by Laura Taylor
But Genna was finding it hard to feel much sorrow for Lita’s passing. Perhaps at first, she’d been coerced into her role by Sempre’s manipulations, but in her later years, she’d embraced the blood rituals wholeheartedly, lending her own powers of coercion and manipulation to Sempre’s quest for power.
The pack as a whole seemed more stunned than saddened by her death, a thick silence having descended on the pack when the announcement was made. The funeral pyre had been set up quickly, the prayers to Sirius commencing the instant the sun had set, and now it was fully dark, the night warm and humid, as summer was not quite over for the year.
“With Lita’s passing, I nominate Feriur as my new second in command,” Sempre said, as the funeral pyre continued to burn before them. “I expect you to show her the same respect and obedience that you showed Lita.” With that final announcement, she turned and walked away, leaving the rest of the pack to tend the fire and scatter the ashes, once it had burned out.
Closeted away in the library of their Italian villa, the Council members were seated around a long table, locked in a debate that had lasted for three days so far. Now that the Russian Den had successfully been relocated and that small section of the war wrapped up, the Council had finally turned their attention to the other important matter weighing on all of their minds: the proposed plan to take the shifter nation public.
Over the past three days, they’d discussed the idea from every possible angle, and so far the only thing everyone could agree on was that the situation was unbearably complicated. Expanding their numbers to meet the Noturatii’s opposition would require significant time and resources, both in terms of manpower for recruiting and training the new members, and the financial weight of their upkeep. Exposing the shifters to the public breached the Treaty of Erim Kai Bahn, or rather nullified it, as the whole purpose of the Treaty had been to keep the wolves safe and hidden in the face of overwhelmingly negative public sentiment about their existence. And if the Treaty was nullified, there was a very real risk of war with the Grey Watch. There was also the risk of retaliation from the Noturatii, once they figured out what the shifters were planning, and even dissent from within their own Dens, as not every wolf in Il Trosa would agree with a plan to go public, despite the growing unrest about their current course in the Endless War.
“The Grey Watch should have a say in this plan, I agree,” Paula was saying, “but they don’t have any form of centralised governance that we can appeal to. It would be a case of asking each and every pack individually, which would take an enormous amount of time, and the chances of them actually reaching a consensus on the issue seem slim at best.”
“It’s not just the Grey Watch,” Feng added. “There are the other shifter species to consider. If we expose the wolves, it only takes one person to ask the rather obvious question of whether there are any other species of shifter on the planet, and then the cats could be exposed. We could end up at war with Asia.”
“Or with North America,” Elise reminded them. “And if that happened, we would most definitely lose.”
A tense silence descended on the room, nobody liking the latest assessment of the overwhelming risks they were facing. The quiet was broken only by the faint rustle of paper being shuffled and the restless fidgeting of tired bodies. Someone cleared their throat.
“Okay, let’s ask a slightly different question,” Rafael spoke up finally. “What we need to think about is what’s going to happen to the wolf shifters if we do nothing. We’ve spent the past ten years debating this issue, in various forms, and we’ve considered numerous strategies in that time. The idea of going public has come up repeatedly, and we’ve always found a reason to reject it, but we’ve never found a viable alternative. We lost an entire Den, just a few weeks ago in Russia. We lost the estate for the Scottish Densmeet over the summer. We lost a member of this Council last spring. Leaving aside for the moment the question of exactly what we do next, can any of you honestly tell me that you think we can afford to continue keeping our heads down and hoping for the best?”
The already grim atmosphere became even more severe, as everyone slowly shook their heads.
“Rafael is right,” Feng agreed. “The time has come to make some hard decisions. We must choose a decisive course of action if we are to survive.”
“Philosophically speaking,” Paula spoke up, “being open with humanity about our abilities isn’t a new thing. For thousands of years, the shifters lived alongside humanity, in peace, and with a deep mutual respect for each other. It’s only in the past six hundred years that that’s changed, which, if you look at the whole of human history, is not all that long.”
“In principle, North America should have no objection to us going public,” Elise mused. “They run their own affairs, as we do ours. There have never been any contracts or treaties between the different shifter species. And the same applies to Asia. We hold no grudge against the cats, but we owe them nothing, either. And we need to remember there’s a big difference between a random member of the public asking the question ‘Are there any others?’, and us pointing a neon sign at Asia and saying ‘Hey, look here, there are cat shifters everywhere!’ I think first and foremost, we need to agree that there should be no deliberate attempts to expose any other species, but beyond that, we cannot take responsibility for every other shifter on the planet.”
“May I point out another issue?” The diffident question came from Yegor, a Russian man and the newest member of the Council, who had been chosen to replace Amedea, the Councillor who had died in the spring. He was still finding his feet in his new role, hesitant to speak up, but Eleanor was glad to see him getting involved in the discussion now, and she nodded for him to continue. “Something we must consider,” Yegor said, “which is going to force our hand one way or another, is that technology is advancing faster than we can keep up with. Sooner or later, there’s going to be a public leak that we can’t control. All it takes is someone with an iPhone and thirty seconds of decent footage, and six hundred years of hard work is down the drain. Now, we can prepare for that day, create contingency plans, work to gain public support behind the scenes so that when it does happen we have a solid base to work from, or we can pretend this is not an issue and then stand around laying blame on each other while our entire history burns around us.”
