by Andrew Dudek
I nodded. “I’d like to ask about Harrison’s father, if you don’t mind.”
The little half-smile vanished. “I don’t like talking about that man. Or animal—whatever he is. With anyone.”
“I understand, but I think it’d be best for your son if we could find out who his dad was. If he learns those things, he can learn to control his wolf.” I looked at Harrison, whose head was down. “Don’t you want your son to have a normal life?”
“I promise, Mr. Carver, nothing good will come from Harrison meeting his father. That animal is…well, an animal.”
“There’s no shame in being a werewolf,” I said. “But I need—Harrison needs—to know who his father was.”
She sighed, long and hard. For a long moment there was no sound but the angry little panting of Trixie in Ms. Edwards’s arms.
Finally, she said, “Have you ever had your heart broken? So completely and totally that it felt like you couldn’t go on?”
“Once.”
"Then you have an idea of what happened between me and Harry’s father. I was twenty-two and just out of college. A few girlfriends and I were camping in Yellowstone. He just…came out of the woods, naked as the day he was born. All muscular and hairy and…powerful.” She shivered at the memory and her eyes got distant with memory.
“Mom…” Harrison intoned.
“Sorry, honey. His name was Walt Palmer. Or at least that’s what he said. I found out later his real name was White Paws. We got to talking and, well, one thing led to another and we fell in love. He never hid what he was from me, but that made it more exciting. Almost dangerous. We were married within two years and we rented an apartment in Manhattan. Harrison was born about a year later and everything was perfect. But then Walt started taking long runs in the park, every day, just so he could feel the trees around him. So he could see the sky. The real sky, was how he described it. Not the city sky. One day he just didn’t come back from the park. Harry was three.” She looked at her son, her eyes straining with the effort to hold back tears.
All of that was pretty standard for werebeasts playing house with humans. It doesn’t end well and someone gets hurt. A few years back I’d had to track down a werelioness that had slaughtered her family after an argument with her human husband. I still had the scars to prove it.
That wasn’t anything new. What was helpful was the confirmation that Harrison’s father hadn’t lived anywhere near upstate New York. Yellowstone was far enough away that the territorial nature of the wolf pack wouldn’t put Harrison in any danger. Hopefully.
“Thank you for your help, ma’am,” I said. “Harrison and I are gonna go up north to talk to some people who might be able to help more.”
Her eyes flashed with alarm. “Is that safe?”
“Nothing will happen to him while I’m around.”
“How can you promise that?”
“Ms. Edwards, Harrison told me that you’re the one who sent him to the Round Table. So that means you know what I can do.”
“I know that you’re dedicated to protecting humanity. My son is…not human.” She looked pained, and I wondered if that was the first time she’d ever said as much out loud.
“He’s not a monster, either,” I said. “I’ll take care of him.”
She nodded, but she still looked nervous.
To Harrison. I said, “Ready to go?”
He looked sick, but he nodded.
So with that, the two of us left for the woods.
“No entry” read the faded paint on the sign hanging from the chain that crossed the entry to the little gravel parking lot. I pulled the car over as far from the highway as I could and parked on the shoulder. Edges of trees scraped against the passenger door. We were a few steps away from an island of civilization in a sea of forest. The gravel lot had once been used as a park ranger meeting ground, but it looked long abandoned. There were no cars in the lot and the chain was rusted. Beyond that there was nothing but miles and miles of trees. Beyond that was Canada.
This forest was home to one of the East Coast’s largest pack of werewolves.
“We go on foot from here,” I said. Harrison had to scramble over the driver’s seat to get out of the car.
I strapped my sword across my waist and clipped my hunting knife to the opposite hip. Both weapons had jewels inlaid in the handles that gave them magical power.
“What are those for?” Harrison asked.
