Meaning their brothers, of course. Vincent couldn’t blame his little sister for wanting to hightail-it out of range if she had the chance… If he hadn’t already been seeking solace under the stars, he would have gone into hiding as well. He shifted over slightly, making room for Alice beside him on the old blanket. “Course! Have a lay down.”
Alice quickly laid down on the blanket and the pair settled into a comfortable silence. The night was breathtakingly quiet, with only the lapping of the water against the shore and the hulls of the nearby boats interrupting the sound of night.
Vincent could feel his eyes losing focus as he began to drift into a light dozing sort of sleep. A light wind was coming up, the soft shhhh sound of it blowing through the leaves sending an involuntary shiver up his spine. The stars began to blur into a mass of faded white flecks as his eyelids slowly fluttered down. The soft sounds of the night continued as his brain drifted toward sleep… the wind whispering, the waves lapping, the screaming… Who was screaming? Vincent struggled back toward consciousness, the sounds of the screaming becoming louder… and familiar.
“Vincent! Vincent, wake up!”
Vincent’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted at his little sister, his eyes widening quickly when he saw the look on her face. He quickly sat up, taking in the pallor of her face, her wide frightened eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Before Alice could answer him, he heard it again… the scream… from the direction of the caravan…
“‘Tis Ma, isn’t it?” Vincent turned to his little sister, wishing he could tell her something reassuring and true, but knowing there was only one answer to her question… and it wasn’t a good answer.
“You need to stay here, darlin’.”
“No! Vincent! You can’t leave me!” Alice clung to him, her small hands wrapped in the lapels of his jacket, and Vincent swore he could smell her fear. He considered her wide, dark eyes, now moist with tears, then looked in the direction of the caravans. A glow was starting to rise from the area, and Vincent surmised the communal bonfire was being fed by debris from whatever was going on up there. He heard the echoing pops of shotgun fire…
“Vincent?” Alice’s voice was barely a whisper, but loud enough that he could hear the catch in her voice. “What is that?”
Vincent turned towards his little sister, and followed her gaze to a pile of debris near the dock. The pile was maybe two hundred feet away from them, and cloaked in shadows, giving it an intimidating appearance. Anything could have been hiding in there… and apparently was as Vincent strained to see in the dark.
“Do you see it?” Alice’s voice was dripping with fear, and Vincent could hear the pitch of her voice rising as she spoke. “Vincent, what is it?” Vincent squinted into the dark, then opened his eyes wide, hoping the sudden burst of light, dim as it was, would help his dilated pupils to see more clearly.
His other senses had the opportunity to respond first, though, as he heard an unearthly sound, a baying, bloodcurdling HOWL, followed moments later by the feeling of something heavy and muscular impacting him. He was borne down to the ground and he could feel the weight of… whatever it was… on top of him, bearing him down to the ground and holding him in place. Vincent struggled beneath the weight, trying to see in the dark what was on top of him, where Alice was… He could feel something sharp bearing down on him, puncturing through his jacket and piercing his skin along his left shoulder and down onto his left arm, tearing at the skin before withdrawing. He heard the deep rumble coming from its throat, its breath frosting in the night air and floating down past Vincent’s face in a steamy cloud of heat. It… it was definitely an “it” … a creature of some kind. Vincent struggled to think, trying to remember if there had been trouble with wild animals in this part of Ireland, or all of Ireland for that matter.
His thoughts were interrupted, not by the pain shooting through his body, radiating from his shoulder and arm down into his stomach, or by the wave of nausea washing over him… nor was it the sound of the distant sirens racing to the caravan park, police, fire brigade, ambulance… No, it was a scream.