It was unpleasant to hear their situation summed up in such neatly catastrophic terms, but Eleanor also had to admire Yegor for having the courage to say it out loud. Perhaps, over the past few years, the Council had been rather inclined to bury their heads in the sand, and a new voice, a fresh perspective on the world was what was needed to make them all sit up and pay attention.
“I believe Rafael and Yegor are both right,” Eleanor spoke up finally. “We’ve reached the point where we can no longer bide our time and do nothing. Some day soon, the rest of the world is going to take that decision out of our hands. And I, for one, believe that Andre’s plan for a slow, careful ‘coming out’ is the best chance we have for survival.”
“A plan of slow steps over several years has many benefits,” Feng agreed. “At each step of the way, we can re-examine the success or failure of each strategy and make the necessary adjustments. I believe it is time we put this idea to a vote. We’ve spent three days talking about this, and we all understand both the risks and the benefits by now.”
A murmur of agreement met the suggestion, so Eleanor called the vote. “Those in favour of beginning a controlled plan to go public?” She counted the raised hands. “Those against? The vote is called. Nine for, three against. All right then, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s talk about how we’re going to break this to the Grey Watch…”
Melissa sat in her office in the Noturatii’s lab, the room silent around her. After Jacob’s death, there had been little going on, with the staff waiting for official orders as to who would be Jacob’s replacement, and which of their projects should continue or be shut down. Melissa herself had been fighting off a strong feel
ing of desolation since Professor Banks’ death, though she had been far less upset about Jacob. Their former Chief of Operations had been a brilliant man, there was no doubt about that. But he’d also been domineering, petty and, in Melissa’s opinion, short sighted about some of their goals. As far as she was concerned, the worst part about his death was having to acknowledge that the shifters had once again outwitted them. Aside from that, it was just another bump in the road, their path to be smoothed over again as soon as headquarters got around to assigning someone as his replacement.
But the loss of Professor Banks was a far more concerning issue. Despite his last pep talk in his car, encouraging her to open her mind to the possibilities of her research, his death had put a serious dent in her enthusiasm. Doctor Evans had been absolutely speechless when she’d been told, unable to form a sentence for a full five minutes. The other scientists had taken the news with calm resolve. Such losses were always difficult, but were not a wholly unexpected part of their lives. The Noturatii were at war, after all.
Checking the time, Melissa opened her laptop and set up a secure link through to headquarters. She’d filed a report on the assassination the same day as it had occurred, as she was the only real witness to the events in the apartment block carpark, though even her account of the battle was sketchy. She’d been too busy trying to stay alive to pay attention to the finer details. But the important facts had all been in her report, including one pertinent and startling discovery: Jack Miller, once presumed dead, was well and truly alive, not only having joined the shifters, but actually having become one of them. Melissa had all but fainted in shock when she’d seen him shift, helped into the van by that huge brute of a man who’d led the raid on their laboratory complex all those months ago.
Now, she had been asked to attend a video call with some of the senior staff from Germany. No doubt they would want to question her more thoroughly about the assassination.
“Good afternoon,” she said politely, when the call came through. “Mr Bosch. Mr Winter. Mr Gerber.” The three men were among the officials who ran the German head office, highly experienced and intelligent men, and she braced herself for a thorough debriefing.
“Good afternoon, Ms Hunter,” Mr Winter addressed her first. “Let me say first of all that we greatly appreciate your report about Jacob Green’s death. It was disappointing to realise how easily the shifters breached our security, and we’ve ordered a full review of procedures.”
Melissa nodded, feeling a small satisfaction at the news. That the shifters had managed to get all the way inside their complex without raising the slightest suspicion was unsettling, to say the least.
“But aside from that,” Mr Bosch took over, “we wanted to inform you that we’ve chosen a replacement for Jacob.” He gave her a look of smug satisfaction, and Melissa waited with curiosity to find out who her new boss was going to be. She hoped it would be someone with a sense of vision and urgency. “We’d like you to take his place.”
Melissa’s jaw dropped. She looked from one grey, wrinkled face to the next. “Me?” She was too stunned by the announcement to even pretend to be pleased. “Why me? I’m too young. I haven’t made any real advances in the lab. I’m not even the head of my department. Why would you choose me?”
Bosch looked put out by her questions, and his bushy eyebrows bunched together in a tight frown. “Are you saying you don’t want the position?” he asked, a hint of disdain in his voice now.
“No, not at all. I’d be honoured to be Chief of Operations,” Melissa assured him hastily, getting over the shock of it a little. “I’m very sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to sound rude. I just wasn’t expecting this.”
