by Stephen Cole
‘Like Rico, indeed,’ Jicaque observed. ‘But unlike Rico, and unlike you, I have been aware of my Shipapi inheritance all my life. I was sworn to watch the ’wolves; to help limit their numbers, for the sake of humanity – and their own survival.’
‘So how have you gone about it?’ Tom asked him.
‘Travelled from place to place, guided by others of the ancient order,’ Jicaque replied. ‘If a lupine community was turning too many newbloods, I would try to cure some of those wretched souls; restore the proper balance.’
Tom finally spoke aloud the question he’d been steeling himself to ask: ‘So you can cure people who’ve been turned ’wolf?’
‘If a lupine wishes to embrace their humanity once more, then yes,’ Jicaque agreed.
‘Then can you cure me?’
‘I can,’ he said simply. ‘Though the ’wolves have tired of my meddling and threatened me with death, I will not shirk my responsibilities.’ Jicaque sighed deeply. ‘I tried to for a while, I confess; turned my back on my ancient calling and went into hiding.’ This time, the tears brimming in his tired old eyes were for real. ‘In truth, Tom, you’re right to be disappointed in me. By turning a blind eye I have allowed the evil of Takapa to fester and grow. The lupine community has traditionally survived by restricting its activities; hunting only when need is at its greatest; scattering its members throughout the population.’
‘But Takapa wants to swell the numbers,’ Tom said.
‘Yes,’ the old man said. ‘This would-be ruler of the ’wolves seeks to start a fire – a beacon he hopes will lead his kind out from the darkness and into the light. His activities in this city are in preparation for that day. And I fear it is not far away.’ Jicaque looked at Tom, his face inscrutable. ‘I can cure you, Tom. But if I am to fight Takapa, I shall need powerful allies.’
Tom felt uneasy. He sensed what was coming.
‘You have great powers,’ Jicaque went on. ‘Surrender them now and I fear for your safety, and that of Kate, and your family.’
Tom felt like a child cheated of a promised present. ‘But Takapa wants me for research. If I was just human again, it would wreck his plans, wouldn’t it?’
‘Perhaps,’ Jicaque agreed. ‘But Marcie Folan will still want revenge, Tom. She will come for you. And have you forgotten you are still wanted for murder?’
‘You think showing the court I’m a werewolf will count in my defence?’ Tom shook his head wearily. ‘You’re the wise old medicine man; help me out here. Kate’s in danger. My whole family’s in danger. How can I keep them safe?’
Jicaque smiled gravely. ‘If Takapa’s plans succeed, who will be safe?’ He placed his gnarled old hands over Tom’s own. ‘I sense the strength in you. The powers you possess.’ A flicker of pain, or fear, passed over his tanned, lined face. ‘And I sense the balance in you has shifted recently. You must hold on to the good, Tom. Hold on to the good.’
Tom felt a chill pass down his spine. ‘I … I took some kind of drug,’ he said. ‘It was supposed to suppress the lupine in me, to control the bloodlust, but instead …’ He shuddered. ‘I lost control. Stacy Stein and Woollard, they must’ve got the research wrong. They—’
Jicaque pulled his hands away. ‘Woollard, you say?’
Tom nodded. ‘He’s a doctor, over in Harlem, a blood specialist; sometimes helps Stacy out. Do you know him?’
‘No. But I’ve come across the name before,’ breathed Jicaque. ‘It originated in Saxon England. It means “guardian of wolves”. A name given by the Shipapi to humans sympathetic to the ways of the ’wolf.’
‘Coincidence,’ Tom said uneasily, ‘it must be. Stacy’s working to develop a cure for the lupine toxin.’ He glared at Jicaque. ‘And you’ve had the knowledge all along. You could’ve helped her properly, not just sent over a bunch of sappy herbs.’
‘It is not for me to say whether a race shall die or live,’ Jicaque retorted, ‘but to preserve the proper balances of life. Dr Stein seeks to control life through her … chemicals.’ He spoke the word with a grimace, like it was somehow disgusting.
‘She’s trying to help the reluctant newbloods control their cravings,’ Tom said fiercely. ‘While you were burying your head in the sand, Takapa’s turned a whole lot of kids ’wolf. Too many. It’s a bloodbath waiting to happen, and that’s what Stacy’s been trying to prevent.’
‘I know it,’ said Jicaque quietly. ‘But suppose … suppose her good work has been perverted in some way?’
