by Kell Amber
“Stop!” he finally yelled.
The wolves froze. Two held an arm in their mouth, one stood by the stranger’s throat, and another bit at his ankle.
“Call them off, call them off,” the guy shrieked.
“Back off.” Quentin tried to infuse a tone of command. The wolves immediately focused on Quentin. “Release him.”
They backed off then, lowering to the ground with soft whimpers, their tails tucked in at his displeasure.
The stranger got up. “You’re crazy, dude. I’m reporting you.”
“For what? Saving your life?” Quentin scowled. Asshole.
“You set those creatures on me!” the guy shouted, pointing at the beasts.
The lead wolf snapped at the guy.
Eyes wide, he screamed and ran off.
“Great. Now I’ll probably get the police after me.” Quentin walked to the other side of the street. The shadows were deeper there. Maybe no one would notice the wolves trotting after him like creepy, eager puppies.
After two more blocks and ducking beneath a bridge, he reached his destination. The thick wooden door had so many charms, they overlapped each other and caused a constant low humming to rattle its hinges.
Quentin straightened his shirt and wiped his palms on his pants before knocking on the door. It swung open in perfect, haunted-manor tradition. He always expected the hinges to screech, but they never made a sound.
“Hello!” he called out.
An owl screeched somewhere deep inside. Quentin entered the room. The soft padding of wolves’ paws followed him.
“Hafrey?” Small statues lined the windowsills he passed. Towers of boxes, small fragments of bones, and the strong scent of incense followed him through the long hallway leading to a light at the end. “Hafrey?” he called again.
“In here, boy,” a voice called out.
The ball of tension in Quentin’s stomach eased at the response. He’d already lost someone today; he would hate to walk into Hafrey’s manor and find the old wizard’s body. He didn’t know Hafrey’s age, but it must be somewhere between ancient and prehistoric.
Quentin kept walking toward the voice and found his friend sitting behind a desk piled high with parchment. His long white beard had grown bushier, his spectacles thicker, and his Hawaiian shirt had definitely gotten brighter since Quentin last visited.
“You’re the only wizard I know who still uses parchment,” Quentin said in greeting.
Hafrey raised one shaggy eyebrow. “The old ways are the best.” He tore off a piece of parchment and used it to roll a joint. Quentin had missed the dish filled with cannabis sitting at Hafrey’s elbow. The old wizard put one end in his mouth and lit the other by tapping it with his index finger.
“I need your help.” Quentin didn’t want to get into a discussion over Hafrey’s pot habit. Last time, he’d lost an hour of his life over a rant regarding taxation. Hafrey swore his herbs were a necessity and helped him relax enough to really see the magic. Quentin thought he was probably seeing something else entirely. Still, Hafrey was the best wizard Quentin knew.
“Have a seat and tell me why you brought a pack of bone wolves to my house. I’ve never seen anyone with enough magic to create a whole pack. Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t make them. I found them next to my friend’s body.” Quentin’s throat closed up, and it took him a minute to speak again. “My friend Glenn died tonight.”
“And he made the wolves?” Hafrey took a drag of his joint and then made a smoke circle.
“What? No. He was human. The cops think a rogue vampire killed Glenn. I don’t know who the wolves belong to. I can’t get them to return to their maker.”
“Have them come closer.”
“Come here.” Quentin patted his thighs. He didn’t know how intelligent they were, but they appeared to follow simple commands.
The lead wolf obediently stepped forward and sat before Hafrey. The old wizard leaned over until he was almost nose-to-nose with the wolf. “He’s not like a usual bone wolf.”
“What do you mean?” Quentin wasn’t an expert, but they looked like the wolves he’d seen in magic books.
“Bone wolves are senseless killers who don’t have much intelligence. These are different. This one has a soul.”
“How can it have a soul? And how can you tell?”
Hafrey waved his joint around, causing the smoke to swirl. “The soul is in the eyes. Whoever created them stole someone’s soul and stuffed it inside those bodies.”
