World Wonders

by James Perrone

  “Growth?” I asked.

  If he heard me, Joe didn’t show it. His voice continued unbroken. “The flesh will harden as if bone against blows, the body will leave craters its wake, and the Hunger will grow with it, endlessly increasing and moving to higher levels. Inevitably, it’ll find one that is strong with the spirits, and the Hunger will kill and eat them. And the gifts of the Spirited will become the Hunger’s own, turning it from a Wendigo to a Craven One. We have seen this, and it brought us ruin. So, if you find a Craven One, it must be cast out and killed. Once for each it has eaten, and once more to be sure that the deed is done. Only then will you be safe.”

  HIs fervent prayer finished, Joe sagged, looking like he had just run the marathon. His skin hung from his body as if it was hanging directly on the bones, skeletal outlines on his weathered skin. Silence hung heavy in the air, oppressively cloying. In a voice as dry and raspy as the desert wind, he looked me in the eye and stated, “Begone.”

  Fear abated at his apparently weakened form and questions burning in my mind, I leaned forward. “Not so fast, we have questions. When you say those strong in the spirit, what exactly do you mean? Supernaturals? Metahumans? How does that work? And does he have any weaknesses? Things that would make him easier to kill?”

  Joe’s droopy cheek started inflating as the muscles and flesh beneath them asserted himself. The slow transition back to a human form was more disturbing than the corpse-like appearance. His voice still harsh and firm, he stared me down. “I’ve said all I can. Begone.”

  I went to lean forward again, but McCoy caught my arm and pointed upwards. Where there had once been lush and verdant trees sat the skeletons of a forest fire with every burnt branch so thickly packed with crows, I perplexedly stared, wondering how they didn’t break. And the crows stared back at me with a visceral hunger in their eyes that Alfred Hitchcock wished he could have mimicked. Slowly, McCoy and I stood up and backed out of the clearing that held Joe’s cottage, countless eyes watching our departure. It wasn’t until we backed around the fallen tree did I realize that I was shivering. Wordlessly, we climbed into the truck and Miles drove us out of there just this side of unreasonably fast.

  Chapter 17

  Unraveling

  It wasn’t until we crossed out of Menominee county that we found our voices again. Miles broke the silence first, “Okay, so can we all agree that was more than a little creepy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, fuck yes.”

  “Right,” Miles continued, “Now that we’ve handled that, let’s move forward. What did we find out?”

  McCoy was busy watching the power lines, presumably for crows, while I filled Miles in. It took a while since we would all stop and eye any cluster of black birds we passed apprehensively. Didn’t matter how far we got away from the reservation, every cluster of black birds on a phone line looked like the murderous crows and seemed like they were staring back. There would be a collective shudder and then the recap would continue.

  At the end of the summary, I asked “So, ‘strong with the spirits’. Does that mean he’s eating metahumans?”

  McCoy shrugged and Miles shook his head. “I doubt it’s just any type of metahuman,” he posited. “Probably restricted to ones that fit within the Native American culture.”

  McCoy guffawed, “Right, cause we’re that lucky.”

  Miles pulled around someone who was silly enough to be doing the speed limit while he explained. “Think about it. Wendigo’s are old and powerful, but the O’Dells didn’t mention them. If the O’Dell’s had known, they would’ve pointed us in that direction right off the bat, which suggests limited interaction and mixing of the two cultures if any. Far more likely it has to do with shamanistic ideas. Things that are strong in the spirit or have a tie to the spiritual world in some shape way or form.”

  “That’s assuming the O’Dell’s shot straight with us.” McCoy interjected.

  Miles could only shrug.

  I chimed in, “No, he’s probably right and they probably did tell us the truth. Lot of their reputation is tied to their credibility as information brokers. Besides, what do they lose from talking to us? They probably don’t need our power, but to a vampire every shred of legitimacy is important.”

  McCoy unhappily nodded her head, forced to cede the point, “So, what qualifies as something ‘strong with the spirits’?

