Wolf's Guile

by Laura Taylor

  “You look like you could use some time out,” he said gently, gesturing towards the manor in invitation, and Luna easily fell into step beside him. “If I may offer my hospitality, then perhaps a cool drink might be in order?”

  In an isolated spot far enough from the manor to afford them some privacy, Andre leaned against a thick oak tree, watching as Kyle paced the clearing. So far, he had said nothing since leading Kyle away from the gathering on the lawn, knowing that idle platitudes were not going to help and that silence itself was sometimes the best counsel.

  Finally, Kyle stopped pacing and turned to face Andre. “I know I didn’t shoot her,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, “but it’s still my responsibility.”

  For his own part, Andre was currently feeling not much of anything, neither grief over Eleanor’s passing, nor anger at Kyle for causing it, however indirectly, nor, much to his own surprise, any kind of wrath against Sempre. The woman was dead and now had to answer to Sirius himself for her actions. Given that he had met the wolf-god face to face more than once already, Andre didn’t envy her the task. Later tonight, though, in Caroline’s arms, he would grieve. For a friend, for a mentor, for someone who had taught him that there was a time for the rules to be broken and a time for honour and duty to dictate the path of his life, no matter how unpalatable the result.

  “A wise man once said that the race does not always go to the swift,” Andre told Kyle softly, “nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happen to them all. Either of your comrades could have been the one to pull the trigger. If Sempre had been standing in a slightly different place, someone else might have been killed by that bullet. Or perhaps no one would have been. None of us knew what she was capable of doing. Circumstances led to an unfortunate end, that much is true. But are you honestly claiming to be responsible for the workings of blind luck?”

  Kyle stared back at him, tears glistening in his eyes. “My duty,” he said harshly, “is to defend the Council. To the death.”

  “I make no argument with you there,” Andre agreed. “But did you turn away from that duty? Did you stand by and do nothing while someone attacked her? Did you abandon your post? Did you collaborate with an enemy who wished her dead?”

  Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and Andre glanced over his shoulder to see the other two assassins approaching them slowly, the man named Liam and the woman Analisa. Both of them seemed concerned, rather than angry, so he felt safe enough ignoring them for the moment.

  “Did you abandon your duty?” Andre asked more sharply, when Kyle didn’t reply.

  “No,” he whispered finally. “I just…”

  “We will all grieve for her,” Analisa said gently. “But we do not hold you responsible for her death.”

  “I cannot be an assassin,” Kyle declared suddenly. “Not after this. I couldn’t show my face again to the guild. I could never face the Host again, not after this failure.”

  “The guild does not consider this to be a failure,” Liam said, his tone far less compromising than Analisa’s had been. He was younger than the rest of them, perhaps only in his early twenties, and Andre looked him over sharply. There was no particular personality type that was best suited to the assassins, and as a result, they were a varied lot, some calm and compassionate, others harsh and uncompromising. So long as they got their jobs done, the Council didn’t much care one way or the other.

  “If you don’t wish to continue as an assassin, then perhaps consider requesting reassignment as an instructor,” Andre suggested to Kyle, wanting to head off anything else Liam might have to say, suspecting he might not be terribly helpful in solving the current crisis. But even so, his suggestion was an honest one. Once an assassin reached a certain age, they were a hazard to themselves in the field, unable to maintain the fitness and agility needed for the intensely physical work, and so those who managed to survive long enough often turned tutor to the trainees. “You’ve served a long time as assassin already, and the Council surely couldn’t object.”

  Kyle didn’t answer, and after a moment, Analisa spoke again. “Perhaps take some time to think it over,” she suggested. “We’re all a little on edge today, and there’s no rush to be making any firm decisions.”

  Kyle nodded, then seemed to brighten a fraction. “Instructor. I suppose I could work with that. But the rest of the Council will have to be told about Eleanor. I would…” His shoulders sagged again. “I don’t know…” It was obvious he wasn’t thinking terribly clearly, and Andre felt for him. Had he been in the same position, he suspected he would have had even less composure than Kyle currently had.

  “Shall we go back to the manor?” Analisa suggested. “The Council will be missing us.” She turned Kyle around, leading him gently back through the trees. She glanced back over her shoulder as they went, and Andre hastily held up his left hand and gestured urgently to his middle finger.

  Analisa nodded, and she reached out to take Kyle’s left hand, discreetly sliding a large ring off his finger. “Perhaps you should let me hold onto this for now,” she said, and Andre breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the dose of lethal poison in the ring was in safe hands for the moment. With the death of a Councillor, there was a risk that Kyle might get it into his head that he should take his own life, regardless of what the Council thought of the issue, and letting him have access to such an easy means of doing so was not in anyone’s best interests.

  Kyle and Analisa trudged slowly back towards the manor, but rather than following them, Liam instead turned to Andre. “You make a solid point about Kyle not abandoning his post,” he said, cool speculation in his eyes. “But the question lingers: did you abandon yours?”

