by M. H. Bonham
In the meantime, he had gotten a piss-ant job at a cybercafé called Axioms. The pay wasn’t much more than minimum wage, but it gave him a good enough cover that no one would question unless they looked closely. But that was the role of a spider—you crawled between the cracks and spun your little webs, and for the most part were unseen and unnoticed. You didn’t do much damage, either.
He sat back and ordered a scotch straight up, snaked the iPod into his ears and turned on some tunes and relaxed in the first class seat. It was going to be a long trip and he’d have a lot of work once he got to Denver.
CHAPTER 3
The apartment doorbell buzzed. Kira closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She rubbed her eyes after having stared at the screen for so long. Her arm twinged—it was still painful from the mauling. The stitches were out and she was wearing a soft cast, but the pins would always remain in place. No doubt, she would set off metal detectors at airports from now on.
“Coming!” Kira grumbled as she glanced once more at the Denver Post jobsite. Today had been a new experience for her. She had received a phone call from Intermountain Telecom, telling her that her services as a contractor were no longer required. She filed for unemployment online and posted her resume on Monster.com. All-in-all, a new experience.
Kira peered through the security peephole and saw a man standing outside. He had black hair and was wearing dark clothes. A salesman? she wondered. “I’m not interested!” she called through the door.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Walking Bear of the Denver police,” he called back.
Kira unlocked and cracked the door, still keeping the security chain on. “Walking Bear?” she asked in amusement as she peered out. No sooner had the words left her lips than she regretted them. Before her stood a man of about thirty with short black hair and dark eyes. His skin was the color of the sun-baked Arizona sand and his face and body were that of a warrior. Sharp-chiseled jaw—beardless, of course—with a strong nose, high cheekbones, and moderately arched brow, Kira could imagine this man riding a horse and hunting buffalo more than she could picture him riding in a police cruiser. He held out his Denver police badge for her to inspect. “I’m sorry, you’re Native American,” she said lamely.
A slight smile played across his lips. “May I come in? I’d like to get a statement from you.”
“Certainly,” Kira said, unlocking the chain on the door. “I’m sorry—I haven’t been in good form lately—I’m still on painkillers.”
The detective glanced around the apartment and Kira grimaced. Kira and Susan had rented a small apartment in LoDo (the fashionable term for lower downtown Denver). Empty Dominoes Pizza boxes still sat on the coffee table next to the brown couch (covered with newspapers) and the orange peel beef takeout from P.F. Chang’s from two nights ago was adding its aroma from the kitchen counter.
Kira nudged the pile of ubiquitous O’Reilly books with her toe to try to make room for the officer to come in and almost toppled the book pile near the door. TCP/IP Network Administration and Firewalls went skittering into a stack of UNIX Systems Administration Today. “I’m sorry—I’m not much of a housekeeper.”
“It’s okay,” Walking Bear said, carefully picking his way among the landmines of spare computer parts, books, and computer printouts. “You’ve been recuperating.”
Kira met his gaze as she cleared off the couch with her good arm. “Yeah, I should keep the sling so I’ve got that excuse when guests come by.” She paused. “You want coffee?”
The detective smiled and sat down on the only clear spot on the couch. “No, I’m fine.”
“So, you want to talk about the wolf?” Kira asked. She poured a mug of dark roasted coffee into a Dilbert mug, ignoring the growing biological experiment in her sink, and walked back into the living room. “The officer who took my statement said that it was a wolf or something.”
“That’s what we think,” said Walking Bear. “A wolf or wolf-hybrid of some sort. I was hoping you’d have more information, being the only one who has survived these attacks.”
“Attacks?” Kira repeated. She carefully balanced the Dilbert mug on top of the pizza boxes and shoved some papers on the floor from the chair. “Oh, hey! There’s that board,” she muttered. She held up a circuit board wrapped in a silver anti-static bag and tears welled up in her eyes. “Susan was big into Sun UltraSparcs—she was going to replace the motherboard in her Sun ‘cause it was kind of flaky.” She set it down. “I guess she won’t be needing it.” She turned her head and blinked away the tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe she’s gone.”
