Sebastian St. Clare was a legendary leader of strong and certain convictions. His shoes would be difficult to fill even without the twisted circumstances that had led to my succession. However, the task would have been a great deal easier had Sebastian made even the smallest effort to ease the transition for me, or at the very least, to make me feel welcome.
I glanced at the leather chair Sebastian had indicated, then deliberately chose the tapestry divan that formed part of an informal conversation group before a dancing, crackling fire. Keeping my expression determinedly pleasant, I placed my briefcase beside me and stretched my fingers toward the fire, warming them.
“To tell the truth,” I said, “I was glad to get your call. London is deadly dull this time of year. The weather is frightful, the streets are someone’s idea of a bad joke and I’m afraid the theater season is shaping up to be another disaster. It’s good to get away.”
Sebastian made no move to join me before the fire. He simply fixed me with that great, glowering gaze for several long moments. Meeting those powerful eyes without wavering for such a long time was a matter of physical effort for me, as it would have been for any other werewolf. Of course, no other werewolf would have dared try.
Sebastian said, “You are very clever, aren’t you, Noel? I have relied upon your cleverness to deal with many a delicate problem over the years. Your solutions have always been—shall we say—inventive. One can’t help recalling, for example, the solution you devised for bringing my son back to me when he was suffering from amnesia and lost in the world of humans.”
My jaw knotted. This was the first time Sebastian had referred directly to the incident since it had happened. I could not help thinking that his doing so now represented some sort of test, but then, it seemed to me everything Sebastian did where I was concerned was a test.
I replied evenly, “It worked, didn’t it?”
The faint softening of Sebastian’s expression might have been amusement, or simple surprise for my audacity. He said, still watching me, “So it did.”
I went on, choosing my words carefully, “I think it’s important to remember that Michael chose to leave his life here. If I hadn’t brought him back the way I did, he never would have returned. If I hadn’t challenged him, he would have abdicated.”
Sebastian moved from the window to the fireplace with measured steps. He gave no reply. I hadn’t expected one.
The older werewolf stood with his hands linked behind his back, gazing into the fire for a moment. Then, without turning to look at me, he said, “We live in troubled times. You’ll have to learn to deal with those troubles if you expect to lead our people when I’m gone.”
At last, I thought. Something to do.
Finally it sounded as though Sebastian was actually considering giving me some real authority, an assignment to carry out, a responsibility of my own. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was something that would allow me to act as a second-in-command should, to prove my worth and my usefulness. I would do anything.
Or at least that was what I thought until Sebastian went on.
“You know, of course, about the trouble in New Orleans.”
I nodded. Everyone knew about that. It was the most shameful thing that had happened to our kind in centuries. One of our own had gone renegade and had actually started killing humans, one a month for the past eight months, each killing coinciding with a full moon. Already, human reporters were calling him the “werewolf killer.” What might happen if they knew how close to the truth they really were?
“He has to be stopped,” Sebastian said matter-of-factly, “and it’s plain the human world will not be able to do so. Little surprise. They can’t even control their own lawbreakers. No, this renegade is our responsibility. We will have to intervene to save both our worlds from further damage…and to preserve the peace we’ve kept with humans for all these thousands of years.”
My throat went dry as I thought I understood what my assignment was to be. My tracking skills were only fair, but as Sebastian himself had pointed out, I was extremely clever. Could Sebastian mean to send me after this killer? I was not short on courage, but I had no desire to commit suicide. And if someone as unqualified as I should take on such a task, that was exactly what it would be.
On the other hand, if Sebastian wanted to get rid of me, there could hardly be an easier way.
And then Sebastian said, “However, that is not your concern, except to know that it’s been dealt with…and not to complain,” added Sebastian with a wryness so subtle that it was almost overlooked, “that the current administration is not keeping you abreast of the situation.”
I was so surprised at my narrow escape—and so relieved—that it was a moment before I could focus on the next part of Sebastian’s statement.
“What has not been nearly so well publicized among us,” he went on, “and what you doubtless don’t know, is that there is a far greater threat within our ranks than this renegade human-killer. One which strikes, you might say, a great deal closer to home.”
He turned from the fire then, hands still clasped behind his back, and addressed me directly. “Over the past four months, Clare de Lune has lost the formulas to three of our newest products—MA471, SR389 and DL400. In addition, we’ve had to pull production on Tango and Cobalt because, quite simply, our competitors beat us to them.”
I felt the color drain from my face. I was on my feet. “What? Why wasn’t I informed?”
Sebastian made a small decisive movement with his wrist that gestured me back into my chair. I resumed my seat reluctantly, my hands tight on the arms of the chair.
Sebastian said, “The truth only came to light a few weeks ago. Since then, we’ve made a concerted effort to keep the knowledge of the fiasco as limited as possible. The more people who know about it, the wider the circle of suspects. However, the details have been uploaded under your access code now.”