  I turned to Miles, who was already tilting his head in thought as he geared up to pass another car.

  “Native American shamans for sure, but also representations of their various mythological beings. A real life kee-wakw or someone who seems to be tightly tied to whatever trickster spirit they have. Any one of those would be viable. We’d need to do research for a full list”

  “We can put Danvers on that,” McCoy cut in, “Right now we know he ate Hotchkiss. Why?”

  “So, a werewolf might be tightly tied to the wolf spirit. It would follow that the Alpha would be more tightly connected which gives them more powers. That connection would be why Voigt went after Hotchkiss,” I stated.

  Miles nodded, adding, “And if Hotchkiss could fade out, then his gifts would become Voigt’s.”

  McCoy interjected, “Not really, that’s a second gen ability. Near as we can tell Hotchkiss was a first gen.”

  I bit my lip before jumping in, “But we know that the pack has some second-generation members in it. The bouncer that jumped us tried to fade out.” McCoy and I went silent, considering that, but Miles didn’t let us stew for long.

  “Integrated pack? That’s really weird. The only thing werewolves tend to hate more than the police is each other. Second and first gens are at each other’s throats more often than they are together.”[98]

  He was right. I couldn’t think of a single listed or known example of an integrated pack on file. “I can only imagine how poorly that would’ve been received. Lots of angry werewolves trying to buck back against the decision.” I said slowly

  Miles shook his head, “So, there would’ve been a challenge. A formal contest of Hotchkiss’ Alpha status and a ritualized duel.”

  “What happens if they can’t beat him in a duel?” McCoy asked.

  Miles pursed his lips in thought, “I’m not sure, but if I had to guess they’d either shut up and accept it or leave and find another pack.”

  McCoy wasn’t having it. “But that’s difficult even at the best of times. This isn’t a small decision that you can just ignore or walk away from. This is going against the five years of precedent and conflict. Taking their most hated rivals and suddenly embracing them? That would be unacceptable to some of the old guard werewolves.”

  “Screw unacceptable. To some of the werewolves who believed in the Hunting Shroud, allying with those who dragged werewolves into the light would be blasphemous,” I added.[99]

  McCoy nodded, “Might be enough to drive them to thinking about how to remove them in a non-dueling manner.”

  “Especially if there was an alternative sitting around. Someone that was more traditional,” I added, following the logic.

  Miles looked incredulous, “You think a werewolf turned against their Alpha? And people call me crazy.”

  “Power corrupts,” McCoy rebutted, “Tell me that there isn’t a werewolf way to justify that.”

  Miles shook his head, but the gears were turning. His shake gave out and slowly he started talking, “Werewolves firmly believe that the strong lead and everyone else follows. Arranging a murder isn’t strong. What could be acceptable is something like, ‘I don’t know if Hotchkiss is strong enough to lead. Let’s arrange this challenge. If he succeeds, clearly, he’s the boss. If not, then we’ll find a stronger leader.”

  That sounded like the exact kind of screwy bullshit logic a werewolf would use to try and justify arranging a murder. I followed that thought for a second, “Explains the bouncer types tracking down Voigt too. Ipsen needs to consolidate his power base, prove he can best the thing that took the old Alpha too in order
to show his strength.”

  McCoy jumped in, “And he’s using the second gen types as fodder to do so since they’re expendable and unliked.”

  “Probably using their tenuous status to push them into dangerous situations, “I agreed. “Which might mean that Ipsen is cleaning house. Any idea if other werewolves have been killed recently?”

  “Or sent to their doom and not officially reported,” McCoy added.

  Miles pulled into the right turn lane, heading towards the west suburbs, “Don’t know about you, but I’d rather ask in person.”

  McCoy and I nodded, and then, almost in unison, we both reached for our phones. We hazarded a glance at each other. She explained first.

  “Delanch for silver ammunition and coordination.”

  “Slate to smooth things over and fill him in.”

  “We should work together more often. Covering bases like that is good.”