The detective shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry your friend died, but we believe that whoever was responsible for your attack has been responsible for the others.”
“There were others?” She took a swig of the coffee. It had been sitting too long in the pot and tasted burnt.
“I thought the police put it down as a wolf-hybrid attack,” Kira said.
“That’s what they say,” he said evenly. “But there have been four attacks in the past six months. You’re the only one who survived.”
Kira ran her left finger along her jaw line. Bruises still marked where the stitches had been. “Four?”
“At least four that we could see a pattern in.”
“And you didn’t do anything about it?”
The detective hesitated. “That’s what we’re doing now. Who do you know that owns a wolf or wolf-hybrid?”
Kira stared at him for a moment. Did he think she had something to do with all this? “No one.”
“What about Ms. Baker?”
“Susan came with me from So-Cal. I don’t think she knew anyone except me and the people we worked with.”
A silence ensued as the detective took notes on a white pad of paper. He looked up expectantly. “Is that all?”
“What more can I say?” Kira tasted the coffee again and found it just as bitter. Those dark eyes continued to stare at her; unnerving her. Why was he making her feel so uncomfortable? Wasn’t she the victim? This wasn’t her fault—it couldn’t be. Maybe he was trying to get her to admit that they shouldn’t have gone down that alley. Okay, maybe they shouldn’t have—but that wasn’t the point, was it? Who’d expect a wolf to attack?
“Why were you out so late?”
“Ten-thirty on a Friday isn’t late.” She snorted in disgust. “Unless you believe they should roll up the sidewalks after six.”
“Seems a little odd you’d be working so late.”
“Look, we were fixing the systems at Intermountain, okay? We’re admins, okay? We have weird hours. It was ten-thirty and we were hungry and made a dash to the mall. Some wolf-thing attacked us. There’s nothing more than that!”
Another silence ensued and Kira realized she had stood up and was yelling. She fell silent and felt the tears well in her eyes again. She dropped back in the chair.
“Easy, ma’am,” the detective said, meeting her gaze. He had the darkest eyes Kira had ever seen. Kira took a deep breath. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he continued. “I simply want to get a full description, that’s all.” He stood up. “We’ll talk more in a few days. In the meantime, here’s my card—if you remember anything.”
He handed her his card and picked his way through the piles of computer printouts, books, and parts. “I’ll call you in a few days.” He let himself out and Kira locked the door behind him. She stared at the mess and then returned to her computer.
Kira sighed and shuddered as she tried to find a place on her desk to put the detective’s card without it getting lost. Her outburst must have been due to the pain and the painkillers, she decided. She didn’t usually have a hair-trigger temper, but there had been something in the way Detective Walking Bear had asked the questions. She glanced at his card. Sergeant James Walking Bear. James. She wondered if he went by “Jim.” She pulled a piece of tape from a dispenser and taped the card below the 20-inch monitor.
Kira’s computer was a PC
running Red Hat Linux. She glanced at the table next to it, and at Susan’s old UltraSparc. Susan hated PCs—said they were works of the devil—and insisted on a Sun. Kira hadn’t been quite as picky but chose a less standard operating system. Kira and Susan had networked the computers together and were running a T-1 link to the network off of the Intermountain Telecom backbone. Her mailbox indicated new mail, so she flopped down in the chair and double-clicked the icon.
Two new messages and spam. Kira opened the spam and smirked—Mrs. Jewel Taylor was offering her Liberian husband’s bank account of 15 million dollars to be shared, of course, with to whom it may concern for just a bank account number. Kira noted the address, tracked it through the headers and found it came from an address she hadn’t blocked yet. Too bad she no longer worked at Intermountain—their customers could benefit from the blocking.
The next message was from [email protected]. She opened the message:
I cleaned up your desk—come by and pick up your stuff. Bob.
