Arnow shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me. I apologize, Doctor. I think that crime scene last night affected my judgment.” He shuffled some papers, the universal gesture of dismissal.
Lupo’s fuse was short, but he snuffed it, heading for the door instead. Jessie followed reluctantly. “Good day, Sheriff.”
Arnow grunted.
The main entrance of the sheriff’s department was snuggled between the rear of the remodeled courthouse and the new jail they’d built after the Stewart case, a redbrick cube with long glass-block windows up high.
Hot anger rippled off Jessie’s body. She was going to let him have it for the way he’d handled things. He ignored her piercing stare.
“Time for plan B,” he said.
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“You got me. I’m not sure.” He grinned at her, hoping to disarm her anger. She’d obviously gotten to like Sheriff Arnow. Tom. He’d have to be careful.
He looked at her across the roof of his car. The cool wind rippled her hair just right. “I’ve got DiSanto running a plate for me. That might lead to something. A strange guy, probably just a tourist, but he was following that reporter. And somebody was following him.”
“Oh, yeah? And what were you doing, following her, too?”
He started to protest, then noticed she was grinning.
Was it a real grin? Hell, he didn’t know fake from real with women. He hadn’t had the best luck with them. He’d lost a few along the way, most to violent deaths. One he had killed himself. Caroline Stewart, his first great love. The professor who understood him, who knew about him and his secret, and whom he’d savagely murdered. No, the Creature had savagely murdered her, but it was Lupo, too. Bound up in his destiny, maybe. But still.
“Check in with Sam?”
“He was gonna talk to Eagleson, Eagle Feather, whatever’s his name.”
“Eagleson’s his white name, what he uses in the white man’s world. White people frown on names like Eagle Feather. The Indian people are proud, but they’d rather have two names than be ridiculed for one. It’s one of the many compromises they make.”
Lupo nodded. Sam had explained once. He dialed his cell and waited. “Voice mail,” he said, frowning. “Sam, call me back. We’re coming to meet you, but I need directions.”
“Hope he was able to convince them.”
“Yeah. They don’t strike me as very open-minded.”
“No worse than any of the whites around here,” she pointed out.
He ceded the point and drove north, heading for reservation land. The highway wound in a sweeping curve to the right, past the tiny Eagle River Union airport, and he opened up to match the highway limit.
He dialed up “Ammonia Avenue,” more of his Alan Parsons Project “up north” music. The high-hat intro and bass line of “Prime Time” always put him in mind of driving.
They sat in companionable silence listening to the music they both enjoyed until the signs alerted them they were entering tribal reservation lands. Lupo followed the highway to the main drag, where a row of newer shops and boutiques seemed deserted. The post office was a new log building, and there was a community center, Jessie’s clinic, and a grocery store. Children rode rusty bikes across the empty streets.
“See, we need the casino to bring in people,” Jessie said. “At least, that’s how it was sold.”
“What about the new buildings?”
“All recent, built on the promise of bigger crowds. The stores are barely staying above water, though.”
Lupo nodded. Sam had mentioned it. The tribe was in a sort of limbo. Maybe good times would come, or maybe they wouldn’t. It all rested on the casino project, and right now the casino project seemed cursed.
“I need gas,” Lupo said.
“Pull in there.”
Lupo pumped, noticing the prices were lower than outside the rez. The station had a dingy convenience store shoehorned into it. Children and teenagers came and bought candy and soda, like kids anywhere.
“I’ll pay with my tribal ID,” Jessie said, flashing a photo badge. “Discount,” she explained. He mouthed a thank you.
When she returned he said, “That’s a nice perk.”
“We’re all about perks here on the glamorous rez.”
“The casino should kick it into gear.”
“Yeah, but now somebody doesn’t want it completed. You think it’s about that?”
“The pattern seems obvious, but not the reason. The tribe’ll get rich. Everybody wins.”
“Except the whites,” she muttered.