  I smirked, “What, you’re actually willing to work with someone?”

  She smiled and laughed good naturedly, “Well, not willing. But you suck less than everyone else.”

  “High praise coming from you!”

  “Oh my god,” Miles cut in, “Get a room!”

  We chuckled and dialed our phones. Or at least, McCoy started to and then she got a look of dawning comprehension.

  “Since Wendigo are mythological creatures of the Native Americans, would a Craven One try to hunt them down?” she asked.

  The car fell silent again as we considered the implications. Suddenly, Crow Killer Joe’s reluctance to deal with this thing made a lot more sense.

  ✽✽✽

  Our trip to the Rockford field office was a quick one. Delanch had already cleared the ammunition, so it was really more of a pitstop and polite conversation with the desk jockey who was manning the office nearly solo than anything else. We then headed to the Burpee Museum of Natural History, arriving at 1650.

  I’ve always enjoyed Burpee. It’s like a smaller, more intimate version of the Field Museum, complete with a smaller version of Sue called Jane, plus it is far less stringent with security. So, bringing in full magazines of silver ammunition is much easier. Which we took and went straight to Syd Larsson’s office. A security guard tried to stop us, stating things about how where we wanted to go was off limits and that the museum was closing soon, but a quick flash of the badge, and he moved out of the way. I stepped up to the door and was just about to knock when the door ripped open and Larsson stood there glowering up at me.[100]

  “Took you long enough. I heard you stomp in the front door.”

  That caused me to stop and appraise the situation. She was dressed appropriately for the job, dress pants and shirt, but she didn’t seem unhappy to see us.[101] In fact, glancing over her face, she almost seemed pleased.

  “Come in, come in. We haven’t got all day.” she said, waving me into the small office.

  I heard the faint click of McCoy’s safety being switched on. Now I was really worried. Larsson stepped out of the door and then I was shoved in by McCoy. There was a shuffling of bodies as we all shuffled in. Then, there was a click as Larsson locked the door behind us.

  I braced myself, expecting the worst. This was a trap. I was going to be stuck fighting a werewolf in close quarters. McCoy had actually been infected and was subject to some kind of previously unseen werewolf pack mindset bordering on mind control and she was about to shift and kill Miles and me.

  I turned to see Larsson stooping behind the desk and picking up a small backpack. I didn’t mean to, but my eyebrow cocked. What the hell was going on here? Sharply, she shouldered the bag and looked me dead in the eye, stating in a voice strained with a thousand cracks, “I’d like to surrender myself to Federal custody. I have evidence that numerous murders have been committed and fear for my life.”

  Clearly, my imagination was trying to be hopeful with the scenarios it had thrown at me previously. This was orders of magnitude more horrible than I had previously fathomed. I could pretty much hear Miles’ jaw hit the floor. McCoy recovered first.

  “Of course, ma’am. We’ll be glad to assist. Let’s get you to the local office and go from there.”

  I whipped a look at McCoy, propriety be damned. She was glaring at me. Then, clear as day there was a knock on my brain. Just like someone knocking on a door, but it was on the edge of my thoughts. I wasn’t sure how to handle that, so I mentally brushed it away. McCoy’s eye twitched and the knocking happened again. Okay, so it was McCoy. Taking a gamble, I thought about how to let someone into my mind and suddenly I received a flood of consciousness and my brain was suddenly host to two minds. McCoy’s voice rang out, distinctively hers and frustrated.

  “Look, we don’t have a lot of time here. This is hard for me and difficult. Larsson thinks Ipsen’s gonna try to kill her soon and is willing to turn State to stop him.”

  Questions like “How?” and “Why?” swirled in my brain and I felt McCoy’s mental brain shoo them away like one might swat mayflies, “Could you stop that please? This is already hard enough. It was all over her brain when we came in. Us showing up here saved her the hassle and possibility of the lost face from calling us. We need to keep her safe and the only place I know that can manage that in town is the Rockford Office.”