‘But who could’ve …’ Tom trailed off, his breath catching in his throat. ‘Woollard?’
Jicaque met his worried gaze evenly. ‘Think of the effect this concoction had on you.’
‘Then I’ve got to warn Stacy,’ Tom realised, jumping to his feet. ‘Right now.’
‘Yes,’ Jicaque agreed, rising as well and nodding farewell to the man behind the counter. ‘And I must prepare.’
‘Prepare?’ Tom frowned, following him out of the coffee shop and on to the neon-soaked sidewalk outside. Rain was falling, and people hurried by with their heads down, their coats clutched close. ‘What do you mean, prepare?’
‘The bloodbath you spoke of,’ Jicaque replied grimly. ‘It must be prevented. Whatever the cost.’
Tom peered out into the road. ‘Do you have money for a cab?’ he asked Jicaque, trying to spy any yellow in the traffic. ‘I’ve got to get to Ramone’s hangout, quick—’
But when he turned back, he found the medicine man had vanished.
‘Jicaque?’ He spun around, scanning the sidewalk, picking through the frantic figures fleeing the rain, but there was no sign of him. How could the old guy have moved so fast?
Then Tom realised someone was watching him too. A cop, staring at him hard through the downpour, like he was trying to remember something.
‘Hey!’ the cop shouted. ‘Hey you, hold it!’
Tom swore, then turned and splashed off down the street, muttering under his breath: ‘Teenage kid wanted on a charge of Murder One and crimes against fashion …’ The good, the bad and the hairy – everyone wanted a piece of him. And he knew with a sick certainty that any time now his luck was going to run out.
*
Kate walked gingerly into the hangout to find Jasmine and Rico sitting together in front of the dark screen of the smashed TV. Stacy was close behind her, taking in the squalid conditions, concerned but apparently not shocked. Kate guessed she’d seen worse places than this in her time in the city.
‘Are you guys OK?’ Stacy asked.
‘Jeez,’ said Jasmine, jumping in surprise. ‘Ric, my man, you are popular tonight.’
‘Hey!’ Rico looked delighted to see them. ‘Kate! Kate, I know where Tom’s mom and dad’re staying.’ He gestured excitedly through the archway that led to the next room, where Kate could hear the police radio squawk and splutter. ‘Cops was talking about some other conference or somethin’ tomorrow, picking them up next morning from a hotel on Madison. Room 3003.’
‘That’s great news, Rico, well done!’ Kate saw a tiny band-aid on Rico’s arm just above the elbow. ‘But what did Woollard want here?’
‘What all doctors want,’ Rico complained. ‘Blood, blood, blood, the whole time.’
Stacy smiled in sympathy. ‘But why’d he come here, sweetheart?’
‘Don’cha know?’ Jasmine frowned. ‘Lady, they’re your samples.’ When Stacy looked blank, she went on, speaking slowly like the woman was stupid: ‘He took those samples for you.’
‘No, he didn’t.’ Stacy looked worriedly at Kate. ‘Why would he come around here tonight?’
‘Maybe because Tom got away?’ Kate’s mind was racing. ‘Mom said Takapa wanted Tom for testing, but maybe he’s decided Rico’s DNA will do in the meantime?’
Stacy nodded. ‘Whatever, Woollard’s got some explaining to do. Maybe I should go see him.’
‘Takapa’s dangerous,’ Kate warned. ‘If he’s there—’
‘Hey! Would you mind telling us just what the hell you’re talk
ing about?’ Jasmine said irritably. ‘Any case, where’s Ramone and Polar? And Tom?’
Kate felt her stomach ball itself up.
Rico turned his big eyes on her. ‘Doc Woollard said they’d gone to meet up with you.’
She looked helplessly at Stacy, who could only stare sadly back at her. ‘Uh … Well …’
Jasmine looked at her uneasily. ‘You got something to say, say it.’
Kate took a deep breath. ‘Tom went to meet someone. The real Jicaque. The only one who can help us now.’
‘What d’you mean, the real Jicaque?’
‘That message Polar gave you … was a fake. He sold us out. He’s one of them now. Swagger turned him ’wolf last night.’ The words ground out of her mouth, mechanically. ‘And … Ramone’s dead. He was … the ’wolves killed him.’
