, but about what? And why hadn’t they told me?

  Alex explained. “Weres come from mature humans. Weres don’t grow usually, and even when they do, it’s by very little. How much are we talking? Ten percent?”

  “No.” Melissa had stopped shivering, focused on discussing her findings rather than her situation. “The progression shows an increase of at least twenty percent in size and at least thirty percent in force.”

  “How do you mean, ‘at least’?” Alex queried.

  “That’s the observable range in the bodies I have had access to, the newest of which is at least six months old. There’s no certainty that whatever made the bites was exerting maximum effort and, in fact, cleaner breaks in the more recent would be consistent with greater control of greater strength. Also, the force wouldn’t vary arithmetically by size, more…” She stopped, aware she’d lost her audience.

  “Okay, bigger. Backtrack a moment,” Ricky said. “You said something mechanical?”

  “I made a clamp to replicate the bite mark and measure the force.” Melissa shuffled her feet. “Until I get fresher evidence, I can’t rule out that it isn’t some psycho using a similar device.”

  “So, it could be faked. And it’s grown,” Ricky said. “Were don’t do that. It’s not a Were. There’s no Call. No marque. We know, we’ve looked.”

  “Well if you’ve looked like you’re searching for the Matlal Were, how do you know you haven’t just missed it?”

  “What do you mean?” Ricky said.

  “Your organization for your search is a freaking disaster. The Matlal Were have a comms system, and you use a bunch of cellphones. You’re all over Denver, with no ability to concentrate your force when you come across the Matlal Were. No one even knows who’s searching and who’s not. You got lucky on Monday and still lost people. You can’t even tell me if the Confederation are already in touch with the Matlal.”

  Felix’s eyes darted to Bian.

  I’d gotten carried away. The threat from the Confederation wasn’t meant to be shared with Altau.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Felix,” Bian said. “They’ve already been to see us and we kicked them out.”

  She spun on her heel in front of me, so her back was to the others. “We’ve got to tell them sometime,” she said, loudly.

  “Huh?” Not my cleverest response.

  Bian’s mouth moved silently. I read her lips.

  You owe me, Round-eye. I’m calling. Just go along.

  Oh, crap. I shrugged. I had promised. After all, how much worse could it get?

  Bian turned back to the rest of the group.

  “House Altau has been forced into a corner by House Farrell. Since we’re fully committed throughout the rest of the country, we can’t spare teams to hunt for the remains of House Matlal in Denver. Organization of that task has been delegated to House Farrell.”

  Huh, again. But she hadn’t nearly finished.

  “We asked, through House Farrell, if the Denver pack could assist her, and for your own reasons, you refused. House Altau is obligated to provide assistance to Farrell in Denver, and she’s used that to pressure us into hiring mercenary trackers who are skilled at the job.”

  The pack liked that—the concept that I’d forced Skylur to do something. Hell, I liked that and I knew it wasn’t true.

  “Bounty hunters?” Silas said.

  “Yeah. No half measures. We’ve got two of the best,” Bian said. “I’ve arranged a meeting with them for you.”

  “Why? What’s it to do with us?” asked Felix.

  “Because this is an opportunity to work together. Amber’s already hunting the rogue for you and she’ll organize these hunters to go after the Matlal Athanate for us. I want the pack to add in the hunt for the Matlal Were. Even add in checking for the Confederation trying to slip someone into Denver. Get the full benefit of the hunters and the use of Amber’s military experience.” She hesitated. “Oh, and because these hunters…they’re Were.”

  Chapter 33

  “Airfields are always much colder than their surroundings,” I said. “I’m sure it’s been scientifically proven.”

  “Even if it’s a disused airfield?” Bian said.

  “Especially if it’s disused.”

  “Well, blame the pack.”

  Felix was still furious, but at least he was here. He and his enforcers formed a snarling knot around Silas’ truck, far enough away that we couldn’t hear the words, but close enough for the tone to carry. Noble had left to return to work. Alex paced halfway between the two groups, cell glued to his ear, trying to run his business remotely. Melissa was dozing in the back of his SUV. I’d thought about Bian doing healing on her, but in the end decided the bruises would serve as a good reminder.

  It’d taken an hour of Bian’s patient argument to wear Felix down to this point. At one point, I thought he’d been about to crack and say he’d take over the hunt for the Matlal Athanate as well, just to keep other Weres out of Denver, but Silas and Ursula didn’t want that. They didn’t want bounty hunting Weres on their territory either, but Bian had kept hammering on the selling point—the faster they got this under control, the less opportunity there was for the Confederation to sneak in. Bounty hunters would pack up and go when they finished. Getting rid of a Confederation-sponsored rival pack might weaken the Denver pack to the point where the Confederation could just walk in anyway.

