He hauls the whole lot of it downstairs. It takes several trips, and when he's finished there are streaks of dust all over him and floating round the kitchen. The table is piled high - they'll have to eat in front of the tv for a few days instead. Oh, what a hardship.
His father comes in when he's about a third of the way through the pile, one eyebrow raised at the mess. "Land sakes, Dylan. What are you doing?"
"Looking for something," Dylan says.
"What's that?"
"I don't know yet."
Nash shrugs and pours himself a glass of apple cider from the jug in the fridge. "Just put it all back when you're done," he says, and Dylan nods, distracted.
*
The closest Dylan comes to learning about magic from his relative's papers is a few mentions of charms and wards, mostly of the human-repellent kind to hide their properties from prying eyes. There aren’t any records to say that they worked, precisely, but then there's nothing in there to say they didn't, either.
Other than that, he learns a hell of a lot about the weather, and when to plant vegetables, and that his many-times-great-grandparents enjoyed writing erotic letters to each other.
He doesn't bother to read all the way through those. He can feel himself getting hard after the first five, and it's a little strange to think about jerking off to something your grandparents had written. About each other.
A last minute work project means he has to wait a couple of days before he tries the human libraries. He's unsurprised when he can't find what he wants there, even when he visits the fancy university library and checks the online database for interlibrary loans. There are fewer amenities like that since the decimation of the humans, but on the other hand, the libraries near his home had all grown substantially as they absorbed some of the collections from the nearby towns.
Reading up about human superstitions feels like it may be enlightening at some point, but he doesn't have the time to devote to that now, so he files away the idea in the back of his mind and continues his search for something substantial.
The internet has nothing. There are vague whispers about rituals that come from the website equivalent of back-alley rooms, sites that talk about UFOs and conspiracies, and even they don't seem to have any sort of usable script. He goes through one hundred pages of a search engine before switching to another one - just in case - and it yields a big fat ton of garbage, too.
The stories he'd been told as a child always seemed to emphasize the secrecy of magic - that it was passed down through certain bloodlines, and knowledge was hoarded like a dragon caressing his mountain of gold and rubies. Dylan doesn't even know if it would work if he was able to find something, and with his deadline - the Run - creeping closer day by day, he feels foolish for wasting his time on a wild goose chase when he should be making plans to run away.
But running away poses its own set of challenges, and he'd be alone. Mateless, fatherless, friendless, packless - there's a reason that wolves don't survive very well on their own.
*
He's at the pack library near the city courthouse when he sees Warren come in the door.
He ducks behind the stacks and looks out the crack between the top of the books and the bottom of the metal shelf. Unless Warren is specifically looking for him, he's too far away for him to pick up on his scent, and to a wolf's sensitive ears he'd be just another heartbeat. He's finished with his research for the day - some obscure references but nothing concrete - and he needs to get home so that he can eat something before finishing up his homework for class.
His eyes track Warren carefully, but it's not a difficult task. Warren isn't moving around. There's a circle of armchairs with a couple of coffee tables in between them in the main area just off the entrance way, and the staff place the newspapers on them each day for patrons to read.
Warren looks at his watch, and then back at the door - perhaps he is waiting for someone? - before he lets out a sigh and snatches up a copy of the Daily News.
Ugh.
Warren doesn’t even have to talk to him to mess up his day. The only high point about being hidden behind the shelf is that he has a clear line of sight to the portraits lining the entry way - he has a particular affinity for the one in the middle, one of their long-dead pack Alphas who was the subject of his first crush - but even that is marred by Warren’s sheer presence. It’s long been his habit to brush the frame of the portrait as he heads out the door, and although he contemplates just scurrying out, he won’t be able to touch the wood.
Still, if he hurries, he can probably get out before Warren realizes it's him and makes one of his obnoxious comments. He’s leaning forward to step out from behind the shelf and make a break for it when his phone vibrates twice in his pocket, letting him know he has a new email.
He leans back in the shadow. Might as well check it. He fishes it from his jeans absentmindedly, still focused in on Warren's receding hairline showing above the newspaper.
To: sherlocksjump22
From: burn374208504
Message: I'm sorry this is anonymous, but my family's code prevents my speaking about this matter publicly. You need to find the book Rex Luna Regis. The author, as such, is a person named Hector. There aren't many copies, but if you can track one down, then it should have what you need.
X
3 - Three
The book is, unsurprisingly, difficult to track down.
Dylan goes back through the places he's already searched - his family journals, the libraries, and even manages to get Rusty to give him a few moments in his own family's library. Rusty's grandfather collected rare books before he passed away, and his parents are holding on to the collection before they plan to attempt selling them off in a few years. With the hit to the population, the economy is still in flux.
He scours the Internet, doing searches at all of those poorly-formatted conspiracy sites, but to his consternation - and relief - it's the thoroughly-mainstream Ebay that gives him a hit.
