Alphas for the Holidays

by Mandy M. Roth

  She passed no one, of course. Even during the day this part of campus was quiet. Now it was like a tomb

  Soft moonlight bathed the stone monuments.

  Bonnie felt the same hum of electricity in the air she had the night before - a haunting feeling, but somehow not a dangerous one.

  Carefully, she stepped down the rows of benches, to the stage below.

  Her pulse quickened. She felt as if she were in the dream again, though the biting cold reminded her she was very much awake.

  Her eyes darted along the line of shadows at the edge of the trees, but nothing stirred.

  Maybe she was taking this too far. Maybe she just needed to go home and forget about the whole thing for a while.

  A quick movement in the shadows cut short her thoughts.

  Bonnie was surprised to feel relief rather than fear.

  A small shape made its way toward her along the line of shadows.

  She kept as still as she could, holding her breath so as not to startle her visitor.

  Before her eyes, it stepped out of the darkness on spindly legs, ears back. The perfect shadow of a doe.

  In her periphery, another shadow hopped into the circle of light on the grassy stage.

  A winged shape appeared to glide across the grass.

  The woods were alive with the silhouettes of animals.

  Bonnie’s wolf lifted her nose excitedly.

  The fox was coming.

  She turned to see him approach from the steps above. Had he been following her, instead of staying with the other shadow creatures in the woods?

  A trick of the light seemed to change his shape, making him appear taller.

  No. Not a trick.

  He was shifting.

  By the time the shadow reached the stage, he was no longer the shadow of a fox, but the shadow of a man.

  Bonnie waited, her mind swirling. The amphitheater, the menagerie of shadow creatures, the whole world dropped away.

  There was only this man.

  She held her breath as the shadow stepped into her.

  Chapter 10

  Bonnie’s world disappeared.

  A rush of sounds and smells assaulted her. Different places. Different times. She stood in an airplane terminal, waited in a train station with a huge clock, rode in a taxi cab, then a horse and carriage, mounted a galloping horse with the wind in her hair, crested the peak of a huge mountain. Voices called to her, crowds screaming, children laughing, a single wolf howling in the trees.

  Everything went black.

  Then she opened her eyes.

  She was Tokala.

  Somehow, he had transported her to his world. His time.

  But there was no chance to take in the feel of the world through his eyes.

  Ice ran in their shared veins.

  Their tribe was being wiped out.

  They had survived the famines, the attacks of the other tribes, the arrival of the men from across the sea. They had resisted the great migration.

  And now, they were all dying.

  Just a few hours ago, Tokala had heard the scream of the watchman, a grandfather of a man, who taught Tokala to set traps when he was a boy and who loved nothing more than to sing the old songs.

  He would sing them no more.

  As the tribe shivered inside the meeting house, the chief and his head warrior had gone out to see what was wrong. There were no screams at all. Only the thick silence of the thing outside, a black cloud, swirling and hungry. They glimpsed it through a crack in the door.

  And so they had turned to Tokala, the shaman, the clever fox, to save them from their plight.

  Tokala who showed such promise. Tokala who was kind and brave.

  But the cunning of the fox could not save them from the hunger of the evil swirling at the door.

  Under Tokala’s instruction, the remaining members of the tribe filled their packs with supplies from the stores of the meetinghouse.

  Tokala’s own pack held no food. He knew in his heart there would be no need. None of them would escape this day.

  Instead, he filled his pack with wooden animals, small, hand-carved and lovely.

  And a stone tomahawk. It was a gift from his father, the shaman before him.

  The pack was both heavy and comforting in the cold night.

  Tokala circled the small group as they ran, keeping them close.

  One or two were taken right away.

  The young woman who nursed the sick stumbled on a stone and fell to her knees.

  The cloud devoured her in an instant.

  When her spirit animal, the beautiful dove, rose from the place where her body had been, the cloud plucked it from the air and inhaled it with a hiss.

