by RJ Blain
I put my ears back, snapping at James’s ankles as I followed him to the elevator. He jackhammered at the button until the door dinged and opened. Hopping inside, I sat down. James edged his way around me.
“A wolf killed his brother. Lots of folks here are in that situation. He probably will shoot you if you make a fuss.”
I considered that. Both sides had their share of losses. A huff was the best he was getting out of me. If the way he was talking to me was any indicator, James had no idea I was the same person he’d almost killed at the funeral. I wasn’t the only old wolf wandering the world, after all.
I’d savor the look on his face when he realized he had missed his mark. When the time came, I wouldn’t miss mine.
Turning my attention to the elevator’s panel, I watched James punch a button. There were four basement levels, and he took us all the way down. The elevators opened to a hall that reminded me a lot of the Mayo Clinic. The stench of disinfectant burned my nose. I sneezed several times, shaking my head to clear it of the fumes.
“This way,” James said, making a sweeping gesture with one hand. I growled, but followed him. The hall ended at a junction where a white-coated man stood talking to a woman behind the desk of a nurse’s station.
What sort of outpost had a full hospital in its basement? I’d expected emergency medical kits, but nothing to the scale of what was hidden within the basement of the apartment complex.
The doctor turned to James, his eyes narrowing. “James.”
“Doc, I need a test on the bitch here.”
The doctor’s attention shifted to me. “Odd coloring. All right. Let me go fetch a kit. Take her to the lab. I’ll meet you there.”
“This won’t take long,” James said. The Brit followed the doctor halfway down the hall before opening a door leading into a glass-paned room. The lab proved to be an operating room attached to a complete testing facility. I recognized the MRI machine with a wince.
If I had been capable of whistling, I would have. The place gleamed as if everything was new. That was one thing that hadn’t changed about the Inquisition, and something I could almost respect. They didn’t let their loyal Inquisitors die needlessly. They had, in the past, relied on outside clinics run by the Inquisition to care for injured members, or hospitals who received significant donations to keep quiet about treating strange patients with stranger injuries.
The doctor swept in after us, carrying a small white box. “Up on the table,” the human ordered. Within moments, he had a syringe out, the metal of its needle shining in the overhead lighting. “Shall we get this over with? It’ll take about ten minutes to check it under the scope.”
I twisted around, chomping down on an itchy patch of skin on my hind leg. Growling my complaint, I jumped up on the operating table. With a practiced thrust, the doctor jabbed my shoulder with the needle.
I bit my paw instead of his face. He scurried to the lab, returning several minutes later with a Petri dish and a handheld microscope. “This should do it. Sit tight, James. I’ll do you next in case you need cleansed again. I swear, you’re a plague magnet.”
James shrugged, leaning against the door frame. Unfocused eyes stared at nothing.
The itch strengthened, focused on my paws. I imitated a statue and tried to ignore the irritation. It didn’t work. Neither did gnawing on my paws, but I did it anyway.
The doctor leaned over a microscope. “Hey, James? You might want to come have a look at this.”
“What’s going on?” James crossed the room. I hopped down and followed. Instead of letting James look through the microscope, the doctor lifted the device and carried it back into the lab. The human gestured to one of the blackened monitors.
“This is the plague.” An image of a long, feathered worm appeared on the screen. Its center reminded me of a corkscrew. “It shares properties with Zaire ebolavirus, but instead of immediate hemorrhaging, it induces cold-like symptoms.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” James snapped.
“Look here.” The image changed to a different organism. Its body was more compacted with longer feathers running along its length. “This is what your wolf is infected with. Infected might be a poor term. Observe.”
The doctor took another syringe and put a drop on a Petri dish before placing it beneath the microscope. “This is a sample of the plague you’re infected with and the virus that your wolf companion here is infected with. Watch.” He flipped a switch. The second virus once again appeared on the monitor. I cocked my head, watching with interest as the doctor added another drop of something to the Petri dish.
The display zoomed out to show numerous examples of both specimens. With the same swiftness of hunting wolves, the shorter viruses with their longer feathers swarmed the competition. Within thirty seconds, the only one type of organism remained.
James’s eyes widened. “You discovered this in ten minutes?”
“I noticed the differences immediately. It is basic to compare the two viruses together to see if they are an adaptation of the same organism,” the doctor said in a pleased tone. “Of course, I do not keep Zaire ebolavirus here. I compared the plague viruses to photo stills to determine the basic differences between them.”
James pointed at the monitor. “That one didn’t like the other one. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Great, doc. Just great. What now?”
“I take a sample of your blood of course.”
“Ugh.” James rolled up his sleeve and thrust his arm out towards the human. The doctor worked quickly, drawing blood until the syringe was filled. A drop of James’s blood was added to the Petri dish with mine.
Like in the doctor’s original experiment, the two organisms once again went to war. The doctor whistled before pressing a button in the wall. “I need Francine in the lab.”
“Roger,” a woman’s voice replied over the intercom.
We waited in silence.
~*~
If Mark’s adoptive mother had been the Wicked Witch of the West, Francine was an angel stranded on Earth. The woman’s gray hair was touched with gold, and she carried her age with pride. When the woman smiled, she lit up the room.
