She was angry, insulted and frustrated, so she splurged on a taxi in an effort to get home as quickly as she could. She hoped taking her little buddy for a walk would ease the tempest inside her. Not to mention ease the guilt she felt by being away from him for so long.
After the kisses from both parties, she had attached Kelsey’s leash and attempted to take her buddy for a walk. All went well, until she exited the building. Kelsey stopped. He refused to come when she called him. He sat down when she tried to assist with a pull on her end of the strap. In order to get the little dog to the sidewalk and the street level, she was forced to pick him up and carry him. Even then, he squirmed and made it clear he did not like traversing the steps. He responded the same when they returned.
“Something happened, and our little boy is scared to death of the front stoop.”
“Andee, I knowwww, and I feel just awful, but I swear to you, nothing happened. There was no fall, no other dog scared him. Nothing. Andee, I swear it.”
With Kelsey in one arm, Andee hugged her neighbor with the other. The man blinked back tears, he was so worried she might think he harmed the dog.
“Ramon, I know you would never hurt the little guy. I got back from upstate, saw your note about shopping and thought Kelsey and I could take a walk. I was just surprised and worried about how he acted on the stoop.”
“What do you want me to do? I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, Andee.”
“Ramon, stop crying. For the time being, we’ll have to carry him down the steps. He’ll get over it in time.”
“Are you sure? Should we take him to a vet? Let me take him to the vet.”
Andee smiled at her friend, “Not just yet. Let’s give him a day or two. Maybe he was just confused with me taking him out. I have been gone more than I’ve been home.”
Ramon jumped on the possible explanation.
“He hates it when you’re not here. He misses you so.”
“Thanks, friend, shovel on the old guilt trip.”
Ramon wiped his eyes and smiled at her. She smiled back.
The wolf stood across the street and leaned against the trunk of a mature elm tree. The shadows of the leafy branches helped hide him. He leaned against the tree not because he was tired, but because he was hurt. He was wounded. That fat detective had shot him, three times, in fact. Had he been a slightly better shot, the wolf knew he would have been the one laying on the floor of the abandoned warehouse.
The wolf shifted and grimaced. The man had shot him twice in the chest. The fat man had faced him down and almost killed him. He had controlled his fear. The wolf hated the fat man, but he admired him. The man had died with pride. The third wound was through the tip of the left ear. It wasn’t painful but it disfigured him, at least in the short term. The wolf was vain. He focused on recovery and he would heal, but the anger he felt demanded to be fed. The man was supposed to run and then beg, just like the others. But he didn’t. He stood his ground and shot the wolf. Someone would pay. The wolf smiled. He was selecting the target right now.
The wolf wore his robe. He always wore his robe, but no one minded. This was New York, after all. He didn’t look like a wolf, not now. Now, he resembled the others on the street. He resembled the weak and puny cousins. No, not cousins. Distant relatives at best. Weak, undisciplined and unruly, the subspecies called humans had persecuted his kind throughout history. Now, it was the wolf’s turn. He knew he resembled his weaker kin and it sickened him. He consoled himself with the knowledge that inside, where it counted most, he was wolf.
A young woman wearing a pink tank top, flowered print shorts and flip flops bumped into him. The pain caused a grimace and he stifled a curse. She smiled, but said nothing. The ear buds attached to the sides of her head blocked most of her world. She moved passed him, shaking, prancing to a beat only she heard. She twirled a 180-degree spin, and took another look at him. She smiled and raised two fingers in a “V” salute.
“Peace, brother,” she said, and then spun away from him. He smiled in return. Thinking of ripping a face off always prompted a smile.
The girl forgotten, he focused again on the building across the street. He had watched the FBI agent arrive and soon exit with her little dog in tow. He had smiled when the mutt refused to obey and follow her down the stairs. After she carried the creature, he had watched as they followed the sidewalk to a park a few blocks away.
He had crossed the street, intending to sneak into the building. He would wait for her and take her and her dog once inside and out of view of curious eyes. He’d prefer to take her in the middle of the street where the spectacle of her being ripped apart would be seen by dozens, if not more. With luck, her death would be caught on some video phone or whatever they call it. It could make the news, and then hundreds, no, thousands would see it, and they would all fear him.
He stepped onto the first step and stopped. He cursed. The odor stopped him. The place had been marked. The scent of an Alpha was strong. Strong enough to have been left that day. The rumble in his throat was the growl of anger. Who dared oppose him? Who dared to interfere? They would pay. He would wait. He could take her now, he thought, if he wanted. He could take her in the park.
He chuckled to himself when he imagined grabbing the dog she cherished and seeing her horror when he bit its head off. He could almost taste the blood, and he turned his head to spit the excess saliva on the street. The dog would be just the beginning and then it would be her turn. He shuttered as the hunger to attack surged, and the lust for blood filled his nostrils with remembered odors. He would wait. He had time. The waiting would make the taste all the sweeter.