  Tokala’s heart shattered in anguish at the heresy. A death of the spirit animal was the ultimate death. It meant a loss of all connection with the human and spirit world.

  It was unthinkable.

  As Tokala watched in horror, his own cousin, a hunter, threw himself at the cloud with a terrifying roar, intending to take back the dove.

  Another sinuous tentacle of black smoke wrapped itself around the hunter and he was gone.

  Tokala herded the others away from the sound of his cousin’s coyote screaming into nothingness, and pushed them through the woods, toward the fields that were being razed on the other side.

  They had to find Benjamin Wharton. The Quakers would help them, and there were a few shifters among their ranks as well as… magical people. One of them might know what to do.

  The alternative was unbearable.

  The death of the last Lenape to walk the homeland.

  But the evil moved too quickly. The screams were already fading and they were nowhere near the camp where Wharton’s group stayed.

  Bonnie gasped inside Tokala’s head as she recognized the hillside clearing they had approached, and the ring of stones at its center.

  In Bonnie’s time, they formed the base of the amphitheater.

  Tokala looked around at what remained of his tribe. Thirteen adults and one papoose.

  “Come close,” he told them, as calmly as he could.

  They gathered quickly, though they were frightened.

  Only seconds remained.

  Tokala pulled the wooden carvings from his pack. Thirteen figures, one for each.

  He dropped them quickly in a circle around his loved ones, and then stepped into the circle himself.

  The incantation was like a song.

  When the evil poured down the hillside like a waterfall, it was hard to keep singing.

  But Tokala thought of the watchman and sang loudly.

  Before he finished his incantation, the smoke beast broke into the circle.

  It split itself into thirteen equal parts, each one quivering and humming with evil, each funneling toward a person Tokala loved.

  He pulled the tomahawk from his pack. It glowed with the anger of Tokala’s own heart.

  He fought the darkness that threatened to envelope him. At the touch of the axe, it weakened. With another blow, it was no more, and Tokala moved toward the next.

  But he was too late, his people were already dying.

  Tokala dropped the stone axe and took up his song again.

  His own mother collapsed in death. Her rabbit leapt from her body.

  Through his pain, Tokala kept up his song.

  Before the smoke could inhale the rabbit, it was sucked into the small wooden rabbit that formed the circle. Fingers of fog probed the wooden figure, and then pulled back, as if it were hot to the touch.

  As his family died before his tired eyes, Tokala sang, and his song guided their spirit animals into totems, beyond the reach of the darkness.

  The evil spirit shrieked with anger at his defiance.

  At last, none remained but Tokala.

  The smoke formed into one beast again, and flew at him.

  There was a moment of bone shattering pain.

  Then there was only darkness.

  C
hapter 11

  Bonnie awoke in the snow at the base of the amphitheater as the first pink of morning stained the sky above.

  Her body was cramped and she felt like she had a hangover.

  There was no sign of shadow creatures anywhere.

  There was no evil swirl of billowing black.

  There was only Bonnie, aching and sad. The remnants of Tokala clinging to the webs of her memory.

  She managed to get to her feet, and brushed herself off.

  There was no point staying here when his presence was gone.

  She was numb, from more than the cold, as she climbed the steps to the top of the amphitheater.

  She looked over her shoulder once, before turning back to the path. She could almost see it as it had been. The first half-ring of stone benches in a full circle at the bottom of a hillside.

  The campus was nearly empty, students liked to sleep late. But as she reached the construction site, there was movement.

  She knew some of the crew, one or two waved to her. Sam had been at the Barry White Diner last night, too.

  Bonnie waved back, cringing at the thought that now they all knew she had been out with MacGregor. This definitely looked like a walk of shame.

  She supposed that was marginally better than if they’d known she slept in the snowy amphitheater, dreaming that she was a Lenni Lenape shaman.

  Only it wasn’t a dream. She knew that now.

