"When are we making our move?" he asked.
"Not sure. Gotta recon that house. Lots of bodies coming and going, and I think it'll give us our best shot at catching a good chunk of them together in one unholy cluster. Slice that head, maybe the body dies, and we're heroes."
John offered a creepy smile. It was hard to say if he liked the plan or loathed it.
"Only problem," Amanda said. "Is no matter how many of them are bunched together, there's bound to be plenty of strays. No matter where you're sniping from, I can't guarantee your safety."
"Let me worry about that. If Dexter sent everything, then I should have a nice bag of tricks."
Music to her ears.
John lifted himself over Amanda's shoulder, baffled by Jack's presence. He was hard at work on his second kiwi; the fuzz was a pile of brown shards at his feet.
"Boyfriend?" John asked with perverted glee.
Amanda turned and saw shredded green fruit stuck to his lips. He looked about as capable as the Gerber baby, though it was easy to forget he'd saved her life.
"Obviously," she said.
"Well, dump him. We can't take him into a war zone."
"I've tried. He's got friends there. He'll just follow the bricks that we tell him to hit."
"Great." Fontaine peeked beneath the tarp.
He wasn't an intimidating guy. His physical presence was probably more unassuming than hers. His skin was pasty, his eyes encrusted with white calcium deposits. There was zero muscle tone to his build and the blonde, unkempt hair rivaled the disaster Chia-petting out of Jack's head. He prided himself on being a professional, same as Amanda, but he looked more like a plumber: dressed in tight blue jeans and an inconspicuous white t-shirt.
"You should both hear this." He motioned for them to huddle. "Got a call from the priest. This is how it is: nobody probably thinks much of a town called Greifsfield out this way. Heck, look at a map. You'll see a Pittsfield and a Springfield within driving distance. At first glance, Greifsfield fits the area like a glove, right?"
"Go on." Amanda tried to ignore the drowning feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"So the padre has access to Vatican archives, deep stuff we'll never see. Took him the better part of two weeks to find a reference to this place, but he did. You know that Dex will send a guy to outer space if he needs a bird's eye view of the situation. So, officially, puritans founded Greifsfield in 1737. Again, normal for this area."
Amanda chomped on the orange even though her stomach no longer wanted it. Her heart pumped as petty feelings surfaced amidst the terror—hard to believe she could worry about that now. It was annoying that padre had given this information to John and not her. Felt like he was taking her out of the game."
Fontaine went on, "Greifsfield was on the radar for a while back in the day. It can be traced back to a German village in the mid-17th century...a place called Greifswald."
"I hate where this is headed," Jack said.
Amanda agreed. Because the church had decided it best to suppress a nasty piece of European history, she'd been allowed to waltz into a den of rabid dogs. The Vatican knew it was here but didn't want to police it? It was hard enough to serve the greater good without some higher power making you feel expendable.
"Tell us about Greifswald, Fontaine."
"Getting there. As I was saying, Greifswald, Germany was, by some specific accounts, home to an endless scourge of wolves. You can find the story on the Internet, though I'm guessing the padre had to go to the books to validate it. Anyway, the things overran the town, wreaking all kinds of havoc. People barred their doors, boarded their windows, and lived in fear of the howling outside their walls for the better part of sixty years. Sixty. Years."
"I get it," Amanda said. "A long time."
"Yeah, a lot of people turned. Friends against friends, family lines drawn...chaos, and getting worse with every passing season. Finally, couple of scholars figured out a way to fight back. Because trust was a dwindling commodity, they moved in secret to collect all the silver they could get their hands on. At night, they melted it down into ammo for their guns, created makeshift blades...anything that could cut through wolf hide. In the hours just before dawn, they fought back, breaking from their confines, armed to the teeth. Several creatures were killed, and the remaining ones fled for the hills just before daybreak. It took one week to rid Greifswald of the creatures and," his voice rose with excitement. "You get one guess as to where they ended up. And when."
