Winter Wolf

by RJ Blain

  “You don’t know it?” he asked, but pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to me.

  “Why the hell would I know the number?” I huffed as I read the numbers from the card. It was different than the one I remembered, although the area code matched. I considered before dialing the one from memory.

  The phone rang three times. “Hello?” a tired voice answered, male, and both terrifying and comforting in its familiarity.

  I pressed the button for speaker phone and gently set the handset down. If I had to speak to my father on the phone, I was going to open the conversation with a salvo before the fireworks started. My rough voice had a nice snarly quality to it, masking my unease. “How long have you flea-ridden fluffballs been sick?”

  Fluffball was tame, as far as insults went, but with one word, I transformed the Fenerec from dangerous animals to something less frightening in my imagination. My disrespect would probably land me in trouble—if my father decided to hunt me down and make me pay for my attitude. Until then, so long as I acted like I wasn’t afraid of him, I would manage my way through the conversation.

  Rolling over at his command wouldn’t happen, not anymore. Not after all I had done to free myself from the Desmond family.

  I heard breathing on the other end of the line, but my father didn’t say a word. Maybe my mother had learned the silence trick from him, but I didn’t fall for it. I waited for an answer to my question. I grabbed a hotel pen and twiddled it between the fingers of my left hand. I made several rotations before I flung the pen across the office. Richard and Alex jumped as it skittered across the carpet.

  I made a beckoning gesture, pointing at the pen. Richard obediently picked it up and handed it to me. Grabbing the hotel pad, I wrote a note and showed it to both of them.

  Do not say anything.

  They nodded in acknowledgment of my command.

  “Who is this?”

  I snorted my laughter. “I asked first.”

  Toying with my father wasn’t the brightest idea I ever had, but I was going to stay on top for as long as I could manage.

  “Almost five years.” My father didn’t sound pleased.

  Five years was a lot longer than I had expected—I hadn’t been a wizard for very long then. I wrote another note to Richard and Alex: How many years has Scott been a Fenerec?

  Richard held up his hand, fingers and thumbs splayed.

  Five years. I felt my brows rise. Richard looked puzzled, as did Alex. Alex grabbed the pen and pad out of my hands and wrote a note of his own: You knew about the plague?

  I waved him off.

  “Are you going to answer my question?” There was a brief moment of silence, then my father growled.

  “My name is Nicole Thomas,” I replied, keeping my tone cool and collected. If my father wanted to lose his temper, it was better for me. It meant I controlled the conversation, and he knew it. That’s how my disaster of a family had always operated: He or she who stayed cool the longest ruled the roost.

  It was a game I had almost always lost. But I wouldn’t this time.

  “Nicole,” my father breathed my name, all evidence of his anger gone.

  “I took two Fenerec as hostages,” I announced with a smug grin. “They have something they’d like to ask you.” With that, I gestured to Richard and Alex and rose from the chair, taking back the pen and pad of paper.

  On it, I wrote: Admire my very dangerous finger gun. Line is yours; tell him what you need.

  Richard almost spoiled everything by laughing, but he choked it back. I made a finger gun with my left hand and pointed it at him. Alex cleared his throat in warning, and his brother reclaimed some of his dignity.

  “Mr. Desmond, it’s Richard Murphy,” Richard said, sinking down on the executive’s chair, spinning it so he could watch me and my finger gun while speaking towards the phone.

  “Mr. Murphy, you’re a hostage?” my father asked in disbelief. “You? Don’t tell me that the other Fenerec is your brother.”

  “She hijacked my car, at gunpoint, stating she’d aim between the eyes if anyone gave her any trouble. Now she’s taken over my hotel room, wearing my bathrobe, and she’s still pointing a gun at my head.” Richard sounded far too cheerful for what was coming out of his mouth. I struggled not to start laughing.

  Alex fell prey to his brother’s antics, doubled over in his effort to keep quiet.

  “I think you need to tell me what is going on, Richard. From the beginning. This Nicole Thomas has taken you and your brother hostage? How, and why?”

