Hellbender

by Dana Cameron

  All of this was quite possibly a futile gesture, but it was the only way the two of us personally had to soften the ground. We hoped to gain allies by introducing the idea of the Fangborn with the lure of science and entertainment.

  At seven o’clock tonight, President Rozan was going to read the statement she, her staff, Representative Nichols, and the Fangborn in the government had been working on. After that, Senator Knight was going to hold a press conference on Capitol Hill to discuss the presence of the Fangborn and the secret treaty status we’d all been living under since the Fangborn had been in America. He’d explain that the Battle of Boston was just the latest example of the Fangborn fighting for us all against unknown foes called Order and Fellborn.

  Until then, the news outlets were going crazy with the footage of the fire at billionaire Carolina Perez-Smith’s country retreat. She too had been attacked by the Fellborn, and had been rescued by Fangborn-American citizens. It was the first time there was good footage, shot by reliable sources, of the Fangborn performing heroic actions. It was pretty nifty to see a vampire carrying out Carolina on his shoulder and a werewolf braving the flames to rescue a kid. No need to mention that the kid was also a Fangborn and was only there because Carolina had kidnapped him in the first place.

  Carolina was on our side. For now. She and Senator Knight were working together to craft our story, one that would leave out the Order’s experiments. Someone else would get pinned with the kidnappings; her business acumen, paired with the change of heart I’d inflicted on her, would ensure that. She’d play the concerned citizen, grateful for what the Fangborn had done for her and working to see how our presence could benefit the country.

  I didn’t like it and thought she and the Senator were a match made in hell. But it was I-Day, today, and things were going to be tough. I’d live with that pair if we had her influence on our side.

  I wondered if I could restore the Fellborn—and Max—using the ring as I had on Carolina. I would be very happy to be able to make that visible contribution.

  It had been a very busy day, I decided, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. It wasn’t every day a girl got to sever connections with a controlling nonhuman entity and throw the world into upheaval by helping to out her entire Family.

  I flicked on the news, still too tired to move much. Soon the world would be seeing vintage tape prepared by the TRG to showcase the Fangborn. There was the World War II newsreel about the new allies in the war against Hitler, showing werewolves doing boot-camp stuff, medic-trained vampires, oracles translating and looking into crystal balls. There was the 1960s advertisement talking about everyone working for a better world, getting in touch with that beyond you, and expanding the mind. Then there was the 1980s Cold War propaganda bragging about the arsenal of missiles and Fangborn allies we had on our side to stop communism, working shoulder pad to shoulder pad.

  I worried about what other historical images might also repeat themselves: the Salem witchcraft trials, the Japanese internment camps in the ’40s. Protests for civil rights turned to riots all through the ’60s, ’70s—hell, even today. After all, how do you identify a threat, an enemy, when he looks just like you? Humanity did not have a great track record when dealing with those who were different, or even suspected of being different.

  There would be public violence in some cities and vigils in others. There would be some suicides and there were some folks who thought we were on the verge of some kind of golden age. There would be arguments about traitors and vigilantism and about the nature of humanity.

  I understood all of these responses. I had to worry about becoming a dragon myself now that I was no longer under the control of the bracelet, no longer driven to find other artifacts that might be out there. I wanted them, but I could find them in my own time. There was a lot to do, and on top of it all, I also had to worry about Family like the Adirondack Free Pack thinking I was some kind of prophet. Or a demon.

  All that could wait. I needed a shower. I owed myself a good cry.

  I got up from the table, stiffly, looked out the window. Adam was moving toward the house. He paused, and when I nodded, he came in. I hobbled to him, leaned against him. Let him kiss the top of my head.

  “Zoe,” he said.

  But something was tickling my brain; I had the urge, as I had at the Battle of Boston, to reach out, to see what was going on now, locally, with that astonishing footage of the Fangborn being shown everywhere. “Just give me a second, okay?”

  He nodded. And I projected my consciousness out and over Boston.

