Wolf's Bane

by Nancey Cummings

“Tell me its location and I’ll fetch it,” he said, not out of kindness but necessity. If he waited for her, he’d be there all night. “And don’t you dare get on your knees to scrub. This was my handiwork and I’ll clean it.”

  In short order, Alek was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the stain but only making it worse.

  “Blot,” Mrs. Suchet said.

  “I am,” he snapped. His teeth felt sharp. If the housekeeper noticed, she said nothing. She had seen worse behavior from him, no doubt. Since his return to Hardwick House, they carefully avoided the subject of his curse. She didn’t ask about the room with the chains or why he locked himself in there. He had no inclination to explain.

  “It’s that letter. You’ve not been yourself.”

  Alek laughed bitterly. “I haven’t been myself in years.”

  “You’ve got more than a little of your grandfather Maksim in you,” she said in a knowing tone. “Keep blotting, not scrubbing, and I’ll bring in your dinner.”

  He continued his ministrations until he was certain the rug could not be saved. What did he care about a rug, anyway? It kept the chill from the floor and would continue to do so admirably with a great gray stain. And why did he need to send a letter? That spring had been rainy and travel would be slow. If he took a coach as far as he could and then hired a horse, he’d arrive at Boxon as quickly as a letter.

  Yes. He’d do that.

  After his meal—long cold—he informed Mrs. Suchet of his travel plans and left instructions for the estate manager. The two had handled his affairs well enough without his input and would continue to do so.

  He packed a trunk, taking care to don leather gloves before stowing his weapons away carefully, and tossed in whatever garments seemed decent enough for society. He’d leave in the morning, so there was no time to worry about wardrobes. If Godwin Marechal took offense, then he could fight off the beast on his own with his one working eye.

  The beast inside him took notice, hungry and wanting.

  Solenne

  Boxon Village

  The Blacksmith

  * * *

  They found Miles by the forge, with the collar opened on his shirt and his sleeves rolled up. Damp blonde hair stuck to his brow. The furnace was cold, but a stove in the corner heated the workshop to a balmy temperature.

  Miles smiled when he spotted them, and Luis gulped audibly. He inspected the damaged armor, accepted the item for trade, and Solenne helpfully suggested that Luis would be interested in observing the repair process.

  “Really?” Miles blinked, as if surprised, but then gave Luis an assessing gaze. “An extra pair of hands is always helpful, but you’ll ruin your coat.”

  Solenne leaned in, whispering, “He’s interested in your hands.”

  “I don’t mind,” Luis said in a hurry, blushing and stumbling over his words. “About the coat.”

  Miles took Luis’ coat and hung it from a peg on the wall.

  Solenne enjoyed watching her brother, the monster hunter, stumble awkwardly around his crush. It was too precious for words, yet she dug deep down and found a cheery, “I’ll stop by after my visit with Charlotte.”

  She didn’t wait for Luis to answer. Miles had turned his attention to the damaged armor, and Luis watched the blacksmith work.

  The mill dominated Boxon. The nearest river lay several hours’ journey to the west, which meant the village relied on overland transport for the delivery of raw wool and linen and the shipping of finished goods downriver to the capital. Overland travel left a lot to be desired. Pavement wasn’t always a guarantee, and the further away from Founding a person traveled, the more likely the road would be mud. Still, while industry didn’t thrive in Boxon, it brought in steady income and a steady supply of fresh goods.

  Solenne ambled through the open-air market, enjoying the crowd and the noise. She took a fair amount of pride in knowing that Boxon’s stability was thanks to her family. Other settlements as close to a nexus point rarely fared as well. Such proximity created uncertainty. Farmers lost livestock and crops. People feared going out after dark. Industry shuttered at sunset.

  An uncontrolled nexus point was a death sentence to a settlement. It was more than a passing curiosity that most abandoned settlements were always found near a nexus point. They were abandoned for a reason.

  Boxon had a modest industry, and its citizens felt safe.

