Rassolnik, trancelike, led Max into the study, one of the front rooms, just off the entranceway. It had been Max’s father’s domain, a place that Max saw but only during discipline. Was there a safe I never knew about? That’d be very like dear old Dad.
No. Not that.
The judge was approaching a small marble pedestal in the far corner of the room. Max knew it well – it was partly hidden behind his dad’s favorite wingback chair.
On top of the pedestal was a lead box, and on top of that was an urn with a long-dead plant inside. The judge lifted off the plant. His movements were jerky with purpose, and he no longer tried for avuncular small talk.
Rassolnik pressed the hidden button, and Max watched without surprise as the lead box folded itself away in an eerie articulated manner to reveal a leaded glass display case underneath.
That’s why the plant was there, after all. It’s not as if his father was a profound horticulturalist. The plant was a canary in a coal mine. For inside that case was an innocent-looking circular book that was not at all innocent.
Max frowned and crossed his arms, backing away slowly. “You want my father’s Saturation Codex? But why? That one is irradiated. There are plenty of copies around that won’t make you sick.”
Next to him, the wolf tensed. Bryan’s nostrils flared as if he could smell the radiation. Or perhaps the box leaked some other scent beyond human capacities. Max supposed the codex might reek of quintessence, more coolant than anything else, ever. It was infused with the stuff in an irradiated form, kept outside of liminal, active yet still neither energy nor matter, just toxic.
Max explained for the benefit of his werewolf. “That’s my several-times-great-grandfather’s personal copy. He witnessed Super Saturation. Caught some of the radiation too, as well as gaining a fully activated quintessence ability. He was on the front lines as an observer. The very first Surge Barker. The family was so proud.”
Rassolnik ignored this. The judge was scrabbling at the glass box ineffectually, his hands shaking as he fumbled about the base, trying to figure out how to detach the box and carry the codex away safely. The leaded glass container was bolted to the pedestal, which was in turn fastened to the floor.
Which made Max understand at last what was happening. “You want my ancestor’s notes, the ones in the margins. Did he see something important?”
Rassolnik continued to ignore Max, getting more and more frantic.
“Does this have to do with the Order?” Max wondered.
The judge visibly flinched.
Max’s wolf growled his confusion.
“Secret society,” Max explained, wondering if the judge thought him crazy since he kept explaining things to his dog. “Dad told me about it. Before I failed, of course. The Order was made up of quintessence scientists. My premier ancestor was there to observe the war, and when they bombed the beacon, he noted the consequences.”
Rassolnik said, absently, “He was there to observe the beacon, not the war.”
Max sighed, “You’re never going to get it out like that. You have to break the glass and risk exposure or leave it be. Or come back later with a bulldozer or something, after we start tearing apart the place. Take the whole pedestal then.”
“We?” The judge looked up.
“Oh, did I not tell you? I’m renting this house to a pack of werewolves. Father hated them too, just like you do. And I so love irony. This here is one of them – say hi, honey.”
And with that, he gave Bryan a nudge. His wolf charged.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bangs & Whimpers
Biff was following the conversation in a loose kind of way. He was an American werewolf, after all. Before World War I, werewolves had been outlawed in the US – after Super Saturation, they’d been integrated slowly. He’d no heritage or pack history to call upon. None of his pack were Old Ones. Not that he knew of, anyway.
But Biff did know the history of Super Saturation. Everyone did. Of how the world before had existed – quintessence trapped as a Sphere high above, people traveling within it in massive airships. Of how the British had floated mines inside this Sphere of Quintessence, trying to restrict German supplies and stop air travel during the Great War. And how one fateful accident, one exploded beacon, sparked a chain reaction and those mines destroyed the Sphere utterly. A whole world structured around Sphere-bound airships, gone forever. The entire planet had changed in one burning, raging shift. Thousands killed. Everyone traveling within the Sphere that day had died.
And quintessence was set free.
All this went through Biff’s mind as he charged the mage.