  The question, softly spoken, made Andre’s blood turn to ice in his veins. He’d been wondering the exact same thing ever since the three assassins had arrived at the estate. Ever since he’d moved in with Caroline, almost the same day as his retirement had been made official. Ever since he’d shot an innocent girl in cold blood without so much as a second thought.

  Had he failed in his duty to the assassins? To their species?

  “I sought retirement from the Council,” Andre answered him stiffly. “And they granted it, with full honours. I broke no vow.”

  Liam looked him over sharply. “Strange, how even you don’t seem to believe that.”

  How the hell did Liam know that, Andre wondered desperately. Was he so transparent? He hadn’t even had a proper conversation with the man since he’d arrived, and Liam was able to read him like a book?

  “Rumour has it that you have performed the Ritual since you left our ranks,” Liam said, his tone deceptively smooth.

  “It was at the Council’s request, and time was of the essence,” Andre said, aware that he was sounding markedly defensive. “We couldn’t tolerate the delay of calling in another assassin.”

  “Indeed,” Liam said darkly. “And what did the Host say to you while you were there?”

  “We do not speak of such things!” Andre hissed, outraged by the question.

  “I am not asking for my benefit, but for yours,” Liam interrupted him. “Were you granted the Sight? Were you punished for your audacity? Was your soul cast adrift to the four winds?” He peered intently at Andre, who stammered awkwardly for a reply. “No? It seems you’re still standing here before me, solid and whole.” He stepped forward and deliberately patted Andre down, as if assuring himself that he was indeed real. “The Host himself accepted you as worthy, and yet you run from us.” What? What the hell was he talking about? “We waited for you, in the forest after nightfall, every night since we arrived. In the way that the assassins have always gathered, when secrecy and silence were paramount. And yet you did not come.”

  Andre felt himself flush. Had he misunderstood so badly? He’d assumed they would have been angry if he’d gone, that he would have been intruding.

  In the dim light of the shelter of the trees, Liam’s features softened into an expression of longing and nostal
gia. “You have retired from our ranks,” he said quietly, reaching out to take Andre’s hands in his own. “With your honour and your life intact. But you have also walked the shadows beyond this world and lived to tell the tale. You have not abandoned your post, but rather fulfilled your purpose. Once an assassin, always an assassin. Do not forget that, my brother. Aridos eskeem.” He turned and walked away, heading back towards the manor, leaving Andre staring mutely after him. Aridos eskeem. Walk with honour. It was the traditional farewell of the assassin’s guild and something they would never, ever say to one who was not considered worthy.

  Andre watched until Liam was out of sight, heedless of the tears running silently down his cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Wedged between two bulky steel frames, Thando cursed as he heard the low rumble of the elevator beginning to move again. He checked his hands and feet, making sure they were clear of the edge of the car, then waited until it had slid past before beginning his cautious descent again. This time of the evening, there was far less traffic up and down this shaft than there would have been during the day, and he hoped that by the time he left, there would be hardly any. Hauling a dazed and injured shifter back up the way he’d come would be hard enough as it was, without the elevator threatening to crush limbs every few minutes.

  Finally, he made it to the floor where the Noturatii’s captive was being held, sweat sliding down his back to be soaked up by the soft fabric of the grey bodysuit he wore. But this was only the beginning of his mission. He pulled a small laptop out of the bag hanging from his waist and resumed his connection to the building’s security systems; several hours of careful hacking earlier in the day had allowed him to access the cameras on this floor and set them up to loop a video of empty hallways. Cameras out of the way and alarms disabled, he secured the bag to a steel beam that was clear of the elevator and set about the next step. Checking that the car was still and a decent distance away from him – just in case it started moving again – he swung out from his shelter and set to work forcing the doors open. A dart gun was sitting ready at his waist, containing darts coated in a potent poison developed by the Council’s scientists. They would render any guards dead within about ten seconds and be far quieter than bullets.

  But luck was on his side. As he slid his body up and onto the linoleum floor, there was no one in sight. A blueprint of the building had given him directions to the cages, and he proceeded with the utmost vigilance, listening for any hint of guards or staff, peering around corners with a tiny mirror, until he made it to the correct hallway. Sirius himself must be watching over him today, he thought gratefully, as he’d been certain he’d have to kill at least one patrol in order to make it this far.

  He eased silently down the hall until he found the right cage; the Russian shifter was lying on the floor, no doubt exhausted and in pain from the latest round of experiments. He didn’t move as Thando arrived, his eyes dull, though Thando could clearly see he was breathing. There were no guarantees he was going to survive, with the state he was in, but Thando didn’t have time to contemplate the idea that he might have arrived too late to do any real good. He took a few seconds to spray the door hinges with lubricant – the slightest creak could potentially give him away – and then withdrew a lock picking kit from a small pouch at his waist and set about opening the door.

  It seemed to take forever, but finally the latch clicked open. He pulled the door ajar, just wide enough for him to slip inside, then pulled it closed again, stopping just short of activating the latch.

  It was only when he was right beside the shifter that the man finally looked up, staring at him like he thought he was dreaming. Or hallucinating, perhaps, and Thando knew that, depending on what drugs he’d been given, there was the distinct possibility that he actually was.

