by Ryk E. Spoor
"That," I indicated the crushed glasses, "will cost you about ten grand."
His expression became a snarl and his features rippled slightly.
"Unless you either want me to blow the gaff on your cozy little tourist village here, or want to assault me against your King's command, that is."
He seemed to be considering it through the bit about his village, but when I spoke of the King he instantly backed off, clearly frightened by the mere mention of Virigar. "N . . . no. You aren't intending to tell about us?"
"That depends on how you answer my question." I let my heartbeat slow down a bit. It looked like things might not end in a blaze of claws and gunfire. "Again, why the hell are all of you down here? Or is it just to give the words 'tourist trap' new meaning?"
He chuckled humorlessly. "The temptation is certainly there. But no, we don't kill anyone here. We can feed without killing, if we must, and if we control ourselves; and control is the complete and absolute law here. If we permitted killings, no matter how subtle, your law-enforcement people would eventually notice a change in the statistics and come to look." He gritted his teeth at my inquiring look, and finally forced himself to continue. "We are . . . we are hiding here."
I couldn't restrain a guffaw. The Wolves were running scared! "So you're living like the cattle now, hoping none of the bulls with silver horns catch up with you?"
He growled, a very inhuman sound coming from an apparently human throat. "For the moment . . . until we have decided how to properly deal with this new threat. So you didn't kill Jerry Mansfield?" he said, changing to his human guise's voice.
"Nope. Had no idea there were any Wolves around here until one of them tried to kill me earlier today. Now I understand your bit about denying he was a Wolf, though; you can't have any suspicion of Wolves being present at all."
"Mansfield was human," Baker said. "Someone thought he was a Wolf, looks like, but I guarantee you he was human."
"The plot thickens," I commented. This was an interesting sidelight on the whole matter. "And since I didn't kill him, we still have a mystery on our hands. A real Wolf would have known he wasn't one. So Mansfield was killed by someone who wasn't Wolf and wasn't human either." Suddenly I remembered why we'd come here in the first place. "Hey, Sheriff, do you know a Wolf who goes by the human name Karl Weimar?"
He nodded. "That'd be young Kheveriast. What about him?"
"He tried to kill me earlier, assuming I'd been trying to hunt Wolves, but that's not the main thing. If you go down this alley at the side," I pointed, "you'll find a statue of him. Except I think it probably isn't really a statue."
Marie looked puzzled, but Baker's face was a study in dawning horror. "A . . . statue?"
For a moment I felt actually sympathetic towards Baker—but I remembered that despite his fighting to save his race, his speech had shown no remorse for his people's actions and had confirmed the usual Wolvish tendency to megalomania. "Gray stone, incredibly detailed."
He got a grip. "Mr. Wood, I have some calls to make. We will speak again. This business may concern both your people and mine."
"Maybe," I said. "Why would someone have thought Mansfield was a Wolf?"
"He worked for us," Baker answered after a moment.
I blinked. "What?"
"I said, he worked for us. While we have a fairly good grip on this town, humans who move in, or who make additions to their houses, can't be controlled easily—and if they start installing their own sensors, none of our people dare get near the house. Jerry was . . . I suppose you'd call him a special agent. He would arrange for any active CryWolf sensors to become inactive. We'd use him to meet with agents who might be carrying their own gadgetry. Another reason we have to keep things low-profile here, obviously; if the Feds come in, they might well bring CryWolf-equipped cameras, goggles, and so on, and that would ruin it all."
I was utterly floored by this revelation. "What in the name of God could convince a human being to work for things like you?"
Baker grinned. It wasn't a comforting expression. "Your people are no angels, Wood. We can offer plenty to a wise human, especially when, as is now the case, you humans have something to offer us. And we generally play fair; after all, even your people don't butcher every cow—you keep some as breeding stock, some as working animals, and even a few as pets. If you weren't associated with Domingo, I have no doubt our King would have made you an offer to switch sides."