A chill went through Quentin—he’d never heard of anything so horrifying. “Can we free them?”
“Free what?”
“Free the souls? If they were put in, can’t you take them out?”
“No, man. If you free the soul, you kill the wolf.”
“But if the soul was stolen to make the wolf, wouldn’t I be doing it a favor? It can go to the afterlife if I get it out of the wolf.” Quentin frowned as he tried to figure out Hafrey’s logic. Maybe it was the marijuana talking. The wizard was generally more lucid.
Hafrey shook his head, sending his white curls bouncing. “No. It’ll go to hell because it’s been used in dark magic.”
“So how do I get rid of the wolves but save the souls? And how do I know the souls deserve saving? Maybe they’re dark souls.”
“Why would you want to disturb this perfection?” Hafrey waved a hand toward the wolves. “They’re awesome, man.”
“Because they’re killers, and even if I wanted to keep them, they’re expensive to license.” He would need a lot more money—something that was in decidedly short supply.
“There’s a war brewing, my boy, and you’re going to need all the help you can get.” Hafrey’s eyes glowed in the dim lighting, and a shiver went down Quentin’s spine.
“But I can’t keep bone wolves.” Maybe if he said the words slowly enough, Hafrey would understand.
“I don’t see how you have a choice.” Hafrey took another suck on his joint and puffed out a larger smoke ring, like the caterpillar in the Alice in Wonderland story. “Sometimes you seek out the fight, and sometimes it comes to you. This one has your name all over it.”
Quentin rubbed his forehead. “What have you seen?”
Hafrey had the gift of foresight. Unfortunately, his accuracy varied greatly depending on how many drugs he’d consumed.
“My boy, I’ve seen the future, and you have a lot of work to do if you’re going to survive. But I have confidence you can overcome all odds.” Hafrey gave him a cheery, drug-induced smile.
“Great. Just great.” Quentin didn’t have time or energy for eating, much less fighting a war with an unknown opponent.
“You’re not going to be able to get out of things with simply your fancy education either. You’re going to have to figure out how to do some good old-fashioned street magic.”
“I know some already.”
Quentin had snuck out during his undergrad years and followed some of the older students to street battles. These illegal fights allowed any kind of magic barring death. The audience bet on their winner, and whichever wizard survived won half the pot at the end of the battle. Quentin had seen enough good wizards hexed until they forgot their own names to ever want to participate himself. A lot of damage could be done to someone before death, and he’d seen some grim results.
“Bah!” Hafrey waved his hand, dismissing Quentin’s knowledge. “You know a few tricks performed by rich kids pretending to be thugs. I’m talking down-and-dirty stuff. Things to distract a vampire while you jab out his eye with your silver dagger.”
“I’m not going to be stabbing anyone.” The mental image made Quentin shudder.
Hafrey’s gaze sharpened and pinned Quentin in his seat. “Then you’re going to be killed. Not everyone is as averse to violence as you are.”
“I’m not averse. I just think there are better ways.” In Quentin’s opinion, anything that didn’t involve him stabbing someone would be the way to go.
“You’ll learn, sweet boy, you’ll learn. You’d best keep these wolves of yours close. You’re going to need them.”
“Need them for what?”
“Well, I’ve never seen someone with a pack of familiars before. I’m thinking some higher power thinks you need a lot of magical support.”
Quentin scoffed. “If there were a higher power and it was really paying attention, then it wouldn’t have made my mom sick if they wanted me to win a war. I’m lacking a bit of faith right now.”
Hafrey tilted his head. “Things happen for a reason, boy.”
Quentin laughed. “Bullshit, Haf. That’s something we tell ourselves to make us feel better when everything is crap.” He stood up and tried not to trip over the wolves. “I’m going to take the wolves to Mother’s. At least she’s got a backyard.”
