Heart of a Dire Wolf

by Carol Van Natta

  Once the sun rose, maybe she could figure out where the hell she was and find help. And find Nic, wherever the hell he was.

  9

  Nic wrestled the unconscious polar fairy into the back seat of the car, tucking the green velvet robe around her thick, muscular legs.

  “Mauk, keep scanning. She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  One second, they’d been driving through the portal, and the next, his world was the roar of thunder, sheets of multicolor lightning, and waves of magic pummeling his body.

  He’d landed on his butt and slid a few feet on stony rubble and pine needles. Moments later, Skyla’s car hurtled forward out of thin air. It bounced with a squeal of tires on the paved road about twenty meters to his left. Tinsel’s sleigh came through right after, battered and smoking, skidding on the road and bumping into the car’s rear fender.

  It took his sluggish brain a minute to realize he was now in daylight. The sun peeked coyly over the trees.

  He ran to the car to look for Skyla, but she must have been thrown clear like he had. He’d ordered Mauk to scan for her and Tinsel, then gone looking himself. He shouted their names often. He’d been about to strip and shift to his much-better-hunter tiger, when he’d found Tinsel, out cold, stuck in the low branches of a tree. He’d extracted her and carried her to the car.

  He balled up his jacket and made a pillow for Tinsel’s head. “Mauk, where are we?”

  “Evaluating.” One of the speakers buzzed a little.

  Nic saw movement on the road and turned to look. A male wearing a bejeweled brocade corset over a loose-necked homespun peasant shirt and leggings walked toward them. The flavor of the male’s magic and his lavender skin suggested he was some tribe of fairy, but Nic had never seen one so slender and perfectly human-sized.

  “Hello,” called the fairy. “I’m Pendragor, from Kotoyeesinay. Can I help you?”

  Nic shaded his eyes with his hand. “We came through a portal, but it went wrong.” Nic tilted his head toward the car. “If you know someone named Tinsel, she’s in there, unconscious.”

  Pendragor frowned and walked faster. “Who are you?”

  A stronger wave of magic had Nic instinctively stepping away, off the road. “Nicolas Paletin. I think I’m a guest of Skyla Chekal, if she’s here.”

  “We have no new visitors,” said Pendragor. The rear car door flung itself open. He ducked his head inside. More magic surged.

  Nic backed up, only to find himself bumping into a huge boulder.

  Mauk beeped twice, his voice loud enough for Nic to hear. “We are on Glade Road, one mile from Kotoyeesinay, Wyoming. Today is Thursday, October fifth. The local time is nine-fifty-four.”

  Pendragor twisted to look at Nic. “Does your… whatever that is always state the obvious?”

  Nic pulled his shirt off and kicked off his shoes. “When we entered the portal in Utah, it was four in the morning on Monday.” He pulled off his pants. “We lost three days. My mate has to be around somewhere. I’m going to go find her.”

  “Wait,” said a familiar female voice. Tinsel pulled herself halfway out of the car, holding her head. “She’s not here.”

  Nic scooped up his clothes. “Where is she?”

  “I need the whole council for this,” said Tinsel.

  Nic’s muscles tensed and his fingers threatened to become claws. “Where is my mate?” Only the danger of potent ancient magic kept him from stalking toward the fairies.

  “Fort LeBlanc,” said Tinsel. “The arctic sanctuary.”

  Nic blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine. I’ll need transportal magic or a helicopter to get there.” He jutted his chin toward the town that was nestled against the mountainside. “Can I arrange for those in Kotoyeesinay?”

  “No,” said Pendragor. He helped Tinsel to her feet.

  “Yes,” said Tinsel, “but they won’t do you any good.” She looked around, then smiled when her eyes landed on the battered sleigh behind the car. “Donder!” She patted her thigh like she was beckoning a dog.

  The sleigh rose several inches, then floated forward and landed beside her.

  Nic gritted his teeth. Fairies had the attention span of a hummingbird. “Why won’t they do me—”

  Pendragor turned a sharp frown on Nic. “Fort LeBlanc has been abandoned for at least the last sixty years.”

