Black Wolf

by Steph Shangraw

  “Can I ask a favour?” Jesse said quietly.

  “Of course you can.”

  “Can someone come get me? Like today?” And get me out of here?

  “Sure, there has to be someone around who isn’t studying for an exam or working on a major assignment, or attempting to recover from all of the above. I’ll find someone, watch for either van. Directions?”

  Jess described how to reach the apartment from the highway into the city.

  “Okay, got it. Somebody will be there as soon as we can manage it. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just… there isn’t anything here for me anymore. So I may as well come home and get down to learning everything Bane says I need to learn. And find a job.”

  “Worry about that when you get here. Something will come up, that’s how Haven works. I’ll go see who I can round up. Want to talk to Cait again?”

  “I’d better go get my stuff together. What there is of it.”

  “See you soon, then.”

  “Yeah. Bye.”

  Two hours after that call, Jess was sitting on the steps that led down to the apartment, the few belongings he cared to keep at his feet; a familiar green van pulled up. He scooped up his backpack, and opened the sliding door.

  Flynn was driving, Liam had the other front seat, and Naomi and Gwyn were in the back.

  “It would’ve been boring to come alone,” Flynn explained.

  “Well, come on,” Naomi said, as Gwyn got up to greet Jess affectionately. Jess chuckled, still not used to being able to understand canine, and scratched him behind his ears before tossing his things in and settling himself across from Naomi.

  “You’re upset,” Liam observed quietly.

  Damned empathic healers. What had Evaline said? Healer gifts were the only magic wolves had very little resistance to? “I just had a fight with Shaine that I’d rather not talk about. I’d far rather just leave this damned city somewhere far behind and start over.”

  “Wish granted,” Flynn said, turning the van around in a nearby driveway. “And that may be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to any of us.”

  Jess leaned back against the carpeted wall; the bewilderment and hurt were fading a little, here with his friends. Gwyn gave him a hopeful look, so Jess smiled and stroked his soft grey fur. I think I like having friends.

  “Liam?” Naomi said. “Will you read me the rest of that article?”

  “What article?” Jess wondered.

  “There’s a newspaper that comes out once a month, called the Quicksilver Sphynx,” Liam explained. “Nick and another friend, Brittany, do most of the work, and the last thing written every month is Nick’s space to tell everyone the gossip and what’s coming up. June’s just came out a couple of days ago.”

  “How come I’ve never seen it?”

  “Because it covers topics like…” He lifted the paper in his lap. “Historical blacksmithing magic, the origins of the Haven deck of not-really-Tarot cards, the witches’ get-together in May, a humorous—hilarious, actually—description of werewolf dominance, uses for magesilk…”

  “I get the picture. I take it this stays inside Haven.”

  “A few always end up in the other mixed villages, and a few of theirs always reach us, but usually.”

  “Uh-huh. So which one were you reading?”

  “The Tarot one.”

  “Go back to the beginning,” Naomi suggested. “So Jess can hear it. Then you can read the dominance one. We can all use a laugh, I think.”

  Liam complied.

  Jess listened in fascination, still petting Gwyn, and stopped thinking about hurting and about Shaine.

  *

  Shaine, sitting on the mattress hugging his knees to his chest, listened to the sounds of the van stopping, then driving away. Taking Jess off the streets to somewhere he wouldn’t need Shaine to watch out for him anymore, somewhere he had more of a future than living day to day.

  The tears inside were frozen in ice. When was the last time he’d cried? Sometime before he found Jess roaming the streets alone at fifteen and knew he could at least make amends in a small way.

  No more Jess rambling on about street gossip, no more curling up together to sleep… things were going to be so lonely and cold.

  Didn’t matter. Jess would be safe, surely they’d never find him now, he’d have a home and a family and be happy. That mattered.

  Did he really have any right to ask for more? Even to ask that it not hurt so bad?

  There were things to do. The rent wouldn’t appear out of nowhere, and if he was going to eat he had to go find it himself.

  He rested his head on his knees, searching inside for some reserve of strength to take him through this. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he found none. Maybe he’d just stay right here until he felt like he could face the world again…

  *

  Intent on trailing a hare, Rebecca wriggled under a cedar-rail fence into a woodlot, and followed the scent-trail across the rusty-red needles blanketing the ground. Right through the woodlot, and to another fence. More wriggling.

  The wind brought her familiar scents; hidden by the brush along the fence, she paused and crouched flat.

  Bane, furform, stalked a hare grazing peacefully on the lush June clover—quite likely the one she’d been tracking. Watching intently, a little to one side, was a smaller wolf, midnight-black.

  So. Jesse had healed after all, had he? And been accepted as part of Bane and Evaline’s pack. Poor whelp, he had no idea what frustration lay ahead, knowing that he had the potential to live wild and must make choices that would bind him. Either live here, strangled by too many wolves, or go somewhere else and have to hide always…

  Jesse gathered himself, and pounced mischievously at Bane just before the alpha wolf attacked. Bane growled softly as the hare bolted, bit him lightly over his muzzle in reproof, then licked his ear. The larger wolf bounded a few yards away, looked expectantly at Jesse, and heartbeats later they were chasing each other around the pasture, hunting lessons forgotten. Jesse yelped and stumbled—a rock, a groundhog hole, any of a number of traps that lay in wait—and Bane circled back to check that he was all right. He was; he began to dig energetically. Groundhog hole, then. He’d certainly never catch it by digging.

