by Unknown
Dierk and I headed out to find his Mercedes parked in front of my car. I guessed Olberich followed Dierk, and someone followed Olberich. He insisted on driving, so I stopped to take the parking pass out of my car first.
Before opening the passenger door, I glanced back toward the house, wondering if Rodrian would wave goodbye, like he always did. The gesture was one that had become sort of tradition for us; after losing and nearly losing so much, goodbyes were precious last looks, always shrouded in a sense of an unspoken What if?
But this morning the windows were empty. There was no wave, no smile, no touch of affectionate power.
Resignation dried the well of potential tears, leaving a numbing fog to settle in my chest. I was leaving with the Were who had spent the night in my warded rooms. Why would Rodrian see me off?
I wasn't too keen on being driven to work by a European. No offense, but I wasn't sure he knew what side of the road to stay on. Much to my relief, however, he drove like a normal person, even if he wasn't exactly human. If anything, he took things on the slow side.
When I realized he wasn't going to drive us head-on into a tractor trailer, I relaxed enough to speak. "I'm surprised he acted reasonably when you went all kingly on him. Rodrian doesn't take orders from anyone."
"'Kingly'? How so?"
"I heard the authority behind your request."
"I'm surprised you discerned it," he said.
"I know your voice."
His eyebrows lifted. "We only met on Sunday."
Was it almost a week? I kept forgetting. Time had been a bit mushy for a while there. I could have caught birds, let alone flies, when I'd heard the newscaster announce it was Friday earlier. "I knew your voice long before that."
He looked over at me. I guessed he was trying to understand what I meant.
"Hello? Turn of the Wheel fan, remember? You sometimes use that tone when you sing. Like in 'Kinsman Take Arms'. I guess the song's about the tension between Were and DV."
His eyebrows lifted quickly. "I've never spoken publicly about that song."
"It's evident now, after seeing you and Rodrian this morning."
He raked his hair back with one hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "It is more than a difference of species. Thurzo and I have known each other for many years now."
"I meant to ask how you recognized each other the night you brought me home."
He flexed his fingers on the wheels, cracking his knuckles with a series of soft pops. "Long history. Short explanation. He knew my father and assumes I am the same man."
"You mean, he didn't like your dad, so he doesn't like you, either."
He nodded. "The summation suffices."
"What did your dad do to him?" I couldn't imagine a crime heinous enough to create such a long-standing grudge.
Dierk looked insulted. "My father was der König before I. He did nothing but act as such."
"Was Rodrian in Germany at the time?"
He mulled the question before answering. "Yes."
I only knew of one story when Rodrian was in Germany. His son had evolved and was exterminated as vampire. The vampire, formerly known in life as the Demivampire Boxer Thurzo, had died on his uncle Marek's sword—a detail Rodrian didn't know. Didn't take a genius to gut-jump this one. "Mannheim."
"You are full of surprises. What has Thurzo told you?"
"He never said he knew you or your family..." I hesitated, reaching for a neutral word. "Business took him to Mannheim once, he told me. It was a lucky guess."
"Hmm." Mild sound that said I don't believe you but that's okay. "My family is in Mannheim. My home is there and will always be there."
"Do you live in a castle?" I didn't smirk, although it certainly was meant as a joke.
"Yes."
Joke flopped.
"There are many castles throughout Germany, many great historic estates. However, my home is not open for tours. The family home is an official court. I have other places throughout Germany, other properties. I travel extensively. Our success as musicians is usually viewed as the cause of the extravagance. The family home, however, is not publicly associated with me."
"So you don't get parades or ride around wearing a crown?"
"I'm not sure how to answer." He glanced at me, searching my expression for a clue. "Are you serious or trying to be humorous?"
"I don't know. I just—don't know anything about you." I twisted the strap of my bag into a knot, letting it flop loose before twisting it again. "I guess being a smartass makes everything I say come out like a joke."