  Nic glared at Tinsel. “You sent Skyla to a ghost town?”

  Tinsel shook her head. “No. Someone in Fort LeBlanc redirected her.” She climbed into the sleigh and sighed. “That’s why we need the council. Fort LeBlanc was founded by arctic elves. I’m a polar fairy. Interfering with my portal could be an act of war.”

  Nic sucked in a startled breath. The last war in the early nineteen hundreds had decimated both races and flattened a huge chunk of Siberia for thousands of kilometers. “Shit.”

  Pendragor snorted. “Elegantly put.” He patted Tinsel’s sleigh. “You go on ahead and call Guivre.” He turned to Nic. “I’ll ride with you and navigate.” He looked pointedly at the bundle of Nic’s clothes. “Better put those on. Otherwise, the tourists will take pictures.”

  Skyla-the-wolf walked through the open doorway of a brick building that had apparently once housed supplies. Sunlight from the high windows left striped patterns on the floor from the thick exterior wrought-iron bars. A gust of wind blew past the wooden desk and chair to dance with the faded papers that littered the floor under three rows of empty metal shelves. The musty smell made her sneeze.

  The snow mound she’d slept in for several hours turned out to be in the center of an abandoned cluster of buildings somewhere in cold snow country. The square, utilitarian architectural style suggested it had once been a research station or a military base, but it had been untouched for decades. A faded Edmonton, Canada newspaper from 1931 relieved her fear that she’d ended up someplace really far away, like Mongolia or Antarctica. She liked that whoever planned the base had situated the buildings in among the thick, tall conifer trees, rather than clear-cutting them.

  The storehouse was the smallest of twenty brick buildings, and the only one with its thick metal door and glass windows still intact. It was newly opened, or the floor would have a thick layer of dust and tree debris like the other buildings she’d investigated. She’d approached it cautiously, because she hadn’t been the one to open the door, but the building was as abandoned as the rest. The only difference was, in this building, there was a jacket draped on a standing carved-wood coat rack.

  Her jacket. The shiny, shocking magenta jacket she’d bought on sale in Las Vegas, and should have been in the back of her car.

  She could practically hear her sister’s voice screaming “trap” and “run,” but Skyla wasn’t so sure. Why lure her here? Anyone with the ability to rip her out of a fairy portal could have easily killed or captured her the moment she’d tumbled into the snow bank.

  Still, shifting to human to put on the jacket made her vulnerable to magical attack. Her own free reserves were low, with maybe enough power for one or two defensive spells. Lerro’s whispered question echoed in her memory. Have you nothing to live for? No mate?

  She backed away from the coat rack. As much as the enticing mystery begged to be solved, Nic was more important. She turned tail and bolted outside. If whoever brought her here wanted something from her, they could damn well send her a text message.

  A glimpse of the sun overhead cheered her, reminding her of sunny Southern California, and Nic’s sexy smile. She’d made a deal with him not to give up, so she wouldn’t. She trotted west, beyond the farthest building, and eyed the trees and snow. As a dire wolf, she could run for hours, and even days if she had to, but to where? She had critical needs—food, shelter, internet.

  She shifted to human and hunched down quickly against the cold. The tiny magic in the air wasn’t enough to keep her warm. She drew a crude circle in the snow, then pulled a button off her sleeveless blouse and carefully set it in the center. She visualized the outcome
of the spell she was about to cast.

  A shadow crossed the snow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an almost human form, but when she looked, it vanished. Whistling sounded with no wind behind it. Fingers danced lightly across the back of her neck, through her collar and drooping bun.

  Her temper broke. She stood and faced the buildings, hands before her, robbing from her maned-wolf illusion to form twin spheres of magical explosives. “Any ghost that doesn’t want to be splattered across the cosmos better show itself right now, or leave me the fuck alone.”

