by John Conroe
“Mr. Gordon?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
My group was feeling very little pain, but they straightened up at the sight of her and her partner.
“I have something for you,” she said, handing me an envelope of thick cream-colored paper.
It was an invitation.
Please join Brock and Afina Mallek in welcoming Lupine Industries’ newest employee, Ms. Stacia Reynolds, at a luncheon in her honor at the Lupine corporate offices.
The date listed was tomorrow and the time was twelve ‘o’ clock noon. The offices were located in downtown Manhattan.
I looked up, bewildered, at the female.
“It’s common to welcome a….newcomer to our…group with an event like this. You, of course, are invited as you sponsored Ms. Reynolds’ placement with our corporation,” she explained. Her tone left little doubt that she didn’t think much of my involvement in her Pack’s business.
I nodded, but she stood right in front of me, waiting. Finally, she sighed and spoke: “I’ve been instructed to wait for your answer.”
“Let me check my social schedule,” I deadpanned, pausing a moment before continuing. “Oh gosh, it looks like I’m free. I’d be delighted.”
“Wonderful,” she said in a droll tone.
Her mission accomplished, she swiveled fluidly and stalked out, the younger wolf following in a self-important manner.
“Dude, what’s up with the Viking goddess?” Chet asked.
“Were,” I said in explanation. “Just invited me to a Pack function, although I don’t think she was excited about an outsider being involved.”
“Do you know her?” Fran asked.
“No, but then I really only know a couple. Mainly, Brock, Afina and their son, Bryce.”
“Well if you’re gonna know only a few, those would be the ones!” Chet said.
* * *
We finished up about eleven and I was placed in charge of taking the money up to pay the tab. The bartender didn’t make me wait this time; she and I had reached a truce of sorts, although I had never fully understood the conflict. Then we all headed our separate ways.
I called Lydia as soon as I was on the street and headed for the subway.
When she picked up, I explained the invitation and asked for pointers.
“I’ve never been to one, as they usually exclude outsiders, other than the new pack member’s family if any.”
“Is it formal? Suit and tie?” I asked.
“No, probably business casual. Wear some khakis and a nice button down or a polo.”
“What goes on? What can I expect?”
“Mostly just a meet and greet for the bulk of the Pack. She’s pretty much already in, but technically, pack members have the opportunity to object if they wish.”
“Is there much chance of that?”
“Not with Afina and Brock already greenlighting her. Listen, Chris, I talked to Afina about this girl. What’s your connection?”
“Well, she’s a were because I fucked up and didn’t stop the one that bit her, even though I could have a dozen times over. So I screwed up her life and that means I gotta make it right.”
“You sure that’s your only interest?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Afina tells me she’s a knockout and she’s been asking all kinds of questions about you!”
“Whoa! Okay, she’s pretty good looking, but I’m totally hooked on Tanya. ’Sides, she’s a kid, seventeen or eighteen, tops!”
“Hmmm yeah, alright. Just double checking.”
“Come on Lyd, you know me! You know how I feel about Tanya!”
“Alright, alright! It’s just that this girl has apparently knocked the males of the pack for a loop and all she’s interested in is you!”
“Lyd, I really doubt she has the hots for me. I mean, she most likely thinks I’m a monster!”
Laughter filled the earpiece as Lydia hung up.
* * *
Lupine Industries occupies a four story building in lower Manhattan. It was an older building, but the exterior had been updated, making it fit better with the new buildings on either side. The entire first floor is the flagship of the company’s chain of sporting good stores. I had researched the company the night before and found that it was private, no public stock to be had, and had three lines of goods. The first and founding line was traditional-type sports; soccer, football, basketball, lacrosse, hockey, gymnastics, basically if a school offered the sport, Lupine had the supplies. The second line was outdoor gear, for hiking, backpacking, hunting and fishing. The third and newest line was mixed-martial arts supplies, which went hand-in-hand with a handful of dojos or martial arts schools owned and run by Lupine.
At the back of the store, a burly werewolf in a suit checked my name off a very short list of special guests and directed me to the elevator. A fit looking couple came along behind me and the guard just waved them through, but not before I had noticed him sniffing the air in a subtle manner. I held the elevator door for them and we rode to the second floor together.
A female wolf greeted us as the elevator doors opened and directed us through a cubicle farm of office spaces to a very large room filled with extremely in-shape, slightly feral looking people, mingling in cocktail party fashion. I had hoped to slide in and go unnoticed, but I hadn’t counted on scent. The buildings climate control system was blowing right at the entry point and I could see the exact moment my scent hit the people nearest the door. Almost as one, they turned and looked at me, their faces aloof, their eyes gleaming. Okay, so the whole sneak in, sneak out thing wasn’t gonna fly.
A tall redhead in a clingy mini dress was the only one to smile, turning my way and beginning to move her long athletic legs toward me. But she hadn’t taken two steps before my radar indicated an incoming missile, this one with black hair and weighing perhaps eighty pounds.
