by DG Wood
The agent then walked to a wall of body fridges and opened the right one. He pulled the drawer out that held the body of the man Darkly had shot in the head. He then inserted the stethoscope around his neck into his ears and placed the chest piece over the man’s heart. If anyone had witnessed the agent’s face, they would have sworn it turned a couple shades lighter at that moment. But, he kept his composure, removed a syringe from his pocket and injected a clear liquid into the man’s chest.
Fifteen minutes later, the agent rolled a gurney out one of the back doors of the hospital, and up to the open doors of a white, unmarked van. Inside, was a metal casket. The kind used to transport a body across international borders.
Marielle and her son were sleeping when Darkly pulled up to the Canadian border two and a half days after leaving Los Angeles. It was lunchtime, and the queue of cars crossing the border was long. Darkly made a call.
“RCMP Constable Darkly Stewart. Peace Arch Crossing. License Plate number 5UMH717. California.”
That was all Darkly said, and then hung up. Forty-five minutes later, Darkly was five cars behind the lead car. A custom’s official walked down the queue of cars and nodded at Darkly. He pointed over to a road that went around the customs checkpoints. Darkly pulled out of the line and followed the road to an unmarked building the size of a taco stand. She parked in front of it and turned off the engine.
At that point, another customs officer stepped out of the building and approached Darkly’s car. She rolled down the window, and the officer held out a smartphone at eye level.
“Hold still please,” he instructed Darkly.
A red light passed across Darkly’s eyes, and then the smartphone beeped. The officer studied the results.
“You’re free to go, constable.”
That was it. The officer barely glanced at Marielle, who was holding a puppy in the back seat. Back on the road, Darkly didn’t stop again until the outskirts of Whistler. They pulled into a motor inn and got adjoining rooms. One bed for Darkly, and one for Marielle and her boy.
Darkly had learned on the road trip that Marielle had named her son Neb. After the king who had found redemption. An act of hope, Darkly thought. She had kept Neb occupied with sing-alongs and various stuffed animals she bought for him along the route. But, Darkly also had time to contemplate her impossible mission and how the playing field was not exactly level. Despite that fact, tomorrow, Ennis would arrive to take Marielle and Neb home with him, and Darkly would fly on to London. This was her life from now until she dropped dead.
Darkly fiddled with the vent control above her window seat on the Boeing 747. She couldn’t seem to get comfortable. The temperature had been rising steadily since takeoff and through the evening meal. Now, most of the plane’s passengers slept around her. She couldn’t understand how the man in the middle seat next to hers was wrapped tightly in a blanket. Darkly had removed her bra and now pulled at the t-shirt that was sticking to her sweaty body.
She lifted the window shade and looked out at a bright moon that cast its glow on the blanket of clouds below the plane. It hurt Darkly’s eyes. And she had a pounding headache. That was it. She needed to splash some water on her body, or throw-up, or pull her hair out. One thing she couldn’t do was sit still any longer. So, Darkly pushed her way past the two grunting passengers to her left and moved quickly down the aisle.
The flight attendant in the back galley gave Darkly a sympathetic, knowing look, as she slipped into the unoccupied lavatory. Darkly was feeling dizzy now, as she plopped down on the toilet. She hung her head down between her legs and breathed deeply. One breath. Two breaths. She tried to slow her racing heart by sheer will. It wasn’t working.
Darkly got up and put her mouth under the faucet to lap up water. My God, she thought, she had never been so thirsty. She rubbed her itchy eyes and looked up into the mirror. They were bloodshot, and the whites of her eyes had turned yellow and murky. Darkly pulled at the bags under eyes, and then suddenly had to rinse her hands with cold water. They felt like they were on fire. Red blisters were rising from under the skin.
Next, Darkly’s fingernails began growing before her eyes. They were like daggers shooting out from deep within her skin. They had always been a challenge for Darkly to keep under control, but had never grown at such a speed before. With her elongated hands, Darkly grasped at her neck. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped, her lips groping at air they could not capture. Then, she watched her entire jaw jut forward in an agonizing stretch. Darkly collapsed to the floor and kicked at the door, needing space.