  But that was a secondary concern. Right now, his only goal was to unlock the collar secured around the man’s neck and somehow drag his limp and pained-riddled body back out the way he’d come.

  Dr Gianna Evans sighed as she dawdled down the hall. Not that she wanted to look like she was dawdling, of course. To that effect, she had a tablet in her hand and was concentrating on the screen – a spreadsheet full of numbers – but the truth was, her mind was far, far away from the readouts from their most unexpected success in the lab that afternoon, and the ruse was purely to allow her to take as long as possible to get to where she was going.

  So much of her work had been like that lately. Particularly since that bitch Melissa had been promoted and had started barking orders and interfering with her experiments.

  But that didn’t mean Gianna had to go out of her way to cooperate with her schemes. Her current modus operandi was to do everything in her power to delay finding the results Melissa was looking for, while simultaneously making equal efforts to ensure she looked like she was being productive and diligent. Equipment had to be ‘double-checked’ before an experiment could be run. Results had to be analysed before running any follow up tests, in order to ‘fine tune’ the equipment. Ramping up the voltage on the experiment table had been a stroke of genius, the damage setting them back several weeks… until Melissa had interfered again and discovered the very thing Evans had been trying to avoid.

  It was unfortunate, but even so, it was going to take weeks of redesigning the table before they could follow up the discovery with more controlled tests.

  Now, she was going to take one last look at the shifter in the cage – an unscheduled, unnecessary and utterly purposeless look – before heading down to the shooting range for her weekly lesson in firearms. It was getting on for seven o’clock in the evening, and the building was far quieter than it was during the day, but Gianna was staying late tonight, not just for her firearms lesson, but to keep up the appearance of eagerness, of dedication to her work. Melissa had a habit of working late, and it paid to make herself seen every now and then, to avoid developing the habit of racing out the door on the dot of five and raising questions as to why she wasn’t more enthusiastic about her work.

  But when she rounded the corner to the barred room where the shifter was kept, her plans for the evening suddenly and unexpectedly changed.

  There was a man in the cage with the shifter; a man in a grey bodysuit, who, by a trick of the dim light, all but blended into the grey tile of the walls. He saw her arrive, registered the surprised look on her face, and in a smooth movement that was neither rushed nor alarmed, he withdrew a small gun from a clip on his belt and pointed it at her.

  Thando gazed at the woman who had just arrived, startled by her interruption, though nothing in his body language would have given that fact away. His face was covered, only his eyes visible to any onlooker, and he kept his body balanced, his attention now split between the shifter lying at his feet and the woman who seemed not at all alarmed about finding an assassin breaking into the building.

  He expected her to shout her discovery to a nearby security team, or to scream at him to leave her captive alone, or even to beg for her life, now that his dart-gun was aimed squarely at her chest.

  But she didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she gazed back at him, a strange, hollow look in her eyes that was nothing like Thando had ever seen in any other Noturatii operative. Curious, he lowered his gun a fraction.

  “If you want to shoot me, I won’t stop you,” the woman said, in a voice that was only a fraction louder than a whisper.

  He should shoot her. Before she called for backup, before this already compromised mission went even further south. But her offer to let him kill her sounded so strange, so inexplicable, and her demeanour was so calm that he found himself replying, “Why would you want to die?”

  The woman laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “I work here, don’t I?”

  “I don’t follow,” Thando said, aware of his time running out. He had already managed to unlock the collar from around the shifter’s neck, but he still had to get the man back to the elevator shaft and then hope he could hurry them both
out of the building before anyone sounded the alarm. This woman’s presence was a serious complication to proceedings… but an odd instinct told him not to dismiss her too quickly.

  “You don’t know what it’s like here, do you?” she asked, a rhetorical question, and it was just as well. Thando would have had no idea how to reply. The only interaction he generally had with the Noturatii was to shoot them. Preferably from a distance. While he had read plenty of reports, heard dozens of stories about what went on inside these houses of horror, he’d never bothered to imagine what day to day life might be like for those who worked here.

  “We sign up for this amazing program,” the woman went on, her voice a hushed whisper, “with some pseudo-government types promising that our work will count towards the protection of humanity and the prevention of acts of terrorism, and then one day they tell you the truth, and suddenly you’re working to kill innocent men and women on the basis of a gross superstition, and by the time you know what they really are, it’s too late to pick a side, because the Noturatii have chosen it for you.”

  That was news to Thando. He had always assumed that the people working for the Noturatii chose to be there, that they went into the organisation with their eyes wide open. “You don’t like working here?” he asked, startled by the discovery. “You don’t agree with their cause?”

  “Not in the slightest. But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m too much of a coward to kill myself. So I’ve been doing the next best thing I could think of. Slowing down their experiments. Complicating proceedings, failing to generate results. But if you were to shoot me, it would be over quickly, and I wouldn’t have to think about it.” The woman looked at him evenly, a pleading look on her face, combined with a cold knowledge in her eyes that for her, there was no other way out. “Take me with you,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “Get me out of here.”