The Wrath of Wolves

by Kelley York

  It’s the last thought that runs through my head before Nathaniel Crane rolls over and up and slams his fist into my face.

  I topple back, more startled than anything. Crane is off the ground and atop me before I know what’s happening. He fists a hand into the front of my shirt, the other striking me again. The punch whips my head to one side. Blood washes over my tongue. My vision blurs. Bastard hits bloody hard.

  I hear the horse stamping her hooves and Benji trying to keep control of her. He either gives up and lets her go or manages to secure her to something, because in the next moment, I see him running for us. His approach is enough to make Crane rear back and off me, lifting a hand—his knuckles are split and bleeding where he punched me—to point at Benjamin.

  “You stay the hell back,” he snarls.

  Benji drops next to me, his cold fingertips brushing my jaw. I wince and roll to my side. “Fuck…”

  “That’s for stealing my horse,” Crane snaps. He moves around us, giving Benji a wide berth, and heads straight for Rogue. The horse has not been secured after all, but nor has she run off. Crane strokes her face and mane, looking her over as though ensuring we didn’t hurt her somehow.

  “You hit me because we took your horse?” I growl as I drag myself to my feet. “How in the hell did you even find us out here?”

  Crane shoots us a dark scowl over his shoulder. “Your friends at Carlton’s place said they directed you here.”

  Benji’s eyes widen. He keeps close to me, holding onto my arm. “What? Why would they have… Did you threaten them?”

  “Threaten is such an ugly word.” He releases Rogue and turns to us. As he does so, he slides the revolver from its holster, thumbing back the hammer. “You also took my box. I thought we had a deal.”

  Benji tenses. Habit and instinct have me nudging him behind me. As much as he permits me to, anyway. “Tell me honestly, would your people have really let us go when you had what you wanted?”

  “They’re my people. They would’ve listened to my orders.”

  “Funny, because Hugo doesn’t seem like he follows orders very well.”

  His mouth twists into a bit of a snarl, but clearly he doesn’t have an argument for that because he remains furiously silent.

  Benji pushes my arm aside to step forward. “Come with us.”

  Crane snaps his dark eyes to him. “What?”

  “Come with us,” Benji repeats. “We’re headed for the beach now. All we want is to put Ellie to rest and then the notebooks are yours. As promised. Just me, you, and Preston, no one else.”

  His jaw clenches, yet he does not immediately turn down this request. “Why should I?”

  “We’re an even match, us two against you, aren’t we?” As though to prove this point, he takes a step closer and watches as Crane takes a half-step back. Whatever it was Benji managed to do that knocked them both unconscious back at Carlton’s seems to have stuck with Crane and he doesn’t appear to be looking for a repeat performance.

  Benji adds, “I don’t trust Hugo as far as I can throw him. But I think… I think I trust you to keep your word.”

  That makes one of us. The only one who strikes me as even remotely trustworthy of the lot might be Sid.

  Speaking of— “Where is the rest of your crew?” I ask warily.

  “Nearby,” Benji whispers. I glance at him. He doesn’t dare take his gaze off Crane. “The howling. It really was Ellie trying to warn us.”

  Crane scowls, tongue swiping across his upper lip. “Maybe you should’ve listened to her, then.”

  Somewhere down the road, I hear hoofbeats. I grimace. Could we overpower Crane, take the gun, and escape? Would we succeed in anything beyond getting lost in this maze of trees? I reach slowly for Benji’s arm, thinking it might be worth it to try, but it’s too late. The shapes of horses and their riders appear in the fog the way we came. I can already pick out Hugo’s hulking figure, making his horse look far too small to carry him.

  Sid slides to the ground. She gives Crane’s horse a fond pat and a chuckle as she passes. “Found her, huh. Told you she’d be fine.”

  He frowns askance at her but doesn’t comment. Perhaps because Hugo is right on her heels, though still on horseback, reining up alongside Crane and sneering down at him.

  “Told ya we should’ve put bullets in their fuckin’ heads when we had the chance. Not too late for it and I’d be happy to do the honors.”