"They came here?" Jack was in disbelief.
"Weren't too subtle about their name change, either," Amanda said. "Maybe they'll go someplace else once this is over."
"Leaving someone else to deal with this in a few hundred years?" Jack said.
"Hopefully it doesn't come to that," Fontaine said. "Wolves have been a part of Greifsfield for centuries without incident. Something must be causing the influx of activity."
"The Sarandon House," Jack blurted out. That's the house you're talking about.
Amanda's brow wrinkled. Her mouth sprung open to question the legitimacy of Jack's information, but he continued without her having to ask.
"Anton Fane lives there," he said. "He's at the top of whatever's happening. Got a text from Lucy. I still don't know if she's in trouble, but she said that Fane lives in that house and that he's planning to turn the whole town." Then he added, "That's all she said."
Amanda felt satisfied with that information.
"Sounds like someone wants you to drop by the Sarandon House." Fontaine folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. "See, they're feeding us bad intel through her. I told you, we gotta cut him loose."
Fontaine was right, and Amanda hated admitting that. But Jack's loyalty might've become a liability that she hadn't fully considered. She wanted to think they were over the idea of another slugfest at the mouth of a turning wolf, but if they encountered Lucy in the hairy flesh, it was going to be round two, and she'd have no choice but to take him down.
"No way," Jack said. "I've come too far."
"Way too far," Fontaine said. "Time to catch a bus."
Amanda found it hard to take that final step and send Jack packing. She and Fontaine could wield every weapon in the world and, as soon as the wolves realized their assault was only two strong, they'd be cut down immediately. Maybe a third body only extended their chances by a sliver, but that could be the difference between sinking and swimming.
Amanda knew her chances of survival were so abysmal that they couldn't even be flagged as odds. Her fate was sealed, but Jack had a choice. Saving his might count in the next one.
"Jeeze, Church," Fontaine said. "You look like you're already dead."
Might as well be.
"Alright," she said. "At dawn, I'll show you the target and we'll formulate our plan. More importantly, we establish an escape route. And I have to talk to Dexter."
Fontaine nodded. "Told me to have you call him as soon as I was done giving you the good news."
Amanda turned to Jack. "We're dropping you at the nearest bus station. You've helped me a lot, and I thank you for it, but I can't keep an eye out for you once the bullets start flying."
"I never asked you to look out for me," Jack said. "Tomorrow, when you're off doing your thing, I'll be off doing mine."
Amanda was too tired to argue. She motioned for him to get back in the truck and followed close.
"Pittsfield seems like a nice place to stay," Fontaine called as he headed back to his vehicle. "It's a thirty minute drive, but it doesn't feel like we've gone two hundred years back in time, either."
She nodded and followed.
Eleven
The forest was thick, almost impassable. Her moccasins fell on littered pine needles as she brushed through an endless string of brambles. The sun pushed into the early morning sky, bringing streams of light over the endless treetops.
Elisabeth hadn't been here in years.
No way of telling how long, exactly, but it felt
like a lifetime ago—had television been invented yet? That memory was foggy and irretrievable, though she remembered him pleading with her to leave and never return. It was an odd way to treat a friend, and she wondered if he'd still consider her one.
Navigating this mess as an animal would've been easier, but the still-healing headshot had taken more energy than expected. Even the simplest of tasks exhausted her—the only reason she'd allowed Allen to take Eastman's life. She'd needed to speak to him, human to human, and didn't trust her other side to surface timely to put him out of his misery.
Killing Eastman delivered short-lived satisfaction, one that resigned itself as soon as Allen lobbied to spend the night back at the Gleason house. Fane was most likely occupied with his Turning, but she did not like being in such close proximity knowing they were now enemies.
Allen couldn't grasp the severity of the situation, making proclamations of strength and delivering professions of romantic love that irritated her. Arrogance. The wolf established a great foothold in him, but his emotions were inconsistent and unchecked. It would take time for him to settle into his duplicitous skin and realize how vulnerable he was.