Rassolnik’s scream was gratifyingly terrified. Apparently, this man really didn’t like werewolves. Didn’t like them in a “killed my mother in front of me” kind of way. His eyes were wide and made vacant by some horrific memory, and he stank of pine and fear and coolant.
Hackles up, teeth exposed, Biff herded the trembling mage away from the pedestal and Max into the opposite corner of the room. The wolf didn’t want this stinky man near his mate or his mate’s funny round book. Rassolnik tried to flee – the wolf snapped at his heels and growled menacingly, keeping him penned.
The wolf settled into a guarding crouch, coiled and ready, his back to Max but his ears swiveled.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Max said. Biff heard him shift the wingback chair out of his way. No doubt he was looking down at the small round book under the thick glass.
The judge prepared a Surge, ready to cast it at Max over Biff’s head.
Max must have looked up and noticed because he said, “Really? In here? You’ve no idea how the enchantment will react. Even if it lets you cast, you think I can’t Place that? Don’t be an idiot.”
Movement again, and then his mate’s delicious smell as he crouched down and whispered in Biff’s ear. “Distract him. I’m going to break the glass and take pictures with my phone. Give me five minutes. Then we let him have it.”
The wolf didn’t like this idea at all. His mate would be exposed to radiation. Biff was prepared to savage-heal Max, but he wasn’t sure how well it would work on a sumage. Healing used quintessence, and by his very nature Max dispersed the stuff. I suppose I can run him to the hospital if I must. But too much radiation means death no matter what, even to a werewolf, and Max is a fragile human.
Rassolnik’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of Max cuddling up to a werewolf. His terror was still freezing him in place, but soon it would drive him from paralysis to desperate action. Biff flashed his teeth and growled again, trying to keep the judge numb with fear a little longer.
Max continued his hasty whispering. “I won’t touch it. There’s a lead page-turner for exactly this reason. Dad used to consult the darn thing regularly. Probably why he died young.”
Biff nudged him. This did not alleviate his concern.
“I’ll be careful.”
With a sigh, the wolf yipped and charged the judge. He reared up for the attack, blotting out the man’s field of vision and then forcing him sideways out the study’s open door and into the entranceway.
Rassolnik stumbled and crashed against a hall table, knocking it over. The glass bowl on top fell and shattered.
Redecorating already, Biff thought. The wolf figured his mate would be pleased. His mate didn’t like this house or its contents.
Rassolnik seemed unable to decide whether to fight or flee. He whirled to face Biff while still backing away from him. “What is a werewolf doing working with a sumage?”
Biff growled and charged again.
Rassolnik let out a high scream, then threw his hands up to protect his face.
The wolf grabbed his forearm. In an insistent toothy grip, he began to part force, part drag the now-kicking and screaming mage down the hall, intent on nothing more than keeping him away from Max.
Several pictures were knocked askew and then slid down the wall, frames cracking and splitting. A large mirror fell and shatt
ered.
Five minutes, my mate said.
Funnily enough, it’s pretty easy to distract a mage for five minutes, if you’re a two-hundred-pound wolf without a care for his surroundings. Destruction raged. Redecoration, the wolf reminded himself.
Rassolnik tried to cast a Surge, but the wolf tightened his teeth around the man’s arm, drawing blood. He made his intent very clear. I will snap off your hand if I have to. Surges had the advantage against werewolves up to a point, and that point was close physical contact.
Another table fell over. They were in the kitchen now. They crashed into a hutch full of china and it fell with a truly tremendous crash. Biff maintained his teeth’s grip on the man’s arm throughout.
Max’s voice rang out just after the hubbub.
“Darling? What are you doing? Stop playing with your food. Come along now, time for us to go.”
Biff let go of the mage and raced back to the study. Max was kneeling precariously on the seat of the wingback chair, leaning over the back and using the lead page turner to flip through the codex. He’d put his phone away but clearly wanted Rassolnik to witness him reading.
Max, you idiot! Now is not the time for you to shove crap in this man’s face.