Because of the enhanced sense of hearing we all share, it is difficult to keep a secret in the werewolf community. Matters of security were therefore routinely handled through the written word, or these days, via computer. Not that security itself had ever been much of a concern among us, for pack loyalty is one of the few absolutes we hold sacred. We all work for the same company. We all share the same profits. Clare de Lune Cosmetics—and, by extension, the St. Clare Corporation—was not only our livelihood but our life. Why would anyone betray it? And more important, who?
As though reading my thoughts, Sebastian said, “We’ve been able to do some eliminating, and we think we have the source of the leak narrowed down to the Montreal office.”
Some of the tension went out of my shoulders and I thought, Of course. The Montreal office housed the marketing and advertising division of Clare de Lune and it was staffed more heavily by humans than any other department. Although quite a few humans were employed in various capacities by the St. Clare Corporation, only in advertising were they actually able to rise to positions of authority—and confidence. And humans were infinitely corruptible, their loyalties easily purchased.
Of course, if a human employee had committed this perfidy, some werewolf was still accountable. That disturbed me deeply. How could anyone be so careless?
Sebastian watched the changing expressions on my face with detached interest, following the line of reasoning as it was reflected in my eyes. Then he said, “There’s more.”
He crossed to his desk and opened a drawer. He returned in a moment with a crumpled scrap of paper that looked as though it had been torn from a larger sheet. He handed it to me.
It was—or had once been—a sheet of office stationery. Most of it had been torn away, so that only scraps of words were visible in most places, and no identifying telephone numbers or names remained on the letterhead. Two consecutive sentences remained intact, however, and they were enough:
What I’ve given you so far is nothing, the real secret is how they do it. There are things about these people—if people is e
ven the right word—that are difficult to believe, even for me.
I looked up slowly, frowning. “It sounds as though the writer is talking about…”
“Knowledge of our true nature,” Sebastian supplied. “And he—or she—seems to indicate a willingness to share that knowledge.”
“But that would be foolish. No human would believe what we are even if they were told. What point would there be in telling such a secret?”
Sebastian shrugged. “There are those who believe a secret worth keeping is also worth telling—or selling, as the case may be. At any rate, such a thing is simply unacceptable. Whether or not the truth would be believed is immaterial. It will not be allowed to reach that point.”
I murmured, “No, of course not.” I was examining the paper. “How did this happen to be found? Why wasn’t it mailed?”
A spark of appreciation glinted briefly in Sebastian’s eyes, and I felt like a schoolboy passing approval on my observational skills.
“It was in the trash bin of the fax room at the Montreal office,” Sebastian answered. “Apparently, the sender attempted to destroy it after faxing the message, but wasn’t entirely successful. He should have used the shredder.”
“Doesn’t the machine keep a log we could check?”
“Of course. But hundreds of faxes go out of that office every day, many of them to competitors. Without knowing exactly when this particular message was received, we have no way of tracing it.”
“Which one of our competitors, I wonder, has been the lucky recipient of our trade secrets?”
“An interesting question, actually. Two of our formulas went to two different companies, one we haven’t been able to definitively trace yet, and the other two went to Sanibel Cosmetics. That doesn’t preclude one company’s buying all the formulas and selling off those it doesn’t want. Interestingly enough, Sanibel’s corporate headquarters are in Montreal.”
I studied the half-torn paper again. It did not necessarily mean what it implied. It didn’t really even mean that the author of this letter was the same person who had been selling secrets to the outside. But it was certainly enough, with all the other circumstantial evidence at hand, to narrow the search to the Montreal office.
It was then that I realized there was something I had overlooked. I looked up at Sebastian.
“If it’s a human, if he’s somehow managed to get his hands on these secrets, and if he’s even by some incredible stretch of the imagination managed to piece together enough information to speculate on our true identity, how could he possibly have avoided detection? This human is surrounded by werewolves at least eight hours a day. Unless the Montreal office is completely staffed with incompetents, how has he avoided detection?”
Again, the faintest hint of approval in Sebastian’s eyes, even less than a pat on the schoolboy’s head.
He said, “Only a werewolf can hide from a werewolf—and then only with great difficulty. If these were the actions of an ordinary human, I should think someone would have heard or smelled or seen something long before now.”
“So you’re saying it is one of us, after all.” My tone was flat, devoid of emotion. But what I felt was a slow cold rage, a roiling contempt, a furious sense of shame and betrayal that one of our own could stoop so low. The traitor had to be rooted out, destroyed like a blight on a shrub before it did any more damage. He deserved no mercy.
“It does seem logical. Did you have another thought?” Sebastian asked.
I hesitated, hoping that my next words wouldn’t sound as badly motivated as they felt. I said, very carefully, “When did you last speak with Michael?”
The older man was a master at concealing his thoughts, and he betrayed neither surprise nor outrage. “Last week, I believe. He may no longer be my heir, but he is a dutiful son.” The words whose loyalty to the pack is unquestioned remained unspoken.
But I pursued the issue, “He’s doing well, then?”
“By some standards, I suppose. He’s working with humans, building houses for them.”
