In the Werewolf's Den

by Rob Preece

  "Seven normals and how many of the magical?"

  Danielle shrugged. Nobody counted magical deaths. In this case, Danielle knew that the normals were at fault, but surely that was exceptional. And if a few impaired got hurt as a result of their own terrorist activities, nobody was going to cry.

  "Once we finish our cure, they'll be normal again,” Carl reminded her. “So their deaths do matter. Your normals are killing people who can be saved."

  Danielle didn't like to think about it that way. If her stepfather had been cured after killing her mother, would he simply have used the impairment as an excuse? Still, many of the impaired hadn't killed anyone. And they did deserve to be saved.

  "Can we afford to take the chance, Carl? Bringing normals into the zone is asking for trouble."

  "I'm not looking for normals,” he explained. “I need people who can work the zone without warder escort. People who don't mind going door-to-door asking for blood samples. People who will make the magically enabled open their doors rather than hide under their beds."

  Danielle froze. “It's unlawful to hire an impaired for any job for which there is a qualified normal applicant."

  Carl's knuckles whitened. But he managed to hold himself in check. “That is one of the stupid laws that causes all of the problems."

  "I think you're blaming the victim here,” Danielle reminded him. “Normals need to protect themselves. And don't give me crap about impaired people not being responsible for their actions. They kill without caring."

  He shook his head, and she wasn't sure whether he was angry or just frustrated. “Forget what I said because it doesn't matter. We're not talking about jobs that any normal would want, anyway. Or jobs any normal could do. First, they'll have to work with the magical, get their trust, and gain their sympathies. Second, no normal could be qualified for this job. Third, I'm an impaired. No normal would work for me and I'm not even sure it's legal for me to hire one."

  Danielle nodded even as she looked for some trick in his logic. “Okay. We'll post a job listing. You know you'll have to pay for the team yourself?"

  "As if I hadn't paid for everything since you sprung me from prison."

  "Going back is still an option."

  He smiled. “Then again, my money wasn't doing me much good when I was rotting at Lew Sterrett. Of course I'll pay."

  Danielle's warder senses almost overloaded at the long line of magically impaired waiting outside the building that she and Carl shared. She'd posted a small notice on the web and had wondered if they'd have any job applicants at all. Instead, it seemed that half of the zone turned out.

  The scent of magic, normally a low-level irritant, welled up in her like an agoraphobic panic. Except it wasn't a smell, exactly. It was a special sense that warder training had developed in her. A sense that made her skin want to crawl back, away from all of this disease. Worse, there were vampires in the group. She could understand keeping some of the impaired alive, but vampires had lost their souls anyway. She didn't understand why the government didn't outlaw them completely. According to Joe, they were working on it. And it couldn't happen soon enough.

  Danielle's distress over the crowd was made worse by Carl's attitude. He seemed totally unsurprised by the turnout. She'd always thought scientists were nerds with unrealistic views of any reality they couldn't see through a microscope. Carl had confounded that belief, just as he'd turned around so many of the other understandings that had been pounded into her head by years of government television, ignorant teachers, and even warder instructors who taught to kill first and think second.

  Her fingers itched to do something. It was illegal for impaired to gather in large groups like this. It could be dangerous. Hell, it was dangerous. If they decided to attack, they could swarm her under. All of her warder skills wouldn't keep her alive for more than a few seconds.

  Carl limped out to the landing in front of their building and began organizing the throngs into groups by job function, potential lab assistants on the right and potential field workers on the left.

  "How about you interview the field workers,” he suggested to Danielle. “I'll have my hands full with the technical folks for the lab."

  Just what she needed. Up-close contact with the impaired. She suppressed the shudder. “You haven't told me what sort of skills you're looking for."

  Carl shrugged his shoulders. “You know. The usual. Initiative, intelligence, a way with people, and enough physical strength and stamina to pull some long hours. Some medical training would be good, too. It doesn't take a genius to get a blood sample but I'd like to know that they won't faint at the sight of it."

  She nodded. She could do that. Those were the same abilities, or at least some of the same abilities, required for potential warders. Certainly no warder could let a little blood make them queasy.

  "Let's get to work, then,” Carl concluded. “See if you can hire me about five for a start. But get a list of any more that we might want to add later."

  Five was more than she'd thought, but she trusted Carl at least as long as his invention was involved. She turned to go, then stopped. “How much should I offer?"

  He didn't even pause. “Let's start them around eighty thousand."

  She felt her jaw drop, but couldn't help staring. “That's twice what I make. You can get one of them for about five thousand, tops."

  Carl glared at her. “Please don't forget that I am one of them. I'm going to put a lot of demands on these people and I want them to know that I appreciate their work."

  "But—"

  "And it isn't my responsibility that the government chooses to pay warders so little. Maybe it's because all of the warders’ expenses are picked up by their prisoners."

  Danielle's body shifted into blur mode without her conscious volition. Carl's last slam had been too close to an attack.

  He must have sensed the changes within her because he shifted his weight into a cat stance. Now that was interesting, a wolf imitating a cat. She hadn't known he'd studied the martial arts.