“Maybe, but they love to gamble. And the jobs will be topnotch. I still think it’s a win-win. Who isn’t it a win for? That’s what we should figure out.”
“And what the wolves have to do with it.”
“My guess is hired guns. Like in the Old West.”
“Nick, I’m scared.” Her voice was fragile. “I don’t want to lose you. I think I almost did at least once today already.”
He grinned to reassure her. “Takes more than a few scratches to stop me.”
She touched his leg, her warm hand comforting. “They weren’t just scratches when they happened. And you even admitted that without Sam…” Her voice hitched, her eyes welled up.
He watched her from the corner of his eye. “Hey, Jess, don’t bet against us. We make a good team. You and me and Sam.”
She nodded, not convinced.
Lupo’s cell buzzed, and he flipped it open. “Speak of the devil. Yeah, Sam.” He paused. “We’ll be right there.”
“What’s wrong?” Jessie said, seeing his frown.
“Half the remaining council won’t listen. Eagleson called them, but he’s refusing to go anywhere. He’s still got some sway over a couple of the others. They’re doing their own thing.”
“Don’t they understand it’s dangerous?”
“They’re being stupid,” he said, with a wave.
“Nick, they’re intelligent people. They need convincing. I don’t think calling them names will help.”
He glanced at her briefly. “Why the defense? They’re part of a dwindling group. They should feel the crosshairs on their backs.”
“They’re my people, Nick. Half my people, anyway.”
“All the more reason you should convince them to listen. Your buddy Arnow’s a good guy, I can tell, but he doesn’t have a clue what he’s up against. He’s never going to understand the real danger, and so he can’t offer any real solutions. Even if he gets the state police here soon, they’re all helpless. Jess, it’s us. We’re the last line of defense for these elders of yours. Before there aren’t any left.” He chose to not tell her Arnow might have ended up a half-devoured carcass just hours before.
Jessie sat quietly. Lupo sensed she was seething. Maybe he’d been too blunt about the old folks. But dammit, was he wrong?
They headed for Sam’s hideaway in chilly silence.
Tannhauser
He watched Schwartz convulse for the hundredth time, his skin mottled with bruises that looked inflamed. He knew they hurt like liquid fire in Schwartz’s veins. He knew he’d almost lost one of the pack overnight, and it was his fault. As Alpha, he should have made sure the others were with him.
He and Tef had swept across the woods after the rogue wolf, whoever he was, but Schwartz had decided to hang back. Clearly, Schwartz had deciphered the rogue’s plan—the bastard must have let them sweep by and faded back behind them. An old partisan trick. His grandfather would have approved. If Schwartz hadn’t figured it out, they never would have had a chance at him.
Schwartz could hold his own against any wolf out there, with the possible exception of Alpha himself.
And he had, apparently, backed the other wolf into a corner.
But no one had expected somebody out there, some human, wielding a silver-loaded shotgun.
Alpha sat in an armchair and watched his friend suffer, his body contorting and his skin seeming to melt off in str
ips where the silver shot had penetrated. His eye socket was a nightmare of grue. Inside, he would be feeling as if hellfire had taken hold of his guts and was twisting them in super-heated furnaces.
Alpha heard the groaning, and he didn’t envy Schwartz one bit. The lesser wounds inflicted by the rogue wolf, serious as they were, had already begun to heal. They would vanish in a day or so. But the silver shot had to be removed, and Tannhauser had spent several hours digging with a long scalpel and probe, the skin on his hands sizzling at the proximity of the element.
No one knew exactly why silver was so toxic to werewolves. It was one of the few myths that had turned out to be accurate. It represented purity and sensitivity to it had evolved through the Eu ropean strain of lycanthropy, his grandfather had once explained, when he was aged and no longer basking in the enjoyment of his powers. The younger Tannhauser was in the full of his, and the arrogance that came with them, so he had shrugged off the implied warning. He had learned his lessons later, while employed by various shady companies tied to the international intelligence community.
