Wild Card

by Mark Henwick

  “Little Hana kept you from turning for two years,” Kaothos replied. “I am much stronger and better suited.”

  Speaks-to-Wolves nudges me. “Later, grand-daughter. You have too much to do. Rest.”

  They become thinner, translucent reversed, the darkness showing through.

  “How better suited?” I say. “How do you know?”

  “What is the name of mankind’s greatest vampire myth?” Kaothos asks.

  “Dracula.”

  Kaothos gives her sizzling laughter as she fades away. “The name means ‘son of the dragon’,” she whispers.

  Chapter 42

  SATURDAY

  I’d always found Coykuti Ranch spooky. The way the pines seemed to reach down from the mountain behind. The screen of maple and cottonwood that shielded the main house from view. The quiet. It wasn’t silence; the wind coming down the mountain whispered words on its cold breath.

  Traces of morning mist trickled down from the pines as if a huge beast slept beneath their dark cover.

  I shivered. Last night’s dream conversations included, I had enough to worry about without getting over-imaginative.

  I’d nicknamed the farm worker Leatherface when I’d first come here, in keeping with the horror movie setting. He was leaning against the door of the nearest farm building, watching me get out the car.

  The house felt empty, so I walked over to him.

  “I’m here to see Felix,” I said.

  Well, doh!

  He reached behind the door and pulled out a shotgun. Nothing fancy, an old under-and-over Remington. Good for bird. More than adequate for a hybrid that didn’t fall in with the pack’s rules and way of doing things. He rested it on his shoulder and headed around the buildings and took the dirt track up the slope behind the house with me trailing after him.

  There were more maples and cottonwood dotted around here too, but they stopped about half way between the back of the house and the start of the pines.

  Leatherface stepped off the path and gestured up to the right with a lift of his chin.

  Okay. He wanted me to walk on, with my back to him and his shotgun.

  Was it a test, or had Felix had enough? I could imagine him saying—don’t shoot her in the house and get blood over everything. Take her out back.

  I stared at Leatherface.

  His face betrayed nothing, but I could sense he knew exactly what I was thinking. Was there a sniff of wolfish amusement leaking from him?

  I walked where he’d indicated, my back muscles tensing. As if that would do any good.

  The ground to the right flattened out, which formed a little hollow, hidden from the house and the track. There were conifers here too. Not the dark pines of the slopes above, but small, tended yew trees. They were grown to form the shape of a crescent moon, tall ones at the back, tapering down to knee-high bushes at the tips of the two horns. Their green foliage was lightened by crimson berries.

  Inside the barrier of yew, there was a neat border of flowers. Indian blanket razzled with cheerful red-orange-yellow flowers waving in the breeze. Scarlet leadwort echoed the berries in the branches above them.

  And inside the enfolding arms of somber yew and bright flowers, Felix Larimer stood silently in front of three weathered gravestones.

  I joined him. His senses would have alerted him that I was nearing long before, but he made no sign to acknowledge me. His deep-set eyes were fastened on the middle grave and one dark lock of his swept back hair had escaped to arc over his forehead.

  I felt I had intruded on a private ceremony, but Leatherface had sent me up here and Felix had been expecting me.

  The stone was blank and old, but not crusted with lichen. It was swept clean regularly, probably as frequently as this little cemetery was tended.

  I knelt down, glancing back to see if he objected. When he didn’t, I trailed fingers over the worn front, feeling out the letters.

  Candace Lis Larimer

  Beneath that were dates.

  Aug 30 1822 – Oct 3 1853 – Jan 5 1918

  Born. Turned? Died.

  Beloved wife of Felix and mother of Vincent

  Vincent’s grave was on the right. He’d been born before his mother changed of course, and he’d died on the same day in 1918.

  On the left, the headstone was newer. I could make out the lettering without touch.