“Insurance,” I said. “Werewolves can be territorial. These are just to make sure they don’t try to take a bite out of us. And if those don’t work…” I clipped a small medallion to the collar of my T-shirt. It was about the size of a silver dollar and shaped like a medieval shield. A large capital C was embossed on the front. The symbol of my rank, announcing me a captain of the Round Table. Werewolves may not like to consider themselves part of any human society, but they respect power. And nothing in the supernatural society is more powerful than the Knights of the Round Table.
“The wolves won’t try anything funny,” I said. “If they try, it’d be a matter of hours before they were all turned into fur coats.”
Harrison nodded, his jaw set, but his eyes betrayed his nerves. Understandable. Smart, even. We were heading into the territory of some very dangerous creatures. Still, it’s not good to show fear to a predator, especially a wolf. They respect power, but they take fear as a sign of weakness. And you can probably guess what wolves do to the weak.
I’d have to be brave enough for the both of us.
“I hope you have on good walking shoes,” I said and hopped over the chain and led the way into the woods. Within moments it felt as if the trees had closed in on us and blocked out the mid-morning sun.
Chapter 7
I used to spend a lot of time in forests. For most of the decade that I’d been a knight, I'd been a Nomad. We weren’t attached to any one city, so we traveled the globe, hunting and killing monsters. A lot of that hunting had been done in dark jungles and thick forests. Usually, though, I’d had at least one other person who knew what he was doing. Don’t get me wrong: I’d done a little tracking, but I was a city kid and I wasn’t near confident in my wilderness skills.
If Bill Foster could have seen me, he would have shaken his head in mock-disgust. Not that I really gave a damn what that treasonous bastard thought.
Harrison was beginning to suspect that I didn’t have an idea where I was leading him. I could tell by the way he asked things like, “Do you have any idea where you’re leading us?”
“Werewolves live deep in the woods. We’ve got a long hike.” Though I was wishing I’d spotted a trail somewhere.
He sighed. “Well, how do you even know we’re looking in the right place?”
“See that sign?” It was one of several fluorescent “Private Property” markers on trees that we’d started passing a half-hour ago. “The Table puts those up in the territories of certain supes. Prevent hunters from blundering into the middle of a wolf pack feeding frenzy. And the wolves don’t leave the forest, usually. They’re in here.”
I didn’t mention that the pack’s territory covered hundreds of square miles. I didn’t know how many wolves exactly were in the pack, but I’d have bet there weren’t more than a few dozen individuals. Not great odds for a tracker.
We walked for a while. The crunch of dead leaves and fallen branches under my boots was painfully loud. Harrison, too, was stepping on seemingly every twig. If we were hunting, this would have been a problem, but I wanted the pack to hear us. You don’t want to let a bunch of wolves think you’re a threat. And a couple of strange humans sneaking up on them would absolutely qualify as a threat.
I was always amazed by the way that places like this coexist with the modern world. This forest felt primordial—ancient. And it was only a couple of hours from one of the most technologically advanced cities in the world.
So lost was I in my thoughts that I didn’t realize the stomping behind me had come to a stop. Harrison was
standing near a fallen log. He was eerily, supernaturally still.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Um. What do werewolves smell like?”
I shrugged. “Mixture of people and wolves, I guess. Why?”
“ ‘Cause I think there’s a bunch of them surrounding us.”
I froze every muscle in my body and peered into the trees. The forest wasn’t so thick that I couldn’t see—visibility was about a hundred feet—and I didn’t see a single wolf.
“You sure?”
“I think so.”
The nose knows.
“My name’s Dave Carver,” I said into the forest, “knight of the Round Table. I’m here on official business.” I let that sink in for a moment before I continued. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. “Please come out and show yourself.”
The first thing I saw were the eyes. Huge, yellow, with flecks of brown, they peered from behind a rock. A moment later the wolf that the eyes were attached to stepped into view.
It was about as tall as a Great Dane, but its musculature was heavier, its fur thicker. The wolf slunk forward, its head low and its lips drawn back from long teeth. It flicked its tail once and let out a long growl.