Now he watched Schwartz fight off the effects of the pure metal with bitterness.
Where was Tef?
The young pup was a great asset in a fight, but his free spirit was likely to be the death of him—and all of them—if he wasn’t reined in.
Alpha blamed himself. Right after they’d gotten Schwartz home, Tef had stalked about their house with some mysterious purpose. He had spent time in their den, the most secret of their rooms, and had looked smug when Tannhauser asked him what he was up to. By then Tannhauser was up to his elbows in Schwartz’s blood, trying to remove the silver shot without causing himself serious pain. His request for help had fallen on deaf ears.
“Got business to attend to,” Tef said over Schwartz’s groans and Alpha’s protests. “I’ll be back later.”
His eyes burned with a fire all his own. Schwartz had reported on some of Tef’s behavior during his liberty, and Alpha supposed Tef was off for some human cunt.
As if on cue, the phone rang.
“Crap,” he muttered.
He knew exactly who this would be.
He closed the door on Schwartz and his throbbing, burning pain, taking the call with his most businesslike tone.
“It’s nice to see you answer your phone so quickly,” Mr. XYZ said, oozing sarcasm.
“What do you want?”
“Ooh, so short with the hand that signs your checks.”
“I have a team member down right now,” Tannhauser said tersely. “I’m shorthanded.”
“Not my problem, is it?” The voice chuckled. “Run into the unexpected, did he?”
“Yes, someone who may oppose us.”
“Hm, the sheriff?”
“No, an outsider. Somebody with, er, experience.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing exactly, but so far you’re doing it well enough. I want the campaign stepped up, but I hear through a source that the targets are holing up in some kind of a safe house. If you find it you’ll have more than one victim all lined up for you, even without the manpower.”
“Anything else you know?”
But the other end of the line clicked off. The caller ID function showed Unavailable, as it always did with XYZ’s calls.
Shit.
With Schwartz down and Tef off to follow his dick, Al-pha’s chances for an assault on any compound didn’t look good.
In the bedroom he watched his friend writhe on the bedclothes, his blood still sizzling even as it oozed out of the silver-lined holes in his tortured flesh.
Tannhauser held up his own bandaged hands and hoped they would heal quickly.
Sam Waters
Eagle Feather had listened enough to make the calls, but then he put his stamp of disapproval on Sam’s effort and managed to keep a couple members on his side.
Daniel Bear Smith and Rick Davison agreed with the elder that they could not show weakness, and retreating to a safe compound with police protection (as Sam had spun it) was likely to look bad to the tribe when the details were made public. Eagle Feather stood against showing the white world any weakness, and so Smith and Davison had turned down the opportunity of huddling together for comfort, as Eagle Feather had scoffingly described it.
Bill Grey Hawk had readily accepted the offer of protection and made sure his family could be included. Grey Hawk was a realist.
Sam planned on stashing them in his old fishing cottage. It was located deep in the woods once, but new homes crept closer every year. He had taken Sarah there on their honeymoon, and since her death he could barely stand to be there alone. Her touch was everywhere, in the curtains and the way the bookshelves were arranged, in the way the tiny kitchen was organized, and the way the furniture caved comfortably around you. He missed her more there, so he avoided it. But Lupo had agreed it sounded like a remote enough safe house.
After collecting Bill Grey Hawk and his wife and three young children, Sam headed for the cottage. He gave Lupo and Jessie directions.
In his trunk, Sam had a stash of silver ammo and several long guns. Lupo would have to steer clear of it.
He figured the wolf out there—the pack, if Lupo was right—would at least be deprived of Grey Hawk’s family as a kill. But that meant they could find Eagle Feather and his two holdouts. Sam stared at the woods that surrounded his cabin. The pines were still so thick here that from the forest floor you almost couldn’t say it was day.
A shiver slid down his back. He once feared Lupo’s Creature. But this time it was worse, because of what those monsters had done to his colleagues. His friends.