“She’s gonna kick your ass if they dig up her garden.”
Quentin could feel the bittersweet smile curling his lips. “If she had enough energy to kick my ass, I’d be happy to take it. I’ll be surprised if she makes it out of that hospital.”
Hafrey’s face folded into a deep frown. “Sorry to hear it. I’ll go see her tomorrow, take her some soup. That’ll make her feel better.”
“Just make sure you don’t slip anything illegal into it.” Haf kept a generous hand in the pocket of the narcotics fairy.
Hafrey’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he tried to scowl at Quentin with his unfocused gaze. “I’m all about the organic and natural.”
Quentin snorted. “‘Natural’ doesn’t mean healthy. Keep that in mind.”
The wizard batted a hand in Quentin’s direction. “Get out of here and let an old man have a bit of relaxation.”
“I’ll do that.”
The smell of Hafrey’s weed had started to make Quentin a bit swimmy. He stumbled past the wolves and out the front door. The cool air cleared his head from the drugging effect. As fond as he was of the old wizard, he had to keep his visits down to a few minutes at a time. Secondhand smoke was a bitch.
The wolves followed, two on each side of Quentin, like an honor guard. They were in protection mode, but what they thought they were protecting him from, he didn’t know and probably didn’t want to.
“Where’s your master?”
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make a pack of bone wolves. It must have taken years to collect the pelts and magic necessary, not to mention culling the souls. Quentin still shuddered when he thought of a spirit trapped inside a necromancer’s nightmare companion. He made a mental note to call an exorcist in the morning. Maybe he could free the spirits, then put the wolves to rest.
Pleased with his decision, he turned his feet toward his mother’s house. A flyer posted on a fence caught his attention: another bounty hunter flyer. They had been scattered around town. The advertisers must be shorthanded if they were trying to recruit people off the street.
Quentin’s phone rang. He thumbed the button to answer before lifting it to his ear. “Yes?”
“Quentin Heart?”
The no-nonsense tone on the other end had Quentin’s stomach sinking. “Yes.”
“I’m Miranda Holbert from Anders General Hospital’s billing department. I’m calling about your past-due amount.”
Quentin listened to her drone on while he stared at the flyer. He needed money fast, and this flyer said the bounty hunters would pay cash after each bounty retrieved. Maybe if he caught a couple of people he could pay off the minimum amount.
“Ms. Holbert. Thank you for calling. I have some cash coming in soon. I’ll come by the hospital to talk about a payment plan.”
“Thank you, Mr. Heart. I’m glad to hear that. Can I expect to see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll try. The day after at the latest.”
“All right. But no later or we will have to move your mother to a different facility and clear out the room.”
Quentin didn’t need to be a genius to hear the threat. Anders was the best hospital in the country. To send her somewhere else could sign her death warrant.
“I’ll get you the money.” He disconnected without saying good-bye. Billing departments could give vampires a run for their money at bloodsucking.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “I guess it’s time to find a job.”
His advisors would say his research and PhD were his job, but they weren’t going to pay for his mother’s bills and Quentin had already tapped all his own and his mother’s savings. If this illness didn’t kill her, the debt would.
Checking out the flyer, he dialed the number listed. It rang three times before someone picked up.
Once Quentin told the lady who he was and what he was after, he made an appointment to go talk to a recruiter tomorrow. The woman on the phone didn’t ask him any questions about his qualifications, but maybe that wasn’t her job.
A dry leaf skittered across Quentin’s path, reminding him of his last view of Glenn, a shell of a person drained of all vitality. Tears seeped from Quentin’s eyes as his mother’s house came into view before him. He’d grown up there among the small rooms. He wished he could go back to being a sulky teen with his mother scolding him for not taking out the trash. Life was easier when all he had to avoid were his chores, not the reality of people dying around him.
Quentin had walked up two of the four steps to the front door when one of the wolves moved in front of him.