  Donna Helene Larimer

  Jun 1 1931 – Jul 8 1958

  Beloved wife of Felix

  “She couldn’t change,” he said. His voice was hushed, as if it had picked up the soughing of the wind in the pines. “She died right here, trying.”

  “And your first wife and son?”

  “Killed by Athanate.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Not Altau,” he added as an afterthought. “Basilikos. Now you’ve met all my family; my sister gave you a lift into town the other day, and that’s my nephew back there.”

  Leatherface was propping up a cottonwood, hugging the shotgun angled over his shoulder. Not close to us, but wolf hearing is good.

  “I need to talk to you, Felix. Without anyone else hearing.”

  “About yesterday?”

  “Some.”

  He grunted, and turned.

  I got up and followed him. He took the track up into the pines. Leatherface was still behind us.

  “You know, the Celts called yew the tree of life,” he said, as the slope steepened. “And yet the wood made longbows and the berries are poison. I never figured that out.”

  “What made you choose them for the cemetery then?”

  “Candy loved them. They don’t grow too well up here, or there’d be more.”

  We walked in silence awhile. I didn’t want to start talking about the possibilities of a sociopathic werewolf with Leatherface in hearing distance, but neither was I comfortable not talking.

  “Where does the track lead?” I asked.

  “There’s a cabin at the top of the mountain. Old hangout for the pack when we ran here. Only Doc Noble uses it now. We’re not going that far.”

  A minute later we left the trail and made our way through the woods.

  Great. Even better place to kill me, deep in the woods.

  Although there was no track, I got the sense that Felix came here often. He moved through the trees like a ghost.

  Slowly the noise of a stream grew until we emerged from the thick covering pines.

  Felix sat on a rock and motioned me to sit across from him.

  Leatherface could see us, but he wouldn’t be able to hear unless he came right alongside our position.

  I looked back as he emerged from the pines, still cradling the gun.

  “Is he necessary?”

  Felix shrugged. “Silas’ insistence. He’s right that I can’t look both ways at once. There have been three attempts to kill me this year,” he smiled frostily. “Down on five from last year.”

  “Who?”

  He shrugged again. “Confederation? Kansas Plains pack? Crescent Lake? This is prime werewolf territory.”

  He looked tired, almost resigned, and I wondered how long he and the Denver pack had been a target for others. Year after year, that would grind anyone down.

  “Thank you for coming out here,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “I don’t want to make things even more difficult—”

  “But you will,” he interrupted. “It’s what you do, even if you don’t mean to.”

  I bowed my head, refusing to get angry. He deserved that, at least.

  I managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  His mouth twitched. Any more of this and we’d be best pals.

  “I took a decision yesterday to spare the Matlal Were,” I said. “Seemed the best choice at the time. I realize it may not seem that way to you.”

  Felix laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, quiet and deep, from his belly.

  “It may surprise you,” he said, “but I do think about things. Sure, when Ursula
called, I had the same knee jerk reaction she did: Why didn’t you kill the bastards? Are you trying to sabotage us?”

  He stopped to pick up a stone and hurl it accurately at a crow on the opposite side of the stream. It flew off, cawing insults back at us. Leatherface tracked it with his shotgun, but let it go.

  He brushed his hands on his jeans. “But you made the right call. We ended up with no injuries to the pack. A lead on the rest of the Matlal Were. The Confederation handed a ticking bomb and sitting there crapping themselves over the nightmare of thousands of Athanate hunting them down on every side. Not bad.”

  I wasn’t sure how to deal with this calmer Felix. It wrongfooted me.

  A different crow came riding the air current down the path of the stream. Felix reached for another stone, but the bird banked high and disappeared over the tops of the pines.

  “Why do you chase the crows away?”

  “Ask the Adepts.”

  I bit down on the retort my demon came up with and tried a more gentle approach.

  “I’m getting a lot of run-around from one group to the next. It means I’m always less informed than I should be. Could you just tell me?”

