by Marc Daniel
“You’ve told me you were born a werebear, but can someone be turned into one?” she finally asked out of the blue.
“In theory… possibly. In practice, no! At least not anymore,” he replied enigmatically.
“What do you mean by that? Why not anymore?”
“Because for someone human to be turned into a werebear—or any werebeing for that matter—they would need to be bitten by a werebear and survive the ordeal. You should think about the process as a microbial infection. The microbes are passed from the werebeing’s saliva into the victim’s bloodstream. After contamination, the victim’s body turns into a battleground between the infectious entity and the victim’s antibodies—”
“Does it hurt?” interrupted Sheila.
“The process is extremely painful, and the outcome uncertain. Sometimes the infection wins and the victim turns into a werebeing. But more often the antibodies win and kill the individual in the process.”
“But why did you say it can no longer happen? Why can’t people be turned into werebeings nowadays?” she asked inquisitively.
“I never said people couldn’t be turned into werebeings anymore. Only werebears…”
“Why is that?”
“Because as far as I know I am the only one left alive, and when I have good enough reasons to bite someone, I make sure they don’t survive the experience.”
Chapter 99
For the second time in less than a week, Clemens had summoned the pack to his house. The first few had already started trickling in and were gathering in the assembly room on the second floor, but several of the wolves weren’t scheduled to arrive until late afternoon.
The information Katia had delivered to Clemens was at the origin of the pack summoning, and the two of them had been behind closed doors in the Alpha’s office for over an hour. Lately, Clemens had been feeling like a spectator in a show he was supposed to be running. Too many unforeseen events had occurred in the past month, and someone in his position could not afford to be caught by surprise. Michael Biörn was, of course, on top of his list of headaches, but unfortunately he was not his only concern. The journalist Sheila Wang, Ivanov, and now the cop’s daughter were all issues that required to be dealt with, one way or another. In order to regain control of the situation, Clemens needed as much information as possible, and he counted on Katia to help fill in the gaps.
“You’re sure the information is reliable?” asked Clemens for the third time, and for the third time the assistant DA assured him it was.
“Why didn’t your boyfriend inform you of this?” he asked with a hint of suspicion.
“He didn’t get the opportunity. I heard the information through Detective Salazar before I had a chance to talk to David. But David confirmed Salazar’s info. Biörn and the journalist left Houston on Wednesday and are now staying at Biörn’s cabin in the heart of Yellowstone National Park.”
Clemens got up from behind his desk and walked to a cork board where a detailed topographic map of Yellowstone’s Grand Canyon area was pinned up. A red thumbtack marked the location of Michael’s cabin.
“And no one knows who tipped Biörn off about our arrival on Tuesday?” asked Clemens dubiously. “It can’t be this difficult to find out! How many friends does the bastard have in Houston, for god’s sake?”
Katia didn’t have the answer to the riddle, and she decided to treat the query as rhetorical. Nothing she could say would have satisfied Clemens anyway.
“What do you know about Olivia Harrington?” asked the Alpha, temporarily changing the subject.
“I know she’s the daughter of the late Lieutenant Steve Harrington, who was killed along with his wife at their domicile about a month ago by what seemed to be a wolf…”
“Could you please tell me something I don’t know?” replied Clemens, irritated. “Like: what was the girl doing in my house two days ago and why did she try to kill me?”
The revelation brought a shocked expression on Katia’s face.
“She did what?”
Clemens recounted how Olivia had shot him in the chest in an ill-advised attempt to kill him and apparently avenge her parents’ death.
“What happened to her?”
“That’s none of your business!” Clemens spoke in a voice that precluded further enquiry. Surprisingly, Olivia had survived Isabella’s bite and would soon be a full-fledged werewolf in her own right, but this was not something the assistant DA needed to know. The turning process was so traumatizing that it would take anywhere from a week to a month before the woman would be able to answer any questions. In the meantime, she would spend her days in a pain-induced daze, unable to control the erratic morphing process. In her wolf form, she would go through episodes of uncontrollable rage, but the underground cache in which she had been locked up had been built to withstand anything the rampaging beast could throw at it.
“What I want to know is how she obtained my name and address,” said Clemens. “And since the reason people like you work for me is to prevent this sort of thing from happening, I expect you’ll be able to provide answers to these questions.”
Chapter 100
Sheila was sitting on a surprisingly comfortable wooden chair on Michael’s front porch. Wrapped up in a blanket, she was observing Michael busying himself with replenishing their firewood supply. He split wood with lumberjack dexterity, his axe never missing the center of the log, his cadence rivaling the best metronomes. He had only been working around fifteen minutes and had already amassed what Sheila estimated as a month’s worth of firewood. Of course the fact he had been a lumberjack at the turn of the past millennium didn’t hurt his performance, but the journalist wasn’t aware of this detail.
Michael was dabbing sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, when his attention was caught by a bird landing on the porch guardrail. He immediately knew something was amiss. This bird did not belong in Yellowstone; it did not even belong on the American continent as a matter of fact.
