by Lisa Ladew
Jaggar spun stories for him as they drove, spilling names and details about Serenity and the police department like nuts for Harlan to gather. He couldn’t absorb them all without context, but he listened hard and asked questions occasionally.
“The Lieutenant in charge is Wade Lombard, but he’s tied up with Crew, so we don’t see him much right now. SGT Wheeling is next in charge but she’s gonna give birth any day so then she’ll go out. I don’t know who’s after her. A bunch of hardheads, those KSRT wolves. Always arguing and getting in trouble. They might have to bring someone in from the outside to keep them in line. Eventine, maybe.”
Harlan frowned. “Chief Risson’s daughter? Isn’t she in the JPTC?”
Jaggar threw him a look. “Yeah. But that doesn’t matter. She still runs the place. More than most realize.”
Harlan shook his head. “She’s 16, right? That’s not old enough to have any real leadership ability.”
Jaggar threw him another look that Harlan couldn’t decipher. “It might say 16 on her birth certificate, but she’s older.”
“You’re gonna have to explain that one, kid.”
Jaggar shot him another look. Didn’t snarl though. Interesting. Jaggar spoke. “You know her story, right, so you know that no one knows how old she was when Burton found her in the woods. She was in wolf form, wouldn’t shift, tiny, scrawny, impossible to age according to the doctors, so they didn’t. When she finally shifted, she didn’t speak for a year, not even baby talk, so they still couldn’t age her. She was the size of a toddler but acted like she was much older. So they decided she was 3. But no one has any idea who she really is, how she ended up in the forest, and how old she really is.”
He was silent for a minute or two, his attention on the road, his tone dark. Eventine Risson meant something to him. He spoke again. “It doesn’t matter anyway. She’s a natural born leader. You’ll see when you meet her. She’s… different. She… knows stuff.”
“Yeah, ok. Cool.” They had entered farmland, cows and corn everywhere. Water towers and small towns with strange names like Chemung. Harlan soaked in the drive, the heat, the smell of the corn and the pigs and the dirt and the flat. The Midwest. Jaggar’s easy, flowing conversation. Harlan loved everything about it. Was eager to arrive in Serenity, but ready to drive through the state forever, if it came to that. It was a good day to be a soldier. That day, he had life by the balls.
Serenity, next 3 exits
Harlan sat straighter, taking in landmarks, scents, sights, internal positioning. Paying attention to the important shit, his Grandpa would say. Tuning Jaggar out just a little, and tuning in to what his own senses were telling him. He would figure out what Serenity was all about, quickly. Would pull his weight asap. Would figure out what his part was quickly, and play the shit out of it. Lights, camera, action!
Jaggar left the highway, making lefts and rights too quickly. Harlan craned his neck at the green and white sign that read, Welcome to Serenity, and the large carved-stone bear next to it. He’d seen pictures of this bear his entire life, and here it was, in real life.
Harlan spotted his first sign that read, “Serenity Police Department, 1 mile,” with an arrow pointing straight ahead. His breath caught in his throat and he searched the street ahead of him for the building. He’d seen pictures of the department, too. It was two buildings, one L-shaped, one a large, squat square, connected by a covered walkway, the floor to ceiling windows of both buildings dark and modern-looking.
Harlan couldn’t help the grin that slid across his face. He drank in every detail so he could tell his mom and dad later on the phone. Mom would grill him on scents and sounds and Dad would want to know the name and status of every person he’d met.
The wind flowed in the open windows like a blow drier. Jaggar liked the windows down. So did Harlan. He was sweating just a little bit. By some miracle, Jaggar looked cool and comfortable. The police department was surrounded by grass fields and woods, like it was a high school in a small town, but Serenity was not small. The wolves liked their space. Their open areas. Their wooded paths.
Jaggar pulled into the parking lot. “That’s the receiving desk, where the public reports crimes. We enter around the back.” He pulled around the back, parked the truck, and jumped out, meeting Harlan at the tailgate, pointing out an ordinary looking door. “The duty room is this way, come on. I’m supposed to take you to SGT Wheeling and then I gotta get to class.”
