The Wyvern's Defender Dire Wolf

by Alice Summerfield

  Dolf must have looked almost as appalled as he felt, because Helena added, “Servants are for more than just cooking, cleaning up after you, and driving you places, you know.”

  Dolf knew that. He’d even been offered an arrangement like that at his current assignment, something that Dolf had immediately reported to the head of the Dial A Defender agency. He just hadn’t imagined the sort of family dynamics that might have given rise to such side offers.

  “Well,” he said, thinking of the sink full of dishes that he had come home to, “no one is going to cook, clean, or chauffeur you around here.”

  The twist of Helena’s lips was wry. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Were you expecting Declan to have servants too?”

  “No, I’d seen the building,” said Helena. “And none of my classmates in grad school had been able to afford their own maids – or even a shared one. I didn’t even know that was my cousin’s apartment when I, er, invited myself to stay.”

  “Broke into it,” said Dolf flatly, as he bent his head over her bleeding fingertips again. He dabbed ointment on them.

  “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” said Helena dismissively, as Dolf carefully plastered little band aids over her injuries. In that respect, tending to Helena’s fingers was satisfying. He hadn’t thought that he would ever get to use those little, square band aids.

  After Helena’s fingers were seen to and the medical debris had been cleared away, they returned to the kitchen, where Dolf set Helena to the important – and more importantly, completely safe – task of weighing and measuring ingredients for him.

  It was lucky that quiche was such a quick and easy dish to make. While the quiche cooked, Dolf took himself off to the bathroom for a shower. And this time, he even remembered to bring a change of clothes with him.

  Who said that you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks? Well, wolf in his case.

  And if he hurried, he would be done before it was time to take the quiche out. Not that he thought Helena would ignore the timer or let the quiche burn. He just thought that she might somehow manage to burn herself while doing it. She wasn’t particularly handy in the kitchen was Helena.

  But then, she hadn’t ever had to be before now, thought Dolf as he quietly shut the bathroom door behind himself.

  The thought was staggering. Dolf couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been expected to shift for himself. Foster care was like that.

  Dolf hurried through his shower, emerging from the bathroom damp and barefoot, his clean t-shirt slung over one shoulder. He was still rubbing at his hair with his towel as he hustled into the kitchen, arriving just as the cooking timer began to ring.

  Perfect, thought Dolf, as he opened a cabinet, the better to hang his shirt and towel on while he rescued dinner from the oven.

  From her place at the kitchen sink, Helena blinked at him owlishly. She was up to her elbows in soap suds.

  The quiche that he took from the oven was perfectly cooked, its delicious scent now wafting through the kitchen.

  “Mmmm,” hummed Helena. “That smells good.”

  “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

  “It will be,” said Helena with a confidence that warmed Dolf’s heart. Between that – and all the newly washed dishes – Dolf was in an excellent mood when they sat down to dinner.

  Maybe having a houseguest wasn’t as hard as he had feared it would be.

  Chapter 11 – Helena

  On Tuesday, Helena she saw that she had gotten her replies.

  The news wasn’t good.

  Before her Grandfather had decided her valuable enough to Sever, Helena had possessed a loose plan for her life, one that had involved doing her post-graduate work at a rather prestigious institute that was not in Florida. Naively, perhaps, she had hoped that she might still work there, albeit in a satellite arrangement for the time being. That hope was unceremoniously dashed by the series of e-mails that she had received.

  No, they needed someone there on site, said the person who would have been her supervisor, and no, they couldn’t push back her start date. But he wished her well with her unfortunate personal situation, despite her very sparse details.

  Yeah, you sound very concerned, thought Helena spitefully, and then regretted it.

  It was true that the other hadn’t sounded particularly concerned for her well-being or made any effort to accommodate Helena’s changed situation, but she was leaving him – and the institute – in the lurch. It was a major inconvenience, especially when announced at such a late date. But it was also unavoidable, something that Helena made certain to emphasize while writing her reply, a formal resignation from a position that she had wanted with all her heart.

  As much to avoid focusing too much on her disappointment as to be productive, Helena immediately began looking around for other positions, local ones. All of the ones that she had initially been interested in were gone, but things were opening and closing all the time. Surely, she could scrounge up something else, something almost as good; something local, preferably, or something willing to accept a satellite candidate.

  Helena knocked out a few applications before taking a break for a swim, a quick shower, and then lunch. A couple more applications, and then it was time to go meet Mr. Lazarus.

  At the end of the hall, both of the elevators had a hand printed sign on them that read ‘Out of Order’. Annoyed, Helena briefly frowned at the defunct bank of elevators before turning to take the stairs.

  Helena was hurrying down the stairs, determined not to be late to her meeting with Mr. Lazarus, when she happened upon the man himself and a stranger talking intently at the bottom of the stairwell. At the sight of her tripping down the stairs, they moved apart, the younger man saying in hard, almost angry, tones “Just remember that I warned you.”

  And Mr. Lazarus inclined his head, saying “I will, and I’m grateful. I’ll be out by tonight,” and the other man nodded, some of his anger seeming to ease at Mr. Lazarus’ words. Then the stranger was gone, leaving Helena awkward and alone with Mr. Lazarus.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Helena at last.