From my peripheral vision I spotted another wolf at ten o’clock. There was another at five. And one more at three. All four wolves had the same basic colors—mottled shades of gray and brown—but the markings were different.
“We’re not here for a fight,” I said, calmly as possible.
“Is that why you’ve brought a member of another pack into our territory?”
I never saw the woman until she was crouching on a rock to my right. She was covered with dirt and grime, which made it hard to guess her age. Her hair, which was the same shades of brown and gray as the wolves’ fur, hung past her waist. And, oh yeah, she was naked. Her small breasts, legs, arms muscular stomach, and genitals were covered with thick hair.
“He’s a friend of mine,” I said.
“A lone wolf in another pack’s territory. That doesn’t usually end well.”
Two of the wolves barked. A third threw back its head and howled.
Crap! Time for an audible.
“Inspection,” I snapped, tapping the badge on my chest. “I’m here to make sure you’re not eating hikers for breakfast.”
“None of the pack have left the forest,” the she-wolf growled. “We haven’t harmed a human.”
“The Round Table will be glad to hear that,” I said. “But if you harm my associate, it won't look good on the report.”
The she-wolf snarled. “Who is he?”
“I think you’ve confused me with someone who wants to stand in the middle of the forest and play twenty questions with a guard dog,” I said. “Take me to your alpha.”
All four wolves showed their fangs now. One of them snapped and growled, his jaws wet with slaver.
“You heard me, she-wolf,” I said. “Now.” I folded my arms across my chest and stared at her. It was a calculated slap in the face. Something like 99 percent of werewolf communication is nonverbal. By keeping my hands well above my waist I was showing her that they weren’t near my weapons. I was telling her that I wasn’t afraid of her.
The she-wolf snarled and spun around. “Follow.” She stalked into the woods at a pace that was slow enough for her Harrison to follow. Her friends slunk away into the trees.
Stray thought I had as I walked behind her: except for the excess body-hair, the she-wolf had a nice ass.
The clearing looked like something out of a documentary about lions. Wolves lay sprawled on rocks, maybe a dozen wolves. Most of them were panting, their mouths hanging open to show their teeth. The ones in the center of the clearing were the same shades of brown and gray as the wolves that had greeted us. Along the edges, though, there was other colored fur: blacks and orange-reds and lighter browns.
Horseflies buzzed around the carcass of a bull moose. Scraps of fur and a little bit of gristle were all that remained of the animal’s body. Several of the bones were cracked open. A scrawny wolf pup was hunched over the body, picking at scraps.
All of the wolves stared at Harrison. Here and there a growl rumbled through the hot, humid aid, but none moved. Harrison barely breathed.
The she-wolf dropped to all fours before a big round hole in the ground and crawled inside. She emerged a minute later, gave me a respectful nod, and padded over to where a wolf lay with its forepaws on a big rock.
“What’s happening?” Harrison asked.
“She just told the alpha that we’re here.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Unless he decides to attack.”
“What happens then?”
I shot him a look that said Come on, look around you. There were too many wolves in the clearing. If the pack decided to close in on us, we’d die.
Harrison gulped. At the edge of the clearing, one of the wolves barked. It sounded like a laugh.
A man pulled himself out of the hole. He was huge, a head taller than me and forty muscular pounds heavier. His hair was iron gray and it hung in a knotted mess to the middle of his chest, as did his tangled beard. He was naked, and his penis seemed to swing past his knees. His chest, arms, and neck were criss-crossed with old cuts and scar tissue. Many of them looked like bite-marks. This was a man—no, a wolf—who had earned his position at the head of the pack.
“You’re from the Round Table?” His voice was rough: exactly how you’d expect a talking wolf to sound.
“Right,” I said. “Captain Dave Carver.”
“I am Scar Chest. Who is the outpacker?”