The seller isn't bothering with separate listings for his lot of books - and the lot that he's selling includes twenty-three old books for $1700. When Dylan asks to purchase the Rex Luna Regis separately, the seller is terse and the answer he receives sounds almost offended. Dylan doesn't have time to quibble about it, so he winces and takes a shuddering breath and drains his bank account. He’s seen enough films to know that ancient knowledge always has a price. He supposes that if his bank balance is the extent of it, then maybe he’s getting off easy. In his note to the seller, he stresses that he needs the books as soon as possible. All he can really do is hope that it will get here in time.
*
The books take forever to ship. He doesn’t want to pin all his hopes on them, but everywhere he turns is a dead end. With the books still in transit, all he has left to do is his coursework and his actual work and physical training. Because if he can't outsmart the alphas, he's damn sure going to outrun them and buy himself some extra time before he's matched to someone.
Ivan and Rusty take turns going out with him in the woods. He's not allowed on the large section of land that will be used for the Run, but there are plenty of other places to strengthen his speed and endurance.
It's a cool, crisp day and he's out with Rusty. Ivan sits near the trailhead, a book in one hand while he waits. There's a stopwatch set beside him, and when the sounds of panting and thudding footfalls come nearer, he closes the book with a thud and peers through the trees.
Dylan has been running primarily as a wolf, but he's wanted to train as a human, too. Rusty's probably the fastest in their friend group - in both forms - because he'd taken up track in high school and never quite managed to forsake his workout routine during university and settling into his career, but he's lagging behind by several paces as they break the tree line.
Ivan raises an eyebrow.
Both men are streaked with sweat, and Dylan collapses on the ground a few feet over, sucking in his breath like he's drowning.
"Holy crap," Rusty manages, and tucks his wet body up against his mate's, nuzzling under his chin until Ivan pushes him back gently. "Tough run?" he asks, and Rusty nods.
"He's a beast!" he manages, and Dylan flops a hand in their direction.
"Gotta beat them," he slurs.
"I think," Rusty says, "that you're gonna make it. Your determination is…" he pauses, and takes a small sip out of the bottle Ivan holds out to him, "…admirable."
"Thanks," Dylan groans, and pushes himself up to a sitting position. "My legs feel like jelly. You did this shit for fun?"
Rusty grins.
Ivan tosses Dylan his phone. "Your dad called," he says. "You got packages. They're important?"
"Oh, thank God," Dylan mutters, and slumps back against the cool ground before dragging himself up to his feet. "I might have one more trick up my sleeve," he says.
If some anonymous person on the internet wasn't just fucking with me.
*
He tears into the boxes. If the books weren't so old - or valuable - he'd probably just dump them out on the floor and scrabble through them to find the right one, but instead he pulls them out two or three at a time and sets them down impatiently on the kitchen counter. Rex Luna Regis is in the second box, a leather-bound book showing signs of water damage, and he holds it out in front of him to look at it, taking in a deep breath.
He might also cross his toes after he goes to sit at the table to look at the inside of it. This is his last chance to outsmart them.
He pages through the book carefully, searching for any hint of the sort of thing he might be looking for. The book itself looks like it was made with a small scale printer, and there isn't any copyright information. It's old, and some of the pages are loose; others are torn. He wonders if the seller had any idea of what it was supposed to be or if they just inherited a bunch of stuff from a relative and needed to clean it all out.
It's clear to him, only a few pages in, that the book is important. The scholarly side of his personality files that away to think about later - if these spells and diagrams and odd bits of lore are generally thought to be lost knowledge, what could he do with it?
His knee bounces up and down as he gets closer to the end of the book without finding what he's looking for. He's only got a few more pages to turn when his eyes catch on the words To Find the Soul's Mate.
“Oh yeah,” he breathes.
This ritual is popular with young betas, although it may also be used with success by the more pheromone led alphas and omegas. As with many bonding and fertility rituals, it will not be successful if worked by a child who has not yet reached breeding age. The rite must be performed in the dark of Samhain.
In the dark. Sunset. Samhain.
Dylan's heart sinks and he calmly sets the book aside before closing his eyes and putting his fist through the kitchen wall. He blinks back the excess moisture lining his eye lids, sucking in a deep breath as he hears his father come running.
"Dylan!"
"I'm okay, Dad," he says faintly, and looks uncomprehendingly at the wall. It is the first time his anger at his situation has manifested so visibly and violently, and he lowers his head when Nash enters the room. "I'm sorry," he says sheepishly, and his father looks between his fist and the wall.
Nash sighs. "I suppose it was going to happen sooner or later," he says calmly, and ushers Dylan over to the sink. "Wash your hands and tell me what your breaking point was."
"I got the book, Dad," he says quietly, obediently sticking his hands under the running water and rinsing them free of the clinging white dust. The rush of the water soothes his skin, and he holds them under for longer than he really needs to.
Nash raises an eyebrow. "The magic one?" The expression on his face makes it clear just how ludicrous he finds the notion.
"Yeah," Dylan says. "I can't get out of it legally. But there's this ritual in it..."
"And that's bad?"