‘Dead?’ Rico’s big black eyes filled with tears. ‘This ain’t true.’ He turned to Jasmine. ‘They shittin’ us, right? Right?’
Jasmine eyes had zeroed in on Kate’s. ‘How’d Ramone die?’ When Kate didn’t respond, she asked again, louder, angrier: ‘How’d he die?’
‘Swagger told …’ Kate drew a shuddering breath. ‘He told my mom she could get to me and Tom through him. But Ramone wouldn’t help, he wouldn’t betray us. So … so …’
‘I knew it,’ Jasmine hissed. Her eyes glittered like ice. ‘You got him killed. You.’
‘That’s not fair, Jasmine,’ Stacy said gently.
‘Oh, right,’ the girl sneered, her face contorted with rage. ‘You clean-living clever white girls, you gotta stick together, right?’
‘That’s bullshit and you know it,’ Stacy snapped.
‘No bullshit,’ hissed Jasmine. She rose to her feet and crossed the room, then grabbed Kate by the arms and shook her. ‘You killed him!’ she shouted. ‘Hear me? Hear me?’
Kate didn’t react, just stood there and took it, so numb she could barely feel the girl’s fingers digging into her flesh.
‘Jasmine, stop it.’ Stacy tried to come between them. ‘This isn’t helping, you have to—’ But Jasmine knocked her away. The blow sent her reeling across the room towards the archway.
‘You killed him!’ Jasmine shrieked again in Kate’s face. ‘If he’d never met you he’d be here right now.’
‘Let her alone, Jas!’ Rico’s voice was high and clear. ‘If Ramone never met Kate and Tom, he’d be dead in Central Park. Or maybe dead when Swagger come calling last night. Or maybe alive, sure – shit, who knows? But, he’s dead now.’ The kid looked up at Kate, wiping his snotty nose, and his voice grew small and quiet. ‘He’s dead for real … right?’
Kate nodded, then met Jasmine’s pained, crazy stare. ‘Right,’ she breathed. ‘And I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Quiet, all of you,’ Stacy snapped, rubbing the side of her butt where she’d fallen. ‘Listen to this.’ The gravity in her voice made even Jasmine relinquish her grip and listen.
A nasal voice was crackling out from the police radio. ‘… fits the description of youth wanted in connection with the ’Orleans homicide enquiry. Units in vicinity of West 44th and Tenth, apprehend Caucasian male, black pants, tweed jacket. Proceed with caution …’
‘Oh my God, they’re after Tom,’ Kate said. ‘If the police get hold of him …’ She didn’t dare finish the sentence.
‘What can we do?’ said Stacy.
‘’S’easy,’ Jasmine said shakily, wiping her eyes. ‘I’ll go get him in the wagon. I know the area.’
Kate looked at her uncertainly. ‘You’re in no state to drive anywhere.’
‘You here in my skin with me? You wanna argue about this so long that the cops get Tom and he winds up dead like Ramone?’
‘Then let me come with you,’ Kate insisted.
‘No way,’ Jasmine said fiercely, shoving Kate aside. ‘C’mon, Ric.’ She grabbed the boy by the hand and dragged him out with her.
Kate went to follow but Stacy stopped her. ‘Let her go. Let her cool off and work through some stuff.’
‘But she won’t be thinking straight,’ Kate protested. ‘She could—’
‘She doesn’t need to think right now,’ Stacy replied. ‘Let’s face it, she’s got more experience with this kind of thing than we do.’
‘So what are we supposed to do?’ Kate gestured angrily to the radio. ‘Hang out, and listen to the running commentary?’
‘We go to Woollard’s,’ said Stacy firmly. ‘Waiting around here won’t do us any good, and it won’t help Tom either.’
‘But if there’s any news—’
‘Jasmine will come find us, with Tom in tow, I’m sure,’ Stacy told her. ‘We’ll leave a note.’ She pulled a small notepad and pen from her purse, and gave them to Kate who left a hasty scribble on the paper. ‘Now c’mon. I’ve gone forty-eight hours without sleep. I could use some answers, you know?’
‘I know,’ Kate said grimly, as she followed Stacy out. ‘So could I.’
g
Tom’s lungs burned with the icy air he was rasping down. His sides were splitting with stitches and his legs felt leaden, but he kept on going, kept pushing his body harder and harder. He knew that if he stopped now he would never have the strength to set off again. And if he turned ’wolf … who knew what could happen.