  “Reach for your gun and I’m putting a bullet in your head,” Crane drawls. His gaze, I notice, hasn’t left Benji and me. He runs his hand over his face, which is looking a bit more drawn and tired than the first time I laid eyes on him. Finally, he announces, “Sid and I will continue with them down to the beach. The rest of you, head back to town and wait.”

  Philip and Louisa, both still astride their horses and lingering back on the road, steal looks at one another. Hugo’s face screws up furiously.

  “What—”

  “That’s an order, not an invitation for debate.” Crane turns from us to stare him down. “Unless you want to come down here and have a chat about it.”

  Hugo opens his mouth, then snaps his jaw shut again, positively seething. For a second, I think he’s going to take Crane up on that and get off his horse, but then he’s yanking his steed around and heading back the way we came. As he and the others disappear into the mist, I let out a heavy breath.

  Crane turns back to us. “Two and two. Final offer, unless you want me to shoot you both in the legs and leave you here without a horse.”

  “Fair enough,” Benji says, though his tone is tense.

  Crane’s horse that he rode in on is hidden in the trees. He orders me onto it and takes back Rogue for himself. He instructs Benji to ride with Sid. To separate us, no doubt, and keep us from plotting together. Lovely.

  As much as I’d like to think we’re evenly matched, I know that we’re not. In a hand-to-hand fight, weapons aside, I still think they might have the upper hand. Benji, bless his heart, is not a fighter. Sid and Crane have proven they are.

  My only hope is that Crane will keep his word. We’ll get the box open, set Ellie free, hand over the notebooks, and he and his people will go on their way.

  If not…well, we’re going to be dead and it’s not going to matter.

  My stomach rolls at the thought and I bite back the panic. It’ll be all right. It has to be. We still have a chance to get out of this.

  The trail narrows further still, until the horses begin to struggle, and their pace slows to a crawl. Sid suggests leaving them behind, so we tie them to nearby branches to continue the trek on foot. Benji stops us before we go, a look of determination upon his face.

  “The guns. Leave them, please.”

  “What?” Sid asks. “Why?”

  “We aren’t armed. Why should you be?”

  Crane scowls and looks to Sid, who rolls her gaze skyward, sighs, and unholsters the revolver from her hip. After a moment of hesitation, Crane does the same, including removing the shotgun strapped to his back. They stash their guns in their horses’ saddlebags and leave the shotgun propped against a nearby tree, then Crane gestures for us to lead the way up the narrow trail.

  At least being on foot lets me keep next to Benji’s side, although having Crane and Sid right at our backs has my nerves alight. I’m quite grateful Benji thought to have them come unarmed; I’d hate to end up with a bullet in my back.

  It’s only another five or ten minutes before the trees thin and the ground begins to slope down, sharply enough that we have to take a portion of the path scooting on our arses. But at the bottom of that path, I see sand and massive chunks of driftwood and—beyond all that—the rolling ocean waves. God Almighty, we’ve finally made it.

  Our feet hit the sand and, walking side by side, we stride across the beach, coming to a halt at the water’s edge. For a spell, none of us say a word. We stare at the mist rolling off the ocean’s surface, the water rushing in to try to reach our feet before g
liding out again. I spot a crab scuttling across the ground, and a flock of sea birds riding on the waves a way offshore.

  It’s striking. I lament the fact Benji and I couldn’t be here to simply enjoy it.

  Benji opens his bag and removes the chest from inside. He takes a few steps forward, until the water reaches his feet—no doubt soaking his shoes and socks—and sinks to a crouch with the box resting atop his knees. I hear him murmur but cannot make out the words. He slides his fingers over the mechanical dials, presses them in, and the lid pops open.

  Only when he plucks out the wrapped skull from inside and removes the cloth am I able to see the flicker of a woman standing before him, also crouched, her skeletal face inches from his. I remember the night she possessed Benji and damned near threw him from the rooftop of the hotel, and my chest seizes in fear. It takes great resolve for me to stay put, to not rush forward and ensure she doesn’t attempt to fling him into the surf this time.

  “Ain’t that somethin’,” Sid breathes beside me. “Is that really her, Nate?”

