Wild Card

by Mark Henwick

  “Hmm. Family is important to mental health.” He chewed his lip. “You say you’re not getting along well with your mother and sister. Let’s start by expanding on that a little.”

  I had Mom and Kath visiting at Alex’s later. I’d find out how broken it was then. Would Kath come along? Would she want an explanation before she handed over the necklace? What would she do when I couldn’t tell her? And how bad would that look to Mom?

  I tried to put that out of mind and answer the question.

  “My sister’s the problem.” I couldn’t help but give away my feelings in my voice. “There’s a bunch of reasons, some of which might be the stuff you came up with last time. Anyway, she doesn’t believe anything about me. I can’t tell her anything about what I’ve really done or what I am. So, she makes up things; says I’ve been living as a whore, I’m a drug addict, I’ve been brainwashed by a cult or whatever comes into her mind. The trouble is, as far as my Mom’s concerned, Kath’s there for her at the moment, and I’m not.”

  “I see.” His pen scratched quietly. “What about the pack as a family? Does it feel like that?”

  “Felix as Dad? No.” I laughed.

  “What about you as the father-figure? You have the alpha tendencies. You took over the role of provider after your father’s death. You were in command of a team in the army. You are a House in the Athanate structure. Do you feel comfortable as the team leader rather than the team player?”

  I wriggled. Was he saying I couldn’t be in the pack? I was too alpha? “I’m adaptable,” I hedged.

  “How did this adaptability manifest in the police? I understand there was an incident at the end of your time there where you acted alone.”

  “A young girl, Emily Schumacher, was abducted by three rogue vampires. I was on the scene, I could smell them. I understood what the stakes were. The SWAT team were too slow and they didn’t know what they were dealing with. I had to act. There wasn’t an option to adapt to working with others.”

  “You had to take responsibility for a kidnapped child? Is this a recurring theme?”

  “No. I knew her. And it was the only thing I could do. Can we talk about something else?”

  “The Athanate build a family around themselves of necessity, but it is structured, with roles and tasks. The pack much less so. Does the structure feel important to you?”

  I frowned and closed my eyes. This felt less irritating.

  “No, not really. It’s family, even if there are bits missing. I mean, as a paranormal, I’m not going to have children. I’m not broody or anything, but I know there’ll be a time when I regret it.”

  “A daughter would be important for you?”

  I smiled to myself, imagining Emily as a daughter. “Yes.”

  “Not a father or mother figure?”

  It was so comfortable sitting back with my eyes closed, but I’d have to go soon. I couldn’t be late.

  What had he just asked? Father and mother figures?

  “Huh. Skylur and Diana, I guess. It’s not quite like that.”

  Where the hell was Diana? Why hadn’t she been in contact? I sat back up, the bubble of comfort broken, and the wolf starting to stir inside me.

  Doc looked up. His pen stopped scratching. He looked in a much better mood than when we started.

  “That was good! A moment there where you actually relaxed. Maybe in the next session, we can work it up to a minute or two.”

  I guessed he was just joking, but my wolf felt my space had been invaded. I growled.

  “We’re out of time,” he said. “Next session will be better. We can discuss control issues.”

  Interesting. Noble might be small, but his importance to the pack gave him enough status he was able to push back at me.

  I got up and stretched, refusing to let the wolf out. Everything else filtered back in. I had duties.

  “Doc, I need to ask some questions.”

  He shrugged and glanced at his watch. “Okay. You have five minutes.”

  “A detective came to see you three years ago. Although he didn’t realize it, he was working on the rogue case.”

  “Yes. Detective…Clayton. I remember.”

  “He’s dead now. I’m trying to piece together his investigation. What did he want?”

  Noble raised his brows at the news and then shrugged again. “He was asking about some patients who came into the Free Outreach sessions. Trying to determine their last known movements. Other members of the pack got called on as well. Silas and Kyle, I know. Felix, I think. Clayton was very interested in anyone who worked down in those communities. He was desperate to fit facts to theories.”

  “But why did he concentrate on you? Surely there are dozens of doctors down there?”

  “Ha! There are four or five of us on a really good day. I got volunteered, I suppose. The others, they don’t like my approach.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t believe in institutionalizing people, or putting them on prescriptive therapy, when there is no assurance of continuation, either from funding or commitment. Episodic treatment is more damaging than leaving well enough alone.”

  “Wow.” I raised my brows. “A doctor who doesn’t prescribe.”

  “Under those circumstances, no. Of course, I recommend returning to the center frequently and talking to one of the doctors there. Simply talking in a group or one to one. Socialization is far more potent in the long term than dulling the senses or making people dependent.”

  We’d moved swiftly to an area I couldn’t argue one way or the other, and we were both silent while we walked through the office. The receptionist smiled and I was impressed all over again by that wall of photos and certificates.

  He opened the door and ushered me through. I was surprised that he was seeing me out. Surely he didn’t do that for every patient?

  “You think Clayton was on to something?” Noble asked once we were in the lobby.

  “I think he got close enough that it was worth murdering him as soon as he started talking to me.”

  “Oh, my God.” He shook his head sadly and thrust his hands into his pockets. The lobby was cold and he was definitely not dressed for stepping outside.

