by Kell Amber
Quentin stretched, relished the cracking of his back muscles, then walked over to his desk chair and searched the pockets of the jacket he’d abandoned there. “Hello?”
“Hey, Q. I’m outside and ready to party!” Glenn shouted.
It took Quentin a minute to pull his mind out of spell theory and focus on the call. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him he’d been working far longer than he thought. “I’ll be right out.”
He disconnected then returned the phone to his pocket before sliding the jacket back on.
“Well, James, I didn’t get much done today.” He dropped some apple pieces and nutritional pet food into James’s cage before heading for the door. “Be nice to the janitor.”
Quentin had caught the facility’s janitor, Joe, feeding James a few times. He let it slide. As long as Joe didn’t let James out of his cage, wipe off Quentin’s whiteboard, or move any of his papers, Quentin didn’t care.
After locking the door behind him and resetting his wards, Quentin left the building to join his friend.
No one was outside.
Quentin looked left, then right. Nothing. Where had Glenn gone?
Tired and not willing to play games, he pulled out his phone and dialed his friend. The sound of Glenn’s ringtone came from behind the bushes. Quentin laughed. Idiot.
Glenn should turn off his ringer if he planned to surprise him.
He was two steps from the bushes, when behind him a voice called out, “Mr. Heart!” He froze at the sound of Dean Mearson’s voice. Quentin spun around to face the head of his department.
Candi Mearson had the body and the bright blonde hair of a college cheerleader, and a mind that could destroy the world. If Quentin had been the least bit interested in women, he would have tried to date her for her mind alone. To Quentin, a smart person was ten times sexier than a beautiful one. He tried to stay on her good side and always treated her with the respect she deserved. Many people underestimated the dean and learned too late of her brilliance after she had neutered them intellectually and left them crying into their shredded doctoral thesis.
“Dean Mearson, how are you doing tonight?”
The dean came to a stop in front of him. “I’m doing well, Mr. Heart. How is your mother?”
Quentin swallowed back the lump in his throat, refusing to cry in front of his boss. “She’s not doing well. The cancer came back.”
The dean squeezed Quentin’s arm. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you need to take some time off, let us know, and we’ll make an exception in your program.”
“No, it’s better that I work. My mother would feel guilty if she thought she’d negatively affected my future.” He knew that because she’d told him about a thousand times.
Mearson gave him a watery smile. “She sounds like a wonderful woman. I lost my father a few years ago. If you need someone to talk to….” She let her words trail off.
“I appreciate that, but I’m doing fine.” He wasn’t. He never would be if this evil disease killed his mother, but he didn’t want the dean to treat him like a charity case either. “What are you doing here so late? Is there something I can help you with?” Quentin almost winced after the words left his mouth. Everyone knew better than to volunteer for anything around the dean.
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, then flashed him her best smile. Quentin’s stomach roiled with morbid fascination. He liked the dean, but he knew when he was about to be suckered into a project.
“What’s up?”
“I had a visiting professor cancel on me for tomorrow. He was going to discuss the pluses and minuses of spell circles. I was hoping you could take his place.” She patted Quentin’s shoulder. “I know, I know, it’s beneath your expertise, but it would really help me out. Their usual instructor went on vacation because he thought we were having a substitute, so now the sub cancelled and I’m at loose ends. I’d be happy to give you the stipend I was going to pay him.”
She named an amount. It wasn’t much, but it was more than Quentin made doing nothing.
“Sure, I’ll do it.” He held back the sigh that was itching to escape.
“Great.” Mearson’s perfect white teeth gleamed in the dim lighting. “It’s at nine tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there.” He must not have kept the groan out of his voice because the dean laughed.
“Have a good night, Mr. Heart. I’ll remember this.” With those words, she spun on her stilettos and scurried away at a pace most would consider impossible in four-inch heels.
As much as Quentin didn’t want to teach a spell-circle class, it always helped to have the dean on his side. And she’d said she would remember him helping her out in a pinch. She would also remember if he said no.
A low growl from the direction of the bushes put Quentin on alert. He glanced around, but no one else appeared to be wandering around. Maybe one of the students had let their dog run free. Even as he made up that excuse, Quentin couldn’t make himself believe it.
If it were just him, he would have walked away, but his friend’s phone had rung from that direction. “Glenn!” he shouted. “If you’re over there, come out. This isn’t funny.”
Glenn had a twisted sense of humor, and Quentin could only hope his friend was playing another one of his pranks.
The growls became louder. “Glenn, I mean it. If you don’t stop, I’ll curse your car to only turn right.”
Glenn’s biggest pride was his cherry-red antique Porsche. Just the suggestion of harming it should have brought his friend out of hiding. A sick, twisting sensation of dread churned in Quentin’s stomach. He tucked his phone back into his pocket. He had a feeling he’d need two hands for whatever waited for him around the corner. The cool evening breeze brought the smell of rotting food to his nose.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Please let me be wrong.
Now would be a great time to have a familiar. His mother always told him he’d made a mistake going the modern route and not keeping a sidekick. Not for the first time, he suspected his mother had been right again. If he got out of this, he was going to go down to the pet store and get the biggest damn familiar he could find.