  “You interrupted nothing,” Mr. Lazarus assured her. “Are you ready for our cooking adventure?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Helena. Casting a look towards where the younger, angrier man had disappeared, she added worriedly “If you still have time. I don't want to keep you from anything.”

  “For this, I have time.”

  Something about the way he said it made Helena suspicious, like he thought that he knew something that she didn’t. But she let that go for now. Right now, she had bigger concerns.

  “Are you sure?” pressed Helena. “That sounded serious. I’d be the first to understand if you needed to cancel. I’ll even help you pack your things and carry them out to the car for you. You could be gone in an hour, if you needed to be.”

  That seemed to surprise a laugh out of Mr. Lazarus.

  “You really are a very sweet girl,” he said fondly. “But it’s not as serious as all that yet. J.P. was simply warning me that some unpleasant Rothschild business might follow me here, that’s all.”

  “Rothschild?” said Helena, the name striking a chord inside of her. “Your wife’s family, right?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Lazarus. “It seems that my in-laws are a bit short. They’d like some money from my wife’s estate.”

  “And you intend to be away when they come to ask,” said Helena shrewdly.

  “Discretion is the better part of valor,” said Mr. Lazarus, and then he grinned at her.

  Laughing, Helena said “All right. Would you prefer to walk or drive to the corner store?”

  “Walk, I think,” said Mr. Lazarus, hitching his copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea higher under his arm. “I need to get out and stretch my legs, and this is a much better excuse than most.”

  So together they walked out of the apartment complex and down the street to the corner store, where Mr. Lazarus
helped Helena to pick out everything that Helena needed to show Rudolf… and also to make a fine dinner. That was important too.

  They didn’t get a great many groceries – just what Helena needed for dinner as well as a small tub of strawberry ice cream, a box of cereal, and a quart of milk, all on a whim - before they headed home again, Helena carrying the groceries and Mr. Lazarus carrying his book. He had offered to help carry the groceries, but there was only one bag, and Helena didn’t want to tax poor Mr. Lazarus’ already fragile health by making him help carry her things. From the sounds of it, he already had enough problems.

  In Rudolf’s apartment, she laid out the ingredients and then they found the equipment that she would need to prepare it.

  From where he was enthroned in Rudolf’s desk chair, Mr. Lazarus patiently talked her through washing and chopping a salad, then directed her in the correct way to clean a couple of leeks, both of which were destined for a potato and leek soup.

  Then they started on the chicken.

  It was hard work, but after a few hours of concerted effort, Helena had a lovely salad in a big bowl, a pot of potato and leek soup gently simmering on the oven, and a chicken cooking in it. There was rice in the rice cooker, and green beans steaming in the insert over it. And there were fresh berries and whipped cream in the refrigerator for dessert.

  And best of all, she hadn’t gotten hurt! Not once!

  “Oh wow!” Helena gasped. “Everything smells so good!”

  Mr. Lazarus laughed.

  “Then my work here is done,” groaned Mr. Lazarus, as he heaved himself to his feet.

  “Wait, you aren’t staying for dinner?” demanded Helena, dismayed. “But you helped so much!”

  “Caroline always used to say that this was a dinner best eaten by two. In fact, the first time that she ever cooked for me, it was this meal.” His face alight with a memory, Mr. Lazarus chuckled. “Hopefully, your first time cooking for your young man will turn out better.”

  “He’s not really my young man,” said Helena uncomfortably. “He’s just - It’s complicated.”

  “It usually seems that way,” agreed Mr. Lazarus placidly, and then waved her protests away. “But have fun anyway. You’re only young and happy once!”

  And then, despite all of Helena’s protests, he left, although not before exhorting her again to have fun.

  It was a few minutes later that Helena realized that Mr. Lazarus has left his copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea behind on Rudolf’s desk. But what could she do? She couldn’t leave dinner unattended! Helena only knew slightly more about cooking than she had that morning, but she was nearly certain on that point. And she didn’t have a cell phone or Mr. Lazarus’ number either.

  I’ll have to return it to him later, decided Helena.

  Mr. Lazarus was supposed to go somewhere tonight, but Helena couldn’t imagine him not coming back for his wife’s copy of her favorite book of all time. She’d definitely see him again.

  And in the meantime, she had bigger fish to fry. She only wished that Rudolf Shaw owned a decent set of silverware and cloth napkins. Crow was best eaten with heavy silver and cloth napkins. Still, she would make do with what she had.

  Helena was sipping at a glass of water and setting the table in the living room, when the doorbell rang.

  That was odd. In her entire time in Rudolf’s apartment, which, admittedly, was only a few days, no one had ever rung his doorbell. Helena had been given to understanding that her host was the retiring sort. He was the sort of man who valued his privacy, particularly as related to his home.

  But he also said that plenty of his workmates live in the same apartment complex, Helena thought. So maybe it’s one of them. Maybe he sent someone to tell me that he’s running late today. At that thought, she scowled. He had better not be running late today!