  “They say snow,” he said, looking out the front. “Your car’s not far?”

  “Just around the corner,” I said. I wanted no-one to know what I was driving. “I’m borrowing something bigger to fit in with the pack.”

  He chuckled. “Size isn’t everything.”

  “No, of course not. But everyone in the pack drives something oversized. I guess it might be difficult to contain all that Were enthusiasm you talk about in a small car.”

  Sitting in the Hill Bitch at a drive-through ten minutes later, cuddling a coffee, I called Felix before I lost my courage.

  “…so, we have DNA from the basement, and our own CSI agent, with equipment,” I said, winding up a report of last night. “This may be chance to prove if it’s a member of the pack.”

  “You want DNA from the whole pack?”

  “Yes.” There was an ominous silence. I cringed. I had known this wasn’t going to go down well. If only there had been time to explain it face to face. That would have been better. Maybe. That or fatal.

  “It happens that I can help,” he said.

  “Err…great.”

  “Doc took blood samples from everyone a year or so ago. We should still have them. But…”

  That was like two punches in the stomach, one after another.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “But we will raise this at a pack meeting first. You need to convince them.”

  He didn’t wait to hear what the demon in my throat had to say about that.

  “I have to go now,” he said, and the call ended.

  Well, that was potentially huge, but I wasn’t going to do the happy dance just yet. And I didn’t want to stop looking for solutions in other ways. Lots of things could go wrong or be inconclusive. This wasn’t standard human DNA we were talking a
bout.

  I called Melissa.

  “Yes, boss?”

  Tullah’s joke was catching. First Julie, now Melissa. It served as a prompt that I’d have to put them on the payroll. Or rather, get Tullah to do it.

  “Very funny. Good news: the pack may have a DNA database for you to check against the stuff you got from Glenmore Hills.”

  “Excellent!”

  “If he was careless. Meanwhile, slave, check the missing women’s files.”

  “Hold on a second. Okay, ready.”

  “I don’t want to stereotype, but wealthy, unhappy women go to therapists, don’t they?”

  “Yeah. Gods, you’re right, they do look the type, don’t they? Stereotypes are us.” I gave her a minute querying the data.

  “No, Amber. Most of them did, but there’s no common factor. They went to different doctors all over town.”

  That would have been too simple.

  “Okay, leave that. Do an internet search on Doctor Theodore Noble, please. I want to know all the places he works.”

  “Easy.” There was a clatter of keys in the background, then she started through the list.

  His private practice, the Psychiatric Center, the Aurora Regional Center, the Denver Free Psychiatric Outreach Association.

  And the Denver VA Medical Center. The Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Faculty.

  “Thanks, Melissa. Later.” I ended the call.

  There could be a hundred reasons that his wall of certificates and endorsements had a couple missing. And no certainty that the missing ones would be from the VA Medical Center. Where Barbara Green might have been treated.

  I finished the coffee and swung the Hill Bitch out onto the road.

  So that was what therapy was like.

  You go in thinking one thing and come out thinking another.

  I’d lost normal a long, long way back, I guessed, but I caught myself thinking: Is it normal to have a suspicion that your dapper, urbane therapist is secretly a deranged, sociopathic serial killer?

  No. I was just too tired to think straight. It was physically impossible. Maybe I’d have the DNA database soon, and it would all become easy.

  Chapter 55

  Not trusting my memory, I mentally went through everything with the deliberate, fumbling care of a drunk as I drove to Alex’s.

  Bian was coordinating the rogue hunt until tomorrow now. I flipped the sound on the TacNet and listened to a couple of standard reports as team leaders declared an area searched. They’d come find me if they needed me.

  Tullah was at the Kwan, discussing the outcome of our request to talk to Adepts in the Empire of Heaven with Mary and Liu. I hadn’t received any angry calls about revealing Tullah’s secret, and I was more than happy to let that sleeping dragon lie for the moment.

  Melissa was safe at Manassah, trying to decode Clayton’s notes and warming up her DNA analysis machine.

  Jen, David, Pia and Julie were downtown. Julie had called to say they were going in to use the office conference system. Some problem had come up in the New York subsidiary.

  Alex was waiting at his house, where Mom and Kath were due to arrive in thirty minutes.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something as the Hill Bitch snarled through the traffic, scaring other cars out of the way. Something I’d almost reached when I’d fallen asleep in front of Noble’s office.

  Maybe all I needed was a good night’s rest.

  No chance.

  I pulled up outside Alex’s and I knew there was something wrong immediately. One of the cleanup crew’s green vans was standing there.

  Silas was coming down the path. Alex and Ricky were just emerging from the house, supporting another big man in blue overalls. I recognized Kyle Larsen from the photo Melissa had sent me. Olivia was coming out behind them.

  Larsen was a mess. His legs didn’t seem to be working. His eyes were glazed.

  Olivia was in tears.

  Had the pack found the rogue and started summary justice?

  “What’s going on?” I said as I ran up the steps.

  Silas blocked me like tall, dark wall. “This isn’t for you.”

  “It freaking is until I know what’s going on. I want to ask him some questions. You as well.”