The very thought of someone—of a human being—working for these monsters, knowing what they were, was so repellent that I simply couldn't reply for a moment. Finally, I got my voice back.
"Okay, Baker. I won't blow your cover . . . for now. But I am not working with you any more. I will give you no help, no hints, nothing. So far whatever it is has hit either at you monsters, or at someone who was working hard to give up his humanity. As far as I'm concerned, that means they're doing the world a friggin' service."
Baker stepped forward again, glaring. "Wood, you'll assist if we say so, or I'll . . ."
"You'll what? Come on, tell me." I threw my own sarcastic grin back in his face. "You can't do a god-damned thing to me, Baker, and you know it. I'm too well known to just disappear. If I get killed, your cover's blown for sure, and once the country realizes what you were up to, there won't be a safe community for you bastards anywhere on the planet. You'll have to go to ground in wilderness, away from all the comforts you've obviously come to like. Even if you somehow keep the Feds out of it, Verne Domingo will deal with you. And I don't think the King will stop him in that instance." I took Sylvie's arm and started to walk out.
"I still have an investigation ongoing, Wood," Baker said, with a cold intonation. "Leave town and I can have you brought right back here."
"Oh, I won't leave. Yet. But you finish this investigation, pin it on either the real crook, or one of your own people, I don't care which, and let me get out of this infested hellhole within the next week. Because I swear by God that if I have to hang around here any longer, I'll just phone the authorities anyway."
"You wouldn't!"
I whirled back, grabbed his collar and shoved him back against the counter. "The hell I wouldn't! Do you think I'm an idiot? That I can't do a little simple math? It's been less than a year since Morgantown, and here you are, in charge, hundreds of you furry bastards living like so many Addams-family rejects behind a coat of Brady Bunch paint. You didn't win any elections to get here—you whacked hundreds of people and took their places. The only reason I'm not blowing the whistle right now is that when your kind are cornered, you kill—and I don't want to be responsible for another bloodbath. I'll take your word—for the moment—that you're not killing any more. Maybe it's true. It had better be true from now on, believe you me." I let him go, turned back to Sylvie. "Let's go."
I ignored the crawling sensation between my shoulder blades and didn't look back as we left.
57
"Why the hell can't you keep your fifty thousand makeup things off the darn counter?!" I exploded as three bottles fell over.
"Probably for the same reason you can't put your stupid clothes away when you go to bed!" Syl snapped back. "Do you know how disgusting it is to leave your dirty clothes on the floor?"
I opened my mouth to fire back, saw the mingled anger and hurt in her eyes, and closed both eyes and mouth. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Syl. This thing's really getting to me."
She came over and put her arms around me. "Me too."
"Some honeymoon this is turning out to be."
Venice and Nokomis were still lovely places, but just how are you supposed to relax and enjoy your stay when you're aware that any of the nice people around you—on the beach, in the store, on the street—may be a soul-eating monstrosity just hiding out until such time as they can gain the upper hand on your own species? Baker had come through with the money for destroying my prototype, but without access to my homegrown lab and materials I wouldn't be able to duplicate the things. I was now carrying one of the
commercial CryWolf goggles, but I didn't bother wearing it while out and about. I could do without drawing that much attention, and I really didn't want to know just how many Wolves were around me at any given time.
"The first part was fine. It's not your fault we've found ourselves stuck in another strange circumstance."
I took a deep breath and tried to relax into her. There was no point in letting this drive me nuts. I'd given Baker a week, and it had only been two days. If I didn't get a grip, I'd be saying something I'd never be able to make up for by the time six days were past.
There was a knock on the door. Both Syl and I jumped, showing the state of our nerves. "Who is it?" I called back.
"Sheriff Baker sent me over, Mr. Wood. Might I come in?"