Lupo
The silence of the latter part of the ride left him feeling snarky. He greeted Sam warmly enough and tried to reassure Bill Grey Hawk.
“What exactly are we being protected from?” Grey Hawk asked. He had sent his wife and children to the loft to play games. Their tinny voices filtered down to them, and Grey Hawk looked up occasionally, worry etching his long, scholarly face.
Sam reintroduced Lupo. Grey Hawk remembered him from the infamous Stewart case, but they’d only met briefly.
“That’s the thing,” Lupo explained. “We’re really not sure.” The lie sounded hollow even to him. “We think it’s related to the casino.”
“Townies?” He meant whites.
“Not that simple,” Lupo said.
“Have you heard Lydell? He’d bring it down to its simple roots. Kill Indians because they’re taking all the fish and soon they’ll take all the money.”
Lupo had heard about the radio preacher. Pouring gasoline on the long-damped fire of racism and hate.
Scumbag.
“Sheriff Arnow’s doing his best,” Lupo said, changing the subject. “But he’s shorthanded. We’re helping out as unofficial deputies.”
“Dr. Hawkins, too?”
Jessie nodded. When Grey Hawk had climbed to the loft to see his family, she said, “What can I do, really?”
“Might be good to have you here with the wife and the kids.”
“Woman’s work?”
“Gee, Jess, I didn’t mean it that way. With all the guns, they’re probably spooked.”
“I’ll have to get an overnight bag.”
“And some weapons. Like what Sam’s got in the trunk.”
Sam spoke up. “You knew?”
“I’ve been itching since I got here. It’s starting to burn.”
“I don’t have any silver ammo,” Jessie said.
“Not even at the clinic?”
She didn’t respond.
“I knew there was a reason you kept me from seeing you there,” Lupo said. He’d guessed, but the look on her face was a confession. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m a freak.”
He laughed to let them both off the hook.
But it hurt.
With a promise that Jessie would return as soon as she could, they left the family under Sam’s protection again. Lupo would have bet they were safe in the daytime
. Later, that was anyone’s guess. The other council members would not be safe tonight. How to keep them alive?
Jessie put her hand on his knee, and he let her warmth dispel the chill between them. When she leaned her head on his shoulder, fragrant hair tickling him, he could almost forget the sense of betrayal he felt.
After dropping off Jessie at home with a kiss and a wistful wave, he headed back to town. He dialed his cell and waited for DiSanto to pick up.
“Jesus, Nick, I’m at home with my family.”
“Hello to you, too. Of course you’re with your family, it’s a weekend.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m with my family. Sundays Louise makes sure I don’t do any work stuff…”
Lupo made a face. Through the windshield, on the left, pine trees. On the right, an occasional strip mall announced the arrival of the town proper.
“DiSanto, I want you to go to your car and give me this information now, before I drive down there and extract it with a pair of pliers and an awl. Got it?”
“You just don’t understand,” DiSanto grumbled. He spoke through his hand, heard some kind of low-volume argument, and then his voice came back.
“I forgot you were gonna call,” he said apologetically. “Shouldn’t have promised to leave work at the office.”
“I got quite the situation here.”
“Word’s trickling down about some shit going on with the Indians. You involved?”
“Yeah. What you got?”
“Nice side step. That Altima, you were right, it’s a Hertz. Rented out to a D. W. Schwartz, paid for with a credit card. Get this, the rental’s a long-term. Three months, starting about five weeks ago.”
“Phew,” Lupo whistled. “Expense account.”
“I’m bettin’.” There was hesitation in the voice. “Something else, Nick.”
“What? Anything on this Schwartz?”
“Didn’t get much. Ran his license, came up clean. Almost too clean, like it was swept by somebody. Homeland Security maybe, since those bastards have all the weight these days. But there’s no complaint department yet that I know of. Nah, it’s something else. Maybe not related to your thing, but I found it…and it’s…curious.”
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