“You’re back, James,” Francine murmured, turning the full power of her smile on the werewolf. “You need to be cleansed again, don’t you?”
“It’s lovely to see you again, Francine.” It didn’t surprise me that James’s face was flushed.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Can you examine this wolf?”
Francine turned her full attention to me. I met her gaze with bared fangs and a warning growl. Her eyes narrowed. “How unusual.”
“What do you mean? What’s unusual?” James returned to his spot near the door, leaning against the frame.
“She is not a Canis Lupus. Her coloring is that of a European or perhaps an Ethiopian wolf, although she shares similarities to the Canis Lupus Rufus. Curious indeed,” Francine said, circling around me. While I could understand them talking about me as if I wasn’t there, the business-like tone and the woman’s analysis of my heritage annoyed me. I pinned my ears back and growled again.
They ignored me.
“I can see the Canis Dirus in her. Stranger still, her size is closer to that of the Canis Lupus Hodophilax.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” James said.
“Ignorant pupling.” Francine shook her head. “Is she ill, Harold?”
“There is something in her blood that is similar to the plague, but I’m not sure what it is. Look here,” the doctor replied, gesturing to the monitor.
Francine sniffed her disdain at the microscope and the screen. “How uncouth. Come, Lady Wolf. Let me see to you. My eyes are far better than Harold’s.”
“I’m a doctor, Francine, not a freak.”
“Freak?”
Doctor Harold sighed. “Witch.”
The old woman smiled. “We all have our flaws. Lady Wolf?”
> I approached, sat down, and lifted a paw mimicking the human gesture. After a long moment, Francine crouched, shaking with me. “I am Francine,” the witch said.
Acknowledging the woman with a nod, I lowered my paw and did my best impression of a statue.
“What’s her name?”
“I have no idea,” James replied.
Both the doctor and witch paled. “She’s a rogue?” Francine asked.
“She ripped out Mrs. Livingston’s throat. Can’t say I blame her.”
A puzzled expression darkened the light in Francine’s eyes and erased her smile. “The snow has come early and hard this year.”
“I noticed.” James shuddered. “It makes me miss London.”
“Livingston wasn’t the Caretaker of the Seasons,” Francine murmured in the way of someone thinking out loud.
At the use of my moniker, I put my ears back.
“Olivia was unfit to serve as the Caretaker of the Seasons. Anyway, she was a witch, not a wolf. The Caretaker of the Seasons is a wolf.” With a disgusted snort, James turned away from the witch to stare at a wall. “She wasn’t the kind to want to keep anything in order, let alone the seasons. The title of Destroyer fit her better. Why would the Caretaker want anything to do with the Inquisition? We’re meddlers.”
Francine’s sad smile stole my breath. “My sister was blind in many ways. Was her death at least quick?”
“Wolves don’t play with their prey,” the Brit whispered.
“Indeed. So it is true she died. I had heard, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. She may have been a hard woman, but she was a sister all the same. I am surprised. She was very strong.”
James turned to face me. “And she was very lucky. Took her from behind. They didn’t struggle for long.”
“While it saddens me that my sister is lost, I can’t fault any who would fight for their survival. She would have become a target in time.” Francine bowed her head. “I beg you forgive my sister, Lady Wolf. She was blind in her fervor.”
“Francine, the examination please?”
“Of course.” The witch knelt next to me, touching my neck with the tips of her fingers. A tingle spread from where she touched me. The itching eased. I flicked an ear in her direction. “It is the plague, but it is old. Very old, as old as she,” Francine announced, digging her fingers into my fur. When she touched my skin, the itching was gone. “I do not believe it is contagious. It’s far too old to be virulent. So strange. Where did you meet her, James?”
“She killed Livingston in the mountains near where we went to hunt one of the new rogue packs.”
“She is not a young wolf.”
James shivered, but nodded his agreement. “I guessed as much. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through Livingston’s defenses even if I had wanted to kill her.”
“I do not blame you for your hatred against my sister witch. We both know how much you hated her,” Francine said in a sympathetic tone bordering on condescension. “You’re but a young wolf.”
“Twenty-five is hardly young.”
“You are but an infant in comparison.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “How old is she then, Seer of the Unseen?”
Francine’s smile was radiant. “I suspect in her eyes, I too am but a child.” The witch released me, rising to her feet. “I can’t see all things, Harold. I don’t know if cleansing her is wise or necessary. I’m not even sure this wolf’s plague will spread.”
“What if James becomes infected with both?” Doctor Harold asked.
“Come here, James. Let me look upon you.”
James sighed but obeyed the witch, holding out a hand. Francine slipped her fingers into his hand, rubbing his palm. Releasing him, she reached up to cup his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss him.
A tingling sensation pulsed over me.
I doubted Francine needed to kiss James for that long, but I didn’t blame her. Handsome Brits were in short supply, and if he hadn’t tried to kill me, I might’ve been tempted to do the same.
“Francine,” the doctor grumbled.
“Mhmm.” Francine pulled away. “It seems you were right to be concerned. Her plague has indeed spread to him. Most curious. I cannot see what it will do.”
