I hadn't even made it through the door yet, when Pam was motioning me to sit down. "Are you up to going back to work?" she asked.
"Sure, as long as I don't have to arrest any crazed Aztec high priestesses in the next few days." I said with a grin.
"No, this is more of an investigative thing. We have someone killing animals in and around the Olympic National Park. I would like you to go out and take a look at it."
"OK, can do. But why me?"
"Because I think it's a lycanthrope, and I don't want some biased officer shooting him or her. I want the criminals arrested, not dead." she paused and grinned. "That and because if you get bit or clawed, it's not going to cost the agency an arm and a leg in disability. It's not like you can be changed twice."
"Great. Remember how the last fiasco turned out. What makes you think it's 'Thropes' anyway?"
"John, the park rangers that have found the kills are finding sign from cougars or other big cats, wolves, and bears, along with some tracks that they can't identify, all at the same kill. Like they were working together. So you tell me, how likely is that?"
"Well, you have me there." I thought back over the last week or so.
*****
I had gotten out of the hospital about a week ago. Mary picked me up and brought me home. Mary had spent a bit of time in the hospital too, but she hadn't gotten nearly as banged up as I had. Mary is my girlfriend, and may wind up being the next Mrs. Fisher, if I play my cards right.
We had gotten the shit kicked out of us, my partner Pete was still in the hospital, although he was out of serious danger, and my great uncle had died. Still, you should have seen the other guys. The showdown between Marina, her henchmen, (well, Aztec vampires actually) and the good guys had left a Hel 1 of a body count: five Civatateo (that's what the Aztecs called this type of vampire); one high priestess dead on the bad guys side; one civilian advisor dead (that's what they called Lars officially); two officers and three civilian advisors (one had been a hostage, the other two had been Vampires), were hospitalized. In addition, five more human followers of Marina had been arrested in the immediate aftermath, all of them charged with kidnapping and accessory to murder by magic. Yeah, it had been a real full day. It had also taken me five days to heal up to the point where I could go home, and I would be on light duty for another week at least. 'Thropes don't heal at our normal supernatural rates when it's a wound caused by magical creatures. More's the pity. Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. Hi, I'm Detective John Fisher, and I'm a Were-cougar. (and in my mind I hear mutters of "Hi John")
As I got out of Mary's car, I remembered what Lars' dying words had been to me "Look in the wood shop." Lars had been living at my place for a few weeks prior to the big showdown, and had been doing some work in my workshop. So I walked over and looked inside. I found a six foot long oaken model of a Norse longboat, and two pieces of paper. The first one read:
Dear John,
By the time you find this, I will be with Robyn, and happier on the whole. This is how I wanted to go out, do not mourn for me. Besides, I expect I will still be a pain in your ass from time to time. Thor has asked me to help Tyr with your continuing training. Think of me as your own personal messenger from the gods.
Now this next part is important to me, boy, so don't blow it. I understand that State law will not allow me to be laid to rest in proper fashion. Laid out intact in a vessel with my weapons and some of my chattel around me, put to sea, and my vessel lit on fire. So, this is what you will do; cremate my remains. Place the ashes in this boat, along with my sword, a spear (I'm sure you can find one somewhere, the one I used on the night I wrote this will not do, it's not destroyable, and it's not mine) and my shield (you will find it on the Tanngnost). Put the boat on a painter off the stern of the Tanngnost, and put to sea. When you are well out in the straits, dump some gas on the boat, pull clear, and shoot a flare at it. Bring along Mary, if you want, if she is willing, and anyone else that asks, or that you feel is appropriate. The other page is my will, and is for the legal beagles. The simple version is that your father and you are my only surviving relatives. He gets fifty thousand dollars if he doesn't contest the will, nothing if he does. Everything else goes to you. You made me proud boy.
I love you.
Lars.