  A spectral figure wavered in the shadow cast by a tree. “S-s-s-o-o-o-r-r-y-y-y…”

  Two more appeared, then three, then five, and in moments, too many to count. Ghosts, specters, and banshees crowded together in the shadows, some crying, some laughing, some howling. Most had lost their living shapes, but a few had vestiges of facial features and clothes.

  She defused the spell and dropped her hands. She knew what she had to do, but it scared her. She’d only done it once, for one person, not dozens. But if not her, then who?

  Skyla trudged through the snow toward the center of the base, where three tall trees created a permanent shadow and a small pool of nature magic. She knelt in the snow, shifted enough so her dire-wolf could keep her warm, and held out her arms in invitation.

  “I will be your witness. Tell me how you lived and died.”

  10

  The Kotoyeesinay’s glade, the center of its strength, wasn’t what Nic expected.

  He followed the purple-haired Pendragor and a golden elf named Guivre, who didn’t walk so much as glide, along a winding path through the incongruously dense growth that looked less and less like any forest he’d ever seen.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and tensed his shoulders to control his inner tiger and his own impatience. The older and ancient races thought of shifters as hot-headed, wayward children. Living up to that stereotype wouldn’t get him the help he needed to find Skyla and get her back.

  The crowded trees thinned out and gave way to a lush, cool, garden-like meadow. A large round plastic table and a haphazard array of mismatched lawn chairs occupied the center.

  He slowed to a stop when he saw a wyvern and a centaur step out of the trees. He’d never met either species in person. Tinsel, seated in a small, brightly painted wooden sleigh, floated in, but stayed in the shade. Despite the autumn chill, she’d changed into in a sleeveless dress, and still looked flushed and sweaty. To arctic-dwellers, anything above freezing was like being in a sauna. Her various magical sleighs made it possible for her to move around town in the unbearable heat.

  More council members arrived, nineteen in all, because Nic counted and cataloged them by species to keep his mind occupied with something besides worry. Eight elves of varying sizes and tribes, two more fairies besides Pendragor and Tinsel, a wraith, three humans, and three more beings he couldn’t identify.

  Pendragor caught Nic’s eye, then pointed to one of the empty chairs. Nic shook his head. He couldn’t curb his impatience that much. Pendragor shrugged and turned away.

  Tinsel noticed Nic and gave a cheery wave. He’d never met a more genuinely upbeat person in his life. That she was a polar fairy, a tribe infamous for its dour and warlike nature, made her as unique as her astonishing bed and breakfast, styled to look like year-round Christmas. He hoped to see more of the town once he was reunited with Skyla.

  Minutes slipped away while the council greeted one another, moved chairs, and chatted. He focused on his feet. He was regretting trimming his curly hair and shaving off his overgrown beard and mustache, which would have helped hide his irritation. This kind of thing was exactly why he’d left the caribou tribe. Their council could argue for days about whether to plant additional cranberry shrubs in the icy bogs, or the color of the snow. Significant decisions took years.

  A primitive shiver went through him as a female approached him. Her skin was the color of bleached bone, and her hair a dull gray. Her solid black eyes seemed to drill into him, hungrily looking for his soul. He instinctively stepped back.

  A look of infinite sorrow crossed her face. “I just wanted you to know you aren’t dying today.” He couldn’t tell if he’d hurt her feelings with his reaction, or she was disappointed that he’d live.

  He swallowed and stepped closer again. “Good to know.” A phantom scent of decay made his inner tiger want to cover his nose with his paw. Nic curled his toes in his shoes and stood his ground, but he still couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “My name is Auris. I can release the dead.”

  Nic nodded respectfully. “Are you an oracle?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank Hell.” She smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. “Just cursed.” She pointed toward the knot of elves seated at the table. “They need you now.”

  With that, she turned and drifted away, as if she was alone in the glade. Maybe she was. Even the meadow grasses shied away from her feet as she walked.

  Nic walked to within ten feet of the table and stood. Pendragor crossed to face him, holding a slender wand. “Permission to cast a spell of memory projection for your portal trip?”

  Pendragor had already talked Nic into it, to save a lot of question and answer time. Nic still didn’t like it, not after what the wizards had done to him with their control spell. He reluctantly nodded.

