by Gaja J. Kos
After almost twenty-five years of watching over her, little could escape his observations. But he had also learned not to pry. She would eventually talk to him. However, it had to be wholly on her terms; otherwise he would get nothing at all.
“If you ever need anything –”
“You'll be there, yeah, yeah...” Though she cut him off, there was a playful undertone in her words. “I'm counting on it, old man. If someone tries to claw a WV into my face, I expect you to blast them into as many atoms as you can.”
He didn't have to remind her that as a Kresnik, he had a limited range of allowed interference with worldly events. She was well aware his protection was narrowed down to her and her living bloodline only. And as much as he yearned to blast every creature that had set out to harm her, she understood that using that kind of power in any other scenario, except when it came to an imminent death threat that wasn't yet meant to unfold, would lead to his execution.
That, however, didn't imply he was powerless when it came to preventative measures for her well-being. But the wheels had only begun to stir, leaving him in an idle state. Whatever information he gave her now could cause more harm than good, since a strong line of events hadn’t constructed itself yet. Feeding her unreliable knowledge was certainly not a risk he was likely willing to take.
He finished his coffee, sparing only a few words of casual conversation and giving her the time to wake up completely. He could probably see she was doing well, despite her pensiveness and mild agitation. With his mind seemingly put at ease, he hugged her in a tight embrace, his large bear-like figure shielding her from the outside world, at least for a moment.
Tim looked like he hadn't managed to get even a second of shut-eye (Rose assumed he somehow didn't have the chance to even blink properly, given the red cobwebs that spread wildly over the whites of his eyes), when all seven wolves gathered at Mark's residence, situated just outside Ljubljana later that morning. His dark blond hair was ruffled in all directions and his crumpled clothes screamed that the night in the lab had indeed been a long one. Staring longingly at the early lunch Mark had put on the table, he attacked a plate of invitingly aromatic, well-done ribs, replenishing his energy levels before joining the almost casual conversation the weres were having.
They were taking advantage of the shadows under the pine trees in the garden, enjoying the subtle wind that smelled of the Alps which lay on the northern side of Mark's residence. The wide space, stripped of all metropolitan noises, put them at ease, creating a slightly more favorable setting for strenuous discussions.
Tim licked the grease from his fingers. “White werewolf.”
The conversation died down instantly as they all turned towards the were.
“Of course.” Evelin's eyes widened, making the dark circles under her eyes even more prominent. She’d had a sleepless night herself, burying her head into the books that were at her disposal in her stepfather’s library, as she searched in vain for any mention of the toxin.
Jens was clearly taken aback. “Aren't they extinct?”
For the past few centuries, the White werewolf had fallen more in rank with the mythological nature of the Gamayun rather than being perceived as an actual species.
“No. But very few remain.” A grim expression had fallen over Evelin's feminine features, her lips pulled into a tight line. “If you're saying what I think you're saying”—she looked over at Tim—“then there are even fewer in existence now.”
Rose let out a sigh as the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place. “That's why she smelled like a newborn.”
White werewolves could never take human form, although they had a human conscience, a completely human mind. Like the mutation that kept Black weres from having an animalistic mind when they shifted, the one that caused the Whites to exist, prevented them from ever tapping into their human form.
“Nathaniel could confirm her age at thirty-four. The blood and bones revealed as much. But her skin had the characteristics of a day-old child.”
A breeze played with Zarja's hair, bringing her out of a pensive trance. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but from what I read and heard, a White werewolf lives and dies in wolf form. Why would she be any different?”
“That's the fucked up part,” Tim intervened.
“What–you're saying this isn't fucked up enough?” For once there was no underlying tone of humor in Jürgen's words.
Tim shot him a solemn look, but not without a sense of empathy. This wasn't some standard bullshit they had dealt with before. Power battles and rogue wolves were relatively easy to handle once they found what drove them to their actions. The death of this White werewolf seemed sinister. More than any power or bloodlust case they had encountered.
“Rose was right. The pus wasn't–or should I say isn't, given the fact the damn thing is still perfectly intact–pus.” Tim thrust his hand in his tousled hair. “Nathaniel is still running additional tests, but from what he could gather, it's venom.”
Rose didn't seem to have any particular trouble reading between the lines of Tim's discreet silences. “The venom made her shift.”
A subdued growl vibrated from Jürgen.
“The fucked up part is,” Tim continued, “that the toxin made her shift first. She lived to feel the transformation, to experience what it meant to be in human form right before it killed her.”
Nobody must’ve felt like talking. A long stretch of time passed, the wind getting stronger as the afternoon approached. The countryside oasis that was Mark's residence became overrun by a thick layer of grimness.
“Bastard,” Evelin whispered into the currents of air, her eyes glistening even more profoundly with that emerald green color that barely passed for human.
No one spoke, but Evelin's sigh put the same thought in all of their minds.
The preeminent longing of all White werewolves was to feel their bodies set in human form. There could never be a perfect symbiosis if the wolf and human part of their species didn't fall in step with one another. The Black werewolves knew that particular kind of pain.