As I reread the note, I realize there are a few things I haven't explained. See, Lars was more than just my great-uncle, he was also my Goti. That's a Norse word that translates as High Priest/Teacher. It seems that along with the 'Thrope powers I had gotten by accident, I had something else which was both a gift and a curse. I had inherited the Baresark gene through my father's side.
Now in ninety percent of the people that inherit this trait, it never matters. In addition to inheriting the gene, you have to be in a position to trigger the Baresark. This means up close and personal life or death combat. In the start of the twenty-first century, that just doesn't happen to most people. I, however, didn't have the normal person's career. In the Navy, the powers that be, had used various means to control and keep secret this affliction. Recently though, it had come out again, and I had turned to Lars (who also had the gene) to learn how to control it without drugs, etc.
Well, it turns out that the best way to control it was to become a servant of the gods; what they called a guardian. That was what Lars had done, and that was what I ended up becoming. There were other ways, either just staying away from anything like violence, or using hypnotism and drugs. I was never much on drugs, and "stay away from violence"? Not bloody likely. So I ended up as a sort of an apprentice high-priest for the Norse god of Justice, Tyr. Damn fitting for a cop, don't 'cha think?
Being able to control Baresark was sort of important, when a man goes Baresark (or Berserk as the Normans called it) he becomes almost immune to damage, and anything that is not an immediate killing wound doesn't hurt him. He also loses a lot of human control, basically if it moves around him, it dies. No differentiation between friend and foe, good guy or bad guy. Until control returns, he kills anything that moves. With Lars dead, I had thought I was on my own, but maybe not...oh, and I guess I should explain that the Tanngnost was Lars' sailboat.
The Tanngnost had started life as a long-line fisherman just before the Second World War. There had been so many changes made, though, that the only thing remaining of the original design was the hull lines. She had a new cabin and superstructure added between the masts, and the helm/pilot house had been raised slightly to increase the sightlines. The masts were carbon fiber, the standing rigging was solid rod, and the sails were roller furling. The deck and hull were still wood though, and they were double-planked. The hull and superstructure were painted a dark gray, and there was very little in the way of bright work (varnished wood for the non-sailing types). Though there was a fair amount of brass and stainless steel, this was very definitely a working boat, not a toy. And it looked like she was now mine, along with gods only knew what else. I didn't know the full extent of Lars' estate, but it sounded big. I guess I was going to be dealing with the lawyers for awhile.
All of this had been running through my mind as I read the note. I could almost hear Lars' gruff voice talking to me, telling me these things. I hadn't known him for very long; he had been estranged from the family until his brother's hospitalization had brought him back "into the fold". The brief time we had together, though, was more significant than twenty years of normal familial life; a lot of it had been in or near combat conditions. That makes a difference.
I guess I had been crying, because when I became aware of my surroundings, Mary had her hand on my shoulder, and the note was blurred and blotted, the ink had run a bit. Mary walked me back to the house, sat me down and brought me a large shot of bourbon. She had one for herself as well.
"To Lars Scalagrimson, an honorable man, a true friend, and a brave companion." she said, then she said something else, in Cheyenne, I think, (I didn't catch what it was) then hammered the whiskey down and threw the glass at the f
ireplace, where it shattered spectacularly.
I mumbled "Uncle Lars", slammed the whiskey back, and threw my own glass at the hearth...it bounced. Son of a Bitch. It sat there for a second as I stared at it, then fell to pieces. I looked up and said "OK, very funny old man. Fine, I'll stop feeling sorry for myself." then muttered under my breath "Asshole."
"Well, now that you are out of the hospital, how about some real food?" asked Mary as she headed out the front door. Mary Two Elks is five foot, four inches weighing in around one-sixty, and full-blooded Cheyenne. Her hair goes all the way down to that really great butt. She's also a full professor of Applied Magic at the U.W. and teaches American Indian History as well, which is how I came to know her. I later found out that she is a member of the 'Dog Solders', a warrior society in the Cheyenne nation that sort of fulfills the job of the National Guard and the FBI for the US government. Her particular specialty is, magical warfare. She performs the same sort of service for her deities that I do as a guardian.
