Freya's Founding: Book 2 of the Winging It Series

by Sonja Bair

  “Perhaps you will see your family again,” David replied firmly. “Perhaps you won’t. Whatever the future holds, I need you committed. I will only tolerate loyal werewolves in this pack.”

  Gina nodded at him, looking contrite at her misstep, but as she turned away from David, her face immediately soured and her eyes squinted in anger. When she was out of earshot, I turned to David.

  “Give her a break. She’s lost everything. She’s bound to feel conflicted about her new pack.”

  “Perhaps if she were a teenager without any supernatural abilities I would have a different opinion, but she isn’t. She’s a werewolf, and with that comes greater responsibilities. She doesn’t have a choice about how she must respond to the pack. Perhaps that’s not fair, but it’s the way it is.”

  I didn’t know if I agreed.

  Chapter 10

  After classes ended on Monday and the last student meandered out of my room, I retrieved my cello, which was stored in a locked cabinet in my classroom. I had gobs and gobs of lesson planning and grading to do, but before I started those endless tasks, I needed some time and space to think. The best way for me to do that was through music. The classroom walls were much thicker and more sound-proof than my paper-thin walls at home, so I didn’t have to be self-conscious about serenading neighbors.

  With the cello resting against my shoulder, I already felt better. I searched my head for a song to fit my mood. Surprisingly, the music from the band Black Sabbath translates really well into cello music. I started there. My bow was slightly frayed after two songs, but my brain was more in order and I had a list of questions about the dream and Gina’s parents’ reaction:

  1. Were prophetic dreams part of the werewolf DNA, or was this a unique situation?

  2. And was it even a prophetic dream? Not all repeating dreams were, or else there would be flying fire trucks hovering all over San Luis Obispo…

  3. What was Gina’s own interpretation of her dream? I doubted she would give me a straight answer, but I needed to try again…

  4. The story broke down into two sections; first the royalty part and then the fire part. Were they connected? If so, how?

  5. Her parents were more concerned about the royalty part. Why?

  6. Who were the people that were burning in her dream? The rest of her family? The pack?

  7. Naturals?

  8. Had the dream changed at all since moving to SLO?

  I didn’t have any answers, but I had a line of questions to pursue, and therefore, I felt better. Putting my cello back in its case, I returned to the towering stack of papers to grade. I loved my students but did they have to create so much work for me? Oh yeah, I was the idiot who gave them this work…

  My cell phone’s ring caused a near heart attack. As much as I don’t like the monotony of grading, I often get sucked into my students’ work so much that I lose track of time and surroundings. It took a second to refocus on the outside world, then scramble to find my phone. A Swedish number. Good thing I had seen the writing on the wall and changed my calling plan.

  “Hallå,” I answered, bracing myself for some scolding I hadn’t known I needed.

  “God dag, Freya,” a male voice responded. It took me a second to place the voice—Viktor Ingersson. There wasn’t a formal leader of the Elders, but Viktor was the longest-serving and its frequent spokesperson.

  As there wasn’t an immediate barrage of condemnation, I felt encouraged and politely inquired after his health and family. He returned with the standard replies, then there was a silence. I waited, curious of what would come next.

  “I am not speaking on behalf of the whole of the Elders. I am speaking as myself.”

  “I understand.” This was getting curiouser and curiouser.

  “My tenure with the Elders has been a long one, and I have seen the world change around us. Although many of my contemporaries would disagree, I would say that these changes have, for the most part, been positive.” Silence.

  “I agree,” I answered after a beat, unsure if he was pausing for confirmation but guessing it wouldn’t hurt.

  “Good. But one change of which I am uncertain is you and your Alpha status. To address some of my uncertainties, I would like to hear how leadership as an Alpha works in the werewolf packs.”

  “Well.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “Just as you can’t speak for the whole of the Elders, I can only speak for my pack. Both my Alpha partner and I believe that a pack has a similar role as a family; we all look out for each other. But occasionally there are needs that have to be addressed and we, as Alphas, have the ultimate responsibility to find solutions.”

  “And how extensive is your control over packmates?”

  “My control over packmates? Our pack doesn’t work that way. If there is a problem, we sit around and talk about it. I’ve never had to exert my control over someone.”

  “Fine. But eventually in a family, pack, or tribe, there will be a situation where there is strong disagreement and talking does not solve it. How will you address such situations?”

  I thought of Gina. Although we hadn’t yet had an all-out disagreement, I was sure it was only a matter of time.

  “I know that David’s old Alphas suppressed conflict by physical punishment,” I said, “but I would never stand for that. As a leader of this pack, I would need to figure out a way to work around the problem. Teachers have a saying about these situations: Take your sail out of their wind. Having too strong a reaction against someone only increases their resistance. Control is something that is given to you by your packmates, not something that you can force.”

  “But you did not answer my question—how would you address a serious conflict?”

  “I didn’t answer because there isn’t a trite and easy answer. You have to figure out new ways each time. There are only answers how not to address a serious conflict; you can’t force your will on non-receptive people. You can’t have hard and fast rules that fit every situation, and you can’t think that you, yourself, are the only one with good ideas.”