Harlan stared at the door, that absurd grin still in place. Nowl rose up inside him and Harlan couldn’t resist letting him rise farther than he normally would. Nowl’s spirit loomed large, encompassing Harlan and Jaggar. Jaggar barely noticed, striding away, toward that ordinary door. Nowl looked his fill at the station, at everything, invisible to all but Harlan, then furled back inside Harlan, speaking one word before he dropped to his haunches and waited for what came next.
Ready.
15 - Past - The General has Red Hair
Harlan ran to catch up with Jaggar. Even out here, in the parking lot, wolven were everywhere, moving to their cars or heading inside. So different than his tiny, five room police station back in Kentucky.
Female and male officers hurried every way. Harlan spotted rank all the way up to Captain. Whoa. Inside was one large room, desks lined neatly, so many rows and columns of desks, a neatly-dressed or uniformed wolven at almost every desk. Chatter. A few wolven, the ones closest to the door said hi to Jaggar. Jaggar raised his hand but didn’t say a word, just hurried down the hallway between a row of desks and the wall. Harlan met stares with stares, smiles with smiles, an interested female glance with an interested male glance. He’d never seen so many wolven in one place, not even at the Mundelein family reunion last summer. There were easily forty or fifty wolven in the room, most in smart blue uniforms with guns at their hips, some in street clothes, some in work khakis, all chattering and talking amongst each other or on the phone. The room was loud with his people. Satisfaction dropped into his bones.
Where he belonged.
Harlan hurried after Jaggar, senses on high alert.
But then he saw her and all other thoughts flew directly out of his head. Especially whatever that guy had wanted. J-something. James. Jasper. Jam. Jaggar.
A definite firecracker, this female, looking like she might blow at any second, even though she was not mad or frantic in any way. Jaggar went left. Harlan went right. After her.
She was only a few feet in front of him, heading down a hallway at a fast pace, dressed in street clothes, but she was obviously an officer. Her air said, “in charge.” Her aura said, “don’t fuck with me.” The set of her petite body said, “Stay out of my space.” Red hair, soft and coily, massive amounts of it, flowed around her shoulders and down her back, refusing to be tamed. It bounced and flowed as she walked and he longed to touch it.
Harlan curled his fingers at his sides, devouring her with his eyes. Maybe a captain or an assistant chief. No, she was too young. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five, twenty-eight at the most. Ok, a Sergeant or a Lieutenant maybe. She had bearing that only came with a lot of rank… or royalty.
Her skin was light, with a warm reddish golden tone that was set off by her cinnamon colored hair. Full lips and regal, angular cheeks, spoke to an exotic African-European heritage.
She was concentrating, practically having a conversation with herself about something important, her stride purposeful. She wore a blue pantsuit that looked like it had been tailored just for her, and smart flats that she probably kicked off just before she kicked ass.
Harlan wondered what her voice sounded like. He wanted her to tell him to do something. Or to see her fight. All that cinnamon hair, coil piled on top of soft coil. His fingers twitched and he shoved them in his pocket.
Harlan caught her scent and it stopped him in his tracks in the empty hallway. A uniformed female passed them both. Harlan barely noticed her. He pulled the scent of the mystery woman in deep, unable to interpret what he
was scenting. It was too much. Too strong. Too layered and deep.
A hand fell on his shoulder and he whirled around. Jaggar.
Jaggar scowled. “You’re supposed to meet with SGT Wheeling.” He caught Harlan’s gaze and shook his head darkly. “No way, Mundelein. Anyone but her. She’s off limits. You start sniffing around Eventine Risson and you are going to end up on duty in Siberia, prophecy or not. Chief is touchy about her. Thinks she shouldn’t be mating any time soon. He’s quirky about some shit and this is one of them. Come on.”
That was Eventine Mundelein? He grabbed Jaggar by the shoulder, keeping him in place. “She’s how old? If she’s not 16, how old is she?”