  Richard gestured for the pen, which I handed to him, along with the pad: How much do you want me to tell him?

  Ignoring the ache in my right hand and the pull of the bandages against my injuries, I wrote: Everything.

  Maybe I’d learn something from what Richard told my father.

  “It began about two weeks ago, when the first of the L.A. pack died from plague. Osmund thought the worst was over, but a few days ago, three of his youngest died at a mall. Miss Thomas was an unfortunate witness to one of the deaths.”

  “You, Richard, belong to a Canadian Fenerec pack. How does this involve you?”

  Richard was Canadian? I considered that, wondering the same thing my father had asked. What were Canadians doing in American Fenerec territory? While I didn’t know a whole lot about Fenerec, I had always believed they were territorial. My father certainly was.

  “Osmund and I share stakes in this matter, Mr. Desmond. Anyway, shortly after the deaths at the mall, someone started hunting Miss Thomas. There was one confirmed attempt on her life, and a second one my brother and I thwarted. Last night, when she was walking two dogs, she was hit with a taser and kidnapped. Alex and I witnessed it and tailed her. We managed to get in front of them and cut them off, but unfortunately, the fools crashed their car.”

  My father made a thoughtful sound. “I got a call from the Inquisition earlier today about couple of bodies found in the desert by a trashed car. They wanted to know if I had anything to do with it. You killed them?”

  I froze, my eyes widening. The Inquisition had called my father?

  Richard sucked in a breath. “No, sir. Wasn’t us. If they’re the kidnappers, Miss Thomas threatened them but didn’t fire. I had smelled blood, though.”

  Since neither of the brothers seemed alarmed by the mention of the Inquisition, I relaxed a little. I said, “Not long after they snatched me, the driver shot one of his friends in the chest and shoved him in the trunk. He got out a few hours later.” I leaned against the doorframe.

  “Idiots,” my father muttered. “So Miss Thomas turned the gun on you and took your car—and you—to Las Vegas? This is a Las Vegas number, yes?”

  “We have one of the penthouse suites at the Venetian,” Richard said. His gaze caught mine, then he winked at me, making a gesture for me to keep quiet. I nodded. “She drove us in this direction, so I offered the use of our room. She accepted. I’ll remind you, Mr. Desmond, she does have a gun pointed at my head.”

  “You are a Fenerec, Richard,” my father growled. “She is a young woman. You could have taken the gun away without giving her more than a bruise.”

  “I do not hit women, especially ones capable of breaking through a car window with her fist. And anyway, he hit her. If she hadn’t taken his gun, I probably would’ve shot him myself.”

  “I think you better tell me what happened.”

  To my shame, Richard obeyed, relaying the events of the night with remarkable detail. My face burned with my embarrassment as he described my haphazard escape from the wrecked car. The factual way he told my father what happened reinforced how stupid my reaction had been. I stared down at my bandaged hand.

  “So, this idiot goes to pull a gun on me, and Miss Thomas decides she’s had enough of playing the meek little victim. She latches on to his arm so he can’t get his gun. When he starts hitting her and pulling her hair to get her off of him, she tries her best to bite him and manages to get his pistol ou
t of his pants.” Richard shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. “She points it at him, steady as can be, and thanks him for telling her to shoot between the eyes. She orders me to my car, and I wasn’t going to argue with her. I could’ve taken them, but it wouldn’t have been pretty, and she handled the situation all on her own.”

  “Go on.”

  “Not much else to say. She ordered us to get in the back, kept her pretty new pistol close at hand, and drove my manual like a pro, bleeding all over my leather interior along the way.”

  “And so you let a little girl kidnap you and your brother. Unbelievable.”

  “It’s not every day a pretty lady points a gun at my head and tells me to get in my own car. Takes a lot of courage to face down Fenerec. I wasn’t going to belittle her. And maybe I could’ve taken her, but not without her pumping some rounds into me first—or into Alex. She wanted to get away from them. Without her, I doubt you’d be talking to me. You’ve been notoriously difficult to get in touch with lately, Mr. Desmond.”