  She forced herself to back down. She could take Carl, whether in human or werewolf form. She'd done that before. But getting into a fight wouldn't prove anything. It certainly wasn't going to get her promoted into the hunters. Not that she'd have much of a chance for that if word ever got out that she was the reason for the latest Dallas riot.

  "Hey, it's your money,” she told him.

  "Yeah. For now."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He closed the distance between them. “Read the tea-leaves, Danielle. The magical community is being systematically deprived of basic rights. Do you really think the government won't see whatever fortunes we've amassed as fair game? If I can't get to the bottom of this magic virus or mutation or whatever it is, I won't have anything anyway. I might as well spend it while I have it."

  She thought she should argue, but she couldn't really disagree. Even four years in the Academy hadn't prepared her for the reality of the two worlds, normal and magical. She hadn't suspected the misunderstandings, the ways that the two groups could see exactly the same evidence and come to such radically different conclusions. She knew the rules were put in place to protect society, but they could be rough on those society decided were on the outside.

  "I'll hire you some good ones, Carl.” It was as close as she could come to backing down.

  He nodded his thanks and called for the first of the lab assistant applicants.

  * * * *

  A terribly long day later, Danielle stepped into Carl's office.

  "Don't you ever knock?"

  She shook her head. She didn't have to knock. She was Carl's herder. If he had any secrets from her, it was her job to know them. Not that he was likely to have any. She'd bugged his computer and office so completely that she knew it every time he blew his nose.

  "I'm finished."

  "Yeah? Have any luck?

  "Sort of.” She was going against everything she believed in, but the vampi
re had convinced her. After all, who could be better at collecting blood samples?

  When Carl heard what she had waiting, he was surprised. Not as surprised as she had been.

  "You said you wanted people with a good attitude,” Danielle reminded him.

  "Yeah, but—"

  "So, who would be more interested in picking up blood samples than a vampire? Who would be less likely to be fooled by someone trying to substitute someone else's, or coming back to give for a second time?"

  "Nobody, but—"

  "Look, Carl. I don't try to tell you how to run the lab, now don't you try and tell me how to run a street gang."

  "That's just it, honey. This isn't—"

  She held out a hand. “Don't call me that. Ever."

  He stopped abruptly. “It's been a long day."

  Finally she put him out of his misery, slamming her hand into the table so hard all of the resumes jumped. “Just shut up, Carl."

  "Good thinking. Now back to the vampire. What's the idea there? Besides the fact that he likes blood and wouldn't mind taking a few samples?"

  "The idea is that he's got ambition, drive, and energy. Plus the fact that he was involved in medicine before the return and knows how to do the basics. Like you asked for, remember?"

  Carl pressed his palms into his forehead. “Vampires are demon-possessed, Danielle. That's a lot different from a Were or an elf. We're only DNA challenged."

  As if she didn't know that. “Hey, don't think this was an easy decision for me."

  "It isn't like the demon is going away if you don't hire him,” she continued. “Besides, demon or not, Mike the Vampire seems qualified, anxious for the work, and fearless. I don't know of you noticed, but a lot of the applicants seem afraid of their own shadows. It's pathetic."

  "It's the environment. They're denied basic rights, terrorized by the normals, and forced to live without basic services like running water."

  Danielle shrugged. “Everyone has problems."

  "But a vampire?"

  "Talk to him, Carl. If you don't like him, tell him to get lost. But he's the lynchpin. I don't think the rest of your mob will amount to much without him."

  "It's not a mob. It's the key crew for my research."

  Danielle's smile didn't even reach her lips. “Sure."

  "All right. Let's have a look at them. Mike first."

  He sat there waiting. As if he expected her to get up and show the candidates in. Clearly power had gone to his head. Fortunately, Danielle was real good at fixing that problem.

  She just stared at him.

  Finally, he got it, went and opened the door himself.

  The magically infected tended to be a disorderly group—part of the reason the zones had been established in the first place—so Danielle was surprised to see the two lines of finalists neatly queued, each holding their resumes in neat, matching, folders."Which one of you is Mike?"

  Carl must have asked the question before thinking, because the answer was obvious. The pale face, lean body, and distinctive black outfit would have identified Mike as a Goth in an earlier decade. Today, it marked him as a vampire.

  He wasn't especially tall—about three inches shorter than Carl, but his presence made him seem larger than he was. The accent wasn't Bella Lagosa Transylvania, but it was distinct. Possibly caused by enlarged canines.

  "At your service,” the vampire told him. He bowed deeply to Danielle.

  "Ms. Goodman and I will be interviewing each of you finalists together,” Carl told the remaining creatures. “There's coffee on the machine in the kitchen. Help yourself."

  A couple of young dwarves got into a scuffle as they tried to head to the kitchen, their short bodies too broad to allow both of them through the door at once.

  "Billy. Willie. Behave."

  The vampire's voice was soft—hardly more than a whisper—but it cut through the sudden chatter and froze the two dwarves in place.

  "Sorry, Dr. Harriman,” the vampire told him. “It's been a long day and coffee prices are through the roof here. I suppose you know that many dwarves have a serious coffee dependency."