A few minutes later Mary came back in the house with several cardboard boxes, and disappeared into the kitchen. I went in to offer my help and was shooed out with the orders of "Sit, relax, you're an invalid...my job!" Well, far be it from me to argue with someone wanting to cook for me, especially when she's wielding a cleaver. I busied myself with making a fire, contemplating the fact that women are just weird. Mary scurried out, looked, said "Oh, that's nice." handed me a cup of tea and scurried back into the kitchen. Yep, just weird. I took a sip of the tea; it was heavily laced with Evan Williams and honey. Good tea.
A few minutes later, she came back out and said "OK, now we wait for an hour." pointed at the sound system, and asked "Do you mind?"
That was when I finally noticed that someone had cleaned the place in my absence. The last time I had been home, there was electronic surveillance stuff and Federal agents all over the place.
"Thanks for cleaning up the mess around here." I said, a little sheepish that I hadn't noticed until now.
"That's OK." she replied. "It occurred to me that you don't even know if I know how to cook, so I thought I would provide a demonstration." I started thinking, and realized she was right. I had never had her cooking, though I had seen her kitchen and it was real professional grade stuff. Every time we had been together, I had cooked, Lars had cooked, or we had eaten out.
"That's all right." I leered "I don't care if you can cook in the kitchen; I know you can cook in the bedroom." Then had to duck as she threw a pillow at me.
"Your kitchen and library may be eclectic, but we're going to have to work on your taste in music. Don't you have anything except country and old rock?" she said while looking at me exasperated.
"Yeah, there should be a whole section of folk, ballad, sci-fi, and medieval stuff from the SCA there."
"I meant," she sighed, don't you have anything classical, or jazz?"
"Why would I have anything like that?" I asked with a revolted tone of voice.
"Ho boy, I see my work is cut out for me. Well, I guess Lorena McKennit will do." That exasperated look was still there.
Soon the sounds of "Lady of Shallot" were playing as background, and I had a lap full of very cuddly girl. Life is good. When she came up for air, Mary looked at me and asked "What was in the note?"
"Directions for Uncle Lars' funeral. First I need to get the body to a crematorium. And I need to find a spear, other than the one he had on the night he died." I sighed.
"Let me do some of this for you." said Mary in a whisper. "I can take care of both of those things. I have a special spear in mind, one that I am sure would be OK with Lars. Was there anything else?"
"Directions on how to put the body to rest, and the information that he would be looking in on me from time to time."
"I'm sure he will approve of your actions."
"Not that kind of looking in. More like..." I paused and started over. "Look, when I was knocked out, OK, damn near killed, I found myself in a Great Hall. There was Lars, and his wife, many heroes, and my gods. There, Lars made me a Guardian. He also told me that he would be continuing my training, and stopping in as sort of the messenger boy. So the note was confirming something that I had seen in a vision. Oh, and he said he was proud."
"Oh."
After that she didn't say much for a bit, we just snuggled. I still was more than a little sore, and dinner would be in less than an hour, so snuggling was as far as it got. In a little while, Mary looked up and said "Welcome to the Geas Club. You will find that it won't be boring. Lots of other things, but never boring. In fact, the gods seem to take great interest in insuring that their chosen ones don't lack for excitement."
Ducky.
We went back to cuddling for a bit, until the buzzer signaled dinner, then Mary excused herself and went to do something in the kitchen. I didn't know what she was making in there, but damn, it smelled good. She came out in a few minutes with a platter that I had almost forgotten I had. (I think I won it at a tournament one time.) On the platter were two plates. Dinner was Potatoes Au-Gratin, Asparagus with Hollandaise, and Beef Wellington. Now, I know how much of a pain in the ass Beef Wellington is to make. I guess I rate. Cool. We spread out a picnic in front of the fire, and had a little feast. Then we made love...carefully.