  “It is,” Crane solemnly replies. “That’s Ellie Carlton.”

  I steal a glance at him, though only briefly, not wanting to tear my eyes away from Benji too long. “You knew her?”

  “Only met her once or twice, but I remember her face.”

  My jaw clenches. “Did you know she was dead?”

  There’s an indescribable look that passes over Nathaniel Crane’s face, somewhere between uncertain and wary. He tips his head back, turning his eyes skyward. “No, I didn’t.”

  “What was she like?”

  He rolls his shoulders back into a shrug. “Kind. Quiet. Grieving.”

  Carlton’s maid had said as much. Ellie Carlton had recently lost her only child, and that she and her husband had left on a trip to see someone who could ‘help them.’ Benji is better at piecing these things together, but I think I’m starting to catch up.

  I finally say, “They went to see your employer. Didn’t they?”

  To that, Crane doesn’t respond. Doesn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow to give anything away. He’s a closed book.

  I sigh. “Crane… Hugo didn’t seem pleased at the idea of letting Carlton discuss it with us.” I do look to him this time, studying his profile. “Would he know something about her death?”

  A pause. Crane scowls, darkness shuttering over his features. “He was there in England with the lot of us at the same time she was. He might.”

  “That man of yours is a loose cannon. You know that, don’t you?”

  Not that I wait for him to respond. I doubt he’s about to have a heart to heart with me about Hugo. Instead I approach Benji, who is still watching Ellie. I can hear her voice as I come to a stop behind him, her whispers nearly lost on the wind and waves. He’s digging. Fingers carving grooves into the wet sand to shove it aside. I drop to my knees and begin to help, wordlessly.

  Sid joins us, crouches at my side, and she also begins to dig.

  Three sets of hands, scooping away sand while Ellie’s whispers fill my ears. I can’t understand the language she speaks, but it’s beautiful, haunting. I realise now it’s the language of her people, long since killed or chased away from their home. A language she still held onto. She wasn’t even able to pass it onto her child, which seems like a damned, heart-breaking shame.

  When the hole is deep enough and our fingers are cold and sore, Benji places the skull inside. Sid begins to shovel sand back in with her hands, which is certainly a faster process than digging it up was. When she’s finished, Benji looks up at Ellie, who stares back at him through her milky white eyes, and he says, “We’ve brought you home. It’s time for you to rest.”

  Ellie seems to understand this. Yet instead of vanishing immediately, she snaps her arms out, bony fingers grasping Benji’s wrist and mine. I gasp from the cold, from the iron tightness of it, and her voice comes through more in my head than it does aloud.

  Beware the wrath of wolves. He’s still coming.

  The tide sweeps in. Ellie washes away with it, melting into foam and fog and salt.

  I rock back onto my heels, rubbing at my wrist. Purpled bruises already dot my skin from her touch. Judging by the way Benji is cradling his hand against his chest, I’d wager the same is true of him. Sid watches us intently, squinting, though she doesn’t ask what that was about and nothing on her face suggests she heard what Ellie said.

  He’s still coming.

  Damned spirits and their inability to be clear about anything.

  The tide is steadily rising, sweeping in further and further over our dig site. Sid and I stand and inch back, gazing out over the water a moment, before Crane calls from behind us, “Let’s be on our way.”

  Sid trots to his side and I turn back to Benji, still hunched over the box. He hesitates a moment and I hear the lid click shut, locks snapping into place. I wonder how he expects to open it now without Ellie’s guidance for the combination. When he stands, he offers it to me and I tuck it under my arm.

  “Mr. Crane,” Benji calls, not yet turning around. With a sigh, Crane looks back at him. Benji touches his fingertips to his own throat, gazing out over the sea. “I think Hugo killed Ellie.”

  Not an ounce of surprise registers upon Crane’s face at this revelation, and really, I don’t even question it. Still, Crane taps his boot once against the sand and patiently inquires, “What makes you say that?”