  Maybe Carl had known that but Danielle hadn't. There were so many different impairments that the warders had to specialize. She supposed dwarves had been covered in one of the overview classes but they weren't seen as a serious threat and she hadn't known anyone who had looked more deeply. And she'd already seen enough to know that the overview classes had left a lot out.

  "If you'll follow me, Mike,” Carl said, “I think we can make this quick."

  Mike moved with the easy grace of Fred Astaire from the ancient movies. When he smiled—which he did as Carl offered him his hand—his lengthened canines gleamed an ivory white.

  "I'm going to be honest,” Carl told Mike. “I haven't heard much good about vampires. Ms. Goodman tells me that you're qualified and talented and I believe her. But I want you to tell me why I should hire you."

  Mike's shrug was barely discernable. He was impossibly thin, but his clothes fit so well that it looked like a choice rather than the result of starvation.

  "How long do you think your crew will last if they don't have someone like me to help?” Mike pulled up a chair and sat, his body almost gliding into the seat.

  "I don't—"

  "You're right. You don't know what it's like out in the zone. You've lived here for what, a couple of weeks? Secure behind your gates and fences. Almost a zone within the zone. But for the others, it won't be like that. They have to go home at night. They'll be sitting ducks for every gang out there."

  Danielle had heard Mike's pitch earlier, but Carl seemed stunned. “Why should a gang bother with my workers?"

  "Because they'll have money,” Danielle answered for Mike.

  Carl held up a hand to forestall Danielle, but Mike went on ahead. “Warder Goodman is right, of course. In the zone, if you've got money, then you're a target. In our case, though, there is even more. Word is out about you, Dr. Harriman. Word that you've got a lab full of treasure—drugs, chemicals, food. Uh, blood. They'll pressure your poor workers, blackmail them to steal your materials, steal your research, even sabotage your work."

  "And you can stop this."

  Mike looked satisfied. “Oh, yes."

  In the end, Carl hired the whole lot of them. Six outside workers, five lab assistants, and Mike.

  "I'll shape them into the best mob in the Dallas zone,” Mike promised.

  "We're not a mob. We're a laboratory team."

  Mike nodded gravely but Danielle didn't need any special warder skills to know he was lying. Intentionally or not, Carl was assembling a mob and Danielle had helped.

  She felt uncomfortable, torn between the very real dangers posed by the impaired and the importance of Carl's vision and of her mission. Carl had persuaded her that they needed a staff, and Mike the Vampire was dead-on that they needed to be able to defend what would be seen as an increasingly attractive asset. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

  Chapter Four

  Danielle sent the two dwarves into far south Dallas looking for blood samples from the earliest of the affected. During the night, Carl had come up with the idea that those who were infected first might somehow be different—might, in fact, have been the elusive vectors of whatever virus or mutation had set off the return of magic. It didn't make a lot of sense to her, but then again, nobody had ever accused Danielle of being a scientist.

  Rather than worry about that, or what he'd meant by the slip of his tongue when he'd called her ‘honey,’ she decided to ask Carl whether he was up for a run. Her cell vibrated just as she reached his lab door.

  She suppressed the frisson of fear when she saw the calling number—the Dallas district Warder headquarters. Had they finally found out about her role in the riot?

  "Goodman,” she said as she pressed the on button.

  "Warder Goodman. You are directed to appear at the Dallas District Office, Warder Central at two o'clock today. If you have any q
uestions, please press one. If you accept, please press two."

  Warders who want to get ahead didn't have questions. That was lesson one in Warder school. Don't ask questions: follow orders. She pressed two and listened for the confirmation of her choice. Then she continued into the lab. The run was out but she needed to tell Carl he was on his own.

  He was buried in his research. Five assistants scurried around, bringing him their work, looking for the next assignment, or trying to anticipate his next request.

  She'd thought of Carl as an impaired, like millions of others. Occasionally, especially when she was sleeping, she would think of him as a male, superbly fit, good looking in a rough and masculine way. Naturally she tried to suppress those thoughts. As the rioters had pointed out, dating between normals and infected was simply not allowed. Forbidden by both law and the law of the mob. And her stepfather had cured her of any interest along those lines anyway.

  The lab workers, and there were a couple of females along with the three males, thought of Carl as the next best thing to an Old Testament prophet. The reputation he'd made when he'd run his own company had grown in the telling, or maybe his warder dossier simply understated his importance in the field of biopharmaceutical research. For just a moment, she allowed herself to think about what might have been, if Carl hadn't become infected.

  She shook her head. She never would have met him if he hadn't become Were and the responsibility of the warders. As a normal with a hundred million or so in the bank, he would have his choice of women.

  Carl's smile raced her heart.

  He dropped everything, making her realize that she hadn't been into the lab since they'd hired the assistants a couple of days before. Well, it wasn't as if she was going to do serious science.

  "What's up, Danielle?"

  With the call to Warder Regional fresh in her mind, she wondered how she'd let things get to a first-name basis. He might be a science genius, but he was still one of them. She almost reminded him to call her Agent Goodman but stopped short. Twenty seconds before, she'd been wondering if he'd call her honey again.