He’d scaled some tall gates and cut across a school playground, hoping he’d find somewhere to hide – but there seemed to be a cop car waiting around every street corner. Whichever alleyway he ducked down, there was a man in blue racing up it towards him. His ears were ringing with the shriek of sirens.
The city itself seemed to be caging him in; the thundering skyscrapers, stone and glass and metal monoliths, were ranged up around him on every side. The rain poured down through a jigsaw piece of night, the only sky visible beyond the buildings’ reach. Tom was soaked through, his feet were cramped and blistered from his ill-fitting thrift store sneakers, but still he kept on running, running.
He vaulted a low fence and with the last of his strength, sprinted through a small leafy courtyard and into a parking lot. His footfalls on the wet concrete were too loud, he couldn’t hear a single other damned thing. So at last he let himself stop, nauseous with exertion, wheezing for breath. His legs cramped up and he collapsed to his knees, breathing out steam in the freezing rain, his skin chilled, wet and desensitised.
Willing himself to recover, he took a cautious look about him. The lot was quiet and still. If he could just get inside one of these cars, maybe he could hide out till morning and—
‘Police! Freeze!’
Tom swore. They’d found him.
He looked behind him, got painfully to his feet.
‘You hear me?’ The cop was standing at the perimeter of the lot, maybe twenty metres away. He looked young and jumpy, and his gun was trained on Tom’s chest. ‘I said freeze!’
‘I am frozen,’ Tom muttered.
‘Now get your hands up.’ The cop gestured with his gun, and started to advance closer.
It’s over, thought Tom. It ends here.
He just couldn’t accept that.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Tom was running again.
‘Hold it!’ roared the cop.
But his gun roared louder.
Tom’s shoulder burned white hot. For a moment he was flying through the stinging rain. Then he was tumbling over and over on the hard wet concrete and hurting so bad he couldn’t even scream. He heard a screech of brakes and came up fast against something that stopped him dead, flat on his melting back, staring up at the distant stars, till the rainwater filled his eyes and he couldn’t see a thing anymore.
g
g
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
No one was home at Woollard’s place. Kate stood by as Stacy rapped repeatedly on the front door, but no welcoming light appeared at any window, no sound of movement came from inside.
‘So now what do we do?’ Kate asked dismally, as the rain drummed down around them. She wondered helplessly where Tom wa
s now. She should’ve gone after Jasmine, got in the wagon and refused to get out. If anyone were to reach Tom and rescue him it should be her, not that girl – and especially not in the state of mind Jasmine must be in now. And whose fault was that, Kate reflected guiltily.
‘Gee, this sure is a run-down neighbourhood,’ Stacy observed. The tenement overlooked a vacant lot on one side and some boarded-up slums on the other. ‘I bet there’s a lot of crime.’ She walked up to a cracked front window and put her elbow through it. The glass broke noisily.
‘Are you crazy?’ Kate hissed in disbelief.
‘I prefer to think of myself as determined.’ Stacy reached carefully through the jagged hole she’d made and unlatched the low window. Then she climbed inside, her lithe figure soon lost to the darkness beyond.
Kate swiftly followed. It was a relief to be out of the rain, though Woollard’s apartment wasn’t a good deal warmer than the November night, and it reeked of whisky and garlic.
Stacy flicked on a lamp on the desk, and leafed through a whole stack of papers perched precariously on a chair.
Kate closed Woollard’s dusty curtains. Spindly stems bearing withered white flowers had been pinned around the edges. Garlic flowers? ‘This is too weird,’ she muttered. ‘What are you looking for, Stacy?’
‘Research notes, papers, tests …’ Not finding what she wanted, Stacy impatiently swept the whole pile of papers off the chair. ‘OK, then, let’s think what the most likely hiding place would be.’
‘Takapa drove Woollard to Rico’s place in his limo,’ Kate suggested. ‘So he must’ve picked him up somewhere.’
‘Most likely from here,’ said Stacy. ‘Woollard lives his whole life in this place. Scared to go out.’
Kate took in the crucifixes on the walls, the cryptic texts in their dusty frames and weird mystical symbols daubed about the place. ‘I think I’d be more scared of staying in. But OK, say they met here, to talk stuff over, discuss something?’
Stacy nodded. ‘Or demonstrate something. Come on, Woollard keeps his lab in this little examining room back here …’
Kate followed her across the hall and into another room.