  Benji turns this time to look at him. “I’ve long had this sensation from Ellie of running away. Trying to escape from something and then being unable to breathe. She was strangled. And just now, I’m confident what she’s been warning us about wasn’t the lot of you. It was him in particular.”

  Nathaniel Crane’s mouth twitches, displeased. Still not surprised. “What do you expect me to do with this information?”

  “I expect you to be a decent human being and hold him responsible,” Benji says, not missing a beat. “She was pressured into marrying a man she did not love, lost her only child, and travelled across the globe only to be abandoned there. And when she attempted to flee, she was murdered. Her remains were mishandled, separated. She deserves justice.”

  They stare at one another intently, but Crane’s expression is still so cold and unreadable that I can’t begin to know if Benji’s words have the slightest effect on him. Finally, he turns away and begins to head back up the beach. Benji’s shoulders slump in defeat, but we follow after him.

  We’re so close. We just need to give Crane his notebooks, take one of the horses, and get out of here.

  Assuming he keeps his word.

  At the end of the steep uphill trail, we’re all out of breath and my already sore legs are aching something fierce. Benji looks ready to crumble. Even Sid doubles over when we come to a stop, her hands upon her knees as she catches a few deep breaths.

  Crane is the one who has brought us to a halt, and at first, I assume it’s merely to rest. Except this is where the trail widens, which means…this ought to be where we take our mounts and go our separate ways.

  Crane turns in a full circle, then looks at us. “Where the fuck are the horses?”

  That is a very good question. Rogue and the other two are nowhere in sight.

  I open my mouth to respond and the words catch in my throat.

  Crane does not see the movement behind him, the shape of Hugo stepping out from behind the trees with an arm raised.

  And I cannot get to him fast enough before the gun goes off.

  CHAPTER 22 – BENJAMIN

  The wolves have gone silent. We no longer have Ellie with us as a means of protection or forewarning. It is only my own ears and eyes that realise something is off when we crest the ridge at the top of the trail and find our horses gone, and a sinking feeling in my stomach that tells me something is about to go very, very wrong.

  It’s Preston’s expression. His eyes gone wide, his lips parting as though to cry out. A brief look over my shoulder is all I need to see.

&nb
sp; I throw myself into Crane beside me with all my weight. He isn’t expecting it and goes over easily until we’re in the mud and leaves. For half a moment I think I have succeeded, until I see the blossom of red on his right sleeve covering his bicep. Nathaniel Crane doesn’t make a sound, but he shoves me off him with his left hand, rolls to his side, and cradles his injured arm to himself with a clenched jaw.

  Hugo steps out onto the trail, shotgun—Crane’s shotgun, I think—trained on the two of us. The crunching of leaves behind and to the side of us tell me that he is not alone. Soon, Philip and Louisa are also in view, both armed. Philip stands directly behind us. It would take no effort at all for him to pull the trigger against the back of our skulls.

  It doesn’t stop us from scrambling to our feet, although Crane is a bit slower than I am. He all but ignores Philip and Louisa, turning his furious, cold stare on Hugo.

  “You shot me.”

  “Shoulda done it ages ago,” Hugo drawls, spitting into the dirt. “Maybe if you’d have killed these two the second we found them, all of this coulda been over and done with by now and we’d all be headin’ back to the boss.”

  “And you think killing us is gonna earn you favour with him?” Sid snaps, ignoring the way Louisa jams the barrel of her gun in between her shoulder blades. “You’re off your goddamned rocker.”

  “Shut your mouth or I’ll put a bullet in it,” is Hugo’s heated reply. “Had enough of bein’ ordered around by the both of you. Where are the books?”

  I do not miss a beat. “In the box.”

  Hugo’s gaze swivels to me as though just now realising I’m even there. “Give it here.”

  Beside me, Preston tenses, but I meet his eyes and give him a nod. With the utmost reluctance, Preston takes three steps forward, places the chest upon the ground, and backs up in line with the rest of us. Hugo shifts the shotgun and glances to the chest, though only briefly, clearly not wanting to take his eyes off us. Off Crane, in particular. After what Nathaniel almost did to him the last time they got into it, I cannot say I blame him. Perhaps he learns after all.