Alice…
Vincent began to struggle beneath the weight of the creature on top of him, his instincts to get to his sister overwhelming any pain or fear that now possessed him. He could feel the ground giving slightly underneath him, the weight of his body and the creature’s body displacing the coarse sand. It wasn’t enough, though, and even as he began to wiggle free of the creature’s grasp, it bore down on him, driving his face farther into the sand. Vincent sputtered and coughed as the sand threatened to enter his mouth and suffocate him. He heard Alice scream again, and again… He tried to raise his head again... and looked right into the cold, black, shark-like eyes of the creature holding him. Its face had a canine look to it, wolfish yet with a narrower snout and more elongated lines, like a greyhound. But there was nothing delicate about this beast. Judging by its head, the creature was huge, and the growling rumble emanating from its chest was as massive as its size. It opened its mouth slightly, enough for Vincent to see the mouthful of sharp teeth.
Suddenly it turned from him, looking up and toward a shadowy group of figures that were approaching from the direction of the caravan camp. Vincent prayed it was his Dad, or some of the others from the camp, and that they had their shotguns with them… As they moved closer, though, he could tell they weren’t moving quickly, they weren’t aiming any weapons at the creature… Vincent struggled to raise his head again and heard the answering rumble of the creature. Then one of the individuals, a man by the sound of his voice, said something… Vincent strained to hear him, his body beginning to shut down as he drifted into shock. He felt the creature move back off him, and a moment of clarity set in as blood and oxygen rushed to his brain again. He struggled to move, his muscles refusing his request. He could see the dark veil dropping down like a theater curtain, lowering slowly over his eyes as he drifted into unconsciousness.
The last thing he heard, before the blackness took him, was his sister screaming…
Chapter 8
Chrystie Street, near Delancey
The Bowery
Sam crossed the living room, her fuzzy-sock-clad feet padding softly on the old wooden floor of the apartment. The building was Pre-War and would be all but impossible to get into now if you were looking for a rather spacious two-bedroom apartment. As it was, the death of Ivan and the imminent renewal date for the lease were leaving Sam a bit under siege. This was one of the last rent-controlled apartments in the building and the landlord was eager to get the larger rent that would be possible if she decided to vacate. The thing was, without Ivan’s monthly checks, even the current rent of $950 a month meant squeezing every bit out of her paychecks to stay current. Ivan had set aside money in case of emergency, enough to get through a few months if she was extremely careful, but Sam was reluctant to tap into that unless necessary. Unfortunately, it could be necessary very soon if the landlord kept pushing, and the rent increase being proposed would deplete that nest egg in two months.
She sighed and climbed onto the sofa like a cat, settling her head down on the corner pillow, the rest of her body following suit. She sighed again and reached back, pulling the ripple-design afghan down over her and snuggling in under it. Her temperature was still all over the place, shooting up or plunging depending on what part of her cycle she was in. I could get up… go to the kitchen, make a nice pot of coffee… or tea, warm tea… hot chocolate! That will warm me… Sam could feel herself drifting off, the warm cocoon of the afghan easing the cold out of her bones and relaxing her into a drowsy stupor.
She could feel the warmth beginning to spread through her body, starting in her abdomen and flowing out through her chest, out into her legs and arms. It was a familiar warmth, the kind you get when you’ve had a few beers and things are starting to get frisky on the dancefloor. Sam could feel herself relaxing into it, her awareness of sounds and sense of the room surrounding her fading away as her mind slipped into
a dream state.
The warmth continued, filling her up… then she could smell him, that blend of cigarettes and mint and leather and maleness… it was disconcerting, almost enough to jerk her out of her semi-conscious state, because it was so real, like he was there in the room. Sam shifted on the sofa, her body arching as she did, a languid stretch that bore a certain erotic feel. Erotic was the word now as her dream began to take the familiar R-rated turn they all had lately. Sam moaned slightly in her sleep, her hand slowly sliding across her abdomen. He opened his mouth, preparing to speak –
The sound of banging on metal startled Sam from her nap. She laid still for a moment, her eyes adjusting to sight again, her enhanced night vision scanning the dimly lit room. Then the banging came again and Sam quickly sat up and looked toward the source of the noise… and heaved an exasperated sigh. Benny… Sam quickly jumped up and headed to the living room window, unlatching the grating that covered it and throwing open the window. “Dude, why can’t you come in the door like a normal person?”
