Wolf and Raven

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “Please, sir, we would be happy if you would wait in the lounge. You do understand, of course, that it is for members only, so . . .”

  I nodded. “I shall wait at the bar and not bother anyone.”

  His smile told me we had an understanding and I wandered into the bar. Dim and subdued, it featured dark wood panels and rich leather upholstery. Given the identities of the few local celebs I recognized, I figured the ciub must charge enough in dues that the decorations were probably realthetic. Even the peanuts in the bowl at the bar looked like dirtfruit instead of vat-droppings.

  I ordered the house brew, and discovered that a mug of it set me back more than Stealth’s cab ride. It tasted pretty good, but not that good. I consoled myself by looking at what the others were drinking and guessing at the number of digits in their bar tabs.

  I ordered a refill from the bartender and tried to begin a conversation with him, but he sped off to deal with other patrons—the ones who looked like big tippers or like they were there with someone else’s spouse. Before he could return to the styx where I was sitting, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Mr. Archer? I understand we’re having dinner together this evening?”

  I turned around and found myself looking up at a woman who surprised me in many ways. Had I been standing she would have come within a centimeter of being as tall as me. Powerful shoulders tapered down to a slender waist and shapely legs that indicated a serious interest in athletics as opposed to milder “shaping” workouts. Her face showed signs of an arctic tan and the makeup she used carefully blended away the white flesh around her brown eyes. Her black hair, which was cut boyishly short, hid her ears and aptly bordered a sharply angular face. A pert nose and full lips made her beautiful by anyone’s definition, but the fire in her eyes made her challenging.

  I offered her my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Reece.” I figured I could go one of two ways at this point, either making her think we both had been deceived, or I could play it straight. As she took my hand in a firm, dry grip, I decided honesty was the best policy. “But I’m not Wynn Archer. My name’s Wolfgang Kies.” I gestured to the empty stood beside me. “Please, join me. I can explain the reason for my deception.”

  She watched me for a moment, reflexively squinting her left eye as if she were sighting down a rifle barrel at me. “I like someone willing to shift tactics when the opening gambit fails. You have five minutes.” She released my hand after she slid onto the stool across from me and ordered a gimlet from the bartender.

  I remained silent until he had withdrawn, then idly drew an A in the moisture ring on the bar. “A young man you recommended for work here was killed last night.”

  “The albino, Albion. I heard.” She sipped her drink, then set it back on the bar. “I learned about it early this morning when I checked my computer system. I returned from the Yukon immediately. While updating my schedule I saw the dinner notation and came right over. Do you know who killed him?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I knew Albion and I know people who will be sorry he died. I want to find out who did him and you’re about the only lead I have.”

  “I see.” She dipped a finger in her drink and raised it toward her mouth. A droplet hung from her nail like venom from a scorpion’s sting, then she licked it off with a flick of her tongue. “Albion repaired the stereo in my Mako and asked me to mention him to my friends. I did and a couple suggested I get him a job here.”

  “I guess I’m missing the connection.” I popped a peanut into my mouth. “Why would you want a mohawked street punk working here?”

  Selene crossed her legs. Her outfit, a dark green silk blouse under dark green blazer and tight black skirt, left a lot of leg for me to look at as she did so. “This Club is for individuals who are adventurers. We dare go out and challenge Mother Nature in her wondrous and magical splendor.”

  She pointed through the doorway back toward where a gallery of holopics showed images of members with creatures they had killed. “The membership thrives on traveling to exotic places, seeing exotic things. . . .”

  “And killing them?”

  “Among other things.” She half-shut her eyes and studied me over the edge of her glass. “We’re thrill-seekers.”

  “So bringing a piece of Seattle streetlife into your club is a thrill.”

  “You are edging toward asking if I think Albion was chosen as prey by a member of our group.” She toyed with the stem of her glass, slowly turning it so the light glowed off the liquor’s legs. “We live for danger.”