Gennadiya Lloyd strode into the living quarters of Señor Matheus Ferreira’s villa as if she had signed the lease instead of the diplomat. The sprawling house stood on the bluffs overlooking the river and the security guard posted adjacent to the doorway stood and stepped toward her. He was intent on searching her handbag and frisking the woman for weapons. Protection was his business. Without turning her head, she extended a hand with the pointer finger raised. The silent command was simple: “Stay.” He looked at her, recognized her, and obeyed.
Señor Ferreira, lounging in a wine-colored robe and slippers, his bare legs exposed, sat at a metal table in the center of a glass-enclosed patio. The atmosphere was controlled by a computer that monitored and adjusted for the proper amount of artificial sunlight, tropical breeze and an occasional mist of rain, all designed to replicate home. In his hand he swirled a glass of wine. It was late morning, some would say too early to drink alcohol.
From across the room, Gennadiya observed that while the man was dressed casually, he was freshly shaved, and his hair was combed. Even at this distance, her nose picked up his scent of aftershave. A plate of fruit was before him on the table, and he was in the process of lifting a slice of apple to his lips when she entered. He stopped and took in the scene before him. He watched, with interest, the interactions between his security detail and the woman. He smiled when the mere lift of her finger stopped his man cold. He slowly shook his head. Lady Lloyd was a force.
Gennadiya was dressed in a pair of white dress slacks, a light blue blouse tucked in at her waist, and a dark blue jacket. On her head was a white sun hat. She would have been at home at the yacht club. She stared at him, her expression a mixture of boredom and challenge.
Ferreira slid his eyes from her to the guard. He shook his head and motioned the man aside. As Gennadiya approached, he stood and held up the apple slice.
“Care to join me in a light lunch?”
“No,” she shook her head, “but thank you just the same.”
He smiled and dipped his head in respect.
“Lady Lloyd, do not tell me your tastes have become corrupted by this society. Do not tell me you only eat poorly prepared burgers and fries.”
He watched her close the distance, and as she neared, he pulled out a chair for her. He motioned for her to sit, which she did. She removed her hat and set it asi
de on the table.
“Señor Ferreira, I have come here today not only as a parent, but also as a sitting Consenti. I believe you know I represent the Lloyd clan at the Pactum.”
“I do, and wonder why I deserve such a visit,” he said.
The announcement of her purpose put the conversation on new footing. He knew, if warranted, his responses to her questions could now be not only examined by the Pactum, but he could be ordered to appear before that body of representatives and defend his comments.
He gave her a smile, meant to reduce tension. His years as a diplomat had helped him hone this smile to perfection.
“Lady Lloyd, if my American television is correct, this is where you would advise me of my rights and ask if I understand. You would ask if I want a lawyer.”
Her expression remained neutral.
“Please, Señor, don’t play the diplomat game with me. You and I are not only members of a society much older than America or its television. We are both representatives sworn to defend it.”
Ferreira bowed his head, held the pose, and raised his eyes to the woman.
“Please, Lady Lloyd, I meant no disrespect.”
“And you gave none, Señor. However, I am here to discuss the aftermath of your son’s forfeit.”
“You mean his murder.”
A hardness crept into his voice.
“No, I mean his justly agreed upon forfeit.”
Her tone matched his.
“Carried out by your son.”
The hardness remained, and the man’s voice rose slightly.
In response, Gennadiya only raised an eyebrow. Her stare stopped any further outburst.
“I’m sorry, Consenti.”
Again, he lowered his head for a moment. Both recognized the action as a show of deference and respect offered.
“I apologize,” he said, raising his head. “The loss I feel is still fresh.”
“I’m sure it is,” the lady agreed. “But still you have no right to take the actions you have taken.”
Fear showed in Ferreira’s eyes. Any action taken against an Unum carrying out orders from the Pactum was stiffly penalized up to and including forfeiture of life. The diplomat realized if what the lady said was true, he could soon be as dead as his son. The man showed surrender with his hands and shook his head.
“I have taken no action, nor have I authorized action to be taken in my name. I swear, Consenti.”
Consenti Lloyd heard the small tremor in his voice, and she wondered if the man was truthful. Deceptive statements to a Consenti was a breach of etiquette Ferreira would know could carry extreme consequences. She studied the man. She noticed that, despite the cool breeze being generated, a shine of perspiration appeared on his forehead. She decided to apply pressure.
“Señor Ferreira, were you aware of your son’s misbehavior?”
The man snorted a bitter laugh and asked, “Do you call raping women, assaulting men, and the international smuggling of drugs, misbehaving?”
The Consenti did not react, but said, “You have not answered my question.”
Ferreira looked at his hands, which were in his lap.
“No, Consenti, I was not aware of my son’s actions. Not aware of all of them, anyway, and not aware as a father should have been. I worry that his death is as much my fault as his own.”
The Consenti shook her head, “You should not feel such. Feel the loss of the child as any parent would, but do not blame yourself for his actions. We, perhaps more than any other race on this planet, feel the obligations as well as the comfort of belonging to a family, a clan, a pack. Nonetheless, at our core, we are beings that hunger for the ability to run without fear of consequences. If our history as taught us nothing else, it has taught us that either we police ourselves, or our human cousins will police us into extinction.”