Unable to distance themselves from their human mind, the disparity between their wolf-like bodies and human reasoning challenged them with every shift. That affliction caused them to evolve, to let them master something no other werewolf could–a half-shift. Being torn by nature, a physical state somewhere between werewolf and human somehow seemed fitting; it eased the pain.
The White werewolves never got that kind of comfort; their minds were cages for their bodies, and their bodies acted as cages for their minds. To allow a White werewolf to taste the human form right before robbing them of their life was an act of the severest depravity.
Chapter 5
Rose made her way through the typically overflowing streets of New York, summer weighing down hard on her bare shoulders. Swiveling around tourists who never seemed to move with the efficiency and swiftness of true New Yorkers, she turned off 5th Avenue to take advantage of what shade Central Park could offer. She passed the Bethesda Terrace, turning north through the less teeming paths to find herself standing on the gentle curve of the Bow Bridge.
Regardless of the white-hot sun that made the pavement stick to the soles of her shoes, she leaned with her back against the delicately crafted railing, taking in the view of the megalopolis that seemed to embrace the fresh, green sanctuary, with its high metropolitan architecture substituting the affection of cradling arms. Sweat trickled down her spine, reminding her to leave the nature gazing for a cooler day. However reluctant she was to part from the view, she welcomed the somewhat more dense forest as she continued to make her way north, never distancing herself much from the lake that lay to her left.
She gratefully accepted the gentle scent of nature as the wind–although it relentlessly stayed contained mostly to the altitude of treetops–spread like raindrops across her surroundings. Crossing the lake at Bank Rock Bay, she made her way past West Drive, continuing to stick to the less favorable paths, and
finally settling on one that ran almost parallel to 79th Street Transverse.
She smiled at the thought of her mother running those trails at night, knowing the cover of darkness and the numerous escape paths, which would take her far into the cosset of woods, giving her a sense of complete, incontestable freedom. Rose filled her lungs with the sweet sense of solitude one final time before emerging directly onto Central Park West.
The heartbeat of New York streets reflected in the black lenses of round, vintage Ray-Ban glasses. Ileana was seated at a small circular table, her back to the building that provided at least a moderate amount of shade to combat the persisting heat. No one would have guessed she wasn't a born New Yorker; a sense of ease surrounded her, endorsed by her wildly cascading strawberry blonde hair, a shade or two darker than Rose's, and garments that were fashionable but nonetheless radiated comfort.
The werewolf flashed a wide grin at Rose from behind her coffee mug. “Rosie.”
“Mumsy.” Pet names Rose would never allow the pack to hear–unless she wanted to see her friends die from an onslaught of sudden laughter.
Ileana pulled Rose into a tight embrace, slyly tickling her daughter behind the ears. A gesture that certainly did not go unreciprocated.
“I sensed you weren't particularly enthusiastic about flying out to see me,” Ileana said, a teasing tone in her words.
“I kind of envisioned the end of summer as me gorging on macaroons and sipping those deliciously large glasses of wine in Parisian cafés.”
“And now you get to gulp large amounts of coffee with your mother in the middle of New York. What's so bad about that?” Ileana chaffed with a phony expression of hurt on her face. She knew damn well that it wasn't the trip itself that bothered Rose. “How are you going to tackle this thing?”
Rose slumped back into her chair, observing the dark surface of coffee that caressed her senses in an almost intimate way. “No idea. Can't even figure out what this thing actually is. To be frank, the Gamayun was a stingy little mythological bitch.”
A growl-like laugh escaped Ileana, which made her even more stunning. Naturally, she would rebuff the compliment if Rose dared to phrase it, but Ileana embodied a unique beauty whether she liked it or not. That delicate mixture of roughness and femininity that brought howling weres to her doorstep, a ludicrous sight Rose remembered from her childhood, and figured was probably still going on; although it would be much, much harder for them to go unnoticed if they wanted to serenade her right in the middle of the Upper West Side. Too many people, not to mention too many surveillance cameras; The Keepers would have strung them up by their balls if they had to deal with cleaning up the werewolves' enamored messes.
Rose told Ileana a brief recollection of events, knowing her mother must have already known or at least felt most of it before Rose even stepped on the plane headed to JFK. Still, she wanted to convey her frustration for the lack of facts, backed by the profoundly fitting example of the Gamayun's interference or, better yet, the distressing absence of it.
“Luckily, I've been keeping tabs on things.”
Her mother was in the habit of keeping herself in the loop when it came to ill-fated events. Evelin's family may have been well connected, but Ileana was a direct descendant of Mokoš, and although she preferred not to advertise her lineage, her reputation was known in the highest and even the immortal circles of the supernatural community. Which meant Ileana had access to the kind of knowledge that wasn't quite commonplace.
“I may have something useful.”
Evelin sat in a Persian blue armchair covered in a delicate pattern of gold vines. She always felt small sitting there, but it was a feeling of pleasant smallness. It gave her a sense of safety without making her feel like a porcelain doll most humans and supes took her for. She let out a lone laugh which, in truth, came across more as a sigh. She thought about just how ridiculous that label was. She was a Black werewolf after all, and her small feminine frame had zero influence over her strength and viciousness. She was, without doubt, a valid representative of her species, which meant she wasn't a stranger to the ruthlessness of a human mind in a wolf's body. And she never shied from it, either.