Kira grimaced. Not even, “Sorry you lost your job.” Not “Hahahaha! Bitch!” Nothing.
“Asshole,” Kira muttered as she deleted it. It was just like Bob to be unfeeling and uncaring.
She paused at the last message. The subject was blank and it held a curious address: [email protected]. Rather than dismissing it as spam, she opened it. A chill ran down her spine as she read the message:
WATCH YOUR BACK AND STAY INDOORS ON FULL MOONS.
Kira caught her breath and shivered. Pinpricks ran along her injured arm where the wolf’s teeth had torn in.
CHAPTER 4
Kira found herself trembling as she stared at the message. Watch Your Back And Stay Indoors On Full Moons. What sick bastard would email her that? Somebody who knew that she had been attacked a month ago? Someone who knew her email address?
She looked at the email address again.
[email protected] was the sender and the recipient was the same. A classic setup for spammers. Looking at the IP addresses, Kira could tell that the address was forged. She recognized a few of the paths coming from Intermountain Telecom, but that was no surprise. As an ISP—Internet Service Provider—they owned a piece of the Internet backbone. The mail could have come from anywhere.
She let the mouse hover over the delete button on her mail browser, but then changed her mind and saved the message to a folder. She didn’t feel like tracing it right now and she had more important things to do. Namely, find a job.
She entered the website address for Dominoes Pizza online and ordered a medium with pepperoni and mushrooms before returning to the Denver Post website. Entering a few choice keywords, Kira looked for a UNIX Systems Administrator job.
“Shit.” Three ads from last Sunday popped up on the screen. One was an ad with a post office box; the other was an ad for “bettering one’s career.” The third required Oracle database and PeopleSoft—two skills Kira didn’t have. A buzz in the intercom broke her from her reverie. Dominoes arrived and Kira left to pay for the pizza.
K
“It’s time,” said Alaric softly to himself as he stood in the doorway and looked into the nights sky. He could feel the pull of the moon—as he had for countless years before. Each year—each tens of years, each century—made him more resistant to its power. But its power still held sway over him. Inevitably, he could not resist the call of Hecate.
Hecate, Diana, Artemis, Luna, Selene, Chandra—the goddess went by thousands of names, both known and unknown to Normals. But she was also a he—Mani, Thoth, Mah, Sin—and countless other male names as well. Not even Alaric knew all the names.
According to the legends handed down from werewolf to werewolf over generations, it was Artemis who first granted the wolf his sentience. At the time, Alaric’s people called the moon Mani—a male god—and yet, Alaric had always thought of the deity as a she. Fickle, the goddess changed with the days, exerting her pull on the oceans and those who had come from them so long ago.
A curse to some and a power to others, being a shapeshifter had been his life for as many moons as he could remember. The goddess had given him power—great power—and yet that power came with a price. Whether he chose to or not, he had to become a wolf when Hecate danced full overhead.
Alaric felt a pang of guilt as he remembered that there was one who would change this night for the first time. He had not caught the murderer that night, and had only had hints of his whereabouts since. The girl would not know what had happened to her and would be alone tonight. He had to find her first.
A lone howl echoed through the canyons of Denver. They were no longer canyons of sage and scrub, but of concrete, glass, and steel. How far was this from his homeland? He closed his eyes and tried to remember the smell of the sea; its bitter tang in his mouth. He let the transformation take him.
Alaric had done it countless times before. He couldn’t remember the last time the transmutation actually hurt him. Maybe it never had. He could feel certain bones elongating and others shortening. His skin grew fur as his nose and mouth lengthened and became a snout. When he was done, he was in his wolf form.
A howl issued from his throat and he trotted into the back alley and into the street. He had to find the girl before the murderer found her and finished the job.