  The colleges and coffee houses were abuzz. Arguments, just as I suspected, and there was excitement, too. Eagerness, on some parts, and I began to wonder if the generations raised on the space program, comic books, and CGI special effects might not be ready for us.

  A blink, and I was over a neighborhood to the west. A fire had been started outside the town hall; protesters were warning the end was here. Another group was praying just as loudly for peace and patience. A rock was thrown, and the sirens began as the crowds clashed.

  So I knew: It would not be smooth transition, this I-Day. An old world gone, any number of new ones loomed possible. It would not be one thing. It would be complex. It was the end. I’d severed many connections today. But there were maybe new ones to make, too.

  I returned my focus to where I was, and to Adam. I nestled my head into his chest, enjoying the quiet, for the moment.

  The dragons, who had been lounging on the cliff, began to pop in and out of sight. Then I heard Quarrel cry out in my mind.

  “Zoe Hellbender! The Administrator wishes to speak with you!”

  “He can take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut—no, Quarrel, don’t say that. Let him know I’ll visit him later.” Might as well get chewed out or blasted from existence with a clean shirt on.

  “No, he comes swearing truce! He will not break it, but he is very anxious to speak with you. I think you must not ignore him.”

  “Okay, let me see what I can do.” I turned to Adam. “I’m going back in, for a second or two. I need to visit with the Administrator, and I’d rather be sitting.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Adam said.

  “Just be here when I get back. Just a minute, I promise.”

  I stood up on tiptoe and kissed him, and smiled as he kissed me back. I hobbled into the house.

  “Hellbender . . . you move so slowly!” Quarrel’s concern filled my brain. “What is the matter?”

  “I’m actually doing fine, Quarrel, healing up nicely. But . . . fighting Carolina, severing the connection with the Makers, and now I-Day? It’s enough to take the starch out of anyone. I’ll be fine.”

  “What is ‘statch,’ Hellbender?” Quarrel asked.

  “ ‘Statch?’ I don’t know—oh!” I laughed. “Starrrch. Sorry, my accent is getting in the way here. It’s an expression meaning my efforts have left me tired but not seriously wounded.”

  “Your accent is one marking the elite of your kind? A superior or high rank?”

  I laughed, as much from fatigue-silliness as at the absurdity of the notion. “I would say, it is more a source of pride of my people, a regional indicator.”

  “You are not wealthy? Powerful?”

  “Not wealthy. Powerful, maybe. But I can talk real pretty if I have to.”

  “Now you are the Hellbender, and that confers as much honor as you would want.”

  “Honor is all well and good, but influence . . . That’s something else. And it’s taking some getting used to.”

  “Do not be too patient while you are learning. Better to eat a few enemies, assume their power, and make an example than be too timid. The Administrator is still waiting.”

  “Thanks, Quarrel.” I sighed. “Hang on.”

  I was in the lab, in clean clothes, my face clean. “Sean, can you fix us up a meeting spac
e?”

  “Sure, Zo. Auditorium or amphitheater or what?”

  “More intimate. Think . . . study in a Craftsman-style home.”

  “Oooh, nice.” He vanished.

  “Doc?”

  “Yeah, Zoe?” Geoffrey looked a little beat up but eager. He had reams of new data to play with and the promise of occasional fights and explosions in my company.

  “Can you make it secure, so that the Administrator can’t attack me from inside?”

  “Sure. After you unchained us, the attackers vanished. The lighter vanished, too. Anything else comes up, and I can use the sword to fix that.”

  “Then do it, and thanks.”

  Sean said all was ready, and I found myself in a small, cozy study. Warm wood and heavy textiles characterized the furniture and floors; the walls were lined with filled bookcases. The ceilings were low enough that I felt safe, not overwhelmed.

  I opened the door. “Administrator. Please come in.”

  “Thank you.” He looked nervous, very like a parody of an Edwardian gentleman about to propose. He took the chair I indicated and I sat.

  “How can I help you?” I asked, hesitantly.

  “There’s a problem we’d like your help with.”