He nodded and concentrated on the road for a few moments. "I don't wear a crown or ride in parades. The existence of the Were is a secret, no matter the country. No human civilization would welcome us."
"Oh," I said. "That's not really fair."
"That is reality. Being Were is not exactly about having choices."
There was that word again: choice. It was quickly climbing my list of Sour Grapes Words. "Did you have a choice? I mean, I assume you succeeded your father. Did you have a choice in the matter? Could you have walked away? Would you have wanted to?"
He laughed, delighted at my inquisitions and curiosity. "You will be disappointed by the answer."
"Maybe not."
"Does any child choose his family? They are my point of reference, the only world I ever knew. And they are all Were. Now, humans who Turn grow up in different realities. Many times the Turning is accidental. Sometimes it is chosen. Sometimes it is inflicted." He glanced at me, but I schooled my expression into one of polite detachment. "But kings are not made, Sophie. They are born."
"Well, I assumed that much. Born a prince and trained to be king."
"More than that. I was born Were."
Sudden horror made my throat painfully dry. Several mile markers passed in smothered silence. We'd turned onto the parkway by the time I found my voice. "So. Born Were."
"Yes."
"You changed with the moon. . .as a baby?" I once saw Toby change. I didn't want to envision an infant exploding in a shower of werewolf glue. I didn't think I could survive that single thought, because the next thought would be: I could be his mate, future mother of his children. My children—
It suddenly felt too close, like a closet full of winter coats. I cracked the window and started counting cars.
"No," he said. "Not as a baby. The first moon of a princeling occurs on the harvest moon following his fifth birthday." He patted my leg, letting his hand linger for several long moments before pulling his hand away.
The comfort was lost on me. "That doesn't make it easier to accept. Kindergarteners shouldn't erupt into claws and fur."
"I wasn't a schoolboy at age five. I was future König, who grew up in a caring den of people who were blessed by the moon, who shifted in front of me because it was natural. I looked forward to my first change. I remember the anticipation."
I remembered Toby's change and the shower of mess I endured by standing too closely when it happened. Retching would be very uncool at this particular moment so I squelched the memory. "I'll take your word for it."
"My mother held me in her arms, surrounded me with love and support. She guided me through the pain. She nosed me to my feet, cleaned my paws, reminded me to shake. She helped me face my father as a strong cub, and I remember the pride in his eyes when he called my name. I remember the sound of the pack when they echoed him. When we ran, I remember how they flowed around me and helped me find the wind. I will never forget my first moon."
Dierk's voice was soft and sweet, full of childhood joy, the memory of perfect acceptance and absolute love. The car was full of the scent of woods and wind and earth despite the crawl of rush hour traffic all around us. No diesel fumes. Just Dierk and his spirit. I was surrounded.
I wasn't afraid.
I wasn't afraid, not until we pulled into the parking garage next to my office, where my job as columnist for The Mag most likely hung in the balance, if it still existed at all.
"Hi, Amanda," I said as I passed her desk. Just when I raised my hand to rap on Barbara's door, Amanda stopped me.
"Hi, Sophie. Wait—" She stood up and reached out. "She's with someone. She'll call you when she's free."
Amanda's voice sounded a tone or two higher than normal, a sure sign of tension. When she was really upset, she squeaked. Something was up. My hope sank.
"Um, sure, I—" I glanced through the window but I couldn't see anyone inside. "I'll just head on over to check the mail then."
"Glad to see you back."
"Yeah, Amanda. Glad to be back."
She took her seat again, but watched me. Discomforted by her strange behavior, I slinked back to my office and dreaded the sound of the intercom.
Dierk busied himself by examining the photographs on the file cabinet. Mostly they were pictures from work and work-related gatherings; Barbara and others at work, at the Expo (which I staunchly refused to attend anymore), at various conferences. Among them I'd slipped in my family—Rodrian, Shiloh, Dahlia and Toby. The non-humans. The ones who lingered among humans without really being recognized for what they were.
Rodrian's picture was the one that got noticed the most. Funny, though. No one ever said, "Ooh, who's the hottie?"