The bird was almost a foot in length, with a black hood and black wings, a gray bill, and a deep red body. The animal displayed all the attributes of a Maroon Oriole, a species Michael had only encountered in Asia.
Michael’s pulse started racing when the bird flew from the guardrail to the empty chair beside Sheila’s. He sprinted towards the porch, but before he could place himself between the young woman and the outlandish animal, the bird changed into a frail-looking old man.
Sheila screamed in surprise as Michael started breathing again. Very pleased with the result of his theatrical entrance, Ezekiel sat grinning on his chair, his sharp eyes going back and forth between Michael and Sheila.
The wizard’s ageless gray cloak appeared a bit more wrinkly than usual and his pointy hat was standing on a slant on his head. He also seemed tired and was breathing hard.
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” said the wizard, looking at Michael with a mocking smile.
“Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t exactly look to be in your prime either…” replied Michael, slightly concerned by the appearance of his friend.
“Nonsense! How do you think you’d look if you’d been chased by some idiotic bald eagle for fourteen miles? The moron finally gave up a mile or two from here, but it took some serious efforts to discourage him.”
Sheila, who had quickly recovered from her fright, started laughing.
“That will teach you to turn yourself into hapless creatures,” replied Michael. “Next time try a bear. I don’t recollect ever having been chased by an eagle over the past millennium…”
Before the wizard could think of a witty comeback Sheila intervened. “It’s nice of you to come and visit us, Ez. Aside from being mistaken for a raptor’s snack, how was your trip?”
Ez did not miss the twinkle in the journalist’s eyes.
“My trip was excellent, thank you,” he replied in an overly serious tone before adding, “and I’m glad to see your sense of humor is wittier than his. He can
be such a bore sometimes.”
The wizard’s answer widened the smile on Sheila’s face but obtained no reaction from Michael.
“Will you stay for dinner or are you just flying by?” asked Sheila in the most serious voice she could muster, and this time even Michael smiled.
“I won’t be staying, unfortunately,” replied the wizard even more seriously. “I bear bad news, I am sorry to say.”
The wizard’s last words had caught the attention of his audience; nobody was smiling any longer.
“We’re listening,” said Michael.
“Clemens has already found out where you’re hiding. He has sent the whole pack after you; they’re on their way as we speak.”
Sheila’s face suddenly became very pale. She remembered vividly the battle between Michael and the pack delegation. If the whole pack came at him at once this time, he would have no chance whatsoever. She looked at Michael, but the expression on his face was as phlegmatic as ever.
Despite his apparent stoicism, Michael had reached the same conclusion as Sheila. He could not beat the Houston pack singlehandedly. This was how his species had been exterminated in the first place. Isolated werebears had been systematically hunted down by wolves’ packs whose numbers had won over the bears’ superior power.
“When will they be here?” asked Michael.
“They left Houston around midnight last night according to my spies, but they are driving. They should arrive early tomorrow morning.”
“You have spies in Clemens’ pack?” asked Sheila, bewildered.
Ez was amused by Sheila’s ignorance and he answered her question with a kind smile. “Not all spies assume a human form, my child. Mine fly high in the sky and crawl underground, graze during the day and hunt during the night, breathe under water and flee the rain…”
“What Ez is trying to tell you in his own convoluted way is that he hired the animals of the woods surrounding Clemens’ cabin as informers,” interrupted Michael. Sheila felt thankful for the clarification.
Michael had known Clemens would eventually find out he had gone back to Yellowstone, but he had figured it out a lot faster than anticipated. Who had informed him? David Starks was the only person Michael had told about his plans and it was doubtful the detective had leaked the information to the Houston pack Alpha… So how did he know? There were always ways to learn about things, Michael supposed. Ez had had no problem finding him and Michael had not told the wizard where he was going either. Of course Ez was a wizard of the second circle and therefore in a totally different league than Peter Clemens, but still…
“I have business to attend in Alaska,” said Ezekiel, “but I can stay here a bit if you need my assistance. Alaska can wait a day or two.”
Michael thought about it for a minute before answering, “I thank you for your offer, Ez, but you know I cannot accept your help. You have already done plenty by warning us, you cannot get involved in my quarrel with the wolves. This is praeternatural business.”
“Why?!” interjected Sheila. “Why do you reject his help? They will kill you Michael…” As she spoke she realized. “And then… they’ll kill me.”
Michael contemplated her last remark for an instant, thinking about ways to protect her without involving the wizard.
“I will find a way to protect you Sheila. Trust me,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Why can’t Ez help us?”
“Because there are unwritten rules we must follow. If a wizard gets involved in our business, it opens the door to others of his kind to join the conflict. And when supernatural beings battle each other, the consequences are always disastrous. Ask Ez what happened the last time he got into a fight with one of his buddies…”
“What happened?” Sheila asked the wizard.