“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?”
The flight attendant on the other side of the door pulled at the door handle, while Darkly pleaded with inhuman eyes for the woman not to open the door.
Marielle shook Darkly.
“Are you alright? Darkly?”
Darkly inhaled deeply. She’d been holding her breath in her sleep and thrashing around in the sheets, which were now twisted around her body like a straightjacket.
“I’m okay. Just a really weird dream.”
Marielle turned on the light and helped Darkly unwrap herself. She shut the door to the adjoining room, so that Neb wouldn’t wake up. Darkly noticed Marielle was wearing something she’d likely worn for Toma’s benefit. The nighty hung short, not covering the bottom of Marielle’s, well, bottom. She wasn’t wearing any panties. It inspired desire. Darkly’s lust inspired thoughts on a solution that, if it worked, would give her a leg up in London.
Darkly had been curious before. She had wondered about the sensations men experienced during sex. She had contemplated acting on her curiosity in the past, but never followed through. Now, she wondered if she made love with Marielle, if that would be enough to undo the cure that stopped her from becoming what her DNA said she should be. Darkly was staring at the faint blue lines on her lower neck. But, her hand had moved under the sheet down to between her legs. Marielle took notice.
Marielle looked down at her own faint spider veins and sat down on the bed next to Darkly. She reached out and ran her fingertip along Darkly’s neck.
“They’ll never go away completely,” Marielle said, answering Darkly’s unspoken question.
Marielle traced the veins, moving her finger down below Darkly’s neck and over one of her breasts. She then lifted her nighty up over her head and placed Darkly’s free hand on her own neck and guided the hand down over her breasts, then her stomach, and then to her inner thigh.
Darkly woke up late. It was after 8am. The drive and then Marielle had worn her out. She looked next to her at the empty place on the bed. She got up and pressed her ear to the door that led to the adjoining room. No peep, so she opened the door just a crack and looked in. The room was empty.
“Fuck,” said Darkly out loud.
Marielle had done a runner. How could Darkly have been so stupid? So close, and she’d dropped her guard at the last moment. She should have had Ennis meet them at the border to handle the trade-off. Darkly threw her clothes on and flung open the door to the outside to see Marielle standing there with Neb and two Styrofoam cups.
“I thought you might need some coffee,” Marielle said coyly.
Later that morning, on the side of the Trans-Canada Highway, Darkly said goodbye to Marielle and Neb, but not before promising again to bring father and lover back to them.
The next part of the plan was for Darkly to park the car at the Vancouver long-term parking lot, throw the keys away and purchase a ticket for London. But, after last night – both the dream and the tryst – Darkly had to adjust the plan. She boarded a flight to Toronto. Twenty-Four hours after arriving back where she started, she was speaking to Vincetti face-to-face, while she was chained to a tree in the acres of wood behind her sergeant’s home.
Darkly looked down at the shackles that tightly grasped her feet and the zip ties that bound her wrists together. Vincetti, meanwhile, opened a folding lawn chair and took a seat just out of reach of Darkly.
“Oh,�
�� remembered Vincetti.
He got up and wrapped a blanket around Darkly.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
“How long?” asked Vincetti.
“Anytime now.”
Two hours later and Vincetti was drifting off. Two hours after that, and Darkly was shivering uncontrollably from the cold. Vincetti gave her the second blanket he had been using to keep warm. An hour after that, and Vincetti had reached his limit.
“Darkly. This isn’t happening. We’re going to catch hypothermia. It’s time to go in.”
“Okay,” replied Darkly through chattering teeth.
Vincetti released Darkly, and they both returned to his home, a fireplace, and a bottle of wine.
“I guess I really am cured,” said Darkly glumly.
“Isn’t that a good thing, Darkly?”
“I don’t know.”