  I imagined nodding to her and the second mind receded, letting my mental state spread out into the parts of my brain I didn’t know I had lost. Not a second had passed in the real world, McCoy’s communication apparently traveled at the speed of thought. Still, I could see a faint red in her eye, as if one of the small arteries had burst. She turned to the door and I turned the opposite way to Larsson, military mind settling in.

  “How long do we have?”

  Larsson cocked her head to the side, listening, “Maybe ten minutes. I can hear the hunting howls on the wind, but Ipsen never has liked doing things publicly. Too much concern for the Hunting Shroud.” She spat the phrasing out like a curse word. I wisely kept my mouth shut, but Miles couldn’t help but jump in.

  “Take it you don’t care for the old ways.”

  She glowered at Miles and I felt a primal panic well inside me, much like how I felt with Ipsen in the morgue. “No,” she said, biting her words off, “It’s always been stupid and now it’s just plain suicidal. We’re outed and pretending we aren’t is just going to get us killed.”

  Miles, by some miracle, smiled. “Well then, I have an unconventional strategy that will get us out of this without having to go toe to toe with a rolling pack of murderous werewolves.”

  I smirked and Larsson seemed intrigued. Miles reached into the hallway and grabbed the fire alarm, “I’d imagine having the fire department here would make the hunt too risky.”

  Larsson’s eyes widened in understanding and satisfaction, “Oh, you beautiful child.”

  Miles sheepishly shrugged and pulled the alarm. I hoped no one noticed that I was annoyed he had stolen my trick.

  ✽✽✽

  By the time the fire department arrived, we had made a small fire in the banquet room downstairs that had already been doused in order to maintain Larsson’s reputation.[102] I had never worked a CI before, but the basics of maintaining their credibility while doing work weren’t unknown to me. To help further the ruse, we took her out of the building in handcuffs, loading her into our SUV. I caught sight of Ipsen and a few others standing on a nearby rooftop looking down. I pretended not to see them and loaded up in the car, personally taking the wheel.[103] By the time we rounded the corner heading towards the office, they were gone.

  After a few minutes and turns, Larsson seemed to calm down, “Coast is clear, they’re not following us,” and then turned to hand the cuffs to Miles. He gave a low whistle, before stating, “I’m impressed that you managed to get them off that quick without breaking them.”

  She smirked at him in a way that I’m not entirely sure wasn’t flirting, “Oh, I’ve been around the block a few times. Picked up a few tricks too.”

  I cut
in before this could get any more awkward, “So why does Ipsen want you dead?”

  She smirked; her tone playful. “Oh, the case files at the MCD are clearly less sophisticated than I thought.”

  I felt McCoy start to glare next to me, but I shot her a quick glance to get her to back down before addressing Larsson, “Look, I’d like to help you but I can’t do that if you’re dancing around the bush with us.”

  She smiled grimly, but nodded, conceding the point, “Fair enough. I do suppose I owe you that much.” She paused, digging into her bag to pull out what looked to be jerky, took a bite, before continuing, “I’m the only person in the pack who could contest his claim to Alpha.”

  Chapter 18

  Sydney Larsson

  I was so shocked, I nearly slammed on the brakes so I could whip around to look her in the eye and go “What!” like a bad movie cliché. Instead of causing Miles another headache from angry drivers,[104] I busied myself on changing lanes to make the next turn and let everyone else have their chance to respond. McCoy just shook her head and chuckled bemusedly, seemingly unsurprised by the revelation. Miles, Lord bless his heart, delved right into a slew of questions.

  “Oh, is that why you’re separated from the rest of the pack? How come you didn’t challenge Hotchkiss? What special abilities do you have as someone as powerful as an Alpha? How does a werewolf Alpha challenge work? Is it ritualized? What are the rites?”

  “Miles,” McCoy stated placidly. He didn’t hear her and kept going. Apparently, McCoy didn’t like being ignored as her calm manner quickly gave way to a death stare.