  Sometimes the provincial government would send in forces to secure the area. Sometimes they considered the settlement a strategic loss. With no easy access to transportation or valuable resources, she had doubted the province would be motivated to send aid to Boxon if her family failed.

  The threats came from all sides. If they could just make it through the next full moon, if Luis could defeat the wolf and not get himself killed in the process…

  She needed a lifeline.

  “Miss Marechal.”

  Chapter 3

  Solenne

  Boxon Village

  A Street

  * * *

  Solenne turned at the deep voice, familiar with its owner. “Good morning, Colonel Chambers.”

  “Always a delight.” Colonel Chambers stood with a younger man with a thin, pinched face. The young man gave her a bored once-over. “Permit me to present my nephew, Mr. Parkell. How is your father?”

  Chambers leaned on his cane, and a gloved hand touched the tip of his hat. A leg injury forced him out of the military and into the occupation of the gentleman farmer. He was pleasant enough, Solenne thought, if a bit pompous. He had renamed his house Vervain, after all. Vervain, as in the legendary sword, said to slay werewolf and vampires in a single blow.

  Honestly.

  Chambers seemed to hold her in high regard, though Solenne could not imagine why. She had only ever been civil to the man and made pains to avoid him.

  Godwin, however, placed several not-so-subtle remarks that Colonel Chambers was not so much older than her—only fifteen years!—and she could do far worse for a match. He had enough money to revitalize the Marechal’s fortunes and understood their responsibility, even supported their mission.

  The family needed a lifeline. She wasn’t sure if this was the correct one.

  “Healing slower than he would like,” she said. Over the last few weeks, it became apparent that Godwin would lose sight in his eye. He could be handling it better, but Solenne thought her father was allowed to be a grumpy bastard, considering the circumstances.

  “Any news of the creature that attacked him?” His gloved hand gripped the silver handle of his cane, the leather creaking.

  “Luis tracked the creature, but the rain has slowed down the search,” she said. Rain obscured any trail the creature made with freshly churned mud. Thus far, Luis had not discovered the creature’s den, if it had a den. If not, the creature transformed into its human form and now hid among the crowd. It could be anyone.

  “It was injured,” she added.

  “With silver?” He grimaced as he said the word.

  “Yes, so that should slow down its regeneration.” The silver shot from Luis’ pistol, to be precise. If the wolf hid among the flock, so to speak, they would be wounded. She had no one way of knowing how an injury in wolf form translated into a human form, but new and unexplained injuries were something to consider.

  The clock tower struck noon.

  “I’m afraid I have an appointment to keep,” Colonel Chambers said.

  “Miss Wodehouse is expecting me.” She gave a quick dip of her head and turned away to make her escape.

  “How delightful. That is our destination as well.”

  Disappointed at her failure to escape Chambers’ attention, Solenne kept a pleasant smile on her face. “Oh, splendid of Miss Wodehouse to plan a little soirée.”

  There. She was positively rude to imply that Chambers was imposing himself on a private affair.

  His grin did not waver. “Just so. Shall we?” He held out an arm, and she found herself unable to refuse.
<
br />   The Wodehouse home was a tall stone house off the main street. A footman led them to the back garden, where Charlotte sat reading. A halo of sunshine and vivid spring greenery surrounded her, complementing her pink dress and bronze complexion. Her curling hair had been pulled back into a loose bun. Sunlight picked out warm russet highlights in her brown hair. She made an extraordinarily pretty picture, Solenne thought, even if fashion said that her plump frame and spectacles were unbecoming.

  “Interesting book?” Solenne asked.

  “Oh, it’s horribly dry. A ship’s manifest, believe it or not, for Papa’s research. Hello.” Charlotte closed the book and smiled at her visitors. Mr. Wodehouse once taught at the university in Founding, but his health made it necessary to leave the city for the country. He had an impressive library, but half the volumes were histories and terribly dull, in Solenne’s opinion.

  Charlotte disagreed, being an avid historian herself. She always had her nose in a book, researching some obscure fact. Solenne’s taste in literature veered more toward popular fiction or books on botany. Reading histories reminded her too much of the school reading assignments: something to be endured and then promptly forgotten.