Sam’s best friend leaned in the window, his jet-black hair flopping down over his forehead as he cocked his head slightly. “Because I’m not normal… And because I’ve always come in this way.”
“Since you were fourteen.”
Sam watched him hop over the window sill and land lightly on the living room floor. Benjamin Franklin Lewis pushed back the hood of his charcoal gray hoodie with one hand and swept his hair back off his face with the other. His black-lined eyes twinkled, and he grinned. “Yeah, exactly.”
Sam smiled back at him. “Right. You’re 27. Use the door.”
Ben arched his right eyebrow, the charm on the piercing in it swinging slightly with the movement. An ankh, donned to compliment the rather elaborate eye of Horus design Ben now wore around his left eye. A symbol of protection, and proof that Ben’s flippant attitude since the events of last October had been nothing more than an act. She and Ben had been friends for well over a decade, and they’d been through a lot together, but that… Sam felt a twinge of guilt… It’s not every day you watch your best friend turn into a werewolf.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ben slipped off his coat and tossed it over the back of the recliner. “Did I accidentally trigger the bitch-mode activator when I climbed in the window?”
“Maybe.”
Ben studied her face for a moment, long enough that Sam felt the need to turn and move back to the sofa, plopping down and pulling her legs up and snuggling into the corner.
Ben crossed his arms, his pierced eyebrow arching as he looked at her. “What’s the matter?”
Sam shrugged. “Nothing. I was just asleep.”
Ben studied her a moment longer, certainly noting the dusky circles under her eyes, the general wiltedness to her overall appearance and posture. Then he abruptly shifted, unfolding his arms and grinned.
“Good. So, pizza, Chinese, or something else?”
“Huh?”
Ben collapsed backward into the recliner, sighing dramatically. “Food, dammit! I’m starving! And we have a lot of planning to do.”
“Planning?”
“Yes.” Ben was studiously avoiding her eyes and Sam wondered just what it was he… they… were planning. If she knew Ben, though… and after all these years she knew no one better… He wouldn’t breathe a word until he’d gotten what he wanted… And right now his stomach was in charge.
“Go with pizza, then… we’ll need the carbs.”
Forty minutes later, with the remains of a large pie in front of them and a handful of empty beer bottles on the table, Sam decided it was time for Ben to start talking. “So, what are we planning?”
Ben took another sip of his beer before he replied. “A spy mission…behind enemy lines.”
Sam chuckled. “Enemy lines?”
Ben set his bottle down and pulled out his phone. “Right, okay, so you know about the Underland…” He fiddled with the phone for a minute, his finger brushing across the screen this way and that, tapping over there. Ben finally stopped and looked up at her expectantly. “Well?”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh um… the subway?”
Ben heaved a long-suffering sigh. “No… This.” He turned his phone around, holding it up so Sam could clearly see the screen. The characteristic lines and columns of a moderated message board were visible on the screen, though the writing was too small to read clearly.
“A message board?”
Ben shook his head, his expression a mask of seriousness. “Not just a message board. This… is the Underland.” His voice dropped at the end, giving the word a somewhat ominous sound.
“O-kay.”
Ben sighed again as he took back the phone and started fiddling with it again. “The board popped up about three years ago. Local geeky types mostly… RP wannabes… But… Then it started changing… Started to get more real. Geocache activities that led to clues that led to meeting places…”
“Meeting places?”
Ben nodded in response. “Then, today, this popped up.” He turned the phone around again.
Sam looked at the short sentences comprising the message. It had been a long time since she read German, but like riding a bicycle it quickly came back to her as she looked at the words --
Heute Abend. Unter den Stausee. Fenris Bund. Elf Uhr. Lang lebe das pack.