As the study doors opened, she put her thoughts aside, knowing all too well that the particular blend of calculation and brute force, paradigmatic for Black weres, would be put to use shortly–probably much sooner than she would have liked. A warm scent overcame her senses as her stepfather strolled into the room, slowly positioning himself in the vacant chair opposite Evelin.
“Pa,” she sighed, her tone nothing but the purest gratitude and delight as she eyed the large mug of cocoa Nikolai had placed on the club table in front of her. Summer may not have qualified as the season for hot beverages by any standards, but given the situation, her stepfather understood she needed the small token of thoughtfulness that had always calmed her when she was a child. The soft, yet potent scent dispersed the strain from her face, likely replaced by an innocent expression of thankfulness.
“So.” Nikolai leaned back, his discreetly muscular arms showing through the thin linen of his shirt as he placed his elbows casually on the curves of the armchair. “What do you wish to know?”
She sipped her cocoa, cradling the mug in her hands. “How many White weres do you know?”
“Personally? None.” A slight pause as he thought about whom out of his connections was viable as a White werewolf trustee. “Otmar has ties with a small-scale pack in his region.” Nikolai was referring to his distant cousin who ran with the leading pack of Moravian weres.
“Could you –”
“I'll send word to Otmar right away.”
Evelin whispered a soft thank you, still carefully fondling the cocoa mug. All of this struck too close to home, bringing up memories she would have preferred to keep buried. Nikolai leaned forward to gently brush the side of her cheek.
She bit back her tears, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. “I'll be all right. As soon as I rip the bastard's throat out.”
A proud fatherly smile played across his face. “You remind me so much of her, Ev.”
“You're saying someone practiced?” Rose growled under her breath as she studied the photographs on her mother's desk.
They both stood motionless in the spacious living room that offered the most breathtaking view over Central Park. But it wasn't the sight that held their attention. Rose picked a photograph out of the several that were scattered across the sleek mahogany surface. Piles of small bodies lay on the tiled bathhouse floor, left there as they fell, an expression of sheer horror permanently embedded in their faces.
“How come –”Of course this information hadn't reached them; the immortals kept everything very close quarters, even when it came to the most unimportant events. Something like this would naturally cause an even bigger lockdown. To advertise their weaknesses meant nothing but the slowly approaching chill of death.
Slaughtering Banniks was something no one had managed to achieve in over a millennium; not that there was any particular reason to harm the prophetic spirits. Unless you wanted to hold the future hidden. But despite the brutality of the crime and the fact that the murderer had achieved something that was deemed impossible, the slaughter was as low-key as a slaughter could get. The Banniks weren't displayed anywhere public, and the bathhouse location itself simply wasn't that widely known to attract any outside attention.
“The few that remain have gone into hiding,” Ileana offered, luring her daughter away from the images to the two light armchairs placed next to the glass wall. The pulse of New York beat several stories below, but Rose was too entangled in keeping her own heartbeat steady to even notice the city on the other side.
“How did they manage to escape?”
“It was pure luck that they weren't there when the massacre happened.” The attack took place at the one remaining bathhouse they all frequented monthly. As the representatives of their species became sparse over the ages, they invoked a monthly gathering
at one of the few places the changes, which habitually unraveled as time passed, hadn't touched. Attendance was mandatory; it was a silent rule, but a rule nonetheless.
“Otherwise, they wouldn't have escaped.” Ileana slowly swiped her glance across the serene horizon that lay beyond the layer of thick glass. “I wouldn't have thought the carnage held any weight for your particular problem until I saw their backs.”
The images Rose had studied before were burned into her brain in vivid detail. The oozing green WV cut across the thin backs of the fluid-deprived bodies, almost cutting them in half. The mark was the one thing that seemed to hold any kind of liquid, drawing a gruesome contrast with the dried-up skin it had been carved into.
“What did it serve for this time?” Rose remembered the White werewolf's human form, knowing the sinister marking was not there only for decorative and death-bringing intentions.
Ileana sighed. “Only the Banniks could wholly confirm what had transpired, but since they–although wisely–dropped from the radar, it became almost impossible to state anything with certainty. However, The Keepers managed to get a hold of one of the survivors before he went into hiding. They couldn't learn much in the brief time they had, but everything points to their abilities. They have reason to believe the toxin made them see their own future.”
Rose's thoughts were too scattered to piece together the complete meaning, too many questions forming correspondingly with every new information she obtained. The Banniks were able to predict the future with or without the toxin. However, she had to confess that whether or not they could tell their own fortunes was something she had no knowledge of.
Ileana picked up on Rose's train of thought. “They couldn't use the gift on themselves.”
“They had no idea that someone had set out to commit a genocide of their species...” Rose nodded, her thoughts slightly less foggy. “So they saw their deaths before the actual event?”