A louder growl sounded, then a bark. An answering bark responded close by. Quentin planted his feet, closed his eyes, and sent out his senses. Earth magic snapped through him as he used the ground beneath him as his scout. Along his path, bugs rose to the surface responding to his call. Ants, beetles, and tiny mites swarmed across the grass and disappeared behind the bushes.
After a few minutes, they returned to give their report.
Wolves. Four wolves.
Images flickered. A bit here and a bit there popped into Quentin’s mind as he absorbed the messages given to him by his earthbound comrades.
For the first time, Quentin was glad of this particular ability. These weren’t the fluffy, gorgeous creatures from a nature show—these wolves were the kind necromancers used to scout out prey. These canis lupus were bone wolves made from the carcasses of dead animals and held together with spells and blood magic.
Quentin held up his right hand and concentrated until a ball of energy began to form. Few wizards had the ability to create lightning balls through their will alone. When he created his first one many years ago, his spell-casting professor had told Quentin it was impossible.
When he was younger and a bit stupid, Quentin had paid a tattoo artist to imprint rows of glyphs along the base of his palms in invisible ink. He could see them when he channeled power. Unfortunately the runes worked a bit too well, and Quentin could cause a great deal of damage if he wasn’t careful.
A howl rang out again.
This wasn’t one of those times to be cautious. Quentin didn’t want to be careful. He wanted to destroy these beasts that lived beyond the laws of nature, because the ants had also reported back that Glenn lay on the ground behind the bushes, not breathing.
The first of the pack crept around the shrubs. Blood coat
ed its muzzle. Quentin blocked out whose blood it most likely was, because if he thought about Glenn now, he would lose his concentration. He had to stay focused, both to channel magic and not get killed. Maybe he should’ve gotten a silver blade like his mother told him to when he went to the university. All of Quentin’s defensive strategies were through magic, so he didn’t carry weapons. Knives and guns could be turned back on you. No one could take his magic and use it against him.
The other three wolves joined the first one, and they eyed Quentin’s ball of energy with more caution than he would expect. Bone wolves were known not for their intelligence, but for their ruthlessness in carrying out their master’s will.
A patchwork of different types of fur covered the wolves’ frames, held together with irregular jagged lines of stitching. What had sent them here? What were they after? Glenn couldn’t have been their target—Quentin’s friend didn’t know much about magic and had none of his own.
“Shoo!” Quentin waved them away. “Go back to your master.”
He should just kill them. They were an affront against nature, but Quentin hated to take a life, even one magically created. He wouldn’t fry them unless they attacked him first.
Why aren’t they attacking?
The bone wolves spread out in front of Quentin as if they wanted to get a good look. He tossed the energy ball from hand to hand, letting them get an idea of what waited for them if they stuck around. “Go home!”
When they didn’t move to either attack or flee, Quentin stepped closer. He needed to see if Glenn was truly dead. Bugs weren’t necessarily the best determiner of a human’s status. The wolves showed no sign of either attacking or retreating. He decided to take a chance.
When he approached the wolves, they parted. Quentin turned and walked backward, not wanting to give them his spine as a target. The wolves didn’t even growl. What was going on?
A soft whisper had Quentin spinning in its direction. The wolves were all but forgotten beneath the hope that Glenn might still be alive.
“Glenn!” Quentin ran over and dropped down beside his friend. Blood coated Glenn’s stomach and chest in a macabre sea of crimson.
Glenn opened his eyes. “I guess we can’t go dancing, after all.”
“No, I think we’re going to have to pass for tonight.”
“Whatcha got there?” Glenn’s words slurred together as he pointed at the ball of energy cradled in Quentin’s right hand.
“I was using it to scare off the wolves.”
“W-wolves didn’t do it.” Glenn coughed and spurted up blood. Red spittle dripped down his cheek. Quentin’s pristine friend would be embarrassed if he weren’t on the verge of dying.
“Who did this?” Quentin had never experienced intense hate before. If he found the person who’d attacked Glenn, he would happily fry them with a lightning spell.
Glenn opened his mouth to speak again. A red spit-bubble formed between his lips. His eyes glazed over.
“No! Stay with me! Glenn, don’t you fucking die! Who will drag me out of my lab and make me go have fun?” Tears filled Quentin’s eyes, obscuring his vision.
Glenn didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t breathe. He would never breathe again.
Sobs shook Quentin’s body. As he lifted his hand to wipe away a tear, he accidentally dropped the ball of energy. The glowing orb sank into Glenn’s chest. A crackle of lightning jolted his friend and then went dull.
“I guess that didn’t bring you back, huh?” He brushed Glenn’s hair away from his face.
Quentin stood. He would have to call and tell someone about Glenn’s death—a coroner, at least. Glenn didn’t have any family. They’d died years ago and left him with a stack of bills and an old car.
A soft woof snapped him out of his reverie. The bone wolves stood in a circle as if waiting for him to give a command. “Go home,” he said again, and waved a hand at them in a shooing gesture.