  “I’m sorry, the Fangborn are to be left strictly alone. No more suddenly interfering with them—”

  “No, you made that clear, and you made it impossible. Not them. You.” He fiddled nervously, out of his element, clearly distressed. “It is terribly important to my . . . our . . . continued survival. Perhaps even that of your people. Of course, I can make it worth your while.”

  I sat back and sighed; my eyes closed for what seemed a long time. I recalled the email that Ken-san had sent me last night, with the translation of Okamura-san’s reading for me.

  It was, roughly translated, “Going far beyond our house.”

  Then I sat up and reached for the teapot that was, along with its service, on the low table in front of me. I poured two cups and offered him one.

  After he sipped, I asked, “How can this werewolf . . . this Hellbender be of service?”

  Acknowledgments

  My husband James Goodwin and I have been talking about books, life, the universe, and everything even before we started dating. I’m so thankful for his love, support, and the decades of conversations. Mr. G, you inspire me every day.

  My beta readers are awesome. James Goodwin and Josh Getzler always offer good advice and it’s scary how often they both tell me the same thing! My friends Charlaine Harris and Toni L. P. Kelner (a.k.a. Leigh Perry) read carefully and thoughtfully. It’s a wonderful privilege to have amazing writers like them on my side.

  I’m very lucky in my literary agent and coconspirator in all things Fangborn, Josh Getzler. I love that we can talk about the business, the many versions of Sherlock Holmes, and werewolves all in one call. I’m grateful to the excellent professionals at HSG Agency: Carrie Hannigan, Jesseca Salky, and Danielle Burby.

  I wish everyone could have the great experience I do working with the brilliant folks at 47North. A very big thank-you to Jason Kirk (editorial lead), Justin Golenbock (PR specialist), Ben Smith (senior marketing manager), and Britt Rogers (author-relations manager). Clarence A. Haynes is my developmental editor; he is a wonderful reader and, quite simply, the bee’s knees.

  Camille Minichino, MarySue Carl, Debi Murray, and James Goodwin offered terrific advice on the (increasingly!) complex science of the Fangborn. Hank Phillipi Ryan and I spent a wonderful, exciting hour discussing how the Fangborn might announce themselves to the world. Playing what-if with talented people is one of the very best parts of writing.

  I’m so grateful for my reading and writing friends in mystery, SF/F, and Sherlockian communities. It’s such a pleasure to get to see members of the Teabuds, MysteryBabes, BuffyBuds, the Crimespree Family, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime at conventions and gatherings. Going to conventions like Malice Domestic, Bouchercon, Boskone, World Fantasy, Murder and Mayhem in Milwaukee, and the BSI and Friends Weekend also lets me say thank you to the booksellers, bloggers, and librarians who spread the word and turn me on to new reading addictions! Special thanks are always due to my promotion group, the Femmes Fatales. They are: Donna Andrews, Charlaine Harris, Dean James, Toni Kelner, Kris Neri, Catriona McPherson, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Mary Saums, Marcia Talley, and Elaine Viets.

  A great thank-you to the convention attendees and participants in online events who bid on the chances to name characters in the Fangborn novels and short stories. I’m delighted when readers’ generosity in supporting good causes overlaps with their having more fun with the Fangborn.

  And thanks, so very much, to my readers. Y’all rock. Awooo!

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Dana Cameron lives in eastern Massachusetts with her husband and two cats. Cameron was short-listed for the Edgar Award in 2010 for “Femme Sole,” and has earned multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity Awards for her work, including several Fangborn short stories. Her Fangborn novels, Seven Kinds of Hell and Pack of Strays, and short stories, “The Serpent’s Tale” and “The Curious Case of Miss Amelia Vernet,” were published by 47North. Trained as an archaeologist, Cameron holds a bachelor of arts from Boston University and a doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania. When she’s not writing fiction, Cameron enjoys exploring the past and the present through reading, travel, museums, popular culture, and food. More news about Dana Cameron and her writing can be found on her author website and blog, at www.danacameron.com.