  I watched her face closely. “And stalking Albion through the concrete world that is his natural habitat wouldn’t be dangerous?”

  “We may be the ultimate predators, but we’re not murderers. Bringing someone like Albion in here is importing some of the danger from the streets, yes. He’s not what we normally expect to see here, so he was a curiosity.” She clasped her hands together over one knee. “For a while we maintained a cheetah and a Bengal tiger here before certain Creature Liberationists started to threaten us.”

  The Old One howled in the back of my mind. “I can imagine them seeing this as a Temple of Death, no problem.”

  “But they do not know what we truly do, for this is also a Sanctuary for Life.” She laughed easily. “Between this club and all the animal freedom groups combined, who do you think has spent more money providing habitats for the endangered and threatened species out there?”

  “Is this a trick question?” I frowned. “They do.”

  “No, they do not." The skin tightened around her eyes. “The area where I went hunting a snow moose, for example, is all a private preserve purchased and maintained through this club. Our members, either through the club or on their own, have placed acres and acres of threatened wetlands and forests into park systems, both public and private. Did you realize that since the latter half of the twentieth century it’s been the hunters and the licensing fees they pay that has guaranteed wildlife management and, in many cases, actually allowed the animal population to exceed that of colonial times?”

  I sat back and did my best to look contrite. “No, I did not realize that.”

  “It’s true.” She casually waved her hand toward the other patrons in the bar. “Our membership is also involved in many philanthropic projects right here in Seattle. Part of that is reflected in our willingness to employ someone like Albion.”

  “Do you think someone took this ‘preserve’ idea too far with Albion and killed him?”

  “I hope not.” She leaned forward and I brought my ear close to her mouth. “In a place like this there are always rumors of someone having hunted the most dangerous prey. Liquor dreams and vaporware, but it is possible someone decided to make them real. If they did, I’m responsible because I brought him here.”

  I leaned back and took a pull on my beer. I knew from Stealth’s description of the weapon that killed Albion that commissioning it would have required the sort of money that someone in the Pacific Northwest Hunting Club certainly would possess. It also struck me as absolutely possible that a member could have decided that harvesting a little two-footed quarry in the city beat freezing in Alaska to bag a rack of antlers. Of course, the one thing I knew that she did not was that Albion was only the latest in a series.

  “These stories ever center on one person here?”

  She looked up and didn’t even try to hide her surprise. “No, not that I know of.” She took a sip. “This is very disturbing.” She concentrated, her dark brows arrowing down toward the bridge of her nose. “Come with me and we will discuss this with the Director.”

  I glanced at my watch, then shook my head. “Can’t. I’m meeting someone. Albion’s not going anywhere. This can wait for a day or so.”

  She nodded, then stared down at her glass and the liquid still left in it. “Are you free tomorrow night? I can arrange for us to meet with the Director then.” Her expression sharpened and her nostrils flared as she watched me out of the corner of her
eye. “You will be my guest tomorrow evening for dinner.”

  I waved the offer off. “Not necessary, Ms. Reece, really.”

  “I insist.” Her smile warmed and warmed me. “You intrigue me. You bluff your way in here, then admit your deception. You are different from most.”

  “Exotic?”

  “Challenging, Mr. . . .”

  “Kies, Wolfgang Kies.”

  “Accept, Mr. Kies. Anyone here can tell you that, as a hunter, I am relentless.”

  “So I am in your sights?”

  She eyed me very frankly and the Old One started a low growl in the back of my head. “You are too imaginative to be a literalist, Mr. Kies. I find pursuit more thrilling than a kill, and my taste in men does not run to corpses.”

  I caught the invitation in her voice, and the warning that whatever happened would be on her terms, and her terms alone. “Seven, here?”

  She took up my left hand and gave it a squeeze. “Twenty-four hours, then.”

  I nodded and gave her a kiss on the cheek. As I walked away from the club, Albion became a ghost. Learning who killed him had become immaterial as a reason for my willingness to meet Selene Reece the next night. She knew it, I knew it.