  “Aaahhh.” There was a smile in his voice. “I see you are much like your great-grandfather, Valter.” I didn’t know much about my great-grandfather, but chose to take the comparison as a compliment.

  “Can I inquire why you are asking me these questions?”

  “As I said, these are times of change. The werewolf packs have their share of change, but the Alva are also facing new challenges.”

  “I’m not sure I understand…”

  “Leadership is always a balance. And the Alva are adjusting ours at the moment.”

  “So there are problems with the Elders?”

  “Let us call them opportunities for growth.” This was news to me.

  “Then why are you coming to San Luis Obispo and involving the Alva in werewolf business?”

  “Some believe that a show of power and control over outsiders can be an opiate to the masses.”

  “Wait—attending the werewolf convention is meant to distract the Flock from problems with our own leadership?”

  “Our coming has many purposes, some more convoluted than others.”

  The finality of his tone told me he was done answering my questions, but regardless, I had two more to ask. “One of the reasons is to prevent me from being killed, right?”

  “Yes, I imagine,” he sighed. Comforting.

  “And do you have suggestions as to what I’m supposed to do, either as an Alpha or Alva?”

  “No, I am more interested in watching how you handle yourself. You have piqued my interest and I am curious to observe you.”

  And with that odd statement, he hung up on me.

  Shaking my head in confusion, I tried to make sense of what he was saying. I didn’t know there was any turmoil in the Alva ranks, but then again, I was disconnected from the day-to-day workings of the Flock.

  Picking the phone back up, I called my mom—no answer. I called Alrik—no answer. Darn it. I hate having unanswered questi
ons. I drummed my fingers on my desk and slouched low in my seat. How serious was this “growth opportunity” in the Elders? These are times of change, he said. And then he had asked many questions on my views of leadership and control—why?

  I was still lost in thought when Gina walked into the classroom, dressed as if she was about to go for a run. She dropped down into a chair and stared at me.

  “You look like crap,” she said after a few seconds.

  “Why, thank you, sweet child.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Alva issues. Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but why did you stop by?”

  She shrugged. “I wanted to go for a run—a two-legged run. I don’t know the area well. Wanna go with me?”

  “I don’t have any running clothes or shoes with me.”

  Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out my exercise clothes and sneakers and dumped them on my desk.

  “Hmmm, should I commend you on your initiative or berate you for going through my stuff?”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged again. That too-cool-for-school movement was starting to bother me.

  “I don’t run a lot. Why run when you can fly?”

  “Then don’t come.”

  “No, I need to blow off some steam. I’ll go with you.’

  When I walked from my home to school, the last section is straight up a very large hill, causing me to arrive breathless and slightly sweaty. Luckily, that meant that Gina and I started our run on a downhill, giving me an opportunity to talk before I got too winded. I tried to pry some details about school out of her, but she only gave me one- or two-word answers. Giving up, I started to talk about my own day and the odd phone call from Viktor. Mainly, I was just processing out loud, but if Gina were to join the one-sided conversation, maybe it would shed some light on her background.

  “One of the things that I’m most curious about,” I said, “is what Viktor was implying about the other Elders. He definitely said that some Elders didn’t believe in change, and I think he implied that a few Elders are becoming more dictatorial. I haven’t heard any news out of Sweden that would support that, but honestly, I don’t have a good Alva gossip source. Alrik is too…”

  “Some people,” Gina interrupted me, “believe the best form of government is a benevolent dictator.”

  Her interjection surprised me and it took me a few strides to come up with an answer. “Perhaps. But have you ever heard of a truly benevolent dictator?”

  “Why couldn’t there be one? Someone who has the best intentions of their people in mind and the power to make the changes.”

  Maybe Gina could have a philosophical discussion while running, but I couldn’t. I dropped our pace to a walk before answering. “But giving all the power to one ‘strong man’ to decide what to do and what to change takes that same power away from the people. Those who call for a benevolent dictator are saying that people need a firm hand over them to guide their own destiny.”

  “But would you want that guy,” she motioned at a homeless person sitting on a bench next to the sidewalk, “to have as much power as you in making decisions for the community? In managing our future? Don’t you think that someone who has greater visions should be given control?” The homeless guy looked up, startled and wild-eyed. I gave him a cheery wave and smile, but my cheeks glowed in embarrassment. The guy had obviously heard her, but given her disregard of his reaction, she didn’t care.

  “I don’t know that gentleman,” I said when we were out of earshot, “and I’ll concede that he looks rough, but what’s his story? Maybe if given a haircut and some counseling, he could become a great leader. I’m not willing to give away his personal freedoms on the off chance that someone with absolute power would run his own life better.”

  “Okay, how about werewolves then? We have Alphas who control our lives.”

  “And look how that turned out for the Santa Fe pack and your own pack. How many people have gotten hurt from dictatorial Alphas? I don’t want to be a supreme overlord to my pack; I don’t want that kind of control. No, I’m pretty sure there is no such thing as a benevolent dictator. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  She nodded, picked the pace back up to a run, and was silent for a block, lost in her own thoughts.