I went over to the recently repaired door, put on my goggles, and opened it, keeping the chain on as I studied the man standing there. He was a tall man, over my six foot one, with thick, wavy brown hair brushed back from a high forehead, piercing blue eyes, and sharp, patrician features. He was quite slender, though apparently fit, and his clothes were of impeccable cut—clearly upper class. I glanced back at Syl to make sure she didn't have a nasty feeling about the next few seconds, then nodded, taking off the CryWolf goggles and sliding the chain to the side. "Come on in. What's this about?" I asked.
"I have a . . . business proposition to make you, Mr. Wood," he said. He bowed to Sylvie. "Lady Sylvia Stake; I have heard of you. An honor."
As he was paying his respects, Syl was checking him out. His voice had a faint English accent, but not quite—perhaps Canadian influence? "A business proposition, Mr . . . ?"
"Carruthers, sir, Alexi Carruthers," he replied, shaking my hand firmly. "Yes. I would like to see if I can persuade you to reconsider your refusal to assist investigating the current string of unusual murders."
What had been a pair was now a string. "There have been more?"
Carruthers nodded, taking a seat when I indicated that he should. "Three, two Wolf and one Human."
"Was the human another of the Wolves' allies?" I asked.
"She was," Carruthers acknowledged. "This may be coincidence, however. Of necessity as many of the townspeople who could be have been recruited. It is not improbable for a killer to run into two collaborators."
I shook my head. "What's in it for me, Mr. Carruthers? So far, as I told Baker, this whatever-it-is seems to be perfectly happy killing Wolves and traitors to humanity. Since the Wolves perpetrated mass slaughter to move here, and don't show any sign of regretting it, I'm not particularly motivated to try to save them. I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon, not working."
Carruthers smiled faintly. "I suppose monetary recompense would be foolish?"
I snorted. "I may not be the richest man in the world, but I've got tons more money than I know what to do with."
"I told Baker that myself," Carruthers admitted, "but it was the simplest offer I could make. When he called me in, I warned him you would be difficult to deal with; you have many reasons not to wish any of us well."
I studied him. "Did you say 'us,' Mr. Carruthers?"
He smiled again. "Yes, I did."
"You're a Wolf?"
"I am."
The terrible, hollow feeling I'd had for a few moments after Karl Weimar had attacked us returned. The Wolves had found a way to hide themselves from the detectors. "Shit."
He looked momentarily confused, then laughed. "Ahhh, your clever little CryWolf devices! I must compliment you on that—an inspired piece of design. One that couldn't have been done effectively even a relatively few years ago."
"Useless now though," I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
"Oh, far from it!" Carruthers assured me earnestly. "Really. Only a very, very select few of us can pass such devices with impunity. Only those of us who are truly Elder Wolves, and of course the King himself."
"Baker isn't an Elder?"
"Baker? Little Hastrikas?" Carruther's laugh filled the room with a rich baritone sound again. "Why, he's no more than eleven millennia—barely more than an infant, really, all things considered. No, no, Mr. Wood, there aren't more than a handful of the Great Elders left alive—I, of course, am one of them." For a moment, his eyes flickered, became soulless glowing yellow orbs. "Virigan, at your service."
I think both Syl and I gasped at that—in a way, that partial, instantaneous transformation was more macabre than the usual full-scale change. "So," I said, "you're saying that the CryWolf devices are still mostly reliable?"
"In the vast, vast majority of cases, indeed."
He seemed still rather relaxed and cheerful. "You don't appear particularly disturbed by this; if you don't mind my asking, why aren't you on the warpath along with the rest of your relatives?"
The smile faded; now Carruthers looked serious. "Mr. Wood, most of our people are children by our standards. Even the older ones, like Baker, have had easy times. They need to learn that sometimes the prey can turn on you, and how to survive such times. If they cannot, they do not deserve to live; other worlds are not nearly as forgiving as this one has been. We are the greatest and most powerful of all beings that have ever lived; only those who prove their worthiness again and again should have the right to even approach that potential. So has it ever been; if they wish a different course for our people, why," he smiled coldly, "all they need do is challenge the King for rulership. And win, of course."