Nine-year-old Bryce Mallek launched himself when he was still seven feet away, a feral grin of excitement plastered across his face.
I first met Bryce and his redheaded mother, Afina, who was still closing on us, about seven months back. They had survived an attack by drug crazed killers in Central Park and I helped them cover their retreat to the safety of the pack. I hadn’t actually done a great deal, just offered food to help Afina heal wounds she sustained killing the druggies that were stupid enough to endanger her child. Hell hath no fury like a momma werewolf.
“Owww! Chris, you’re hard!” Bryce said, rubbing his head where it had impacted my chest. I’m a lot denser today than I was seven months ago (Lydia would argue that my head has always been denser than lead).
Afina raised one eyebrow and gave me a wicked grin at Bryce’s words.
“Really, Gordon! You just got here!” she said with a chuckle.
“Jeeze Mom! You’re such a perv!” Bryce responded in disgust.
Werewolves have little modesty, something to do with getting naked before changing, and wolves are an amorous lot. Sex is considered very important to a healthy pack. Consequently, young werewolves are remarkably blasé about the topic. I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed at her comment or that her nine year old son understood the joke.
Bryce’s greeting had garnered a degree of notice among the Pack members nearby and as I held the squirming eighty-pounder at arm’s length, I could feel them reappraising me.
I’ve only met Bryce three times. Once in Central Park, once at a joint vampire and were gathering in January (to reestablish mutual goodwill between the Coven and the Pack), and once when I was meeting Lydia and Gina after they had lunch with Afina and her son.
Despite that limited amount of contact, Bryce had decided I was both trustworthy and a friend. It was one of those instant judgments that children are so good at making. Too bad we tend to lose that skill as we age.
I squatted down to his level and reached in a pocket, pulled something out and put both hands behind my back. Finally, after making a production of shifting th
e unseen object from hand to hand, I brought them both out in front of me, palms down, fists clenched.
Black eyes looked at me from under black bangs, as if to say, C’mon, you gotta be kidding me!, then he shook his head and tapped my left hand, which of course, had the soapstone wolf carving in it. I buy Zuni Indian fetishes by the box and use them as protective talisman when I banish demons from a home. This particular specimen was jet black, sitting with its ears perked and its big teeth on display.
“Cool! Mom, look what Chris brought me!”
Then he was gone in a flat run to tug the pants of a much larger, adult version of himself. That male listened intently to his son’s comments, then lifted his head and regarded me with predator’s eyes, before heading our way.
“Wow, is he always that energetic?” I asked.
“He’s actually trying very hard to be calm right now,” his mother replied with a sigh.
“Kids are a handful, huh?”
She laughed, her voice deep and rich. Afina is tall and handsome, rather than pretty, but she is extremely charismatic, as is her husband, who was rapidly closing the distance to us with long strides.
“Actually, it’s the older ones that are more trouble,” she said, just as her husband arrived.
Six-three, maybe six-four, two hundred twenty pounds, with black hair and black eyes like his son, Brock Mallek is built like a professional soccer player, albeit a bit more muscular. He has an intense personality that can be felt when he enters a room, even if you’re not looking in his direction.
“Chris!” he greeted me, his big mitt completely enclosing my hand.
“You’ve managed to completely stir up my pack, you know!” he accused, deadpan, before grinning to show he wasn’t truly put out.
“Well, I’m honestly sorry about that sir, just as I’m sorry I let the rogue bit the girl in the first place,” I replied seriously.
Afina put a hand on my upper arm and admonished her husband, “Brock Mallek! You are tickled to death by our new addition and you know it!”
He turned his head to look across the room and just snorted, but not before I had caught a wink.
I turned where he was looking and caught my breath. The blonde across the room was obviously Stacia Reynolds, but she looked quite a bit different than the scared girl I had last seen.
Her hair was shorter, professionally styled, shorter in the back, the cut angling down to hang on either side of her face. She too was wearing a curve-hugging mini-dress, in blue, which set off her tan skin and emerald green eyes. A small army of males were hovering around her, all vying for her attention. Not hard to understand that, as she was absolutely spectacular! She looked poised and confident, comfortable with the testosterone cloud that swirled about her. I hadn’t managed to look away when she lifted her head and caught me staring. Her mouth curved in a slight smile and she tucked one strand of hair behind her ear, then turned her attention back to the were she was listening too.
“Cleans up pretty well, wouldn’t you say?” Brock said.
“Yeah, I can, er… understand the upheaval! Wow!”
Afina gave me another raised eyebrow, and I remembered she was friends with the terrible twosome.
I quickly changed topics.
“But back to what you were saying….older kids are more trouble?” I asked Afina, angling my body to keep from glancing at the gorgeous blonde across the room.
Brock snorted again and shared a look with his wife.
“Our oldest boy, Brett, is reaching an age when young weres have trouble with their parents. He’s an Alpha like his father and at twenty-one, he’s probably ready to set up a pack and territory of his own,” she said.
