by Marc Daniel
“That could be their style, but they haven’t been seen in Houston since the Mexicans kicked them out three years ago,” replied Ivanov pensively.
“Maybe they’re back, now that the Mexicans are out…”
“If they are back, nobody told me. As far as I know, we are the only ones in the city, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Chapter 26
Michael understood why Ez had picked this particular restaurant as soon as he walked into it. The subdued lighting provided by lit candlesticks on the tables and the walls gave the establishment a peaceful atmosphere and enhanced the anachronistic feeling given off by the rest of the decor. The battleaxes, flails, flanged maces, mauls and shields hanging on the walls, the coarse wooden benches and dining tables, the metal wine pitchers—all was designed to project the diners back to medieval times.
But the interior decoration—reminiscent of an epoch both men had known—had not been Ezekiel’s sole motivation; small and mostly empty, the place was above all discreet.
Seated at a table in one of the back corners, Ezekiel was sipping from a metal pint. A few patrons had costumed themselves in Middle-Age fashion to enhance their dining experience, and for a change Ezekiel, wrapped in a long gray cloak, did not look completely out of place. His pointy wizard hat still looked a bit over the top though.
Michael had to drag the wooden bench a good three feet away from the table before he could fit his hulk of a body on the seat facing his friend. That meant his back was to the door, a position he did not particularly like, but he could count on Ez to warn him of incoming trouble.
“Long time, no see, my friend, as they say these days…” opened Ezekiel with a smile.
“It’s all a matter of perspective. What are ten years for you and me?” replied Michael without humor.
“Are you going to get all melodramatic on me? Because if that’s the case, I have better things to attend to. Like finishing my hair-growth slowing potion, for instance.”
“No melodrama. But let me know when you’re done with that potion of yours. It could come in handy,” replied Michael a bit more cheerfully.
“That’s better. Now what’s the matter? What are you doing in Houston? I don’t suspect you came on a simple courtesy visit, did you?”
“I wish I did, Ez, I wish I did…” Michael trailed away as the waiter approached the table with menus. He and Ezekiel made their choice quickly, from a selection designed exclusively for large carnivores, and got back to business as soon as the waiter was no longer within earshot.
“You probably didn’t know my friend Steve Harrington. We were in the Rangers together about twenty years ago.”
“I can’t say I knew him. But I do know he and his wife were murdered in their home a few nights ago by something that looked like a wolf.” Ez lowered his voice.
“News travels fast around here. Although I believe the cops are trying to keep it quiet. I haven’t seen anything about it in the papers or on TV so far.”
“Neither have I,” replied the wizard, “but when three cops are attacked at home by wild beasts in the middle of the country’s fourth largest city, it does tend to raise some eyebrows in our small community.”
“Are you looking into it?”
“No. It’s not really our business to go investigate cops’ murders, especially if magic was not involved, and from what we can tell, it wasn’t.”
Michael nodded slowly in agreement. He already knew this much.
“I already visited two of the crime scenes. As a matter of fact, I’m the one who discovered the bodies of Steve and his wife,” he said in a somber tone. “One thing is for sure. Werewolves were involved. At least two different ones. Their tracks and stench were all over the place. And from what I hear, they left DNA evidence behind them as well.”
“Now that wasn’t a very smart thing to do, was it? It’s not like them to attract attention. Especially since they really don’t need to morph into their wolf form to kill someone…”
“I know. This whole business is fishy. It just doesn’t make sense. If the general public learns about the existence of werewolves, particularly in this context, it will be war. And the wolves have nothing to gain from that, beside extinction,” agreed Michael.
It didn’t matter that a wolf could easily kill a dozen armed men and walk away unscathed; there were at most a couple thousand wolves in the country, and they were not bullet proof… at least not entirely.
The waiter brought a cauldron and set it in the center of the table. The thick stew had a smoky aroma and contained pieces of meat the size of a fist. Using a ladle, the waiter poured generous portions into large wooden bowls, which he placed in front of his guests. He then poured lavish amounts of a thick red wine into tin goblets before departing with a hearty, “Feast well, my lords.”
Large wooden spoons being the only utensils available to do the feasting, the two friends used their hands to fish the chunks of meat out of their bowls. This didn’t bother either one of them, however. In the course of their existence, they had both spent more time eating with their hands than with silverware.
“So, what did you want to ask me?” resumed the wizard.
Michael finished up a chunk of pork the size of a quail in one swallow before answering, “You’ve been living around these parts a long time—”
“Only a couple hundred years,” interrupted Ezekiel facetiously.
“Anyway, long enough to know the neighborhood. What can you tell me about the praeternatural community?”
The wizard wiped his hands and mouth on an oversized napkin made of linen and sat back on his seat. “Starting with the obvious, we do have a few werewolves.”
“How many?”
“I don’t really keep a close tally, but I’d say at least thirty or forty. The Houston pack is one of the largest in the country.”
“Who’s the Alpha?”