They always said, "Where'd you get that frame?"
People assumed his was the picture that came in the frame when I bought it. That's what happened when you looked like an underwear model—nobody took you seriously.
Dierk turned away from them as I shut the door behind me. "Well?"
I sighed and slumped into my chair. "I'm screwed."
His expression clouded. "Was your editor angry?"
"I couldn't even get in to see her. Her secretary said she was with someone, but I didn't see anyone. I didn't feel anyone, either. Not even a wisp of people."
"So you think she was delaying you?"
"Something, anyway. Probably waiting for Tom to come over so they can ambush me and send me packing."
"Don't be pessimistic. Maybe the one in her office was Were. You wouldn't have detected him."
"I looked in. There wasn't anyone in there with her." I snapped off the rubber band bundling a fat stack of mail. "All I can do is get to work and look like I still deserve my job when she comes in with the ax."
"Will I disturb you as you work? I can go downstairs for coffee."
"No," I blurted. "I mean, stay. I'm fine. You're no bother unless you start talking about mating and being king and junk."
His half-smile deepened, perhaps going three-quarters. "I will keep my junk to myself."
"You better." I reached for a letter opener and began to deftly harvest the morning mail. Too bad this wasn't an Olympic sport—I'd gotten pretty good at separating the mail. Silver medal, at least.
What would I do if I got canned? Full-time writing was tough. The market was awful. Living on freelance paychecks wasn't dependable enough.
I supposed I could renew my license and go back to medicine. I'd left my nursing career years ago when the stress had gotten overwhelming, but now I could depend on good ole DV compulsion to tap that vile anxiety—
Or not. I couldn't depend on DV compulsion if I wasn't with the DV anymore. If this Leni thing had its way, I couldn't depend on DV anything ever again. I'd belong to the Were. But then, I wouldn't need a job.
I glanced at Dierk, who wore his earbuds and leaned back in his awkward chair, sunlight on his closed eyes. He seemed to be dozing, looking nothing like I'd pictured over years of knowing him only as the front man of a rock band. And though front man was the only title he'd worn for most of the past fifteen years, over the last week he took on another definition, causing his front man image to crumble as if it had never meant anything at all. His current definitions were overwhelmingly distracting.
A tingle of bitter red emotion caught fire in the pit of my stomach. I knew better than to let it unfurl, even though I wanted nothing more than to be angry right now. I wanted to slap him, hard, for wrecking everything that mattered to me. My job, my friends, my Sophia—all of it could be swept away like voices in a storm. All because of him, his tradition, his toothy bastard buddy Stohl. If only he—
No. If only I.
If only I had gone home instead of sitting at the bar, I wouldn't have met him. If only I left after Cacilia picked that fight, I'd only had to have cancelled my credit cards and bought a new wallet. If only I had left when Dahlia asked, instead of lingering just one moment and one moment and one moment more—I'd never have gotten bitten.
Enough "if only". It was done. If I wanted to lay blame, I'd have to slather it all over myself first.
Time to face the music. I might only have a few weeks of my life left before it all went away, but that didn't mean I should stop living now.
I took one last glance at the man who might come to define me, and I got down to business. Today, I was still me.
The knock knock shook me out of my Sophia zone nearly two hours later. I was submerged in a stack of petitions, on my first decent roll since The Bite. Quickly I dispelled the mood, urging the Sophia to retreat and take her Oracle-blue eyes with her. Still staring at the paper in my hand, I waved Barbara in.
"Well, Sophie." Not even a hello, hello. Barbara's voice was thin and subdued, as if she wasn't sure she knew me anymore. "Making any headway on that stack?"
"Yeah. Actually, it's going great. I've picked some great letters for the column, and think I can even do a theme thing here—"
She glanced at Dierk then back to me again. "The theme that involves bringing friends to work?"