Rassolnik skittered in then, bleeding and blustering. “I can bring charges, you know, against that monster. Shifters are under my jurisdiction, they’re…”
Max flipped a page of the codex with his lead stick, oh so casually. “You know these notes are gonna give you trouble. They’re in code.”
“Can you read it?” Rassolnik’s attention was refocused and his tone became more combative and less screechy.
Biff couldn’t hold himself in check anymore – he needed to speak to stop his mate, so he shifted form. “Max, don’t—”
Biff was a little surprised. He’d suspected that he might not be able to shift under an enchantment. Since he had, there must be available quintessence around them, which meant Rassolnik could Surge and Max could Place.
Rassolnik spat at naked Biff. “I’ll see you in jail for this. Attacking a judge, molesting a superior human, indecent exposure, fraternization with a sumage.”
Is that even a thing? wondered Biff, even as he charged the man again, intent on stopping him before he could Surge. The judge didn’t seem as scared of him in human form – he started to pull quintessence. Fortunately, Biff was a great deal physically stronger and faster than the judge. He whipped around the man, wrapping one arm across his neck from behind to limit his breathing and using the other to lock Rassolnik’s arms behind his back.
Max glanced at them briefly, then continued flippantly, apparently determined to dig his own grave. “Is that really necessary?”
“Unless you feel like Placing while you read. If I can shift here, there’s enough for him to cast.”
Max frowned. “Behave, Rassolnik.”
The judge sputtered under Biff’s stranglehold but stopped attempting to Surge.
Max answered the question Rassolnik had asked before Biff shifted. “I learned to read family code before I learned English or Japanese.”
Biff was impressed enough to say, “You read Japanese?”
“Let go of me, you disgusting creature,” wheezed Rassolnik, kicking at Biff’s shins.
Max smiled. “And German. I’m a regular old Rosetta Stone, darling.”
Biff figured they were in for it now. I’m probably going to have to kill this judge, and I do hate killing people. It’s so messy. Might as well try to find out what’s going on, though. “So, why does he want it?” He squeezed tighter and lifted Rassolnik off the floor, shaking him slightly in punctuation.
Max frowned, clearly frustrated, and flipped another page. “I don’t know. Like I said, old Grampity Gramps was at Saturation, with the Order, as a neutral observer or some such crap. It’s possible he predicted the beacon explosion.”
Max continued reading, frowning. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Inside Biff’s arms, Rassolnik collapsed with a groan. Either from lack of air or from realization that Max had figured it out.
“Forgive us the sins of our forefathers.” Max looked up from the codex and stared at the judge. His blue eyes were full of rage. “The Order knew.”
Biff shifted his grip on the judge, preparing to leap for his mate and protect him if necessary. “Knew what, baby?”
“They knew the beacon would set off the mines. They knew the destruction of the Sphere was likely. This notation here?” Max tapped the codex with his page-turner. “It’s like he was excited about it.”
Biff felt his breath shorten and his skin go clammy.
“He wanted it.” Max turned shocked eyes to his werewolf. “They all did.”
Biff tugged his own gaze away to stare at the judge’s face so close to his own. He was near purple from constricted breathing but his gaze was fierce and defiant.
Max said, “This codex isn’t a thing you want to use, it’s a thing you want to hide.”
* * *
Max felt sick, the bile rising, queasier then he had been while passing through the enchantment. For one hysterical moment, he thought he might vomit, right on the couch, in the same spot as when he was ten and his father kicked him in the stomach.
“Let him go, Bryan.”
Bryan lifted his eyebrows.
“I can Place whatever he throws, but I think he’s done for now.”
His werewolf didn’t look pleased but did as requested. Instantly moving across the room so he was close to Max, within touching distance. Yes. Max agreed with that. That felt right.
Rassolnik coughed a few times and stood up, shaking and furious and glaring at Bryan. But he did not move his hands to call quintessence into a Surge.
Max glared at him. “I come from a long and glorious line of right bastards, but this really takes it, doesn’t it?” He turned to Bryan. Wanting something. Absolution. Or perhaps condemnation.