  Then again, given the high spirits both were in, he might not be at all serious about it.

  Bane watched, plainly amused, while his black shadow turned black-and-brown; Jesse glanced up at him, tail thrashing at the air, then went back to his digging. Hopefully no one would be putting horses or cattle in this pasture soon.

  Jesse tired of that, and frisked away, with Bane right on his heels. Halfway across the pasture, Bane stopped, and howled to the blue sky, to the sun just beginning to throw long shadows.

  Uncertainly, Jesse paced back and forth a couple of times, then added his voice. It wavered, then steadied, though Rebecca thought he might consider pitching it differently. From farther away, other voices answered; what wolf could resist joining in on a howling session if at all possible?

  She could, at the moment, though briefly she entertained thoughts of yielding to the temptation. But it would be better if they never knew she was here.

  All right, so her last desperate attempt at reclaiming Kevin had failed so spectacularly that she could no longer deny the truth: she’d lost him forever and nothing was going to get him back. The whole situation was infuriating, yet it was so utterly absurd she couldn’t help but see the irony in it.

  It would, by now, be pointless and stupid and pathetic to do anything but accept that, let go of the hurt and the dreams and get on with her life.

  Let the little black wolf-cub learn for himself what it meant to be wolf in this age.

  Let Kevin keep pretending, if that was what he was so determined to do. If the approval of his current coven-mates mattered so much to him that he was willing to be less than he was, then he was no better than Moira. Less, in fact, since the wariness of the rest of H
aven still made him feel bad enough that he tied himself into knots in the attempt to reassure them. Tragic, when he had the potential to be so much more, but there was nothing further she could do. He’d chosen, and he hadn’t chosen her.

  The song trailed off, one thread at a time, down into silence. Brown wolf and black trotted towards the lane that led out of the pasture.

  Rebecca retraced her path there, back to the far side of the woodlot, and began to search for other potential prey.

  Interlude: Samantha’s Journal

  June 5, 1989

  Gods, it hurts, having to start a new journal. It would be easy enough if the last one had just gotten full and was still here, that’s just a continuation. But my old one was only a few months old. It’s back in Unity, or maybe it’s gone like everything else.

  I need to write down what happened. I don’t know why, because I’ll never be able to forget, but I think it’ll make me feel a bit better. And I think I’ll start way back at the first thing I can ever remember understanding about the past. I may be the last one left who remembers it, so at least if I write it down it won’t be completely lost when I if something happens to me.

  Alessandria, the wolf of Coven Starluck which founded the first mixed village in Canada and called it Haven, had six wolf children and a seventh child who was fathered by a demon. That seventh child was Cassandra, who grew up and fell in love with a Mohawk shaman, and they had five children. From them descend the Cassandra wolves, the demon-wolves, who can fight demons on the mortal plane the way most wolves fight predators.

  Haven has always had an absolute categorical antipathy towards all demons, with no acknowledgement of the immense variation among the residents of an entire plane. That prejudice made the early Cassandra wolves and their nearest feel extremely unwelcome, and they had some very unpleasant experiences that finally led to their leaving Haven entirely. The Cassandra wolves disappeared into Haven legend, just a story.

  But not just a story to everyone. Some people saw the importance of their existence, and others supported them for more personal reasons. They rallied around them, at first for the sake of the Cassandra wolves, but before long, they discovered that it was beneficial to all involved. Or at least almost all. The numbers of elves and dryads and witches were too low to be sustainable within such a small pool. A few human gifts continued to appear, healing and psychic gifts, but most of the magic of that community centred around, appropriately enough, friendly and mutually beneficial relations with peaceful and well-intentioned demons. That would have been impossible in Haven, with the assumption that all demon interaction can only be based in blood and pain. The presence of the Cassandra wolves ensured safety during the years of experimentation and refinement: an occasional mistake wasn’t really such a risk.

  As a result of feeling rejected by Haven and thus by the other mixed villages, and not living with those who particularly need the protection of a coven-bond with a wolf, the Cassandra wolves developed their own structures. They lived in small family packs that included non-wolf mates and close friends, but not covens as such. Thus they tended to live more spread out. That made mutual support more difficult in many ways, and the broader community did its best to bridge the gaps. The community maintained a tenuous contact with the mixed villages, keeping track of events there and occasionally recruiting new members, but taking care always to stay invisible. The existence of the Cassandra wolves and the magical system used by the community and the special friends that help us with it, these would, it was firmly believed, be anathema to Haven and the villages, and would trigger at best more stringent ostracism if not an outright crusade.

  For a hundred and fifty years, the dream that grew ever stronger within the community was that of a village of their own.

  My parents were both born into that network, and I was raised within it. A couple of years ago, the dream came true: by pooling all resources, we’d managed to buy land and have houses built, and could now move in. It wasn’t easy, because we had to rely heavily on the nearest town, but that would only be until we could make ourselves more self-sufficient. The village was named Unity.