He'd even insisted on joining her this morning. For 'protection.' An endearing but ridiculous gesture.
Greifsfield had descended into the palm of Anton Fane, and they weren't safe because of it. He wouldn't be expecting them to slip back into town and take shelter at her former residence, though. Which was why she was comfortable with leaving Allen while she came out here. Things needed to be set in motion.
Elisabeth's ears pointed her east, detecting running water ahead. The thick brush yielded, giving way to a narrow trail. She treaded with caution, her hand resting upon the hilt of her bone knife. She wouldn't hesitate to use it but hopefully it didn't come to that. Hopefully Mason still considered her a friend.
Wolf scents were strong. Fur and dander pulsed inside her nostrils. She wasn't alone out here, rocking on the balls of her ankles and narrowing her eyes into guarded slits as her body braced for what might come.
The knife lifted in inch from its sheath.
What if Fane had gotten here first? It wasn't exactly Greifsfield, but fifty miles north of it. If the bastard wanted maximum recruitment it wasn't outside the realm that he'd extend his reach out this far—especially to get an old soul like Mason.
Fane's boys couldn't be out this deep, though. They had too much to worry about. Fane was paranoid and vengeful, but she was just a blip on his radar. That was the arrogance she'd exploit. He didn't expect the once-huntress to bypass established hierarchy and betray him. He figured her shackled to Alina's traditions.
Traditions that Elisabeth Luna had put away long ago.
She continued to harbor fondness for the queen and her dominance, but Anton Fane was a different story. Loyalty to him died a millennium ago.
A narrow snout poked out of a nearby bush and bulging yellow eyes followed. Elisabeth leapt back, startled. The wolf emerged and stood on its hind legs, wide enough that the peripheral forest fell away, leaving her staring at the enormous torso and chiseled shoulders. Mason made no indication of recognition.
But he didn't attack, either.
He only circled, moving around her on his hinds. Saliva trailed from jagged butcher's grin. His dark mane was interlaced with bristles of grey, and his head featured a patterned swirl of jet-black fur streaked with silver.
A beautiful, distinguished creature.
"Mason..."
The wolf snapped toward her and paused. He fell to all fours and growled, pushing his face up against hers. There was nothing to fear, Elisabeth knew, though she felt her heartbeat quicken and her limbs quiver all the same. The wolf pulled back, brushing against her legs and moving around her body in a close circle.
Elisabeth smiled and relaxed, glad there would be no struggle today. Her body wasn't ready, and she didn't think she'd be able to easily best the old friend. She rustled the hair on his head and the creature panted approval.
A spasm of change surged through him and he dropped to the dirt. His height and weight shrunk before her. The thick coat of dark fur retracted into follicles, revealing deep black skin underneath.
She knelt and pressed a soft hand against his chest. "Relax, Mason. Breathe." Regressing on request wasn't easy. It required considerable willpower and still, was only achievable with great self-control. Elisabeth had trouble doing it with any consistency, although she'd lived long enough to train her body to accept it as a regular, if painful, function.
The wolf had left Mason, leaving a shivering husk behind. His clenched eyes cracked open, re-adjusting to the limited vision while the boils and pustules melted back into his mocha skin.
"I really hate this body," he said, taking deep breaths as his ribcage restricted between loud snaps.
She cocked a playful eyebrow and looked him over once he finally stood, using a tree to regain equilibrium. "It does not look so bad to me."
"I never understood this about you, you know. I ain't been walking two worlds nearly as long, but I've had my fill of these...limitations. Changin' to and fro...that's the real bitch."
"Some might even call it a curse."
"Why I want to be a man when everything hurts so much less as a wolf? Only turn back to arrange my thoughts, ya know? Too many hours as a beast and I can only think like one. Hate living in this skin, but I ain't trading in my memories, either. Only thing I got left that brings me happiness."