Señor Ferreira nodded, “Of course, you are right, and I agree completely. Still, as one who has recently faced the sting of our justice, I wonder if there is not a better way.”
“As one who is called upon to uphold our justice, I too wish there was a better way.”
The woman looked away from him, and Ferreira thought he saw sadness in her eyes.
“Perhaps,” she said, still focused across the room, “perhaps de Tocqueville was correct and people do get the government, or in this case, the justice, they deserve. We tend to be a violent race; our justice must be the same.”
Ferreira nodded, his eyes still on her.
“As a citizen, I agree, but as a father, my heart is broken.”
“It is because of that conflict that I came to see you today,” Gennadiya said.
She shifted her gaze to the man.
“I have already told you, I have done nothing, nor have I ordered any action be taken. I have, in my own opinion, accepted and tolerated this embarrassment as well as any father could.”
“You didn’t order three men to attack my son?”
Her left eyebrow arched in accusation.
He recoiled at being so accused. “I did not.”
“You didn’t order the killing of two of your son’s friends?”
He chewed an apple slice, as he pondered the meaning of the question. Then he nodded his understanding.
“You mean to punish them for not protecting my boy?”
The lady shrugged.
“That could be seen as a motive on your American television shows.”
“I did not have anything to do with their deaths.”
“And the New York policeman?”
“Again, nothing.”
He used his hands to empathize his earnestness, “Lady Lloyd, as you said earlier, we are a race of wild individuals who, if allowed, would throw convention to the side. But we are more than just lone wolves, if I may use that allegory. We are also families and clans. We are, for better or worse, packs. We are the Pauci, the few, the survivors. My son, through his actions, embarrassed my clan. In so doing, he forfeited his right to live. And so, he was ended and we, the Pauci, will continue. Please believe me when I tell you I would do nothing that would multiply the level of the shame my son has brought upon the name Ferreira.”
The Consenti nodded her head, and the two sat in silence for several minutes. Gennadiya reached for her hat, and Ferreira raised a hand to stop her.
“Please, Lady Lloyd, may I ask a question of you? May I ask your opinion?”
She returned the hat to the table and sat back in her chair.
“Of course, we have settled our business. Is this a personal request or an official one?”
Ferreira reddened and smiled.
“You are the Consenti of the Lloyd clan. I would like to ask a question concerning the practices of the Pactum, and since I have not made the opportunity to talk to the Consenti of my clan, it must be personal at this time.”
Gennadiya nodded acquiescence.
“Now that we have determined our roles and agreed we are friends, may I inquire if the offer for fresh fruit is still available?”
He laughed. The tension broke.
“Of course, sweet lady, and would you wish something to drink?”
“Mineral water, if you have some.”
“Of course.”
He made several motions with his hand and silently ordered the security man, who had remained present but discreetly distant, to get the requested food and beverage. Within minutes, the platters were served, and the glasses filled.
Gennadiya lifted an apple slice, bit into it, and chewed.
“You have been the perfect host. How may I help you?” she asked?
He scowled and then raised his eyes to her as he said, “Please understand, I am not complaining and I make no reference to the actions of your son.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are, again, referring to the forfeiture of your son’s life and the Unum who terminated him.”
“Yes,” he said, “forgive me. I know it is improper to speak the name of the Unum who is assigned such a task. I only assumed...
”
“Please, Señor Ferreira, ask me your question. But asking questions that I am forbidden to answer serves us no purpose.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “My request is this. Eduardo Ferreira committed acts the Pactum deemed punishable by his death. The Unum was dispatched, and whoever the Unum was, he terminated Eduardo Ferreira in the prescribed manner.”
“This has all been discussed. Your question, please.”
“Of course, Lady Lloyd,” the man took a deep breath, and continued, “Eduardo Ferreira is dead, and he is no longer a Xli. With his death he is now a Deleantur. He has been removed. He is now only my son and his mother’s son.”
Gennadiya reached across the table and took the man’s hand, “I’ve already expressed my sympathy...”
“I’m sorry,” Ferreira interrupted her, “this is not about sympathy. My son was buried in a closed casket because of the manner in which he was terminated. I understand the custom. I understand the ritual. But the damage inflicted… it was too great. I don’t understand why a mother is not allowed to kiss her son farewell. Why a father can’t look upon his son one last time.”
Gennadiya looked into his tear-filled eyes.
“There has to be a better way,” he said. “Yes, the offender must be punished, and if that punishment is to declare the offender a Xli, then a termination must take place. Can we not accomplish upholding of our laws and customs, and still allow a mother, whose only crime was to have a child who behaved badly, the chance to kiss her son goodbye?”
Gennadiya withdrew her hand and allowed it to rest on the edge of the table.
Ferreira studied her and softly said, “My Lucia is devastated, and I in no way wish such a loss on you. But, parent to parent, if you were to lose a child, if one preceded you, would you not want to give a farewell kiss? We have to close this gap between punishing our lawbreakers and punishing the parents.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I would ask you, as a Consenti, to bring forth this topic for discussion at the next meeting of the Pactum.”
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 17