  As we crossed an intersection, I broke the silence. “What brought on that conversation?”

  She just shrugged that flippin’ shrug again.

  I was about to call her out on the attitude when a shout of warning came from our left. A skateboarder had blown through the red light and was barreling down on us. I jumped ahead to get out of his way, but Gina stopped directly in his path. The guy’s arms flailed wildly, trying to change his trajectory as he realized she wasn’t going to move. I lunged back at Gina to get her out of the way, but she dodged my grab and remained in his path. Seeing that he either had the choice to plow right into her or bail, he jumped to the side. But he still had too much forward momentum and his feet, now off the board, got jumbled together and he skidded across the pavement. The board hit Gina, then bounced off into the grass on the side of the road near the skater. I ran over to him, but he had pushed up onto his feet before I got there. Blood was already oozing freely from his torn-up knees and palms, yet he grabbed his board and was back on it in a flash. As he pushed off past us, he hurled expletives at Gina but she remained still, a smirk dominating her face.

  “What in the world was that about?” I yelled as she nonchalantly jogged to the other side of the road.

  “His fault. He shouldn’t’ve ran the red.”

  “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “But he got hurt.”

  “So? He could’ve been killed if he ran a red and there was a car coming. He learned a lesson and next time he won’t make the same mistake. It’s actually a win for him.”

  “That was stupid and dangerous. Don’t try to teach that kind of lesson again.”

  She shrugged. This time, I let her know what I thought of that stupid shrug. She apologized, but the apology didn’t reach her eyes. I let the issue go, but worry bloomed large that her attitude would get her, or us, into more serious trouble next time.

  Chapter 11

  The peace conference my mother was scheduled to attend was in Perth, Australia. If you were to dig a hole from her home in Chicago straight through the Earth, you would (after a bit of a swim) end up in Perth—meaning there wasn’t a place on Earth further away from her home. She had the choice of flying east or west around the world, as it made no difference in travel time. She chose west so she could have a layover in San Francisco, then take a puddle jumper down to SLO to meet up with her daughters for a twenty-four-hour visit before continuing on her journey.

  Already this year, I had taken too many days off from school. True, I had a pretty good excuse as I had been laid up in the hospital, but regardless, students need a consistent teacher for quality learning to occur. Therefore, even though I would have loved to pick up my mom at the airport, I sent Gina, who got out of school earlier than I did, with my Eagle instead. But before I allowed her to pick up my mother, I had to give her the rundown on Ambassador Alma.

  “From a distance, my mother is going to appear like some petite, kindly professor type. Don’t believe it. She’s fierce. But not fierce in a fire-breathing dragon way. Oh, no. That would be much too conspicuous and, therefore, avoidable. Instead, you’re going to walk away from a five-minute conversation with her with zero secrets left and a strong conviction that, starting now, you will do things different—nay, you will do things better. Only later, hours later, will you realize that she brainwashed you into doing things her way. And then, hours after that, still fuming that you’ve been manipulated so easily, you will realize that, damn it, her way actually is better.”

  Gina laughed at my words, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand. I wasn’t done with my warnings.

  “And the Eagle—for some reason, she has a personal vendetta again
st my car. My dad thinks it’s awesome, but my mother thinks it’s a boil on the face of the Earth. Don’t listen to her. But don’t cut off her tirade, because she will not abide being interrupted, but… I don’t know… sing a song in your head or recite the alphabet backwards. If you don’t, you will come back trying to convince me I need a beige Volvo.”

  Secretly, I was glad that there was a legitimate excuse for Gina to pick up my mother—I trusted my mom’s judgement on people. She, too, was blessed with extra-sensory abilities that occasionally ran alongside the Alva trait. The Flock’s added mental gifts were ultimately what had given us the upper hand among supernatural groups. When your people have traits like the ability to get people to tell their inner thoughts without realizing it (Alrik) or read people’s personality via their aura (my mom), the deck is unfairly stacked in your advantage. Luckily, most Alva were taught to respect others and only use their gifts in dire circumstances. In fact, my mom often claimed that she tried to disregard the auras she sees, since people, for better or worse, will often strive to act against their natural tendencies. Instead, she said, her ability to read people came from years of studying human nature, both supernatural and natural.

  After two weeks of living with Gina, I still felt like I couldn’t get an accurate read on her. The werewolf conference was to start this coming weekend, and it was already Tuesday. Before I met her parents again, I wanted to feel like I understood the family’s background and story better. But she was tight-lipped about her past and all attempts I had made to get her to speculate about her dream led to dead-end shrugs and silences. Maybe my mom could shed some light on this frustrating teenager.

  My cell phone dinged with a received text message during the middle of my Anatomy & Physiology class. Oh, the double standard of being a teacher… If one of my students’ phones had rung, I would’ve probably got all righteous, but, nope, it was my own. I scrambled to turn it off and apologized to the students at the interruption, but of course I checked the message before silencing it. Elin—saying she was back at the ranch and Mom and I could head up anytime. My mother had specifically asked to spend her quick break at Elin’s house. Perhaps not surprisingly, there were very few opportunities for an Alva to spread her wings in metropolitan Chicago.