Elisabeth wished to hell that he'd lose them. It'd go a long way toward making her feel less guilty about what had happened. Mason was one of the few memories that she felt remorse over. Now was not the time to wallow in it, though it pegged her all the same.
"You need to find the balance," she said. "Wolf and woman can exist together."
He winced while rubbing his temples in slow rings. He sighed at her words. Once his discomfort passed, he looked her up and down. "Damn good to see you, Huntress."
She was glad to hear it. Her heart loosened at the encouragement. Time healed all wounds, she pressed her fingers to her necklace—a reminder that she was living proof of that, and hoped that Mason had finally passed enough of it to be cured.
Or at least healed enough so that Elisabeth no longer felt like a monster. Deep down, she resented feeling like this at all. Never was big on apologizing for what she was.
"It wasn't nostalgia that brought you calling, right?" He said.
"I have no one else to turn to. Will you hear what I have to say?"
"My home is not far. Please join me in walking there so I may mask my pride and offer you what little hospitality I have."
"I'd like that," she said.
The trail brushed up against a lake, mud closed around her shoes as they veered into thick brush, trudging through until they reached a small clearing. A wood cabin surrounded by layers of green brush on three sides stood before them, looking ready to be swallowed whole by the forest.
Elisabeth felt this was the sort of place she should've made her home: simple, quaint, and at one with its surroundings. A bold contrast to the temple of modernity she'd taken as residence. Until now, she considered herself in touch with her past. Old school, as Allen called it. The truth was that she'd grown accustomed to the modern world and its advances. Fast cars, plasma televisions, and Keurig, especially (strong coffee was ideal for those mornings when the spent body refused to accept that it had been a gigantic beast just hours earlier).
She balanced this by wallowing in the woefully outdated tradition of stone washing. She hated it, but it was the only way to remember her roots. To stay pure. In reality, Elisabeth knew that she was punishing herself for becoming a walking contradiction. It was a way to pretend she still cared about traditions, while only adhering to select few.
Why not change with the times?
You sound like Fane.
She followed Mason inside where he hoisted a pair of ripped pants up to his waist. "I have tea." He lifted a kettle off a small w
ood stove. "Join me?"
"Of course."
It was served in a thick wood goblet and its flavor was something she was not accustomed to.
"From the Dark Continent," he said. "Roobios. Naturally fermented leaf and stem scrapings."
"Delicious." It stung with powerful sweetness. "I would not think this is very easy to come by in North America, let alone Western Massachusetts."
"In its purest form, you cannot. There are many tea companies that offer diluted versions, but what you drink comes from directly beneath the South African sun. You have good timing, my friend. You come here not long after I have returned from sabbatical—back from my mother's country. This tea is one of the few things I cared to take with me, as it jogs some of my earliest memories. The ones in danger of falling out the back of my head."
I know the feeling.
She wanted to catch up with Mason, but the day couldn't be spent this way. Being with him continued to rile her stomach with nausea. She hoped he had moved beyond self-imposed exile (another way they were similar), but this man had nothing. It hadn't always been that way, and she'd been somewhat responsible for taking what little he did have. He didn't live in squalor because he wanted to, but because he wasn't through punishing himself yet.
Elisabeth tried to wipe the pity off her face before Mason took note, but her brow felt heavy and he hadn't taken his eyes off her.
"A question," she said, eager to fill the silence with something. "Have you ever heard the cries of our brothers and sisters at night."
"Far too many. They are amassing here."
"I have heard this as well. A few days ago I was approached by an old acquaintance...one that goes back beyond you and I. He wanted to recruit me into a consortium."
"I have no interest in this," he said.
"Me either, Mason."
"I came here when it was nothing but nature. I knew our kind lived in the dark places...we kept to ourselves and, more importantly, we kept to the night. Now, the howls are ever present, day or night, it does not seem to matter. No good can come from such boldness, but as long as I am left alone, I will take no side."
Feral Page 32