With that, Darkly fell asleep on Vincetti’s sofa and dreamt of Buck. Where the hell was he? He wasn’t in L.A. Marielle didn’t know where he had disappeared to. He could be anywhere in the world. Wherever he was, did he dream of her?
Vincetti agreed to chain Darkly up for three more nights. Perhaps with Darkly, there was a delay in the transformation. Buck had told her she was special. She was a direct descendant of the one who had achieved redemption. But, nothing was achieved except for Darkly needing the tip of one of her small toes removed because of frostbite.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Buck had come close to showing up at Darkly’s front door. He told Marielle that the Mountie may be one of them, but she had chosen a different path. She was dangerous and detrimental to the mission that lay before them. She would kill Marielle’s new son if given the chance, just as she had Wyatt killed. She may not like it, but Darkly would perform what she thought was her duty to protect.
The truth was a little different. Buck was thinking of Darkly’s best interests. She had a life she did not need to give up for his or anyone’s else’s sake. Not now that Wolf Woods had been abandoned. The process of transforming the world was a long one. It would be well after Buck’s remaining years that the effects would be noticeable across the world and irreversible.
But, Buck did love Darkly. There was a connection with her he had never felt with any other woman. So, he went to her to tell her how he felt. To thank her for coming back to Wolf Woods, when she did not have to, and to tell her not to worry that chaos was coming. There was a plan for order. An old authority was returning to the world of wolves.
When the sheriff of no town looked inside the window of Darkly’s flat, he saw her and Vincetti groping one another on her sofa. She had already moved on. It was not what he wanted to see, but it was what he needed to see.
Now, Buck stood on Hampstead Heath in north London, ready to oversee the coronation of a new Queen of Wolves. Every new wolf from this night forward would know they were part of a complex society. A community of laws and traditions. The new queen would be crowned where every queen for the last millennium had been crowned. Europe. The moon was setting over the heath, when Geraldine stepped forward and lowered the robe she was wearing to her waist. Gus walked up behind her and took the robe, removing it fully. He stepped away, and Geraldine knelt on the grass. Buck stepped forward, and Geraldine raised her arms into the air. Buck reached into a black satchel on the ground and pulled out two leather gloves. He reached back in with the gloves on and pulled out a shirt of metal rings. Silver rings. He lifted the shirt above Geraldine and let it fall over her arms and torso.
“Do you accept the weight and burden of your office freely?” Buck asked Geraldine.
From the immediate contact of all that silver to flesh, Geraldine shuddered and collapsed to the ground. Her mouth opened in shock, and she tried to find the words to answer, but could not. Buck put his mouth to Geraldine’s ear and repeated the question.
“Do you accept the weight and burden of your office freely?”
“Yes-s,” Geraldine barely managed.
Buck stood again and nodded at Gus, who joined him by Geraldine’s side. They both pulled her to her feet and held her hands tightly. They helped her walk to a large oak tree nearby. Her steps were like those of a stroke victim learning to walk again. She called out to no one in muffled wails. The two men let her loose, and Geraldine reached out to steady herself against the tree trunk.
“Three times round, a queen is bound. Wisdom, Justice and Sacrifice,” Buck instructed.
Geraldine steadied herself and began her walk around the tree. She made it all the way around the trunk and then stopped to take several deep breaths.
“God has granted you wisdom,” proclaimed Gus.
Geraldine began her second walk around the wide tree trunk. Halfway around, she faltered and fell to her knees. Gus moved to support her.
“No,” ordered Buck. “She has to do it on her own.”
Geraldine waved Gus away and dug her nails into the tree bark to pull herself to her feet. She finished the second revolution.
“The wisdom to deliver justice,” continued Buck.
Geraldine nodded at Buck and began her third and final trek. She limped and clung to the tree for dear life. She almost passed out, but shook it off. If she had collapsed then and lost consciousness, then the trial could not continue. Nor would she be granted a second attempt.
Her mouth and hands were shaking when she finished the third march around the tree. Now, it was Geraldine’s turn to speak.
“I sacrifice my life to duty,” Geraldine declared through chattering teeth.