“His name’s Harrison Edwards and he—”
“Do not lie to me, human! He is not one of yours. I can smell it on him. He is of the wolf. What is his name?”
I frowned and licked my lips. “He’s never spent time with a pack,” I said. “He doesn’t have a wolf name—or at least he doesn’t know what it is. His father was White Paws.”
“White Paws. I do not know of him.”
“He wasn’t from around here.”
“His father was not of my pack. He is not of my pack.” Scar Chest pulled at a thatch of hair on his chest. “Why have you brought him here?”
I looked at Harrison. “Go on, kid. Tell him.”
He swallowed. “Uh. Well. Um. See—”
“Out with it!” Scar Chest roared.
“I want to learn to control it,” Harrison said. “Suppress it. The wolf part of me. I want to live as a human.”
In the corner of my eye, I saw the she-wolf stir and sit up.
At the same moment, Scar Chest lunged forward. I took a half-step in front of Harrison and raised my hand. I didn’t actually touch the old werewolf—that would have been an act of aggression and he’d have met it with violence—but I did stop him from getting a huge hand around Harrison’s throat.
“Look around you!” Scar Chest snarled. “Does it seem as if we are shamed by what we are? We hunt the game animals, the same way as our fathers did since before this human nation was born.”
Scar Chest hadn’t taken a step back. His eyes were marbles of shining gold. I could hear a strange grinding sound coming from his mouth and it didn’t take much imagination to visualize his fangs growing in. What big teeth you have…
I reacted without thinking. I dropped one hand to the hilt of my sword and said, quietly. “Step back, please. Or you’ll be adding a new scar to your chest.”
The alpha werewolf shook his head in disgust and took a step back. “We are not ashamed. The only reason I don’t kill this cowardly pup where he stands is because he is accompanied by you, alpha of the Round Table. Leave my territory. Now.”
“We don’t know how to get back to the road,” I said.
“The human path?” The werewolf shook his massive head. “My mate will guide you.” With that he spun around and disappeared back into his den.
The she-wolf led us out of the clearing. As she led t
he way back the way we had come, she told us that her name was Gray Nails, for the color of the claws on her wolf-self’s paws, and that she had been Scar Chest’s mate for many moons. No kidding, she actually said “moons.”
The sun was low in the sky by the time we could hear the occasional car rushing past on the highway, making it dark as night in the forest. After a little while I could see the illumination of headlights and some time after that I spotted the little gravel lot. Gray Nails stopped.
“Well,” I said. “Thanks for the escort.”
“Thank the pack.”
I shrugged. “See you around, Gray Nails.”
“Thank you,” Harrison mumbled.
We’d gotten a few yards through the trees when Gray Nails’s voice called out to us. “I know someone who may help you.”
I stopped and turned around. “Who?”
“One of my pups,” she said. “He left the pack many moons ago. He felt, like this one, the call of humanity. He sent a message once, through a man who owns a shop nearby that is friendly to us. My pup is living in a place called the Island of Staten. I understand it is far from here, but not too far.”
I nodded and smiled faintly. “I know Staten Island. What’s his name?”
“His name is Proud Eyes,” she said and her eyes darkened just a little. “But his note said he is calling himself Paul Ellis.”
“Paul Ellis,” I said. “Got it. Any message you want me to pass on?”
She hesitated. “Tell him that I…that the pack misses him.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Gray Nails. For the help.”
With that the she-wolf backed into the trees. In a matter of moments the woods had swallowed her and it was if she were invisible.
Harrison and I trudged the rest of the way in silence. I got in the car, started the engine, and began the long drive back to the city. As I pulled away from the shoulder, I thought I spotted a pair of watching, yellow eyes.
Chapter 8
Harrison wanted to go find Paul Ellis right away. I disappointed him—I had someplace else to be. I dropped Harrison off at the office, where he would call his mom and tell her that he’d spending the night. Then I texted Dallas to tell him I was on my way.