“A man called Peter Clemens. He has a big house in the middle of Sam Houston Forest. The rumor is that it is also used as the pack’s headquarters.”
Michael made a mental note of the name before asking, “What does this Clemens do?”
“You mean aside from leading a pack of werewolves?”
“Yes. I mean for a living!” Michael ignored his friend’s sarcasm.
“I believe he runs a small investment company.”
“And on which side of the fence does this pack stand?”
“Now that’s hard to tell for sure,” answered the wizard. “They are not obviously on one side or the other. I hear from some sources that they could be working part-time with the local mob, but it would need to be confirmed. They don’t exactly qualify as cub scouts… but for the most part they don’t cause enough trouble for us to concern ourselves with them either.”
Michael thought about his friend’s statement for a minute before asking, “Any lone wolves in town?”
“Not that I know of,” replied the wizard contemplatively. “That wouldn’t go well with Clemens. He’s way too territorial to allow it.”
“Anything else? Vampires maybe?”
“No vampire whatsoever; the Houston pack is too big for them to hang around town. There are hearsays of a couple shifters, but they are in hiding. The wolves would see them as competition and hunt them down if they found out. But I don’t have to tell you that…”
Michael was indeed all too well aware of this. The territorial and aggressive nature of the wolves towards other predators was the reason he was the only one of his kind left alive. It was also why he was hiding out in the middle of Yellowstone. He truly loved the park, but the hiding was getting to him.
“Any magicians?” he asked finally.
“Your garden variety of witches and sorcerers. We had trouble with a sorcerer whose head was getting too big for his hat a few years back. But we took care of the problem, and they’ve all been playing nice ever since,” answered Ezekiel, boasting slightly.
“What about your folks?”
“Yo
u mean wizards or supernaturals in general?”
“Both.”
“Well, aside from yours truly, there are three other wizards in town. All good people, although one of them is a bit arrogant, if you know what I mean…”
Michael almost asked Ez if he were talking of himself, but thought better of it.
“There are also two or three elves.”
“Elves? That’s unusual! Aren’t they a bit far from a real wood in a city this large?”
“Yes, they are. And a little too far from their kindred too, if you ask me. It’s not good for an elf to be on his own… these folks need company!”
“Are they causing any trouble?”
“No. At least not around here. They keep to themselves, antisocial folks. If you ask me, I don’t think they are here of their own will,” answered the wizard in a conspiratorial tone.
“What do you mean?”
“I think they’re exiles.”
Ezekiel’s theories weren’t always as sound as his more factual statements, so Michael didn’t pry further into the issue.
“Any Warlock?” he asked.
“A Warlock? On my turf?” exclaimed the wizard, outraged. His outburst turned a few heads in their direction. Taking notice, he resumed in a muffled but still appalled voice, “What kind of a wizard do you think I am? Do you really believe I would put up with that kind of nonsense?”
Michael didn’t think so, but seeing his friend work himself up had made it worth asking.
Chapter 27
After J.F.K.’s, this was by far the largest funeral Michael had ever attended, and he had been to plenty. There were over a hundred cops present, including Frank Dacosta, Chief of Police, and the Executive Assistant Chief of Police Thomas Maxwell. All were wearing ceremonial uniforms. In comparison to the imposing police representation, the family members and friends were few and looked almost out of place.
It had been raining all morning, and even though the rain had finally stopped and the sun was making a tentative appearance, the air was still heavy with the smell of damp soil. Unfortunately for Michael, the earthy smell was not strong enough to cover the odor of embalming chemicals emanating from his friends’ oversized casket—Steve and Marge were being buried in the same coffin.
Michael was standing by David Starks, in the first row, just a few feet away from the coffin. David, dressed in a black suit, looked better than the last time Michael had seen him. Even the scars on his face looked a lot better than they had a few days earlier in the hospital.
Immediately across from the two men were the deceased’s daughters surrounded by a dozen relatives. The youngest daughter, Lucy, was a redhead who would have been considered pretty under other circumstances. Currently, she held a white handkerchief under her nose, and her face was puffed up by the crying she had been doing all day. Clad in a knee-length black dress, she was holding her sister’s hand tightly in her own and did not look like she would ever let go of it. The oldest daughter, Olivia, was wearing large sunglasses that covered half of her face. Her brown hair had been pulled back in a bun and her slender neck disappeared in the collar of a dark gray skirt suit. Unlike her sister, her behavior did not show any emotion, but her apparent composure was betrayed by the tears pearling from time to time down her cheeks.
The Reverend finished his oration and asked the family if they would like to say a few words. When they all declined, he called the Chief of Police to the pulpit.
Frank Dacosta gave a ten-minute speech praising Steve Harrington’s exemplary service record and vowing to do everything in his power to catch the perpetrators of this atrocious crime. The discourse was well rehearsed and meant to be heartfelt, but it only sounded stale and generic.
**********
Michael walked towards Lucy and Olivia Harrington to present his condolences. Lucy, supported by an uncle and still drowning in her tears, barely acknowledged his presence, but Olivia surveyed him from behind her opaque sunglasses.