  Wolf season was open.

  IV

  Wolf season almost closed again because Lynn’s great-aunt Sadie tried to get me into a captive breeding program. “Oh, Wolfgang, you are such a gentleman. You two make a lovely couple. You’ll have wonderful children—they’ll be smart and handsome.”

  Luckily Lynn fended off her aunt’s comments, which left me time to deal with the Old One. For some reason he had joined forces with Sadie and spent most of the evening divided between complaining that my prime rib was too well done and praising Lynn. This is the bitch for you, Longtooth. Her eyes are bright, her ruddy coat is long, and she is cunning. Your pups will be strong and have sharp teeth.

  I was sure Lynn, who had once mentioned a desire to breast feed children, would love that last bit. Fortunately, Sadie later started talking about the twenty-two cats who lived with her, which cooled the Old One’s opinion of his ally. Even so, through the rest of the evening, he yipped encouragingly any time Lynn did anything he felt should make me proud.

  The dreams I had enjoyed earlier in the day did not turn out to be literally prophetic, but they functioned perfectly in an allegorical sense. Lynn and I, after we dropped off her great-aunt, spent some time wandering through the market, laughing about what her aunt had said. As Lynn doesn’t know about the Old One yet, I didn’t tell her his comments, but I let my laughter batter him into grumbling retreat. That was good because we later retreated to my apartment and engaged in activities that would have had him yipping encouragement to Lynn on a nearly incessant basis.

  Lynn woke me up early—the hour on the clock wasn’t even close to double digits—then showered and headed off to work. She normally didn’t spend the full evening with me because she shared a corporate suite with her folks. With Aunt Sadie using her room, the Ingolds chose to believe Lynn’s story that she would stay the night with a friend.

  She asked if she’d see me later, but I told her Raven was coming back into town and I had something to do. Because we’d met in the course of Raven, Stealth, and I saving her from kidnappers, she has a vague idea of what I do. Given that I was planning to meet Selene later, I decided that not clarifying my plans was a good thing.

  I crashed for another couple of hours, then got up close to noon. I decided that I needed a new suit for the night’s adventure, so I dressed quickly and headed out. The Old One’s grumbling started to give me a headache, but I managed to ignore him and it. Hopping into the Fenris, I headed downtown and started a walking tour of the haberdasheries.

  After a few false starts I settled on a French-cut black suit with double-breasted blazer. The tailor who measured me for alterations asked if I would be “heavy” or “thick” while wearing it, but I shook my head. Wearing a gun or a kevlar vest was not in order for dinner at one of the city’s most elegant clubs. I picked out a tie and shirt to go with the suit, then had lunch and a beer at Kell’s while the tailor worked on the alterations.

  As night began to creep close, it brought with it a sense of impending doom. Normally I would have put it down to Stealth being in the vicinity, but I suspected that Lynn and Selene were at the root of it. As I thought things over, I could see myself speeding in the Fenris toward a cliff with a nasty drop-off. A cloud of dust obscured what was behind me, and I had the distinct feeling that it hid an equally devastating drop.

  I knew I loved Lynn and I hoped she felt the same way about me. I had never fallen so hard for a woman, nor had I ever lasted as long with one. Most women decided I was trouble and gave me walking papers before things became serious. Getting rejected like that did hurt, but we usually managed to part on friendly terms, which helped take a lot of the sting out of it. Besides, plenty of other women were willing to offer me solace, so I learned to live within the myth that someday I’d find the woman meant for me.

  Now that day had dawned and I found it more terrifying than most of the gun battles I’d lived through. In those instances the worst that could happen was that I could die. In this situation, I could end up living. I’d have responsibilities and obligations. While Lynn was more than worth all that, a huge chunk of me saw my window on freedom snapping shut.