I managed a smile. “We’ll be awarding him major industrial contracts before the year is out.”
“Most likely,” agreed Sebastian without a flicker of humor.
“And his wife…”
“The human,” supplied Sebastian. Again, his distaste was carefully disguised.
“Yes. Agatha, isn’t it?”
“They seem to be very happy.”
“They probably have no secrets from each other.”
“Probably not.”
“You might want to check,” I concluded with care and deliberation, “whether either of them has been to Montreal lately.”
And Sebastian replied, with equal deliberation, “I think I’ll let you do that.”
I remained silent, not daring to speculate on what this might mean.
“There has never been a ruler who hasn’t faced at least one crisis that threatened the very survival of his people. I needn’t point out that this matter could do just that. I therefore suggest, for the sake of your regime and the future of all our kind, that you deal with this problem as quickly and efficiently as possible,” Sebastian said.
I stood slowly. I couldn’t entirely control the leap of excitement in my pulse and I was sure my elder heard it, but I didn’t care. “Are you putting me in charge of the situation, then?”
“You will have complete responsibility. I expect to be kept apprised of your plans, however, and to be kept current on developments.”
“Yes, of course.” Already my mind was racing, devising schemes, formulating battle plans. “But I shall have complete freedom in dealing with the matter?”
Sebastian made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. “I have other concerns,” he said gruffly. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”
And then I understood the full significance of what was happening. Sebastian, pressed by the troubles in New Orleans and having recently lost his right-hand man—Michael—had turned to me to handle this most delicate and dangerous problem within the company. That had to mean something, didn’t it? This was not just a token assignment, or a test. This was the kind of responsibility that would only be given to someone Sebastian trusted, in whom he had confidence to solve the problem.
Sebastian was relying on me. Perhaps that meant that, after all this time, the older man was coming to accept me as his heir.
I inclined my head. “I shan’t disappoint you, sir.”
Sebastian scowled. “For your sake, I should certainly hope not.”
I reached for my briefcase. “I’ll leave for Montreal in the morning. Is there anything in particular I should familiarize myself with before I arrive?”
“It’s all on your computer. If you have any questions, I’m sure Victoria will be able to answer them.”
Already a dread I could not quite define was creeping to my stomach. “Victoria?”
“Victoria St. Clare. She’s an account executive in the Montreal office. You’ll be working with her. Didn’t I mention it?”
St. Clare, I thought. I should have known.
I kept my face expressionless. “No, sir, you didn’t. In exactly what capacity will we be working together?”
The slight arch of Sebastian’s eyebrow was almost imperceptible. “In every capacity.”
“I understood you to say I would be in charge of this operation.”
“And so you will be. You should look upon Victoria as…a partner.”
I translated, Spy.
“Surely you’ll agree with the wisdom of having a confederate in the enemy camp.”
I nodded stiffly. “Of course. I should have thought of it myself.”
Sebastian almost smiled. “Yes. You should have. You’ll report to her as soon as you arrive, then.”
“Of course.”
“Very good. That will be all for now. We expect you for supper. My wife sends her greetings.”
I barely managed a polite reply and a gracious bow as I left the room.
/> I didn’t know why I was surprised. I should have expected a trick like this from Sebastian. But if the older man expected me to be defeated or distracted by it, he was to be greatly disappointed.
I had a job to do, and I would get it done with or without Victoria St. Clare, perhaps even in spite of her. I would prove myself worthy of the command I was about to inherit, to Sebastian St. Clare and everyone else in the clan, if it was the last thing I did.
And that is how I, Noel Duprey, future leader of my people, ended up sitting behind the cramped metal desk of a junior executive in a corkboard-walled cubicle that wasn’t even soundproof, gaping like a schoolboy at a woman in a white fur coat. I represent the strongest, the smartest, the bravest and the most noble of all our kind. I am the standard against which all others are measured. Yet at that moment, as I turned to gaze at the female who had just entered, I was reduced to—forgive me—an almost human incoherence.
I was quite frankly astonished. I had just spent the entire flight from Alaska studying the personnel files of everyone in the Montreal office, most especially that of Victoria St. Clare. I thought I knew everything about her, but nothing had prepared me for this.
Victoria St. Clare—several dozen times removed from the direct line of descent, fortunately for everyone concerned—is what is known as an anthromorph. What that means, quite simply, is that through some genetic anomaly, she is condemned forever to retain her human form. She can never mate; she can never bear young; she can never know what it is to be one of us through the miracle of the Change. Of course one has to feel sorry for such a creature. I suppose it’s only natural to regard those different from oneself with a certain wariness, but Victoria St. Clare’s differences condemned her to a life of pity and scorn among her own people.
I had known that much about her as soon as I refreshed my memory on her name. There weren’t more than a dozen or so anthromorphs among us, and I remembered her from childhood pack gatherings as the poor ugly duckling all the other children used to torment. According to her personnel records, fortune hadn’t favored her much as the years progressed, either.
Wolf in Waiting Page 3