  I made a sour face in Richard’s direction. He shrugged helplessly.

  “Well, you have my attention, Richard. What do you want?”

  Richard’s expression turned serious. “Is there a cure for the plague, Mr. Desmond? You’re the oldest wolf I know of.”

  The silence was chilling, but Richard sat as still as a statue and waited for my father to speak.

  “Prayer,” was the answer. “There is no cure for the plague, not anymore. I’m sorry, Richard.”

  “No cure?” Richard whispered, his face paling. Then he stared at his brother, his brown eyes anguished.

  Alex bowed his head.

  Was Alex infected? Judging from Richard’s expression, I guessed he was. Did that mean Richard was also sick I hurried to the desk and grabbed the pen: Are you and Alex both sick with the plague?

  Richard read my note, looked into my eyes, and shook his head. Then he once again stared at his brother.

  Only Alex? I wrote.

  A nod answered my question.

  I felt sick. Fenerec or not, Alex and Richard had been nothing but gentlemen. They were family; they supported each other, worked together as a team, and seemed to care for each other.

  I turned to Alex and stared at him. What set Alex apart from his brother? Why wasn’t Richard plagued?

  Alex met my eyes, standing still as I scrutinized him. Deep lines creased his brow. If I hadn’t known he was sick, I never would have been able to guess it. He looked like someone who surfed a lot, with a healthy tan and a lean, muscular frame.

  “Is there really no one who can help us, Mr. Desmond?” Richard asked, and there was a faint waver in his voice.

  “I don’t like giving false hopes, Richard. I don’t know what to tell you. You can go chasing myths and legends, but you’ll run out of time and be no better for it. And medicine has come a long way since the old days, pup, but that doesn’t mean it has all of the answers.” My father sighed, a long, heavy, and sad sound. “My first wife and pack died from plague. I understand your stakes, but all we can do is wait to see who survives.”

  Richard slammed his fist against the desk. “That’s not good enough.”

  I jumped back, my heart in my throat. I think I squeaked a little, because Richard looked at me with an apologetic grimace.

  Then I did a double-take. My father’s first wife? He had a wife other than my mother?

  My father made a growling noise. “What do you want me to tell you? If you want to go chasing myths, I’ll tell you what I know, and I’ll even wish you the best on your hunt.” My father didn’t sound very happy with the idea, and I wondered how close his temper was to snapping. “But I’ve walked that road, and it got me nowhere. This won’t be the first or the last time many of the Fenerec will die, and you and I will bear witness to it.”

  “Tell us about this myth,” I ordered, making a gesture for Richard to stay quiet. He nodded, standing and offering the chair to me. I sat, crossing my legs.

  “It’s just a story.”

  “I’m taking a nap after I hang up on you, so tell me a bedtime story,” I countered. Out of spite, and because I could, I stuck my tongue out at the phone. “Need I remind you that I do have a gun, Mr. Desmond?”

  My empty threat distracted both Richard and Alex, who stared at me with wide eyes. I waved them off, turning my attention to the phone. Playing the silence game again, my father waited for me to speak, but I was determined to win the contest again.

  I did. When he started cursing, I grinned.

  “Fine. To make a very long and boring story short, there was a Fenerec a long time ago who was able to cure the plague. He showed up one winter, worked his magic, and vanished. There were no more deaths. More importantly, the witches were able to learn how to cure the plague. They helped the rest of the Fenerec, and the plague went away. They called him the Winter Wolf because of that.”

  “Because he showed up one winter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And these witches do not remember how to cure the plague?” I asked.

  “It was over a hundred years ago. Maybe they didn’t think it was necessary to pass it down from generation to generation. Or, maybe in their infinite stupidity, the Inquisition didn’t allow them to,” my father replied.

  “So if we find this Winter Wolf, we find a cure to the plague? And he’s been missing for over a hundred years? Are we talking a hundred and fifty years or are we talking two or three hundred years?” I narrowed my eyes, and wondered about how my father knew about events from so long ago?