“It’s not that we don’t want him to, it’s just a terribly dangerous time for a young Alpha. Too old to stay, too young to make all the right decisions,” Brock explained.
“Ideally, we need to find him a range nearby, but not too close, where he can grow into his abilities and not be killed in a challenge fight by an older wolf,” Afina said.
“How does he go about building a pack?” I asked.
“Oh, he already has the framework of one. The other Pack children that he has grown up with all look to him as their leader. They’ve even gone so far as to present a plan, sort of like a business plan,” Brock said.
“So the problem is one of … finding a place?” It didn’t sound that difficult to me.
“It’s harder than it sounds,” Afina said. “Too near the City and another older wolf might happen through and challenge him for the pack. He’s a good fighter, but just so young!”
“So what are the requirements? City? Wilderness?” I asked.
“Wilderness would be best, but they’ll need some modern access too. They need to earn a living, establish a territory, solidify their pack bonds and then attract new members,” Brock said.
“What about the Adirondacks?” I asked.
“There are a few old wolves living back in the mountains who might object to a pack of young wolves nearby,” Afina said with a sigh.
“How about up by the border?” I asked, an idea forming.
“What are you thinking, Chris?”
“St. Lawrence County. There are a couple of colleges up there…SUNY Potsdam, Clarkson University, St. Lawrence University. Decent infrastructure. How much land would they need? Would six hundred acres do?” I asked.
They exchanged a glance.
“You know someone with land?” Brock asked.
I nodded.
“Me! Well, my grandfather and I own an abandoned farm on six hundred acres, which borders Gramps’ four hundred-acre spread. I know he wants to rent the property. House is a little dated, but in move-in condition.”
“Come on! Let’s get a map up and you can show us!” Brock said.
“Show you what, Father?” a voice said.
I turned and looked up at a very tall young man with auburn hair.
“Chris Gordon, meet our oldest son, Brett. Oh and his mate, Kelly,” Afina said.
Brett was about six-five, leaner than his father but carried himself in an identical manner. The young blonde at his side was my height and muscled like a beach volleyball player.
“Brett, we’ve told you about Chris, right?” Afina asked.
“Hell, I’ve heard lots about you. My little brother thinks you’re the best cop in the city!” Brett said, his voice sincere.
“Brett, Chris was telling us about a piece of land he owns up north that might be an option for you and the others,” Brock explained.
“Where?”
“We’re going to pull it up on the conference room monitor now,” his mother replied.
* * *
We filed into a glassed-in conference room situated along one side of the big room. Looking at the layout, I realized the room the party was in was another office space that could support cubicles, but the wolves had either moved them or the company hadn’t yet grown into the space.
Afina’s hands blurred across a wireless keyboard as she brought up Google maps online. The flatscreen on the end wall zoomed to the address I gave her, and suddenly my grandfather’s farm and the adjoining property were revealed in satellite image.
A couple of other wolves poked their heads into the room, all young like Brett, and watched as I pointed out the property lines and main farm structures on the big plasma screen.
“So it has the one large main house, the main barn with attached milk room, and an equipment barn. Currently the south field is rented to another farmer for corn, and we were considering planting several of the other fields in hay and selling it for feed,” I explained.
“What do you think, Dad?” Brett asked, his eyes gleaming with barely repressed excitement.
“I think it has possibilities. Chris, how would your grandfather feel about this?” Brock asked.
I looked at my watch. Gramps and the hands might be in for lunch.
“Let me try to call him and I’ll find out. I assume you’ll
want to drive up and see it?” I asked.
“Actually, we would fly up and see it,” Brock corrected. “We have a company Cessna that’ll speed the trip up considerably.”
I nodded, impressed, and moved outside the room to call Gramps on my cell, wandering toward the buffet table.
“Hello.”
“Hey, old man! How are my dogs?” I asked in greeting.
“Your dogs! I’m the one what feeds ’em and takes care of the mangy curs. What’s up?
“I have a lead on renters for the Bennington place!” I said.
“You don’t say? Tell me about them.”
I gave him the rundown on Mallek and company, at least as much as I knew, and explained that we would need to come up and look it over, provided he had no objections to their unique nature. In typical Gramps fashion he went quiet, processing the information. I knew better than to interrupt his train of thought, so I looked around the big room full of weres.
Of the roughly 300 people present, the majority belonged to the Pack, but I saw three really big, burly men across the room that I thought might be werebears. Another group was all lean and rangy, could possibly be cats, four of them. In the corner, farthest from everyone else: a group of thin, pointed feature individuals who had to be of the weasel clan. I shuddered looking at them. I don’t like wereweasels – bad memories.
“Long as they mind the cattle, I think we might be able to adjust. You trust ‘em?” Gramps finally said.
“Yeah, Gramps, at least the leader and his family. But we would come up and check it out and you could make up your own mind,” I said.