“What?” Quentin looked around but didn’t see anyone on the street, anyone at all. “Move.”
The wolf growled.
Quentin turned around again to see what the wolf was growling about. He still didn’t see anything, at least not with his eyes. Worried he’d missed something else, Quentin searched with his inner sight—his “third eye,” as his mother called it. The dark street turned into a wash of colors. Mundane objects like the trash dumpster and a piece of crumpled paper shone from the touch of the last person to handle them.
“I still don’t see anything.”
“Hello, young man. Nice wolves you have there.” A soft voice wrapped around Quentin like damp fog seeping into him. If he let on that he knew magic had been cast, the spell would take over and drag him further into the speaker’s thrall.
Quentin turned. To the right of the steps, a stranger walked out of the darkness. The ring of light from the front porch stopped at the tips of the stranger’s shiny black dress shoes. Quentin could make out the reflection of the porch light in their glowing leather.
“Can I help you?” He kept his voice calm and curious while inside he wanted to shout at the wolves to take the stranger down.
“Yes. I heard this house might be up for sale.” The man stepped closer, walking out of the shadows.
Now Quentin could make out a lean face with dark whiskers that hadn’t seen a razor in far too long. Not clean and bushy like Hafrey’s beard, but unkempt as if evil were seeping out of his skin and oozing down.
“You heard wrong. The house isn’t for sale.”
“Shame, it is in a prime location.”
Quentin didn’t ask what the man meant—he knew. His mother’s house stood in the direct path of a ley line. It had been in her family for generations, untapped as far as Quentin could tell. His mother had never been a practitioner, but she had a sixth sense.
“Yes, it is. Now be on your way.”
The man let out a low laugh. “Think you are a match for me, punk? I could just take what I wanted. No one is here except you and me.”
“And my wolves.” For the first time, Quentin appreciated the beasts being beside him.
The stranger narrowed his eyes as he examined them. “Bone wolves? What’s a kid like you doing with bone wolves? You don’t have the kind of power to make them.”
Quentin didn’t contradict him. He did have the power to make a bone wolf, but not the stupidity. “Go away, and don’t come back.”
“Or what?” The man sneered.
“Or I’ll let you be their
prey.”
The wolves began growling as if they understood what Quentin said. Shame curled around him like a nebulous smoke only he could feel and see. How quickly he’d used the wolves to bully someone.
“You don’t have the guts.” The man’s bravado faded a bit when the lead wolf took a step forward, snarling.
“I may not want anyone torn apart by wolves, but I’m more than happy to call the police station and tell them you’re trespassing on private property. I don’t know who you are, but you have no right to be here and even less to go around threatening me.”
“You think you’re tough, but the time is coming when my kind will take what we want and damn the consequences.”
Quentin almost asked. He felt the question on his tongue, but the day had been long and the night unending. “Just go.”
The wolves crouched down as if about to pounce.
“Fine. But I’ll be back. You’ll be begging to sell by the time I’m done.”
“Shoo.” Quentin made scooting movements with his hand. He was too tired to be intimidated, and he’d already filled his quota of ominous warnings for the day. Maybe tomorrow he’d be curled up in a fetal position on his lab floor, but for today, he’d had it.
The man left, but not before sending Quentin one last glare, which he ignored.
More than once in the past, someone had tried to buy or swindle his mother out of her home, but she’d always refused.
Quentin didn’t want someone taking advantage of her current state. She might just be tired enough to sell the house to get the money for her bills. Quentin couldn’t let her do that. He pulled out the crumpled flyer from his pocket.
“I hope you’re the solution, because I’m running out of answers.”
Heartsick and exhausted, Quentin unlocked the house and took his wolves into their new home. It was more important than ever for them to stay there and guard the house.
After settling the wolves in the garden, Quentin ended up spending the night on his mother’s couch. He didn’t have his own bedroom anymore since she had turned his old room into her sewing room, and he didn’t feel right sleeping in her bed.