"Dad, the run's on Halloween - that’s two nights away. And I'd have to do the ritual during the run."
*
He reads the ritual through about a dozen times before he starts to gather the ingredients. It's not so very long – other spells in the book are longer. There’s a torn part on the next page, but it looks like it’s after the ritual instructions are finished, so Dylan breathes a sigh of relief.
Nash looks skeptical when Dylan says that he'll just have to make sure he has enough of a head start in order to do the ritual during the run, but he doesn't say anything more about how it probably won't work. His mother was the one who would have believed in magic, and any magic in his father's life was stripped away when she died.
The book is a little vague on what will happen once the ritual is completed, but there's a bit there about "seeing them in the flesh" so he assumes that something will happen right away. It's a whole lot of chance, and Dylan thinks that if it were any other scenario, he'd scoff right along with his dad. But there's some part of him that wants to try it, whether it's a good idea or not.
*
Hannah comes by while he's running through the steps. He thinks that relying on muscle memory might help when he's fidgety and stressed out, so he has everything set up on the kitchen table. He's not going so far as to do everything, but it's enough to run through it, and when he glances up from the candles he's holding to find her peering in through the window in the back door, he jumps, startled.
"What are you doing here?" he asks as he opens the door.
She strides inside. "I think the more important question is, what are you doing with all this?" She glances over the table and reaches out to pick the pestle out of the mortar.
Dylan scratches at the back of his neck and takes the pestle from her fingers, setting it gently back down in the bowl. "It's my last resort," he admits. "Ritual to find my soul mate."
She laughs, but when he doesn't laugh with her, she sobers up and squints at him. "You're serious."
"As the plague," he says.
"But that's - Dylan, magic isn't real, you know that, right?"
He shrugs. "It's worth a shot, anyway," he says, defensive, and she reaches out for his arm. He pulls away.
"Okay," she says, and he knows that she's just placating him. The acceptance feels good, anyway.
"Why did you come over?" he asks her, because he knows that they hadn't made any plans for the day.
"They're opening up the running grounds for the omegas to take a look," she says. "I came to see if you wanted some company while you figured out where you were going to go."
He brightens. "Sure," he says, "Just let me figure out how to stash this.”
*
The traditions surrounding a mating run had been set in place many years ago. When omegas were held in high esteem, the run had been meant as a test in order to weed out alphas who wanted a prestigious mate but didn't have the skill and strength to match them. Later, when the omega oppression began, the runs were held as a way for alphas to pick a mate, even if the omega in question was unwilling.
In modern times, runs were held out of tradition, but they were never serious - they were entered by couples already in relationships but who had yet to make it official with a mating bite and bond; those wolves would usually schedule large wedding parties for the next day. Other wolves entered it as a way to find and meet other singles, or even just a hook-up for the night of no-holds-barred sex. Occasionally you’d even get an already-mated pair entering again to mark major milestones - before meeting new family for the first time, or after a birth, or to overcome relationship problems.
But it was always incorporated into the tradition that the omegas were allowed to look at the property the run would be held on in advance.
The acreage chosen for the run was vast enough that it really was a formality; no one was going to be able to cover all of it in a day's time, but tradition was tradition, and the guards posted at the entrances of the running grounds just scent them to make sure they’re actually omegas before giving
them a cursory nod and waving them through.
Dylan isn't allowed to take any bags in with him, so all of the supplies he needs for the ritual are secreted away between his body and Hannah's. When they are just out of hearing range of the guards, Hannah stops them and raises one foot on a fallen log.
"Do you know how uncomfortable it is to walk with this strapped to your leg?" she complains, and releases the ties binding the mortar against her shin.
"Thanks, Han." He grins at her, and she gives him a small smile.
"Yeah, yeah," she says, and starts pulling the other implements out. Dylan produces a large piece of cloth from his pocket, and they bundle all of his supplies together and tie up the fabric neatly.
When they start walking again, he holds the bundle close to his body. He doesn't see them, but there are other wolves out here, other omegas checking out where they'll need to run and where they might need to evade; he's not the only one who isn't keen to be mated to whoever manages to catch him.
"So you've been out here before, right?" Hannah asks when they've gone a little bit further.
"Not recently," Dylan admits. "It’s been a few years since I’ve gone anywhere for a proper hike."
"Well, Eric took me out here for the full moon a few months ago," Hannah says. "It was really romantic."
When she looks like she's about to get swept away into what she remembers about their romantic night together, Dylan taps her lightly. "I don't want to hear about Eric's knot," he says seriously, and she pinches him.
"That was one time!"
"That was three times," he corrects her, but they don't mean anything by it.
"Well, there was this spot," she says. "If you're really going to... you know... well. I think it might be a good place." She looks at him dubiously. "It’ll be easier to get there if we shift.”
Dylan looks down at his bundle and frowns. "Yeah, okay," he says. Their clothes don't transform with them; they'll have to leave them tucked out of the way and he’ll need to carry the bundle in his mouth until they get to where they're going.
All Hallow's Howl Page 2