  I didn’t know how much of Bian’s staging of it helped, but what I thought was a minor point, that I’d somehow forced Altau into this position, seemed to count more as far as the pack were concerned. They’d all yelled at me and Bian, but it was as if having two targets reduced the force of their arguments against either one.

  The on
e thing they’d all been inflexible on was that we meet on neutral territory. And so we were shivering on the crumbling strip of the old Colfax airfield, further along I-70, waiting for the bounty hunters.

  Bian explained that one, Verano, was a small pack, the other, Gray, was a solo operator. Verano had been highly recommended by the Houses of the Eastern Seaboard for tracking down Basilikos trying to infiltrate their mantles. Gray had come with the recommendations of the central Canadian Houses in the wilds of Manitoba and eastern Ontario. He’d also just finished working for one of Altau’s formerly secret affiliates in the Dakotas and Bian seemed to think we’d been lucky to get him. I was just intrigued by the thought of a solo werewolf.

  A black limo with dark windows cruised down off the interstate and stopped short of the strip, unwilling to risk the uneven boundary with its low-slung chassis.

  I slipped my hand inside my jacket to rest on the HK. There could be anything behind those windows.

  “If that’s Verano, then bounty hunting is good business,” I said.

  “Better believe it,” muttered Bian.

  I edged closer to Alex’s SUV. Melissa sat up inside, bleary-eyed and wincing at the movement.

  Alex ended his call and joined us, making us two obviously distinct groups welcoming the hunters. We should have thought of that earlier.

  The car came to a halt and the door opened.

  A werewolf flowed out, long and sharp and the colors of steel in snow.

  Ursula and Ricky immediately shucked their clothes and changed with that eye-twisting shimmer. Ricky’s wolf I recognized from the first meeting out at Coykuti. He was pale with russet tints. Ursula was unrelieved midnight black and the pair of them were huge, much bigger than the Verano wolf.

  “Freaking hell,” Melissa whispered.

  “Just werewolf formalities. And that’s Verano,” Bian said quietly, as a man followed the wolf out of the limo.

  Verano wore a black suit with white shirt and thin tie, the color of the suit and tie exactly matching his big, frameless sunglasses. A white woolen coat with a matching fur collar was draped over his shoulders. His hair was so white it had to have been dyed.

  And his big, square face was expressionless as he looked between the two groups waiting.

  A second wolf, the twin of the first, slunk out of the car and took station on his right.

  “Shit, is he here to hunt Matlal or to design dresses?” I was talking to myself, but Bian heard me and grinned crookedly.

  We walked forward, Melissa scrambling out of the SUV to join us. Felix and his enforcers set a path to meet us all halfway.

  With excellent timing, a Harley hardtail came grumbling down the same road. My recent history with bikers being what it was, I closed my hand around the reassuring butt of the HK and pulled it just clear of the holster, but left it hidden.

  “Gray,” Bian said.

  He was encased in leather, as he needed to be with the cold. Not a slick racing suit, but a jumble of pieces, topped off with an old brown World War II flying jacket and a Russian hat with earpieces.

  He bounced over the edge of the runway, and brought the Harley to a halt near us.

  The throb of the Harley died. He tossed his gloves and lifted his fur hat to scratch his scalp under his long, black hair.

  “How very…picturesque.” Verano’s voice was cold as the wind.

  It was amusing, given how staged his arrival had been.

  Gray leaned the hog on its kickstand and walked over to us.

  “You must be Bian.” He held his hand out and they shook.

  “What gave that away?”

  “You’re the exact height I imagined from your voice,” he said, making Bian laugh. He offered his hand to me. “Nick Gray.”

  “Amber Farrell, House Farrell,” I replied automatically and shook.

  For all his English name, Nick Gray looked full Native American. He had the wind-burned, chiseled-down cheeks and steady stare of a backwoods hunter. His eyes were the brown of walnut heartwood, polished to a fine sheen.

  And his marque was strange, as polished and glossy and full of secrets as his eyes.

  We froze, looking at each other long enough that I felt the rumble of jealous anger building in Alex.

  He blinked and smiled. “Chippewa,” he said, as if that’s what I’d been puzzling over.

  “Arapaho,” I responded. “Only a little, though. And this is—”

  “Alexander Deauville kin-Farrell,” Alex interrupted me, leaning across to shake Gray’s hand, maybe too firmly.

  Down, boy.

  And not the best way of introducing himself, with Felix listening.

  The moment passed. Gray moved to greet Felix and Silas while Verano introduced himself.