  Colonel Chambers made the introductions while the table was prepared on the veranda. “I was hoping to speak to Mr. Wodehouse today. There’s a book I’d like him to track down.”

  “Papa is in Founding on business. He’ll be home tomorrow,” Charlotte answered. Her eyes sparkled behind the spectacles, because there was nothing she enjoyed better than books, or perhaps it was the sunshine.

  Honestly, it surprised Solenne that they were such fast friends. As children, Solenne had Alek as a companion, and every moment spent in the village school was a trial to be endured. Charlotte had been the model student, always with her nose in a book and never interested in exploring anything exciting.

  That changed at university, when two young women who were barely acquaintances were thrown into the same dormitory and several of the same classes. Late nights and early morning classes forged their friendship.

  Charlotte turned her attention to Mr. Parkell. “Are you in Boxon long?”

  Mr. Parkell watched as Charlotte carefully poured out the tea and served up tiny sandwiches cut into triangles. “My physician prescribed fresh country air. Uncle obliged.” He picked up a silver spoon, then removed a cloth from his coat’s breast pocket to polish it. “Everything is delightfully rustic.”

  His snobbish tone belied his words.

  Colonel Chambers ignored his nephew’s rudeness. “I’m glad to have the company. I’m tired of rambling about that big house all on my own.” He tossed a look her way.

  Solenne focused on her tiny sandwich. The bread was thin and the filling nothing but cucumbers and butter. They were a rather unsatisfactory experience, and she wondered how many she could politely eat before raising eyebrows. Probably not enough to sate her stomach.

  “Life in the country must be so dull after the military. I can’t imagine it compares,” Charlotte said.

  “Things were exciting enough on the equinox.” Chambers glanced to Solenne.

  Rather than exchange the polite sympathies about her father, Solenne said, “Tell me all about the West Lands. Is it true that there are plants that will swallow a person whole?”

  “Oh, yes! The land there is the planet’s natural habit. Is it wholly unsuitable for humans?” Charlotte leaned forward with rapt attention.

  Chambers told them about flowers that changed colors based on the temperature, and the person-swallowing plant actually swallowed insects, not people.

  The West Lands was native habitat, free from human alteration. Every child learned the story in school. After the ship landed, computers deployed terraforming equipment, but the energy fluctuations from the nexus broke the machines. By the time the crew and the settlers woke—again, the stories never really explained what this sleep was but implied it was something other than the regular eight hours a night sleep—they discovered they were on the wrong planet and only a small portion of the continent had been made suitable for human habitation.

  Surprise.

  The knowledge to reform a planet in your image. To move between the stars…it all seemed like a fairy story.

  “Did you see the city in the mountains? Is it true a second ship landed there, but none of the crew or settlers survived? Machines built a city for the dead?” Charlotte shivered at the grotesque image.

  “My company never made it that far west.”

  “And you found the sword Vervain?”

  Solenne’s interest perked. The sword, one of several empowered weapons created by early settlers, were common bedtime stories. She did not have the enthusiasm for history like her friend, but she relished stories.

  “Is that true? It was lost,” Solenne said.

  “I have an old sword, ancient, in my collection, but not that sword,” Chambers said.

  “Collection.” Mr. Parkell made a derisive noise. “It’s like living in an armory.”

  “I thought we might have a dance,” Chambers said, once again ignoring his nephew’s rudeness. “A summer solstice dance, before the event, of course.”

  “How exciting! I do so love a dance.” Charlotte clapped her hands, legendary swords forgotten. Which was a shame, because Vervain was one of the few interesting points of their conversation.

  Colonel Chambers nudged his nephew with his foot, who sputtered out, “Oh, yes. I’m intrigued by what passes as entertainment among the rustics.”

  Not even Charlotte could ignore the disdain in his voice. She looked rather awkwardly at the floral centerpiece on the table. “I am rather pleased with the tulips this year. Such color.”