CHAPTER 5
It was nearly midnight when Kira glanced at the clock on the computer screen. She yawned and stretched. Her job search had uncovered nothing new in the Denver area and California looked even worse for systems administrators. Outsourcing was a dirty word to computer professionals. The computer jobs were going offshore to other countries where similar work could be had for thousands less. As she stared at the screen, everything started to blur. Her arm was prickling, and it felt as though her eyes wouldn’t stay open. I’m tired, Kira decided. She stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. She felt groggy—not quite asleep, but not awake either.
As Kira lay there, she thought she heard a howl from a wolf. Again, she shivered. This is a dream, she told herself. The windows are closed and the door is locked. There are no wolves here.
The thought, however, gave her no comfort. In her dream, she began to worry and she stood up and went to the front door. She checked the door and found it difficult to unlock it, remove the chain, or grasp the doorknob. Her fingers were growing stubby and unresponsive. This is a dream, she thought, Why would my fingers be stubby? As she moved, through the airlock and down the stairwell, her clothes fell away from her. With a last attempt at the front door, she was out on the street, looking up at the midnight sky.
Kira stared at the moon overhead. It was full—as bright as the Intermountain Telecom and Qwest signs that ruled the skies over downtown Denver. She raised her head and a lone howl issued from her throat. Kira stopped and blinked.
Looking down, she saw her legs were no longer human. They were gangly long things with big spread paws and black curved nails. Gray fur ran down her legs and changed to white as it met the wrists and the paws. They were the legs of a dog—or a wolf. She counted her toes—four, not five. She looked back at her body and saw a gray canine form with agouti fur and a plume tail. The back legs were canine too.
Kira gasped and a very canine whine escaped her lips. Damn that cop! she thought. He’s giving me nightmares about wolves again. Her dreams after the attack had been about wolves, but they had been about wolves attacking her. Never about herself becoming a wolf.
Kira looked back up at the moon. Her throat tightened and a small, mournful howl escaped her lips. Kira sat on the sidewalk. Whatever this dream was, she wanted to wake up. She heard another howl. Involuntarily, a howl burbled up in her throat. It seemed to convey the misery she was feeling at losing her best friend, her job, and being unemployed.
The answering howl relayed a message. Come here, I want to meet you.
Kira hesitated. This is a dream, she reminded herself. I can’t die. She stood up and trotted toward 16th Street. The businesses and apartments that li
ned Wazee Street were extraordinarily quiet. The homeless Kira were used to seeing along the streets had disappeared with the ghostly sentinel overhead. She walked silently, her paw pads making no noise on the cold concrete beneath her feet.
She halted at 16th Street and looked south. She could see the sign for the LoDo Tattered Cover Bookstore and her mouth watered as her sensitive nose picked up the wafting aromas of the Mongolian Barbeque and Mexican restaurants nearby. She paused and slunk into a nearby alleyway as she heard bar patrons come out of one of the establishments, chattering loudly. Two women and two men stopped to talk outside. Kira watched in fascination.
Something cold and wet pressed against her cheek. She jumped away and yipped in surprise, nearly leaping out into the street again. She turned and saw another wolf looking at her. A large gray male wolf.
A wolf! Kira froze in terror. The brute was huge by her reckoning, with those terrifying yellow eyes and gray agouti fur. She wanted to back up and run, but there was nowhere else to go. If she ran to the people, they would think she was a wolf and would run away, or they would call the cops, who would kill her.
You’re new, the wolf said.
Kira yipped in fear and ran down the alleyway, trying to get away.
The wolf loped beside her. It’s okay, he said. I didn’t mean to startle you.
This is a hell of a dream, Kira thought. She wanted to wake up. Wake up; I’ve got to wake up!
It’s not a dream—you’re here with us.
Kira shook her head. No, this is a dream. She turned, leaving the gray wolf dumbfounded. He began to follow her.
Say, don’t I know you?
I don’t think so, Kira replied. Not unless you bit me.
You’re Kira Walker—the girl who got bit by a rogue wolf, the wolf replied.
Fine, whatever.
Alpha wants to meet you. He sidled up to her and tried to sniff her.