  His was a clear werewolf marque; the scent and whatever else it was I was sensing. The eukori. What made Gray so different?

  Greetings over, the groups separated out into the corners of a square, emphasizing the tensions between us. Bian started to explain what we had agreed. All the searches were combined together and I would co-ordinate between the Denver pack, Verano and Gray. That meant setting up areas, times, schedules, routines, procedures and other fun stuff.

  I laid down some objectives to be met if at all possible. When we caught up with the Matlal Athanate, Bian would have to be involved. Matlal or Confederation Were had to be delivered alive to the Denver pack. I needed to be there when we tracked down the rogue.

  Between the colonel’s TacNet system and headsets borrowed from Victor, we’d have a workable comms and I promised to list some protocols for the next meeting.

  Everyone had personal weapons. I had a list of equipment that I wanted and Bian agreed Altau would fund.

  Wonderful. Except Verano and Gray had disliked each other on sight, and Verano made it known through every step of the discussion.

  That was a personal problem for me. I didn’t like Verano either, but there were twenty in his pack of hunters and feet on the ground was a big consideration. I’d have to choose Verano over Gray, if it came to it.

  Verano was already pushing for it, querying the contract with Gray, saying he could bring another two or three to replace him and take over his contract. Gray smiled and Bian refused to discuss it.

  “I don’t understand what a solo operator brings to this mission,” Verano said finally. “It’s complicated enough.” His eyes roved over the groups. He had a point there.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get assigned all those places where you’d stand out,” Gray dismissed it. “Are we done?”

  Bian nodded to me.

  “We are, until the 09:00 meeting tomorrow at the Oxford Hotel, just across from the station. The meeting room is booked in the name of Rose Cooper.” I stepped forward into the empty space between the groups.

  Verano was still flanked by his escort of wolves.

  I stared at where his eyes were hidden behind his glasses. “Invitation-only meeting. You, you and you.” I flicked eyes between Verano, Silas and Gray. “Leave the doggies behind. Along with the attitudes.”

  “I’ll be there.” Verano sneered and turned on the heel of his well-polished shoe.

  Gray straddled his hog, but waited for the limo to complete its painful 180 turn on the narrow track.

  That gave Alex time to stalk over, all stiff-legged and prickly.

  Crap. I followed.

  “I’d like a chance to talk,” Alex said to Gray, looming over him.

  Gray squinted up, unfazed. “Okay. What about?”

  “Chippewa oral tradition, specially to do with Were.”

  I relaxed. Alex’s pet obsession with the Were among Native Americans.

  “Hmm. I’d be glad to have the opportunity to meet the pair of you off-duty,” Gray said, putting his fur hat back on.

  Not the best response, but thankfully Alex didn’t get any more territorial.

  And it served my purposes. Diane had told me taking a werewolf out of a pack would end with them going r
ogue. I hadn’t thought that through until Gray triggered it—what if I never had a pack? Or was Gray his own pack and his own alpha? Was one of those a way out for me? Could I be part-Were and not wrapped up in the Denver pack? Please.

  Oh, yes, I wanted to talk to Gray, to hear about how he came to be solo. And to find out what was behind that strange marque.

  Chapter 34

  I’d gotten in the front with Alex in his SUV when we headed back. Melissa was in the back with Bian, and nervous. Good. It might serve to underline the seriousness of the situation she was in. I couldn’t spare the time to worry about her. I was tired and confused. I needed answers from Alex. He had to have known what Felix was thinking, but he hadn’t told me.

  “So Felix thinks the rogue isn’t a werewolf,” I said calmly.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Time to tell all, Alex,” Bian said from the back.

  She didn’t mention the tension between Alex and the rest of the Denver pack. She didn’t need to. The fact he’d been prepared to stand with me was another reason I wasn’t going to give him a hard time about keeping secrets from me. He was already in a difficult position with the pack, and siding with me might mean he never got back in.

  Alex grunted. “Felix went ballistic after your news about the rogue. He pulled the pack off everything else and sent us looking. People had to call in sick off work, or take vacation. They worked around the clock.”

  “But you were already maxed out chasing down the Matlal Were,” I interrupted him. “And he provided some of the pack to guard your house over the weekend.”

  “Yes, and the pack went and killed the Matlal Were down in Cherry Creek. All of that,” he said. “You’re not seeing the problems Felix’s facing. If it gets out that there’s a rogue loose in Denver, the Confederation would use that as an excuse to come and ‘help’. Then we’d never get rid of them. We’re between a rock and a hard place. That’s why it was so easy for you to get the hunters in.”

  “That was easy?” Bian snorted. “I wouldn’t like to see—”