His werewolf was all sympathy.
How dare he not be horrified? How does a man escape a family sin like this? I guess it’s good I won’t have children, because I dare not pass on this level of douchebaggery.
“Do you know what he did? My illustrious ancestor and his little Order buddies? The first ones? Those first civic mages?”
The werewolf shook his head. Bryan’s hazel eyes were fixed on Max’s face. As if they might hold Max secure, hold him tethered to a spinning rock.
A rock that had once had a Sphere of Quintessence.
A Sphere that had been blown open by stupid men with too many weapons. That destroyed airships and scorched humanity the world over. That released quintessence onto the world and changed the fabric of life.
“Do you know what they did?”
The judge said, “Don’t.”
Bryan spoke, softly, anchoring Max with his eyes. “What did they do, baby?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. They wanted it. They let it happen. They encouraged it. All those people died, for this!” Max made a disgusted, shaky gesture at himself. Trying to encompass it all, the breeding program, and the fucked-up power, and the pain of his trace lines, and the misery of his existence.
Max jerked free of his reliance on Bryan’s kind eyes and turned on Rassolnik. “And you call werewolves monsters. My greatest grandfather whatever-the-fuck sat back and watched the world burn, for personal gain. Is there anything more disgusting? How many families were involved in the Order? Yours too, I take it? A dozen others, perhaps? And this is what you want out of my father’s house? You want this to die with history? That our ancestors allowed mass murder?”
“Yes, we want it to die. And now you have to die too. You couldn’t have just let me have the codex? You had to read it.”
Max narrowed his eyes at the man. Rassolnik might be a Surge, but Max had a werewolf on his side, and somehow that seemed enough.
Bryan’s eyes were shimmering into yellow and his teeth had elongated, as if he wanted to shift back to wolf form. That too felt right. Max jum
ped off the chair and moved to him, rested a hand on his lover’s arm, nodded his head. Bryan shifted forms under his touch. First, savage particles coalesced about his werewolf as invisible tingles of quintessence – to Max these felt irregular and wild, but not hostile. His tracers didn’t spark. It was almost…nice, like bathing in soda. Second, Bryan’s flesh went weirdly liquid under Max’s hand, not wet, just liquid. And then his fingers were resting on the furry shoulder of a mottled cream-colored wolf.
Max kept talking – he hadn’t yet got everything he needed out of the judge yet. “You promised me you’d show me what my father was after. Why he made me.”
“I don’t need to show you anything. I can tell you. Fourth mage type, of course. Isn’t that what we’re all after? Magistar. Full control of quintessence. Everyone’s dream. I’ve four children and every one of them a civic mage – one is even a Surge. But no Magistar. At least I didn’t breed any duds.”
“I figured as much. You really think that’s how Magistars are made, by breeding Surges? Like some weird kind of civic super mage?” Max threaded his fingers deeper into thick, coarse fur. Didn’t care how much he loved it. Hated how much he needed it.
“You have a better idea?”
“Study a Magistar? Oh wait, you can’t. They won’t let you near and they don’t need to play nice, do they? Must drive you nuts, that.”
Rassolnik’s face flushed with rage and he hurled a Surge at Max. It was quickly formed and vibrated with energy. Max braced himself to burn, but it just snuffed out against him with a loud crack. There was no pain, not even the slight tingling of inactive quintessence. It was almost like he’d absorbed it into himself harmlessly. It didn’t feel like he’d made a shield. Not that Max would know that feeling, but his father had described the cast to him. And he certainly hadn’t Placed it.
Beneath his hand, the wolf shuddered once, as though Bryan felt it. But he didn’t stumble or fall or howl in pain as an unprotected werewolf might when hit by a Surge.
Weird. “How often can you cast, Rassolnik? Because I’m a Placer and it may hurt, but I can disPlace every single one.” There was no point in revealing the curious goings-on of his abilities. It’s probably the enchantment messing with me.
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