No more would Geraldine be allowed to make babies. Well, that was the official line it was hoped she would uphold. She was mother to the wellbeing of her subjects. With that, Geraldine’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she lost all sense of place and time. Buck removed the shirt of silver chains from Geraldine’s body. Where they had touched her skin, were now rings of blood. These rings, in the morning, would become the hallmark of royalty. They would transform into pale blue circles, left behind by the world’s purest silver, that would reveal Geraldine to her people wherever she went.
Heathrow was swarming with people. It never mattered what time of year it was. London was one of the world’s top destinations. As the saying went, whatever you were looking for in the world…in London, you would find it. The never-ending stream of people moving like a giant living organism for the London Underground escalators was something Darkly did not join. Vincetti had arranged a jump seat on a military transport.
Her hotel in economical Paddington came with a springy mattress, a bathroom that meant pressing your body into the wall to close the door, all in order to get to the toilet. But, at least there was a full English breakfast included. No cheese Danish and a weak coffee, like home. There was strong tea, unsettlingly large sausages, or bangers, eggs, mushrooms, beans, tomatoes and both fried and toasted bread.
The tourists would arrive on their buses-in-the-air and push through the day and go to bed early, so that they were adjusted to the time difference by day two. For Darkly, it worked out perfectly that she could sleep through the first day and begin her hunt at night, when results were most often achieved.
Vincetti looked into Cassandra’s flight. It had landed at London’s Luton Airport and appeared to still be there. Five American nationals had deplaned. Through his connections at Britain’s Home Office, Vincetti could inform Darkly they were still in the UK, but not where.
Katty Sandra Schleswig-Holst, the woman who owned the aircraft, was indeed an heiress. Never married, no children, she was the only child of a man who invented components of a drill that made offshore oil-drilling possible and, thus, profitable. Katty’s mother died from cancer when her daughter was still a toddler. The girl was shipped off to England at eleven to be educated and did not leave, save for Christmas holidays and brief summer sojourns with her father in Europe. At the London School of Economics, she learned what it took to succeed at business on an international stage. Well, those details ex
plained the British accent.
What Vincetti’s report did not reveal was that Cassandra, as she had been known to her friends since she was a child, had sold her father’s company and deposited the proceeds from the sale into a Swizz bank account. Even the family mansion in Louisiana had been sold. All of this had taken place six months ago.
Also six months before Darkly met her, Cassandra had broken off communication with even her closest of friends. When they called, they got a voice message saying that Cassandra had gone off to find her true self. Darkly learned all of this easily enough online. A Vanity Fair columnist had even mentioned the strange affair of the social butterfly who had become the high society version of a backpacker, hopping from one dingy hotel to the next. The debutante who had never settled down had uncharacteristically switched to rough trade in the bedroom department. In the end, it was assumed that Cassandra was yet another wealth hoarder to succumb to the disease of a weak grip…not able to hold on tightly enough to one’s sanity.
If she had been born a man, such a state of mind would have meant she was now only good for a U.S. senate run. Or, if lack of intelligence accompanied the midlife crisis, the formation of a committee to explore a run for President would be the surer bet. But, as Cassandra was very much a woman, she chose to become a werewolf and bring chaos to the stifling societal structure she had been born into.
There was more Darkly needed to know about Cassandra. She had brought Toma and his band to London to perform at a private party. Why? What did Cassandra have to gain from managing a band? Was it possible that she knew the hosts of the party well? Were they friends or, perhaps, people Cassandra harbored a secret grudge towards? Was Cassandra going to do something like reveal her new self at the party?
My God, thought Darkly. What if this party was a coming out? Her whole life, Cassandra had lived in the shadow of her late father. An inventor, genius, state governor before his wife’s death. What if this was the way she was to leave her mark? To outshine dad? Darkly would bet her salary that when Cassandra learned from Marielle the plan to spread werewolfism around the world, the heiress saw the opportunity to become the glamourous face of a new world order. Their queen, if you will.