  Enter Selene. She and Lynn were of the same species and gender, but the similarities ended there. Selene was very attractive and aggressive. Being pursued by someone so powerful and desirable was one hell of an ego-steroid. I was staring at a future imprisoned with one woman while Selene Reece stood there handing me a “Get Out of Jail Free” card.

  The Pacific Northwest Hunting Club was downtown and not that far from the Fuchi corporate tower where Lynn lived, so I parked the Fenris in an alley about four blocks from the club. I set the anti-theft system at three chirps, figuring that the alley would keep down the number of injured bystanders. Pocketing the remote control, I set off for the club.

  The heavy-set gentleman who’d ushered me to the bar the night before was again at his station. He smiled when he saw me and beckoned me to follow him. “This way, Mr. Kies. Ms. Reece has already been seated.” Selene slipped out of the corner booth as I arrived. She wore a cerulean blue chemise with hair-thin straps under a darker blue crepe du chine jacket and matching pants. She offered me her hand and I kissed it, bowing slightly as I did so. She laughed and we both sat down.

  The maitre’d offered me a menu, but I shook my head. “I trust your judgment, Selene.”

  She smiled and ordered a magnum of champagne and raw oysters for an appetizer. “For the main course we will have the venison steaks with mushrooms and wild rice.”

  “Very good, madam.”

  As he withdrew, she looked at me carefully. “I trust you like venison.”

  I nodded. “Get it yourself?”

  “No. The last deer I shot was a year ago and I gave some of the meat to another member. He is repaying the favor.” Her smile grew. “I didn’t get the oysters myself either, but I trust you will enjoy them nonetheless.”

  “I am sure I will.”

  Our champagne arrived and she sat back to sip from her glass. “You are even more fascinating than I thought, Wolfgang. Until I did some research I had no idea you were associated with Richard Raven. From what I learned, you’ve hunted enough to be a member here.”

  I shrugged. “I bag vermin, mostly. Doc keeps me around for amusement value. And my friends call me Wolf.”

  “You are too modest, Wolf.” Her voice lingered over my name, and the prospect of her becoming an intimate friend made me smile. “From what I understand, a number of the local street gangs consider you quite dangerous.”

  “I gather, Selene, that various species of big game think of you in the same way.”

  “Touché. We are a pair, it seems, evenly matched.”

  I raised my glass in a salute. “To being a perfect match.”
/>   “Indeed.”

  The rest of the evening went from there to become quite hot. We both drank more champagne than we should have, but we stopped at silly on our way to being drunk. We engaged in a war of innuendo and double-entendre that promised much for the night until the maitre’d came over and informed her that the Director was in his office.

  She became serious with that news, then broke into a giggle when the maitre’d walked away. “I suppose we should take care of business before we get down to business, yes, Mr. Kies?” She looped her purse strap over her left shoulder and slid from the booth.

  I nodded almost soberly. “Indeed, Ms. Reece.”

  I followed her from the dining room and up some stairs. We passed down a corridor that took us beyond the room below and ended at a double door. As we approached, I heard a click and the doors opened for us. Without a second thought I walked on into the dark room.

  Before I could even begin to ponder why the room was so dimly lit, fire ignited in my spine. I heard a faint crackling sound and agony convulsed my body radiating out from a spot between my shoulder blades. I tried to turn, but given that my equilibrium had succumbed to the alcohol and that the electricity running through me had clobbered my muscles, all I managed to do was drop hard to the floor.

  Selene hooked a toe under my chest and flipped me over onto my back. In her left hand I saw the stunner she’d used on me. She hit the switch, letting a jagged blue energy line spring to life between the two electrodes on one end. My body jerked reflexively and pain neurons fired again just for the heck of it. She watched me and slowly began to smile.

  “Forgive me for this.”

  I thought, at first, she was speaking to me, but I was wrong. From my perspective on the floor, everything looked very tall. This included the horseshoe-shaped high-bench that ran from one corner of the room to the other. Seated behind the bench, in tall chairs with split oval tops and silhouetted by the backlight, a dozen members of the club looked down at me.