“It’s true, you are rather less experienced than the majority of people who hold this sort of position,” Mr Gerber told her. “But after some careful consideration, we’re confident that you’re the right person for the job. You’ve proven yourself to be resourceful in the lab – both with your work on the conversion project, and with your ideas on your latest experiments. We read your suggestions on weapons training for non-security staff with great interest. Your ideas show a firm dedication to our cause and a capacity for long range planning. And you’ve managed to survive not one, but two attacks on the Noturatii’s facilities in the recent past. All of that points to a most resourceful and insightful employee. As I’ve often said, skills can be taught, but the right attitude is the mark of a real winner.”
“I’m honoured, sir,” Melissa said, feeling a flush of pleasure at their open praise for her efforts over the last few months.
“We’ll make an official announcement in the next day or two,” Mr Bosch said, “but we wanted to let you know first. I’ll be forwarding you your new contract, and I’ll expect a signed copy to be returned to me by the end of the afternoon.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll get right on it. And thank you.” She smiled, her mind already running over all the plans she would make, all the projects that would advance their cause. All the shifters who would die as a result of her efforts. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Andre sat at his computer in his and Caroline’s bedroom, gazing at the twelve miniaturised faces of the Council members on the screen.
“What news?” Eleanor asked Andre, after he’d formally greeted the Council.
“A rather unexpected development,” Andre told them. “And one that perhaps I should have picked up on sooner, though there have been plenty of dramas to keep me distracted. I apologise.” He took a breath, and then told them his news, not bothering to sugar coat the situation. “The Black Wolf has risen,” he said flatly. “Jack Miller. We don’t have a copy of the prophecy in the old language in this Den, but I had a brief look at the text over the summer, while we were in Scotland, and I checked the English translation this morning. He fits the bill perfectly. His wolf is jet black, barely a grey hair on him anywhere. He was our enemy, as stated by the prophecy, and he betrayed the Noturatii to become our ally. And he was converted in a lightning storm – ‘forged of lightning’, as the text puts it.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Eleanor said quickly. “I’ll need a copy of the prophecy before we continue.” She got up quickly and disappeared from the screen, then was back two minutes later with a thick book in her hands. She flicked through it until she found the appropriate passage. “Negur Ulis, the Black Wolf,” she said, when she found the page. “Forged of lightning, betrays our enemies… What of this next part?” she asked, showing her fellow Councillors the passage. “He will ‘cast down the Man of Jars’.”
“Professor Ivor Banks,” Andre replied, feeling a shiver run down his spine just at the mention of the man’s name. “There was an assassin who broke into his lab twenty years ago, before he was promoted to become the head of science for the whole of the Noturatii. Even back then, he had a penchant for dissecting shifters, and keeping body parts in jars. Maybe we should have picked up on that years ago, but the prophecy of Negur Ulis is an obscure one. No one looks at it much. But it’s obvious, when you can see the whole picture.”
“We received Baron’s report on the assassination,” Eleanor confirmed. “And it’s a relief to know that Banks is dead. We would have liked to send an assassin to take him out years ago, but security around the German office is just too tight.” She let out a long sigh. “Can I assume you’ve also read the rest of the prophecy?”
“I have,” Andre said, his tone confirming that he knew the particular passage Eleanor was referring to. “The prophecy has been notoriously difficult to translate, and the accepted version states that the Black Wolf will arise between two performances of the Eil-Mei-Kyntrosi.” The ‘Chant of Gathering Shifters’ was the most sacred of shifter ceremonies, calling all the shifters of a single species together in one place, via an electromagnetic beacon visible only to those who possessed the shifter magic. The last time it had been performed had been in the middle ages, a reaction to the imminent extinction of the wolves, and
an open declaration that the shifters were facing the most dire of emergencies. “But what is less well known – and still debated by some of our scholars – is that the second occurrence of the Kyntrosi will occur within the Black Wolf’s lifetime.”
Twelve stern, worried faces stared back at him from beyond the computer screen, a heavy silence weighing on them all. “So Fenrae-Ul has returned,” Eleanor summarised. “The Council has set in motion a plan to take the shifters public, over a period of years; a desperate move by anyone’s standards, but our only chance to win this war, and now we find that, sometime in the next few decades, we shall have cause to bring the entire shifter nation together in one place.” She glanced at the Councillors around her, fear and trepidation on all their faces. “There are three thousand wolves in Il Trosa, and nearly as many in the Grey Watch. I can think of very few purposes for that sort of event. Most likely is that we lose significant numbers, and have to band together once again, as we did in the middle ages. Or, if our numbers hold, then the only reason for six thousand wolves to come together is to fight the mother of all battles.” She took a shaky breath, fighting for control. “Every single move we make seems only to damn ourselves further.”
Andre rubbed his eyes. He refused to believe that the end of the wolf shifters was imminent. But even he had to admit that the recent convergence of events was difficult to ignore. “If the wolves truly have an expiration date, then all the plans and weapons and contingencies in the world will not change our fate,” he conceded finally. “But I, for one, intend to go down fighting.”
“It’s a noble sentiment,” Eleanor said, sounding tired and irritated at the same time. “But as we all know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”