Quentin had no hunger for battle. If they hadn’t killed Glenn, he didn’t need to kill them for revenge.
The wolves sat down on the grass and stared at him. It would’ve been unnerving if he was in the mood to let psycho-killer beasts bother him. Quentin pulled his phone from his pocket and called the police.
He explained that his friend had been attacked, and they promised an officer and an ambulance would arrive soon. Quentin thanked them, then took a seat beside Glenn. “I’m sorry I didn’t come outside sooner.”
If he’d met Glenn at home instead of having him come to the lab, Glenn would never have been in danger. A soft whine drew his attention back to the wolves. One of them began crawling toward him.
“Go back to your owner!” he shouted. “Go away.”
They didn’t move.
Quentin lost track of time until he heard a siren. The wolves began to howl and lined up to surround him as if protecting their master. “Settle down!” he ordered.
An ambulance and a car with cop lights pulled into the lab parking lot. The EMTs were pulling out a stretcher as two men exited the cop car. The cops wore suits instead of uniforms and had the cool expression of people who’d seen too much.
Quentin stood and shifted his feet uneasily as they approached.
“Are you the guy who called this in?” The larger of the two men examined Quentin as if measuring him for prison garb.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Detective Ivan Forrester and this is Detective John Hanson.” He pointed to his partner. “What happened here?”
Quentin spent the next twenty minutes telling the detectives about what he’d seen and heard. While they spoke, the EMTs examined Glenn’s body and pronounced him dead.
“What’s the deal with the bone wolves?” Hanson pointed a thumb at the animals lying beside Quentin.
Quentin shrugged. He didn’t have a good explanation for them. “They aren’t mine, but I can’t get them to go away.”
Forrester frowned. “Maybe their owner died. You’ll have to register them.”
Hanson snorted. “And it’s going to cost you a fortune. There’s a penalty of five hundred a head for creating them, and then a thousand-dollar licensing for future domestic disturbance. If you don’t, animal control will take them away.”
Quentin opened his mouth to tell Hanson to go ahead and have the wolves taken, but the wolves took that moment to pin Quentin with their eerie gazes and the words died in his mouth.
“I don’t think the wolves killed him. If they had, there’d be more pieces,” Forrester said.
“You don’t deal with a lot of live people, do you?” Quentin asked.
Forrester flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“Glenn didn’t get a chance to tell me what killed him before he died.” Quentin clenched his fists in his pockets. “He doesn’t have any family. Where will they take him?”
“The EMTs will take him to the city morgue. They’ll cremate him there and take care of the remains.”
Hanson’s sympathetic smile didn’t make Quentin feel any better.
“How long before they bury him?” He mentally evaluated whether he could come up with any cash to rescue his friend from an unmarked grave or at least pay for cremation and scatter Glenn’s ashes. Quentin might be the only person who cared about what would happen to Glenn.
“It will be a couple of days. There’s a rash of attacks in the city, and the bodies are adding up.” Forrester pointed at Glenn. “He’s our fifth this week.”
“What’s killing them?” This was the first Quentin had heard of a killer.
“We think there’s a rogue vampire out there, but we haven’t had much luck catching it,” Hanson said.
“Oh.” Quentin didn’t know much about vampires, but he didn’t see how one was making its way around the city without someone catching it in the act.
“Don’t worry. We’ll catch him soon,” Forrester said.
“Not soon enough.” Quentin crouched down and ran the back of his fingers against his
friend’s cheek. “See you in the next life,” he whispered. He straightened and turned to find the cops watching him carefully. “What?”
“How close were you?” Forrester asked.
“Not as close as you’re thinking. Glenn was my friend. A good friend, but he preferred women.”
“And did you ever wish he hadn’t?” Hanson asked.
“No, Officers, I didn’t kill my friend because I wanted him to fuck me. We were friends. Just friends. Now, if you’re done with this conversation, I’m going home.”
The detectives nodded.
Quentin headed away from the scene. A clatter of bones and soft barks followed him. “I’m not taking you home,” he shouted over his shoulder.
But a quick glance proved the wolves still followed him. Damn it.
What the fuck was he going to do with a pack of bone wolves in his small apartment?
Chapter 2
Quentin headed home, but when the wolves showed no signs of abandoning him, he decided to take a detour. He only knew one person who could possibly help him out with the wolves, and luckily he lived close by.
He tried not to feel self-conscious over the muffled screams and the people crossing to the other side of the street to avoid them. A soft woof behind him had him spinning around. “Hush.”
The lead wolf flattened its ears. Quentin almost felt bad for scolding it.
A big guy wearing a leather vest and a studded dog collar blocked Quentin’s path. “Hey, man, you need to have those things on a leash.”
“They aren’t mine, so I don’t need to do anything,” Quentin snapped.
“They’re following you.”
Quentin stepped to one side to go around the annoying interloper.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” The guy grabbed Quentin’s shoulder.
A growl, and one of the wolves leaped up and slammed into the stranger’s chest, toppling him to the sidewalk. Before Quentin could say anything, the other three wolves joined in.