I was just basking in the afterglow when the damn phone rang.
Chapter Two
When I answered the phone, it was Lieutenant Murphy, United States Park Police on the other end. Mainly she wanted to make sure that I was all right, and to find out when I would be able to come back to work. I told her that I should be ready for limited duty in a couple days. She told me to take care, and take as much time as I needed, but that there were a couple of things on the table for me. We exchanged a few pleasantries and then said good night.
In the aftermath of 9/11/01, all of the federal uniformed police forces had been wrapped into the largest one, which was the Park police. That gave us jurisdiction over all federal lands that were not military reservations, or Indian reservations. In short, we had jurisdiction on about half of the state of Washington. So, I had no doubt that the boss wanted me back on duty as soon as I could be. We were under-manned, which is chronic to police forces anywhere, and especially to federal police, so having a guy out was a drain. Besides, I don't do sitting on my ass well, so I wanted to get back to work just as much as they wanted me.
After the phone call, Mary and I got up and went to bed. It was about eight-thirty, yeah, I know, how lame. In my defense though, I had just gotten out of the hospital after getting the living shit beat out of me, and damn near killed. They had released me from the hospital, but I wasn't exactly full speed quite yet.
The next morning I woke up late, or at least late for me, at about seven. I got out of bed and started to do my morning calisthenics. Started is the operative word here, it didn't take more than two push-ups to decide that this was, flat out, a bad idea. Mary stuck her head up as I said a few foul words, and shook her head. "How in the Hel, did you ever survive on your own? Did it escape your mind that less than a week ago you were in a major fight for your life and damn near died? Have you forgotten that your back got laid open by a rather large set of talons attached to around a hundred and fifty pounds of magical bird? And that, being a magical critter, your much vaunted 'Thrope healing shit doesn't work?" She gave me that sort of smile that is usually reserved for the mentally retarded, and continued "I think I'm going to have to stay around, just to keep you from hurting yourself."
"Yeah, I guess that was a bit silly." I grinned. "It's been a long while since I was hurt in a way that I couldn't heal from overnight." I thought back, and added "Except for our first date, and you healed me after that, so I was still good to go the next day."
"Humph. Maybe I should have let you heal normally after that bit; just as an educational exercise, mind you."
"Speaking of educational exercises, when do you have class?" I asked, realizing that this was a work day, and that Mary really ought to
be teaching at the University of Washington, instead of lying on my bed giving me a ration of shit. Not that I minded getting said ration, at least not from her, but...
"No worries, after getting kidnapped, and cut up a bit myself, the U put me on convalescent leave for the rest of the quarter." she grinned. "I don't even lose tenure. I think the Administration was a bit embarrassed about the way they dealt with your agency on the whole thing. Besides, it will do them good to find out how much they miss me."
I nodded and started to get up off the floor...started is the operative word, Freya's Tits but that hurt. Hunched over, I finally made it over to the bed and used it to help me up. Mary tut-tutted, and said "You know, you're not twenty-five anymore, more like forty-five, come to think of it." She thought for a second, and then said "Just how long do 'Thropes live anyway?"
I gave her a wry smile and said "I have no idea. All the 'Thropes I knew were in the teams, so they were all under forty-five or so. I couldn't very well ask the guy that made me...or girl." I added as an after thought. "It's not like they stopped to make an introduction. The 'Thropes haven't been out of the kennel long enough for it to be common knowledge, you know. It's only been about fifty years that you could admit to being a 'Thrope without someone collecting a bounty on your ass. Besides, old age isn't usually the mechanism of death for us furry types."
She started to open her mouth, and then obviously realized the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Oh, yeah, I guess "death by violence" is the norm, huh?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
On that sobering note, we went down to breakfast. After breakfast, we went on a short run, nothing like my usual, just about three miles, but at least running was something I could do with a minimum of pain. We had just gotten back and got out of the shower when the phone rang.
"Hello."
Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2) Page 2