  If he was, it would ruin her dinner! Helena had no idea how to keep food warm without overcooking it. She wanted Rudolf Shaw to eat crow, but she certainly didn’t want her dinner to taste like crow.

  Whoever was at the door rang again, and leaving her things on the coffee table, Helena went to answer it. She took her cold glass of water with her.

  “Hello,” she said, as she swung the door open. At the sight of the grim men standing on the other side of it, the glass slipped out of Helena’s hand.

  The sound of it shattering was the loudest noise in that hallway.

  All of Helena’s ingrained pleasantries died in her throat. She recognized two of the men, at least. They had attempted to abduct her outside of the bus terminal.

  Helena had never expected to see them again.

  “What an unpleasant surprise,” murmured Helena, mostly to herself. At her sides, her hands were already beginning to tingle with the strength of the charge building in them. Raising her voice slightly, she said “I never expected to see either of you here. And you brought friends. How… lovely.”

  The nearest man grinned at Helena toothily.

  “We’re hellhounds, lady. You could run to the ends of the earth, and we’d still run you down, eventually.”

  Before Helena could even begin to formulate a response, he grabbed her arm, his grip hard enough to bruise.

  Electricity, not the true charge in her hands, merely a diversion of the current running through her, leaped between them, and he grimaced. His fingers flexed against her skin, but he did not collapse.

  And he did not let go.

  Rubber soles, probably, thought Helena, her eyes briefly flicking down to their footwear.

  The true question was if they were wearing a lineman’s shoes or something cheaper. The average rubber soled sneaker was not designed to be electrically safe. Their soles were often too thin, cut with other, cheaper materials, or cut with neat patterns, patterns that naturally thinned the soles in places and sometimes put holes in them. For her own sake, Helena hoped that these men had cheaped out on their protective equipment.

  “This time, we came prepared,” sneered another man, one of the ones that had already once attempted to kidnap her.

  “Did you? How flattering,” said Helena breathlessly, her heart thundering in her chest. It was impossible to catch a decent breath.

  Helena yelped as she was yanked forward, out of the apartment, and the current running through her swelled with her surprise and rising terror.

  The man with his hand around her arm screamed, his big hand flexing hard around her arm before he collapsed.

  At the same time, Helena used the momentum in his pull to fling herself forward. Her other arm swung up, and she slapped the nearest man, the one next to the screamer.

  At the barest touch of her crackling fingertips, he screamed and collapsed, joining the first man on the floor.

  Now free, Helena grinned. It felt fierce and hard and sharp, a dragon’s smile, through and through.

  At the back of the group, some of the hellhounds began to shift, a weird wind now thrashing its way down the length of the hallway. That was all right. If Helena could shift, she probably would have been doing the same.

  The unnatural wind whipped through her hair, sending cascades of sizzling blue-white sparks cascading around her. At her sides, her hands crackled with current. At that moment, with her fear and determination riding her, Helena could hardly control the barest edges of her power. She could hardly have lessened her charge.

  But that was probably a good thing. Whatever happened, she absolutely couldn’t relent or come quietly. Everything depended on it.

  Because maybe, just maybe, if she dragged this out long enough, someone would call the police or Rudolf would come home or something about her circumstances would change for the better.

  It can hardly get any worse, thought Helena, as the bark of geese began to echo up and down the length of the hallway.

  She didn’t know what geese had to do with anything, but Helena had the terrible feeling that she was about to find out.

  Chapter 12 – Dolf

  Dolf’s current
client was a big shot with an overblown sense of his own importance and a woeful lack of actual, real world threats to combat. Accordingly, he had hired four Defenders, working in teams of two, to protect him while he was in town with his family. It was an annoying, if safe, job. The greatest danger was that Dolf might offend the client by either ignoring his self-important bluster or failing to respond appropriately to it. Fortunately, Gil had had the foresight to assign Connor as his partner.

  Connor Campbell was far more gregarious than Dolf and, perhaps correspondingly, better at pretending to be impressed by their client’s one-sided conversations about himself. Dolf just kept one eye out for threats, since that was the job that they’d been hired to do, and his other eye on the clock. If there was a countdown until they put their clients on a flight back home, it was only in Dolf’s heart, although Connor probably knew.

  Dogs and wolves understood each other’s hearts better than most, even if the dog in question was a hellhound and the wolf actually a dire wolf.

  It was protocol to debrief with the boss after an assignment ended, and, accordingly, Dolf and Connor were on their way back to the office to check in with Gil, when Dolf’s cell phone began to ring. Glancing at the screen, Dolf saw that the call was from Declan.

  Why is he calling? Dolf wondered, even as he answered, saying, “Yo, what’s up?”

  “Another intruder at my place, that’s what up,” said Declan. “I’m at the airport, but it’d be better if it was looked into sooner rather than later. Do you have time to check it out?”

  “At the airport?” echoed Dolf, surprised. “I told you that you didn’t have to come home early for any of this.”

  “I wanted to,” said Declan. “It’s the cousinly thing to do.”

  “You ran out of money, didn’t you?” accused Dolf, and next to him, Connor grinned. “What was it? Blackjack? The roulette tables?”