Jaggar dislodged Harlan’s hold with a shake and shook his head, scowling. He was pissed about something and Harlan didn’t know what. He didn’t even care. He had to know how old she was.
“I told you.” Jaggar whispered so Eventine wouldn’t hear them. She’d pulled farther away from them, but stopped on the walkway between the buildings. The doors were propped open.
“Her agreed upon age is 16 but no one knows for sure. She thinks she’s 19 or 20 when she bothers to think about it. I think she’s 20 going on 50.”
Harlan’s eyes narrowed. He looked up at Eventine, who was digging in a pocket for something. He looked back at Jaggar.
“Who is she to you?”
“My friend.” Tight.
She held a hand out and leaned over the walkway railing into the landscaped plants on both sides of the walkway. She meowed softly. Harlan could clearly hear the tone and quality of her voice. It made his stomach loop strangely. Eventine Risson. Shit. Another legend, and there she was in front of him, holding out a treat to a tiny stray cat with a black coat. The last thing Harlan had expected to see.
Harlan turned to Jaggar. “A cat?” Jaggar was half cat, so he knew everything there was to know about all cats that existed, obviously.
Jaggar shrugged then lifted his chin toward Eventine. Harlan looked back. A bird fluttered down next to the cat. Eventine threw it a bit of cat treat.
She spoke again but Harlan couldn’t catch the words. Was she speaking to the cat? Her head shot up and she straightened aggressively, her stance saying she was on the alert. Something in the building beyond the walkway she was in had called her attention. The building she’d been heading for.
Jaggar grabbed Harlan by the arm and pulled him the other way, so Harlan never got to see where she went next.
“Come on,” Jaggar said. “You got wolves to meet.”
16 - Past - Sergeant Bitch, Reporting to Steal your Job
The tiny black kitten meowed at Eventine. She meowed back. She wasn’t sure why it was hanging out at the station. Cats generally did not like areas with high concentrations of wolven. She’d rarely seen one at Serenity P.D. before this little guy showed up, only the ones in the tunnels, but they’d always been there, would always be there.
A bird fluttered down to look at her. Ah great, she was becoming a fucking Disney princess. Evierella, that was her. Like there weren’t enough rumors about her. “Got any secrets, cat?” she asked. It meowed. She threw it the last of the baggie of cat food she’d had in her pocket, then angled her body to address the bird. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement at the door to her office in the hallway in the next building. What the hell? She straightened quickly. A woman she’d never seen before. A flash of rank: Sergeant. What in the fuck?
No.
Certainty dropped into Eventine Risson’s head like prophecy. She’d been replaced. For a reason she wasn’t sure of, but that she’d seen coming for weeks, no, months.
Eventine headed that way, toward the female who had just disappeared into Eventine’s office. Eventine wasn’t officially a Serenity police officer. She wasn’t officially in charge of the JPTC, but that was her office, just the same. Had been for over a year since the last training sergeant left. Eventine had made it her own with dreams dreamed and work worked within its walls.
Replaced. Anger simmered as high as she would ever let it. Anger made a person reckless. She was never reckless, and therefore, she was never angry. Never let herself go all the way there. Even when a situation demanded it.
She reached her office and pulled the door open slowly, glad she was in her street clothes still. She would wear the uniform because that was what wolven did, but she always felt the most powerful in her own clothes. The most together. The most… herself.
The female was at Eventine’s desk already and did not notice her, giving Evie a moment to study her. Tall. Curvy. Strong. Blond hair braided once down the back of her head, the tail tucked under. She was wearing a Serenity PD uniform, but Eventine had never seen her before. She must be a new transfer.
The female noticed her and turned toward her. Eventine stepped inside the door and pulled it shut behind her, curling her lip, pulling herself in slightly. Many short women tried to appear taller. Not Eventine. She owned how small she was, would pull in and try to look smaller when threatened. It put people on the offensive, and when they came in close enough and confident enough, she had a clear shot at their throat. She had to be quick, but she always was.