"But enough about us, Mr. Wood; let's talk about you." Carruthers studied me for a moment. "I actually wanted to meet you quite some months ago, after you interfered with something I'd been working on for years." He raised an elegant eyebrow, waiting for me to guess.
I didn't have to think long; there was only one really likely candidate. "So you were one of the people behind the Project—the one in Vietnam, that had Tai Lee Xiang."
"Very good. I was in fact the person behind it all, and have been for several decades now."
I thought about that for a moment. "That would mean you were working on this stuff while the OSR was still active."
"Correct."
"Now, just what would a Werewolf want with a human genetic engineering project, Mr. Carruthers?"
He waved a finger in a "no, no" gesture. "Ah, ah, Mr. Wood, we are getting sidetracked again. Such questions should remain mysteries, the better to intrigue you. We are here to discuss your employment."
I smiled back with an easy laziness I didn't feel; I was in a room with one of the most lethal creatures on Earth, and knew all too well what it would do to me if circumstances changed. "No, you are here to discuss employing me. So far, I'm here to listen to whatever interesting facts you let slip and otherwise laugh at the very idea of helping you."
Carruthers gave a heavy sigh. "Yes, I rather thought so. Let me make you a more concrete proposal. Your interference in the Project cost us immensely. There are a number of people—human, my kind, and, well, other—who feel that you would make an ideal target as an example. The game of international intelligence, on this level, is not done in the standard way, since, if we are being honest, neither side admits of this level's existence. More grim and direct methods tend to be used in our realm of business. Your termination, despite certain allies who present formidable obstacles in this area, would serve as a clear warning to others who have begun to gain an annoying brashness in their intrusions.
"I am willing to offer you amnesty—we shall write off the cost of the operation with respect to you and your lovely wife. Since the King's decree protects you from my kind, this will essentially place you back at where you were before ever you were involved in such affairs; only mortal concerns to worry you."
I nodded, considering. I hadn't forgotten the possibility that the Project would take my interference amiss, but Carruthers had now made it a concrete threat, one that I couldn't afford to ignore, especially now that I had a wife and, potentially one day, a family of my own.
"What's your angle, Carruthers?"
He raised an
eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're a bright guy yourself. You have the Project for resources, plus gods only know what else. Why the hell do you want me in on this? What is it that keeps you and your own furry family from solving it?"
"A matter of symmetry, you might say," Carruthers responded. "You ruined one project, now you present yourself in a perfect position to rectify another."
"Bullshit." I glanced at Syl, who nodded, glaring at our visitor. "Don't even try lying to me about stuff like that, Carruthers, or you can go sit on a silver spike and spin. Try again, the truth this time, or you can kiss any chance for a deal good-bye."
Carruthers' eyes narrowed, and for an instant the typical Wolf looked out, hungry, furious at being balked by this lesser creature; then the urbane mask was back. "As you will, Mr. Wood.
"Certain . . . features of this case are disquieting to my people. There are a few possible causes of the, um, particular condition of the corpses, but all of them imply a form of death which our people fear above all others. At least one of the possible causes would make us more, rather than less, vulnerable to this attacker than human beings, and in most cases the attacker will be growing stronger with each kill. None of my people want to be involved—not only is the death involved truly hideous, especially to a race that is by all rights immortal, but if the one explanation proves correct, those investigating would be potentially supplying our enemy with ever greater power. A human being will be at once somewhat less vulnerable and, if he fails, will not provide much of a boost to our adversary."
I snorted. "So you need an intelligent but dispensable agent who won't prove to be a battery for this bozo."
"Succinctly put."
"You're being awfully low on the details here. If you expect me to look into anything, you'd have to be a bit more forthcoming on them."
A nod acknowledged my point. "Indeed, but you have not yet agreed to the position, Mr. Wood. The more you learn, the more dangerous you could become to us, true?"