A sneeze took me by surprise, drawing Francine’s attention to me. “As for you, Lady Wolf. You took my sister’s powers, didn’t you?”
I bared my teeth. While witches could steal another’s power, I hadn’t. Unless swallowing quite a bit of blood counted. Even if I had, the first thing I’d do once away from the Inquisition was purge the magic out of me.
I didn’t want anything to do with the Wicked Witch of the West’s magic. With my luck, her violence was contagious.
“Is that possible?” James asked, his eyes wide with alarm.
“This is why you are a young ignorant pup, James. You should learn at least some of the ways of magic if you wish to grow as old as she.”
“I know enough. Wolves and witchery don’t mix,” James muttered beneath his breath.
“Wolf witches exist, James. They’re rare, but they exist. Granted, I don’t think there has been one in over a hundred years or more. It’s likely because of my sister’s blood.” Francine shook her head. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if we had a Wolf Witch working with a Wolf Wizard. Perhaps then the mad wolf, who is creating packs, could be stopped. Then we could cease the Inquisition. My sister would’ve never hoped for such a thing, but I am not she.”
“I’m aware,” the British werewolf muttered.
“Are you, truly?”
James pivoted and stalked through the door, snarling something incomprehensible.
“You need to be cleansed, James,” Francine called after him.
“Later. It’s not like I’ll die today or tomorrow.”
I growled my frustration. Until I witnessed a cleansing and captured the secret of it for myself, I was stuck with the Inquisition. Willing James to return didn’t bring the man back.
Chapter Twenty Five
Doctor Harold offered me a live rabbit. The animal squealed, kicking its hind feet while struggling to bite at the aging human holding it by the scruff of its neck. I stared at the bunny with a mixture of disgust and hunger. While fresh meat was better than a bowl of kibble, such an easy feeding ruined my appetite.
I wanted to hunt.
The rabbit screamed again.
“How barbaric,” Francine muttered.
“What else do you want me to do? Go make her a taco?”
I perked my ears forward at the doctor’s suggestion. Neither human noticed my interest, much to my disappointment.
Francine glared at me. “Would you please turn back into a human and eat like a dignified being?”
Instead of answering, I stepped forward. With a single snap of my jaws, I silenced the rabbit. Blood spurted onto the doctor’s coat and dripped to the floor. Taking the animal from the human’s limp grasp, I busied myself with eating, using the man’s shoes as a plate.
Doctor Harold gagged, pulling his feet away from me.
“Well, Harold? Do I cleanse this wolf?” Francine stared at me and my dinner, her expression a mix of horror and disgust.
“I’ll check the dishes.” The man hurried back into the lab. I kept an eye on the witch, growling between swallows.
Francine went to the intercom and pressed the button. “Can you please ask James to return to the lab?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am,” a woman replied in a trembling voice.
“Why?”
“He just locked himself in containment and started howling.” The woman swallowed loud enough the intercom caught the sound. “All of the werewolves are in there now. Please don’t make me go in there.”
“Ah, I’m sorry dear. It’s the full moon. I lost track of the time. It’s fine. Please keep an eye on the cell surveillance and send someone for me if you have any problems. Once the moon sets and they’ve calmed down, you can send s
ome witches to help them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” was the relieved reply.
I yanked off one of the rabbit’s legs, crunching the bone between my teeth. The weight of a glare settled over me. I continued to eat, ignoring Francine.
“Why are you so calm?”
All I did was cock an ear back, gnawing away at my dinner. I was aware of the moon in ascent, but its call was muted. I was satiated. I was hunting Inquisitors. Fresh meat filled my belly, the animal’s blood warming me.
There was nothing for the moon to influence or encourage. I was a wolf on the prowl, and that was enough.
“How unusual,” Francine murmured, crouching near me. Her eyes narrowed as she took in my form. For a minute, I considered strutting and showing her the true beauty of a wolf. She rested her hands on her knees. “Would you permit me to put you with the other wolves?”
My snarl drove the woman back. Francine paled, her eyes widening. “A comfortable chamber to keep us mere humans at ease for the night?”
Cocking me head to the side, I considered her question. The woman’s fear added an acrid taint to the air. My nose twitched at the stench. Unusual fit my situation, and humans feared what they did not understand. I did not blame her for her worry or fear.
I doubted any in the Inquisition had ever met a wolf like me. I doubted they would ever again. I turned my ears back. It was right of her to worry about the full moon’s hold over a werewolf. Then again, I had a lot of experience hiding from the Inquisition. Regret tightened my chest. Even without Samantha, I could control myself—this time. If I changed into a rabid beast with each full moon, I’d be the Inquisition’s dog like James, or doomed to be hunted like the wild pack. I was already the target of a bounty. If I made a single mistake, I’d be in a lot of trouble.
Without Samantha, I wouldn’t be able to get out of it on my own.
I quelled my urge to sigh, bowing my head in acceptance of Francine’s offer.
The witch touched her chest. I suspected she had to swallow a relieved sigh. “Thank you. Please come with me.”
The witch’s fear lingered in the air, a perfume enhanced by the woman’s powers. For a moment, I was tempted to reach out with my own powers, leech it away, and make it mine.