  “Closer to three hundred.”

  I wanted to ask him how he knew, but I resisted the urge. Instead, I considered how it might be possible to find someone who had vanished so long ago.

  No wonder my father believed it was impossible. If the plague was to be cured, someone had to do something, rather than chase after a fragile hope.

  The Winter Wolf, if he existed, wouldn’t be able to help us. Even if we started looking as soon as I hung up the phone, I doubted we’d find a single in clue in time to actually save anyone.

  I stared at the phone so I wouldn’t have to look at Richard or Alex. “How long do they have?”

  “They? What do you mean?”

  “The infected Fenerec.”

  “Please ask the Murphys to leave the room,” my father said in a tone allowing no argument.

  “Go,” I demanded, pointing at the sitting room. I placed my palm flat against my ear and pointed at the door. “Close the door behind you, please.”

  Richard nodded, leaving the room. When the door closed, I turned to the phone. “They’re gone. How long do the Fenerec have?”

  “The youngest will die first. It depends on a lot of factors, but the weakest succumb first. You need to understand something. Fenerec aren’t human. They don’t get sick in the same way humans like you do. They can’t catch colds. But Fenerec who are infected will catch them. Almost like humans, in that regard. It’s a cough here and there, and they’ll become more frequent over time. The real sign a Fenerec is close to death is when the cold goes away. Bang, just like that. They look fine. Then they die.”

  “They die when they try to shift,” I said, drumming the fingers of my left hand on the desk. “Could their deaths be delayed if they remain human?”

  “Fenerec become wolves each full moon, Miss Thomas. It’s our nature.”

  “I read in a book that a pregnant Fenerec can fight the transformations in order to spare her children from death,” I replied. “But it’s not easy, and few manage to do so.”

  “You read this in a book?” My father sounded alarmed.

  “Know your enemy,” I retorted, shrugging. The book had taught me a lot of things, but it had a particularly fond spot for magical creatures, especially the Fenerec. And, much to my surprise, it had a weakness for vampire flicks. Vampires, however, didn’t exist.

  According to the book, the vampires had died out long ago. The Fenerec would become extinct as wel
l if I didn’t do something about the plague.

  “If the Inquisition discovers you have research material on the Fenerec, they will target you,” my father warned.

  “Let them come,” I said, my voice cool and hard. “Research will be needed if the Fenerec are to survive. I have no intention of advertising to the Inquisition that I have research material on the Fenerec. It begins with the youngest ones, and manifests with cold symptoms. These symptoms come and go?”

  “Like colds do in humans, yes. From my past experiences, those in the final stages will have a cold a couple of times a month, lasting for a few days each.” My father sounded weary. “Fenerec can live years with the plague before the final stages. It kills slowly.”

  “And spreads far,” I guessed.

  “And spreads far,” he confirmed with a sigh. “Even farther, now that there’s airplanes and mass transportation. Once, only certain places would be hit with plague. Europe, for example. Or the Americas. Or Asian. Not all of them, not all at once.”

  “It’s crossed the ocean?”

  “So it seems. People call me and tell me things. Usually, all I do is listen. Entire packs are already dead, Miss Thomas. London’s pack is gone. There were two survivors. One of them has come to the States. The other committed suicide. I have been told there are packs in Africa, Asian, and Europe which have also been infected. Some have already died. The Canadians were among the first to show symptoms, but their wolves are, albeit, older than most. They might have some time. Maybe. In the past, the plague would wipe out some packs, but not all. Never all. It didn’t cross the water, because Fenerec didn’t cross the seas. Humans don’t carry the plague. Only the Fenerec. When this is done, the Fenerec will be all but gone. A few of us will live, but not enough.”

  “How few?”

  “One in a thousand? One in two thousand? Maybe not even that many. Times have changed. The seas no longer stops the plague’s spread. I weary of watching it, Miss Thomas.”