  He felt nothing, but suddenly his memories were playing like a first-person computer game’s hologram above the table. Skyla at the wheel, accelerating into the portal. Lightning striking. A blinding blizzard swirling inside the car, like it had become a snow globe. More lightning. The car turning upside down and becoming transparent. Far below them, trees half hiding a tiny town.

  Several members of the council gasped, but he couldn’t guess why.

  In his memories, Skyla screamed. His head thumped the roof hard. Blackness, then a blaze of light and he landed on his butt on the side of the road to Kotoyeesinay. The solid white car and red sleigh followed.

  Pendragor wasn’t watching the projection, he was frowning at Nic. “You have wizard talismans in you.” The words held a thread of accusation.

  Nic nodded. “Three of them. They’re dead. Mauk drained them.”

  Pendragor shook his head. “Not dead. They’re recharging by stealing energy each time you shift.” He pointed his wand toward Nic’s head, then each of his hips. “Five nasty spells each.”

  Nic swore a vicious oath. “Can you kill them, or get them out of me?”

  Pendragor tilted his head, bird-like. “Yes, but it’ll hurt.”

  “I’ll deal. I never want those motherfuckers in my head again.”

  A minute later, Nic had three new painful holes in him, and bloodstains on his only clean clothes. The rice-sized talismans floated together in the air, surrounded by what looked like a soap bubble.

  “Send them to my workshop,” said a dark elf with iron-gray skin and silver hair. “I want to study them.”

  Pendragor touched the bubble with his wand. The bubble and its contents vanished with a prickle of magic and an audible pop.

  Guivre, who Nic took to be the leader, stood and looked at him. “Based on Tinsel’s theory and your memories, we believe Skyla Chekal’s diversion was not an act of war, but one of desperation, set in motion decades ago. Your memories are the first view of Fort LeBlanc anyone has seen since then. The town is no longer invisible to magic or technology. You are still determined to go?”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze. “She is my mate.”

  “Then,” said Guivre, gesturing to encompass the council, “we will grant you sanctuary here, and transport you there.”

  And that, apparently, was that.

  The next hour consisted of receiving donations of survival gear and winter clothes, including some for Skyla, food and water, and a whirlwind briefing on what Fort LeBlanc was like a hundred years ago. Current satellite photos of the area and a weather report said an early fall storm had dumped two feet of snow in the area. Tinsel and t
he dark elf promised to take care of Skyla’s car and keep Mauk busy “so he won’t worry about you.”

  The two best gifts were a miniature floating sleigh from Tinsel that answered to the name of Oskar and now followed Nic around like an overeager puppy, and a magically enhanced satellite phone that never needed recharging and always had signal. They even programmed it with numbers he could call, including the Kotoyeesinay sheriff’s dispatch desk.

  Once again, he stood in the middle of the glade, sweating in the winter coat, hanging on to the miniature sleigh. Pendragor stood ready with his wand in case something tried to come in while Nic was going out. Tinsel and two fairies worked their portal magic. A small ring formed in the air and rapidly expanded. It felt like standing at the open door of a walk-in freezer.

  “Wait!” Tinsel trundled toward him, holding out a small green velvet drawstring bag. “Give this to Skyla. After she licks you all over.”

  Pendragor laughed and rolled his eyes.

  Nic slipped the bag into his upper chest pocket, then bent down to hug Tinsel and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Tinsel grinned. “Better save that for your mate.”

  11

  Skyla pulled up the collar of her magenta coat and tightened the heavy wool blanket over her shoulders. She’d scrunched herself into a ball to conserve her heat in the nest she’d made using a pair of disintegrating cotton mattresses. The small storehouse kept the wind and snow out, but was still cold, even in the beam of sunlight in which she huddled. The magically heated cast-iron fry pan that served as her source of warmth needed recharging, but she couldn’t afford to spend the energy. She’d have starved without her wolf’s hunting skills. Real wolves could go days without eating. Shifter grad students couldn’t.