“Who are you?” she asked in a low voice that sounded as if she was fighting back a sob. “You look vaguely familiar.”
“I am Michael Biörn. I was a friend of your father. We used to be in the army together.”
“You’re the one who saved his life, aren’t you?”
Michael simply nodded.
“Didn’t you use to come by the house when I was a kid?” she asked, her voice sounding slightly more assured.
“I did visit once or twice. But that was a long time ago, I’m surprised you remember.”
“Oh, I remember.” Her lip curled into the shadow of a smile; Michael’s physique wasn’t easily forgotten. “You haven’t changed much.”
Before Michael had time to add anything, David Starks arrived to present his condolences to Olivia.
Michael took a couple steps back to give the two of them some privacy. That’s when he caught an odor that sent his internal alarm system haywire.
The scent was coming from the left, somewhere behind him. He slowly pivoted to find the origin of the danger and met the gaze of a man who was staring at him. The man was well built, though small in comparison to Michael, and wore the Sheriff Department’s uniform. He was surrounded by a couple of fellow deputies conversing in low voices. The deputy continued staring at Michael a few seconds before turning his head towards his companions. At least he knew better than to try and stare down a larger predator. This observation did not comfort Michael very much, however. A wolf had seen him, and soon the whole pack would know he was in town.
Chapter 28
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” exploded Detective Samantha Lewis, bent over a sheet of paper on her desk.
“What is it?” asked Salazar.
“That’s the genetic analysis report for the blood samples found at Starks’,” answered Lewis, still reading.
“And? What does it say?” asked her partner, sounding impatient.
“It says, in short, that two different blood types were found on the scene. The first one belongs to David, but the second one is not human. It belongs to a wolf—”
“We already knew that!” interrupted Salazar.
“I know we already knew that,” answered Lewis, not hiding her irritation at her partner. “What’s new is that the wolf blood was left by yet a third animal. It doesn’t match the DNA from the hair samples found at Harrington’s or Sullivan’s place.”
“You’ve got to be kidding…”
Chapter 29
Michael Biörn was sitting in a comfortable, if not luxurious armchair in David Starks’ living room. The floor tiles had been wiped clean of the mess made by David’s struggle with the werewolf, and the room now mostly smelled of pine-scented cleaner. The wolf scent was still present, but very faint; it had been over a week since the attack. This scent was different from the one Michael had picked up at Harrington’s though, quite different; it was not a match for the one he had smelled at Sullivan’s either. A third wolf…
David entered the room with a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. He placed the tea in front of Michael. “Do you take milk or sugar?”
“Do you have honey?” enquired Michael. “If not, sugar will do.”
“I believe I do,” replied the detective, disappearing into the kitchen. He came back a moment later holding a small plastic bear filled with honey, and a coffee spoon. He handed both to Michael who added five generous spoonfuls of honey to his tea.
“You sure like your honey,” commented David with a smile, settling down on a leather sofa facing his guest.
“I do,” answered Michael simply.
“So, tell me why you’re here. You were rather cryptic on the phone.”
Michael took a sip of his tea before answering, “I came to you with a proposal.”
“I’m all ears…”
“I believe we could help each other out. A sort of mutually beneficial association,” said Michael, observing his host.
“What exactly do you have in mind?”
“We are both looking for the same thing: the bastards who killed Steve… and who tried to kill you. You know the city, you know the case, and you know a few things about werewolves.” Michael paused to drink another sip from his mug.
“All right, I see why I would be of interest to you. Now tell me what you bring to the table,” answered David in a businesslike tone.
“You may think you know werewolves because your step father was one… and that may be so. But that knowledge won’t save you the next time they try to rip your head off your body. You got lucky once; it won’t happen again.” Michael gave David an instant to digest the statement before continuing. “What I bring to the table is my expertise of the werewolves and my protection.”
“Your protection? You’re a tough cookie, Michael, I’ll give you that. But we are talking about werewolves here. I don’t see how a mere human could protect me against them.” David spoke in a falsely candid voice. “Unless, of course, you are admitting to be more than a mere human…”
“I am not admitting anything like that, but believe me when I say that a werewolf will think twice before attacking me.”
“Good enough!” replied David, a satisfied smile on his face. “Does that mean I can count on you to tuck me in bed every night?”
“That’s not what I had in mind, but I can sleep on your couch if it makes you feel any safer,” said Michael uneasily.
“Thanks for the offer, especially since you seem serious about it. But I’m afraid having a three-hundred-pound fulltime babysitter would negatively impact my lifestyle. Plus the captain has posted uniforms outside my house already.”
“That’s probably a good thing, as long as they are carrying heavy artillery.”
“They are. Colt Anaconda loaded with 44 Magnums, if you want to know. Specially authorized for the occasion.”
“That should at least slow them down,” replied Michael thoughtfully.
“But that doesn’t solve our problem…”
“Which is?”
“Which is that you are not a cop, Michael, at least not a real one… no offense.”