  Solenne would have none of the pompous twit sitting, a guest in Charlotte’s home, and looking down his nose at them. “I’m sure life on the fringes out here must be a change for you, Mr. Parkell. I rather enjoyed the noise and bustle of Founding, when Miss Wodehouse and I attended university.”

  “Academics. I should have known,” he scoffed. “I much prefer ladies with other accomplishments.”

  “Jase, that’s enough,” Colonel Chambers warned, nearly growling.

  “Accomplishments?” Charlotte asked, her voice sweet. Solenne recognized the trap as Mr. Parkell blundered in. Even Colonel Chambers sensed the danger, and leaned back in his chair, content to watch the scene play out.

  “Amiable, amenable and charming, for starters. Singing, playing an instrument, painting or sketching, and needlework. Those sorts of accomplishments.” He examined a butter knife and must have decided it clean enough to spread cream on a scone.

  “Oh, I daresay that between us we can do a passable sketch,” Charlotte said, sharing a glance with Solenne.

  “My needlework is decently good,” Solenne added. “I always thought sewing and embroidery was rather like stabbing the cloth with a tiny little dagger.”

  “You’re skilled with a dagger in any setting,” Charlotte said in a conversation tone.

  “Any sharp object, really. You’ve any impressive recall on what you’ve read,” Solenne replied.

  “That’s the trouble with you academic types,” Jase said with a sigh, explaining nothing about the trouble with academic types. “You ruined your eyes reading. Still, you’d be pretty if you put some effort in.”

  “Such flattery. I hardly know what to think,” Solenne said dryly.

  “Jase, enough. Apologize,” Chambers said.

  “What are your accomplishments, Mr. Parkell?” He might be more amiable than a boil on a bottom if he put some effort in. She felt rather proud of herself that she held her tongue.

  “I am a gentleman.” He sat straighter. The leaf green silk coat and darker green trousers might have done for Founding but they made him look ridiculously fussy sitting next to his uncle in a sensible brown coat and tan buckskins.

  “And your occupation?”

  “I am Uncle’s heir,” Mr. Parkell announced, as if that were a real accomplishm
ent.

  “Your only accomplishment is breathing, then.” A gasp went around the table, followed by a chuckle from Chambers. Solenne continued, “But I’m a simple rustic, so I’m not sure what the people of quality do in Founding.”

  “And I’ve ruined my eyes. Ruined,” Charlotte repeated for dramatic effect. “How will we get on, Solenne? Why did no one tell me of the dangers?”

  “I’m sure you think you’re very amusing—” Mr. Parkell started, but was interrupted by Chambers laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “I think you’ve delighted us enough with your opinion. It’s time for us to take our leave. Wait for me outside,” Chambers said.

  “But, Uncle—”

  “Now, Jase.”

  The man snapped to attention, made a hasty bow and left.

  Charlotte huffed, tossing her napkin to the table. “I’m sorry, Colonel Chambers, but your nephew is awful.”

  “It’s his mother’s influence. She spoils him.” Chambers leisurely finished his cup of tea. “I must say, I did enjoy watching you ladies eviscerate him.”

  “Eviscerate? We were positively polite,” Solenne replied.

  Charlotte nodded in agreement. “We went easy on him, as it was an unfair fight. Imagine, picking a battle of the wits when all he brought was his…” She waved a hand, as if searching for the correct word.

  “Arrogance? Snobbery?” Solenne supplied.

  “His fashionable coat.” A grin spread across Charlotte’s face, then she sobered. “Don’t tell Papa. He’ll be horrified.”

  “You ladies have my word,” Chambers said. “Miss Marechal, may I have a word before I leave?”

  Solenne froze. “Yes?”

  “I’ll just clear these things,” Charlotte said, loading up a tray and returning it to the kitchen.

  Chambers cleared his throat. His cheeks were ruddy, from the sun or the embarrassment of his nephew’s behavior, she could not tell. “Please do not let Jase’s conduct keep you from attending my dance. His lungs are only one of things I mean to improve about him while he stays with me.”