The woman’s eyebrows raised and knowledge fell into her face. Knowledge of Eventine. Eventine checked her nametag. Bisske. Her rank. Sergeant. Sergeant Bisske, reporting to take your job. Evie got a sense of her animal, a fierce and heavy timber wolf, snarling, legs splayed, throat tucked in. Evie’s own petite red wolf lounged, bored.
Eventine watched. Weighed. Assessed. Sgt Bisske crossed her arms over her chest and watched back, one hip cocked backwards in challenge.
Eventine snarled. She didn’t want to know shit about this female. This female was inconsequential. So she asked the important question.
“Who hired you?” she said tightly. Even if the female was inconsequential, Eventine didn’t like her, though.
Sgt Bisske nodded liked she expected it. All of it. “You must be Eventine,” she said. Her voice was coiled and telling and smarmy.
Eventine stared, not bothering to keep the contempt from sliding onto her face. If there was one thing she hated, it was condescending bitches, and her father had found a good one to rub Eventine’s face in. Why Daddy, why?
“Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?” she said tightly, knowing she shouldn’t ask, but she wanted it all laid out in front of her.
Sgt. Bisske nodded. Clicked her tongue. “Because that’s what you are. Your father told me that he asked you to fill in and then you just wouldn’t leave. He told me you did a good job. But the position needs a real Sergeant. An employee of the department. Not a student. So thanks for your service but you have to clear your stuff out.” She gestured toward the desk, where Eventine’s notebooks were spread, open, incomplete.
Eventine shook her head and breathed deep. Pulled her simmering anger in closer to her body. Sgt. Bisske was not the problem. Something was wrong with her father. He’d changed. He’d gone from encouraging her leadership, cultivating and catering to her obvious strengths, recognizing whatever it was about her that was different, to denying it all and treating her like a kindergartener. All in the last month. It hurt. And it was overwhelming, making it hard for her to get her feet under her.
Eventine pointed in Sgt. Bitch’s face. “Don’t touch my shit.” Her voice was even. But she meant what she said. Don’t do it.
Eventine turned before she could see the look on the female’s face, and swept out the door. It was time for this to end. She headed back on the walkway between the two buildings, passed the little black kitty, toward the duty room where the hallway would lead her to her father’s office, thinking of why he could possibly be acting this way as she swept through the hallways, officers scrambling to get out of her way, her mind on her father, trying to figure out what had changed with him, and more importantly, why.
17 - Past - Daddy’s Girl
She reached Burton's office door and pushed it open, counting tightly to ten inside her mi
nd, not bothering to knock. Burton flushed when he saw her, just a bit. He pulled a notebook on top of the work in front of him and pushed it to the side. Like maybe she wouldn’t notice he didn’t want her to see it. Or maybe she was supposed to notice and go look at it. Who even knew anymore, with him.
“Fucking fuck, Daddy,” she said, her voice tight and controlled. But her vocabulary was a little light in her struggle to stay not-pissed.
“Evie!” he scolded, standing up and coming around the desk quickly, slamming the door shut behind her.
Yes, he really thought she was still eight. She stalked to the couch on the far side of the room, kicking “fairy drops” out of the way. His hobby. His ticket into Rhen’s meadow, which was what he called sitting in repose. “Going to Rhen’s Meadow.” If it hadn’t been so obviously impossible, Evie might have thought that was a metaphor.
Twice a year he made a trip to a coast, any coast in North America, with a U-Haul truck. He would fill the back with driftwood during three or four days of driving and hardcore beach picking. He would bring it all home, cut it and carve it and shape it and seal it and dip it in paint, creating wooden teardrop shapes that shimmered like rain in sunlight. They were all sizes, the fairy drops, the ones she had kicked out of the way about the size of tennis balls. She’d been kicking them out of her way her entire life.
Eventine dropped onto the couch and studied him. Her daddy. Dark skin, round head shaved bald, face only kind when he smiled. Body big and impeccably clad in a dress uniform. Hands the only graceful part of him. The rest of him was more, in-your-face, too forceful to be graceful. He looked the same as he had when she was five. She kept her voice low. “You hired someone to head up the JPTC.”