  I tried to get around him, but his big arms just swung out and stopped me. He pushed me off the path. They were past and Kyle was in the van before I got free.

  “Alex?”

  He looked past me and just shook his head. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Damn it, no. What are you doing?” I yelled.

  Alex grabbed me.

  “Have we come at a bad time?” Mom’s voice.

  Yes, you could say that. Mom and Kath had arrived behind me.

  “Right with you, Mrs. Farrell.” Alex tried to hide that he was holding me. He nearly got his ankle broken for his efforts.

  Silas turned as he got in the van. “We can’t talk about this now,” he said quietly to me, his eyes flicking to my family. “It’s not outsiders’ business.”

  Ricky leaned out the window as they pulled away and called. “We need you there with us, Alex.”

  My mouth opened, but Alex was shaking his head at me.

  “I am so sorry, Mrs. Farrell.” He held his hand out. “Won’t you please come in?”

  I was trembling with anger. Not just at the pack for whatever it was they’d done, including brushing me aside, but at Alex. How could he do this?

  Mom sensed the tension. She used what she’d always used when I was angry; she talked.

  They got the house tour. The split level, the kitchen, with its very, very sturdy railing above the hall, the bedroom, Kath’s eyes slyly looking for signs that I lived there, the airy study, and back down to his living room with its big timber beams and Native American bookshelves.

  The old photo of Hope—Alex’s girlfriend who’d died from her inability to change—had been removed from the bookcase. Even that irritated me, as if she were mine as well. I wanted it back. The stupidity of that calmed me down a little. I was still seething at him for not explaining what had gone on, and having pack business at his house when my Mom was due, but I’d smile and talk for the moment. Now was not the time for a row.

  We sat down for coffee and conversation in the living room.

  “What a lovely house, Alex, thank you,” Mom said.

  “Very bachelor,” Kath said brightly.

  I ground my teeth. Kath was just fishing to see where I was living. Mom was probably measuring the rooms for the engagement party.

  “Your last call was so strange, Amber. Is everything all right?”

  She didn’t want to come right out and ask about the FBI. And no, everything wasn’t all right. And I’d forgotten to organize some kind of a guard today, to make sure there weren’t any Nagas around.

  Did I need to? I’d started to sound paranoid to myself.

  “Things are complicated,” I said, “but I’m fine.”

  “You look tired,” Kath said.

  “Are you sleeping well?” Mom asked.

  No. I’d barely been able to sleep since the Assembly, apart from the night I’d persuaded Jen and Alex to be my bookends on the sofa. None of which I could discuss with Mom. Especially the last. “Fine,” I said again.

  Mom gave it a rest. “These are Arapaho as well?” She pointed at the rugs Alex used as throws on the sofa.

  They were, and Alex carried them to the window to show Mom the workmanship.

  Kath zeroed in on me like a barracuda. “Why haven’t you been calling Mom?” She spoke quietly. “Do you know how upset she’s been?”

  “And how much of the upset has been caused by you spreading lies to our friends?”

  “I may have been mistaken in some things, but you’ve got to admit, you’ve been acting more and more strangely lately.”

  “Mistaken? Kath, you make up shit like that and all you can say is you’re mistaken?”

  “Are you doing anything with t
hose anger management issues?”

  My demon got off the leash. “Yeah, I’m seeing a therapist. What are you doing about your chronic lying?”

  Alex had been explaining his project of collecting the oral traditions of the Arapaho and Cheyenne. Mom had just came up with one of the little stories that Speaks-to-Wolves had taught her. She recited it just like I remembered it from my bedtimes—half in English, half Arapaho.

  It drew me out of my argument with Kath, and the sound of the tale, the rhythm of the Arapaho shut me up and carried me back to happy times.

  Alex dragged her up to his study to get it recorded.

  My eyes came back to find Kath staring at me, and the happy times evaporated.

  “You brought the necklace, right?” I said.

  “Jesus, enough already with the small talk, hey?” She scowled at me. “No, I haven’t.”

  I clamped down on my temper. “It’s important.”

  “Why is it so frigging important? It’s not to me. It’s not to Mom. It’s important for you, for some reason you won’t bother to tell us, so everyone has to jump around because Amber wants a necklace. It’s not even yours.”

  “It is. It goes to the eldest.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. That old trash. Why’s a stupid, old bead necklace so important anyway?”

  “You can see what this ‘trash’ means to people like Alex. It’s important as part of our cultural history. It’s a genuine find. Alex thinks it may have been used in sacred rituals.” Kath was looking as if I was speaking a different language. “You clearly can’t understand, so it’s not worth trying to explain.”

  “Is this some kind of cult you’re mixed up in? What did that guy in the van mean—‘outsiders’ business’? For God’s sake, what have you got yourself into that you can’t tell us?”

  “Forget it, Kath. I’ll come to your place after we’re finished here and pick it up.”

  “No. Why should I let you? Why the hell should I hand it across just because you want it?”

  Because it was my only lead on the puzzle of finding a way to help the Were who couldn’t change. Because it might be something that helped keep Olivia alive, and I’d promised, on my Blood, to do everything I could.