Ben watched her face impatiently. “So, that means --”
“Yeah, yeah, I know what it means.” Sam sighed, almost more of a groan. It would take some research to find the where, but the what was very clear… The werewolves were planning a rally for tonight… Sam reread the words at the end… Lang lebe das pack… Long live the pack. “Are you sure? I don’t want to go looking for trouble if it’s not…them.”
Ben pursed his lips. Using his thumb and index finger, he swiped across the screen, bringing one of the smallest images in the message into focus, enlarging it enough to make its shape, its design, unmistakable.
The Wolfsangel was old German, a symbol that had been part of forestry and heraldry in that country for centuries. The double hook design was known as a crampon, and could still be found as a boundary marker in Lower Saxony, but it’s importance in this circumstance dated to a much more recent time. Co-opted by the Nazis in the 1930’s, the crampon had a transversal stroke slapped across its center and became a universally recognized symbol for the Nazi party. More specifically, it was the symbol for Operation Wehrwolf, the program instituted by Heinrich Himmler and overseen by Dr. Joseph Mengele with the purpose of creating the ultimate weapon for the Third Reich… A program that had been in operation when Sam’s grandfather, Ivan, had entered Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Now… apparently, it had become the pack’s call sign or brand or something. Message after message Ben swiped through bore the symbol. No mistaking this…
Sam sighed. “Scheisse.” She took another sip of her beer, a long sip, draining the bottle. She’d like another one, but being intoxicated when she would be going into who knew what was probably not the best of ideas. Plus she’d have to watch Benny, because the look on his face and the nervous movements of anticipation told her there was no way he wouldn’t be going with her. “Alright, I’ll get dressed. What do you wear to a Bund Rally anyway?”
Chapter 9
86th and Lexington Subway Station
The streets were quiet, not surprising for this time of night when work was done and most people had made their way home for the night, or south toward Times Square, Soho and the Village bars and clubs. Sam and Ben emerged from the subway station, heading west along 86th street. The messages had indicated that the meeting, the “wolf Bund” as they called it, would be in Central Park near the reservoir, and Sam had concluded that the 6 train would get them closest to Engineer’s Gate and the entrance to the Bridle Path. Once there, it would be a matter of finding a way in, since the postings had said under the reservoir. Under… Sam shook her head… Leave it to these savvy weres to discover the underground workings of the city so
quickly. There were facilities everywhere under the city, old mechanical rooms, abandoned subway stations, bunkers of all sorts… Holding hidden meetings or organizing out of sight would be easy, IF you could get access. That was the part that puzzled Sam, and worried her, because if the werewolves were getting access to these underground places without fear, someone was allowing it. And that could only mean one –
“So, how’s Lenny? He back to work yet?” Sam mentally shook her head, focusing on what Ben had said to her. She knew what he was trying to do… She’d undoubtedly had that little crinkle frown forming between her eyebrows and he concluded she was worrying, hence the distraction. She really wished it had been a different topic he’d used to stimulate distracting conversation, though.
“He’s okay. He’s supposed to come back on a desk next week.”
“Not with you?”
Sam chuckled, and dug in her pocket for her cigarettes and lighter. “Not likely. He’s still a detective, Benny. I’m not.”
“Right.” They walked along in silence for a few moments, crossing Fifth Avenue at a jog then turning north. It was four blocks to the Engineer’s Gate. Ben watched as Sam lit a cigarette and enjoyed her “nicotine fit,” as he called it, for a moment before he continued. “So, when do I get to meet the new partner?”
Sam smiled. “Why would you want to meet the new partner?”
“Why not? What’s this one look like?”
Sam was quiet for a moment. “Um… tall…”
Ben threw her a frustrated frown. “Tall? What kind of a description is ‘tall’?”
“Okay…” Sam thought another moment, then her eyes widened. “Ah, I know… If Bradley Cooper and David Gandy got together and had a kid, it would be Frank Ronne.”
Ben’s eyebrows went up as well, and Sam wondered if they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “Gandy?” The eyebrows lowered quickly into a frown. “Gandy,” he muttered again.
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