  There are some on the demon plane who have always seen the demon-wolves as a threat and an abomination. And, although only fire and earth are thought to have children, water does as well. Those children of water allied with the demons for some reason—were we seen as trespassers, perhaps? In April this year, on the night of the dark moon, Unity died. I can’t remember the details clearly, that damned song made everything all confused and dreamy while we were running. The cats, our special friends, gave their lives in the effort to warn us, instead of escaping as I’m sure they could have. My Uri woke me and then demanded to go out, and he went towards the village. I don’t know how many others they managed to reach. United, they might even have tried to stand off the attack. I’m sure I’m As far as I know, I’m the only survivor. If nothing else, I failed in my primary responsibility, I failed my families, both of them. I don’t see how a thirteen-year-old, even one as smart as Jess is, could have survived after we were separated in the storm. I don’t know what happened to Dena and her other two children. I don’t know if my parents even made it out of their house. How could I have lost Jess? I don’t think I can forgive myself for that. Ever.

  Jesse’s name, and those of his family, are hidden in the forest somewhere around Unity, I don’t remember exactly where. It doesn’t matter. They’re safe there. The residue of all that demonic and magical activity will make it impossible for them to be found and misused.

  I’m in Haven, now. I was found by a wolf, Bryan, who took me home and put me in his own bed, and waited while I slept off the shock. I woke up with days missing in my head, I don’t remember getting here. Bryan got me this book so I could write down the nightmares I’ve been having, and maybe take some of the venom out of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. What’s the point of

  This hurts too much, I’m not writing any more right now.

  June 5, 1994

  Five years ago, I made my first journal entry after I lost everyone I cared about. I was sure Jess was dead, and that it was my fault because I let him get lost.

  At least one Unity demon-wolf survived, though. It’s so good to have Jess here and running happily with Bryan and his pack, even if he still doesn’t remember anything from before. Nick and Sonja talked Tomas into giving him a trial period at the Brewery waiting tables, and Jess passed with flying colours. It’s part-time, true, but he doesn’t need to pay rent or anything, so it’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll keep finding work for him here. Maybe next fall I’ll see if he’d be willing to watch the shop for me so I can take a couple of daytime classes at the college without needing to close.

  Things are looking brighter than they have in a long time. So bright, in fact, that I have to put this down and go meet Bryan at the library: I’m taking him out for supper at the Brewery to celebrate being friends for five years, just because.

  Black Wolf

  24

  Of the entire year, December gave Patrick the least freedom.

  Not only did he have his usual dark-of-the-moon hunt to see to, but he needed to find a life to offer on the night of the solstice. And all this during the time of year when the sunlight was fading, a time elves generally found either wearying or stressful, according to individual temperament. Patrick, personally, tended to tire more easily, this close to the longest night, with sunlight in short supply.

  His demon servants had no sympathy. They expected him to complete his side of the bargain, as he had each year for a decade. And, as unpleasant as he found this part of it, he intended to do so.

  He’d arrived in this city yesterday; the dark moon was past, and he had a week still before the solstice to choose an appropriate sacrifice. Probably one of the street kids, they had no one to miss them except each other. Living like animals the way they did, what were their lives really worth? They had no possible future anyway. It was a mercy, ending it quickly.


  A flash of bright gold caught his eye; he glanced in that direction, and paused, attention caught. The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen; she was certainly not mage-gifted. She was perched on the steps of an ancient limestone church with three humans of around her own age, sharing two pasteboard cups of fries between them; they could all have used a bath and some decent clothes, Patrick thought in distaste.

  The girl looked in his direction, and her eyes narrowed—picking up on the presence of illusion, though unable to see through it, most likely. Very briefly, Patrick let his current human disguise slip, just long enough for her to see it.

  Unsurprisingly, she left her companions, and came towards him; he waited.

  “I’m not going back,” she said firmly.

  “Back where?”

  “Oh, come on. Like someone didn’t send you to find me and drag me back to my family?” She tossed one lock of hair, dyed vivid magenta, out of her eyes; the rest of her hair was its natural blonde, but cropped short.

  “I have no idea who your family might be or where you might have come from,” Patrick assured her. “I’d be the last to try to make anyone go back to one of the villages, anyway, since I left Falias a decade ago and haven’t been near any of them since.”

  Blue eyes widened. “For real? You don’t like all their rules and shit either?”

  “Their rules,” Patrick said dryly, “are at the top of the list of what I don’t like about them, along with their two-faced set of values that claims everyone is equal while giving special status to some.”

  “Like the damned wolves,” she commiserated. “Think they rule the world and can get away with anything.”

  Pity she wasn’t a mage, but an elf would be a new flavour for his demon servants regardless. Obviously no one would miss her, and it should be easy enough to win her trust.

  “What would you say to some supper?” he asked. “My treat. Then we can talk somewhere more comfortable.”

  He wasn’t at all surprised she accepted the offer instantly—the high elven metabolism must be extremely inconvenient living on the street, with chancy meals at best, especially with her body struggling to compensate for the winter cold.