Ez shot a dark look at Michael before answering, “Do you remember Mount St. Helens?”
Chapter 101
A low-intensity light bulb hung from the ceiling twenty feet in the air, giving the room a feeling of perpetual twilight. Locked up in this godforsaken place, Olivia had completely lost the notion of time. She was unable to tell whether she had been here a couple of weeks or a couple of months. She didn’t think she had been locked up much longer, but she couldn’t tell for certain. The only certainty she had was regarding her health: she was ill, very ill. The pain was not constant, but when it came it overtook her sanity, drowning her body and soul in an ocean of agony.
During these painful episodes, Olivia was losing consciousness, her mind drifting into a nightmarish reality haunted by a single monster. The creature—an impossible crossbreed between a man and a wolf—appeared to her in a state of perpetual rage. When the beast was not throwing itself against the walls of its cell—which happened to look exactly like Olivia’s—it tried to claw its way through the concrete floor.
On at least five different occasions, Olivia had emerged from her disturbingly vivid dreams with torn fingernails and bruised limbs and shoulders. As if she had been acting out her dream… But every time, the bruises had healed and her nails had grown back, which seemed to indicate she had spent many weeks locked up in this place. Bruises tended to last a while on her pasty complexion.
From time to time, a trapdoor opened in the ceiling, and some food was lowered in a basket along with some water, but Olivia had no idea who was lowering the basket. She could not recall anything about how she might have found her way to this hellhole. As a matter of fact, she could not remember anything about anything, but she had not yet come to that realization. She had a vague awareness of the stench encompassing the room, but her brain hadn’t realized the smell was coming from her own excrement, which she had been scattering across the cell ever since her arrival, three days earlier. The fact she was completely naked had been registered, mainly because she was cold from time to time, but she had not yet tried to understand why her torn-up clothes were littering the cell’s concrete floor.
Chapter 102
Bill Thomason lived in a small one-story house at Mammoth, by the park’s north entrance, close to a one-hour drive from Michael’s cabin. Bill was wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and looked like he was more than ready for bed when Michael and Sheila knocked on his door around 10.30 p.m.
“Michael?” Bill didn’t try to hide his surprise. “What’s going on?”
“Can we come in?”
Bill stepped aside to let his visitors in and closed the door behind them. The outside temperature was around twenty and Sheila was glad to be out of the cold.
Ezekiel’s warning would have given them plenty of time to flee if they had chosen to, but Michael was sick of this cat and mouse game. He was no mouse! He simply refused to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder and worrying about when Clemens’ wolves would finally catch up with him.
In leaving Houston, Michael had hoped for an instant the pack would lose interest. Now that they were tracking him down all the way to Wyoming, however, it had become clear Peter Clemens had taken a personal interest in him.
“Have a seat,” said Bill Thomason, pointing towards a beat-up couch in front of a vintage TV set that looked older than Sheila. His house, although small, was significantly larger than Michael’s, which had no proper living or dining room.
“Would you like something to drink? Tea maybe? I have caffeine-free varieties…”
“No, thank you,” answered Michael. “I can’t stay long. I came because I need a favor.”
Bill looked at Michael attentively. He could tell by his friend’s attitude that something serious was going on. “I’m listening.”
“There’s an urgent matter I need to attend to, and I would like Sheila to stay here while I am away. If that’s OK with you.”
“Of course she can stay here,” replied Bill automatically. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t believe I’ll be gone much longer than a day,” answered Michael vaguely. If he weren’t back in a day, chances were he’d never come back. O
ne way or another, the battle he was about to fight against the Houston pack was likely to be the last one.
“And why can’t Sheila stay at your cabin then?” Bill’s curiosity had been aroused.
“I would feel safer here,” replied the journalist unconvincingly.
Bill Thomason looked at each of them in turn with a suspicious look on his face. “Can you at least tell me where you’re going?” he asked finally.
Michael looked at his friend in silence for an instant before answering, “I’d rather you didn’t ask, Bill.”
Thomason nodded in understanding. “All right, no more questions. Sheila can stay here as long as she pleases.”
Chapter 103
Michael knew his cabin would be the first place the pack would visit upon arrival. His address was public record, and Clemens had undoubtedly already obtained it. From there, they would pick up Michael’s scent and track him down to wherever he would go.
That was why Michael had needed to return to his cabin and start from there if he didn’t want the pack to follow the freshest trail he had left behind. The one leading to Bill Thomason’s house… and Sheila.
The snow had started to fall, which could be viewed as both a good and a bad thing. A good thing because it would help erase the olfactory trail he had left going to Bill’s house; a bad one because it would also make it difficult for the pack to follow the fresh trail, and Michael had no desire to spend a week waiting for the pack to find him.
He considered waiting for them at his cabin for an instant before discarding the idea. Although he lived in a pretty isolated part of the park, his cabin was still too close to Canyon Village to offer the absolute privacy the battle would require. In addition, the house would get annihilated in the battle and he had grown fond of the old shack.