  He leaned his elbows on his knees. “That mind-leeching stuff Athanate do…” he hesitated, probably remembering he was talking to one of those mind-leeching Athanate. “Some Adepts can do that sort of thing too, but a bit different. They can see through animals’ eyes, listen with their ears. They like crows for it.”

  That was so cool. And disturbing.

  “I’ve met with Adepts and I can’t—”

  “I’m sure you’ve met some of the locals, and I’m sure they’re very pleasant people, but Adepts have no territories.” Something of his wolf reaction to that trickled through to me and made me shudder. “There may be Adepts in Denver who have nothing to do with the local covens. Adepts who work for whoever pays them. You wonder how what we do is known by the rogue?” He waved at where the crows had gone. “That’s one possible way.”

  Maybe. I wasn’t discounting it, but was it more likely than a rogue in the pack?

  I took a breath to launch into my theory, but he hadn’t finished.

  “What’s happening at the trailer park?”

  I clamped down on my impatience. “The rest of the Matlal weren’t there and they didn’t show last night, but it’s their marque all right; we’re sure that’s their base. I pulled the teams back. I don’t want to risk spooking them.”

  “So how are we going to keep a watch?”

  “Maybe we should have an Adept who can see through a crow’s eyes,” I said. “But as we don’t, I’ve put a couple of my own team in this morning. They’re not Athanate or Were, so the Matlal won’t sense them.”

  Felix’s eyes came back to me thoughtfully. Not Athanate or Were. He might make that assumption that Tullah and Jofranka were Adepts, and he’d be half right. When they handed over to the next watch, Tullah was going to put in one of those masking spells, at which point, the pack would know about her. Mary had given the go ahead, so I let it pass.

  “They’re connected in to my comms network. Any sign and we’ll know. Meantime, the search goes on in the planned way. We’re not just looking for Matlal Were,” I reminded him.

  Felix was still watching me.

  “Who’s coordinating while you’re here?”

  “Bian.”

  His fingers dug into his thighs. He’d already known she was my alternate on this. He didn’t like Altau coordinating his pack, but he’d agreed to it.

  “Altau,” he grunted. “What about the threat you made to the Confederation? Altau working with us. Is this for real?”

  “I was careful how I said it.”

  Felix’s lip curled a touch. Were didn’t like double talk.

  “I believe in it and I’ll push for it. But I’m going to have to go and explain it to Naryn after we’re done here. Or even before we’re done.” I pulled my Altau cell and looked at the screen, but it was still blank. On Bian’s advice, I was waiting on a summons from Naryn.

  He grunted. “Well then, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “It’s about the rogue. Who he or she might be.”

  “And the reason this has to be secret?”

  “It could be anyone. Even him.” I jerked my head at Leatherface.

  Felix looked to see if I was serious and gave a half laugh.

  I preferred him angry rather than amused and dismissive, but that might come soon enough.

  “You think it’s not a Were because of the increase in size, the lack of Call, the lack of marque,” I said.

  He nodded. “And the length of time. A rogue escalates much quicker than your list of victims has been accumulating. The rogue spends too much time in the wolf, and the wolf is mad. The madness bleeds back into the human. It would be noticeable. He couldn’t hide that.” He juggled a stone from hand to hand. “The bites? Well, as your little spy pointed out, anyone could make a device that mimics a bite. And the pattern of bites is not what you’d expect from a rogue attack.”

  “But you don’t think it’s a human?”

  “This level of ability to escape detection? No. I think it’s an Adept using his powers somehow. Maybe even being paid by the Confederation to destabilize us.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a very effective destabilization tactic. You didn’t even notice it happening until I told you about it.” Felix didn’t like me pointing that out. “You’d think those alleged Adepts would have moved on to a different plan long before now,” I went on. “No. I think it’s a Were. But not a rogue in the usual sense.”

  “What other ‘sense’ is there?” Felix turned to look directly at me. His face didn’t change, but there was the wolf, just under the skin.