Oh, I wasn't sure I would like where this was going. Barb was using a new tone, one I hadn't heard since I first started here. It was the I'm Your Boss Tone. "Yeah. Barb, this is Dierk Adeluf. He's…"
"Helping with research, actually." Dierk had risen and extended a hand, wearing a full smile that made him look boyish, charming, and enigmatic. He wasn't holding anything back. "You must be Ms. Evans, her editor."
"Barbara." She took his hand, unable to keep the line of her mouth straight. "Research, how?"
"Well, Sophie told me about her column's unique position on the US market. The syndicated-but-not-duplicated scheme." Dierk let his accent work its magic on her. Shoot, it had a spill-over effect on me. The way he thickened and flattened his words made me want to pour gravy on his voice and just dig in. "I was telling her about a few projects we've done at our own publication."
Barbara's interest became keen. If I wasn't paranoid about losing my job, I would have ventured a guess to say she forgot why she came in. "Your publication? Where are you based?"
"Frankfurt."
"Sophie." It was still a scolding tone, but at least it was warming up to our customary climate. "You didn't want to fill me in?"
"I—ah—"
"Was extremely distracted. She's been kind enough to show me the city, and I admit my own enthusiasm for a potential syndication contract has kept her from meeting her obligations here."
"And you met…?"
Dierk rubbed his temple, ducking his head and letting his charm swing to the sheepish side. "Blind date, actually. Fortunately for me, she didn't flee when the blinders came off."
"Not yet, anyway." I smiled harder than I needed, and frowned once Barbara looked away from me.
"Well. I really don't know what to make of it. Sharing of ideas are always a good thing, especially from two distinct and separate markets…" She trailed off and gave Dierk a significant nod.
"My thoughts exactly." His smile deepened. I'd swear he dimpled at her.
"Sophie, I have time before our editorial meeting at three. Stop by my office, will you?"
I showed all my teeth, a well-practiced but no less phony smile, meant to anchor my quivering chin. I was being called to the office where she could shred me in private. All the king's men wouldn't be able to put me back together again.
Damn the king.
I decided to spend the rest of the day working on s
chedules and queuing up emails. Thankfully, I'd been able to stagger submission dates throughout the month so it was simply a matter of opening the right template, attaching the right files, and hitting send.
My filing system was organized, but the work was still time-consuming. I dreaded this part, the non-writing end. The business end. This was the work part. And I'd missed four days of work.
When I opened my spreadsheet for the week, the first thing I noticed was that each of the week's submissions were marked sent. That couldn't be right. I didn't send them.
I switched over to email and looked in the "sent" folder. Sure enough, the emails and their files had all gone out.
Puzzled, I decided to get that meeting over sooner rather than later. This time, Amanda didn't stop me at the door.
"You got an intern this week. You'd know that that if you had called in." Barb stirred her coffee with a stern swish of her spoon. "You'll have to wait until Monday to meet her, though. She's down with HR for the day."
Barb pushed her cup to the edge of her desk and rocked back in her chair, flipping her pen between her fingers. "Lucky to find someone familiar with your column. Lucky too that you are such an OCD record keeper of what needs to go out and when. She stepped in and covered you."
"That's impossible. I don't keep a paper calendar. Everything was stored in my—"
"Computer. Yes. She sat in your chair, she logged into your account, and she saved your job. Stop choking on your tongue, Sophie. She did what was necessary to keep this column moving forward."
"But—" I was completely aghast. What if she'd gone through the Sophia records? It's not like I was blogging about the secret life of a single oracle but still. Those letters were special letters. They didn't get sent out to the papers and the publications. What if she was mucking around in my private stuff?
"Don't be looking at me like that. She's not a whistle blower. She's an intern who simply looked at your ridiculously detailed schedule and followed it to the letter because that's what she is paid to do. By the way, I need to remind you to get a life."
I needed her familiar ass-busting right now. I needed to feel normal because lately I felt like an alien in my own world, a transplant into a parallel universe. Everyone looked the same but all these tiny differences, these weird alterations kept reminding me that life could never be the same.