  And I was trying to convince a werewolf who was over a hundred and fifty years old that there were things about Were psychology he hadn’t considered.

  “Felix, have you ever heard of a sociopath becoming a werewolf?”

  His eyes went flat and golden, but then he turned away and looked over the stream for a long time.

  “No,” he said finally. “But we don’t become, we’re made. Who would have done that?”

  “Who would know?” I countered. I’d been doing some research. “Among humans, they might be as much as 4% of the population, but most people would never believe that. Part of the deal we make with society is that the rules become subconscious. But that means when we come across someone who behaves completely outside the rules, we can’t believe it. We refuse to believe it.”

  “So, you’re saying we could have a sociopathic werewolf in the pack. Someone who’s learned how to lie convincingly, even to me.”

  He’d understood immediately where I was going with it. Did that mean he thought it was possible? His face gave no sign either way, but the tone of his voice wasn’t encouraging.

  “I’m saying it’s a possibility I have to investigate.”

  “What about the growth in size?”

  “Could be measurement error, considering the level of decomposition in some of those bodies. Or, the growth could be coming from an increase in dominance.”

  “I’d notice an increase in dominance.” Felix smiled thinly.

  “Maybe. And maybe not, if the sociopath didn’t want you to.” I sighed. “I know it’s sounds crazy, I know I’m talking to a long-established alpha, but I’ve studied this.”

  Not quite a lie, but certainly fudging the truth. I’d had a little training in the army and I’d read some articles in preparation for talking to him. I wanted to see if I could lie to Felix, and if he could tell I was doing it.

  So far, no reaction, so I pushed it further. “In fact,” I went on, “I have a diploma from an online college.”

  Complete lie. But if he sensed it, Felix made no sign.

  I picked up a stone and threw it at another crow who was looking to land. The pack can’t lie to the alpha. So did this mean I wasn’t pack? Or just that I was a stronger alpha
than Felix? I’d never felt anything for Felix that resembled what I thought a Were should feel for their alpha.

  “I’m not promising anything,” he said, “but what do you want from me?”

  “A list of members of the pack.”

  “What would you do with it?”

  “Cross check against known and potential victims. Places of work, addresses, club memberships. Standard investigative work. Unless it turns up something more significant. Then what we do depends on what we’ve found.”

  “You realize the damage you’re doing to the pack? The damage you will do if you’re right?”

  “I’m not trying to damage the pack, and what I might do is nothing compared to what would happen if the rogue is caught by the FBI.”

  He stood and looked thoughtfully at the stream for a minute.

  “Do you feel Were?” he said. His voice was neutral, just asking the question, but the weight of the feeling behind it was intense.

  “I feel part Were,” I replied.

  He shook his head. It felt like I’d misunderstood, or answered the wrong question. “Think about being a Were for a moment. What does it feel like?”

  I tried. I closed my eyes. The memory that popped into my head was before Alex had infused me. It was from the evening after I’d first been up to Bitter Hooks. I’d wanted to go back up there and run naked through the pine forests, howling at the moon. I smiled. Maybe I would, one day soon.

  “Cool,” As soon as I said it, the word seemed too light, but just as I’d felt I’d got the last answer wrong, Felix seemed pleased with my response this time.

  “Let’s get back,” he said finally.

  We walked into the woods again, Leatherface trailing behind.

  I found the little cemetery preying on my mind and I was never one for subtle. “Can I ask why you never remarried?”

  He frowned, concentrating the uneven ground we were crossing. “No suitable female alphas in Denver. Has to be an alpha for the pack. Got offers from outside, but I trust ’em like I trust snake spit.”

  “That’s rough.” It hadn’t occurred to me before. As alpha, he’d be bound by consideration for the pack in a choice as fundamental as who he could marry.

  He cast a sideways glance at me. Was he able to sense what I felt, even if he couldn’t tell if I was lying? Did that seem strange to him?