  It was a cry for help.

  By the time she returned to her apartment, she was more convinced than ever that she would do anything to aid Tokala and his people.

  But how could she help with something that happened so long ago?

  She peeled off her clothes and stepped into a steaming shower.

  Above the squeal of the pipes she heard the cry of a dove.

  She pulled on pajamas and made a cup of hot soup. She stood over the sink to drink it, feeling the weight of Tokala’s pack at her back.

  She had never felt so tired.

  She crawled into bed, hoping that a few hours of real sleep would bring her back to herself.

  Chapter 12

  Bonnie awoke in the late afternoon.

  She was covered in cold sweat, and she could still smell the acrid scent of the evil cloud billowing.

  She showered again, got dressed, and drank a cup of coffee down fast, as if it were medicine. Then she asked herself again.

  What could she do to help?

  She didn’t have a clear answer, but she had an idea where she could start.

  She picked up her cell phone.

  Taking a deep breath, she pulled up MacGregor’s text from last night and called him.

  The phone rang twice, then his deep voice answered.

  “J.D. MacGregor,” he said.

  “Hey, Mac, it’s Bonnie.”

  “Oh, hey, uh, how’s it going?” he asked in a surprised way.

  “I had a really nice time last night,” she lied.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said with a small chuckle. “But that’s very polite. Now why are you really calling?”

  His voice was warm and welcoming. No accusations or hurt feelings. She may have missed the romantic connection last night, but she was starting to think she might have found a good friend.

  “Okay, you know those wooden animal figures you have?”

  “Yes, the Lenape carvings.”

  “How many are there?” she asked.

  “Seven, I think,” he replied.

  “But there were thirteen,” she worried out loud.

  “I’ve only ever had seven.” He sounded confused, but interested. “But I know where we may be able to find more.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Listen, it’s complicated and I want to know what you’re up to if I’m helping. There’s been too much going on in Tarker’s Hollow lately. I need to be sure there’s no danger to you, or the pack.”

  He was right, of course. And he was a good wolf. It was nice to remember that she was never really alone. Not with her pack mates behind her. She was beginning to realize that this was why the Tarker’s Hollow wolves didn’t mind living among the humans. As long as they had each other, they would always be a pack.

  “No strings,” he added quickly. “Just friends.”

  “Done,” she said, relieved to share the weight with someone. “I’m on my way to you.”

  “Already packing up the animals,” Mac replied. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in five.”

  Bonnie hung up, noticing absently that his business-like tone was much sexier than his sexy tone. Maybe she should let him know that, before his next date.

  Chapter 13

  Bonnie began explaining from the moment she sat down in Mac’s car.

  She’d opened the door for herself this time, which suited her fine. Maybe all the chivalry was overrated. Sometimes a woman just needed to get stuff done.

  By the time they turned onto one of the fanciest streets in town, Bonnie was already impressed at how much Mac was taking things in stride.

  “It makes sense,” he said, “given what happened here at Halloween, that we would be getting more… activity of that type. The magic in the area is stronger than it’s ever been.”

  The house they stopped in front of was beyond anything Bonnie had ever seen before.

  It was one thing to leave tiny Copper Creek and arrive in a place like Tarker’s Hollow. She knew that most of the people here didn’t struggle for money like they did in the mountains.

  But this house…

  It was as big as a castle. It had about a hundred windows across the front, with an electric candle in each. The front lawn was as big as the Copper Creek High School football field and every bush on it was wound with Christmas lights.

  “This is Helen Thayer’s house,” Mac said softly. “She’s the department head, so she’s kind of my boss. She can be a little intense, but she’s really nice - the house has been in her family for generations.”

  Bonnie nodded without speaking, grateful that he was trying to humanize the person inside who might be able to help her.

  “Now,” he continued, “we’re going to want to play this as cool as we can. The last time I was here, things got interesting. Today we want to just get in and out.”

  “What do you mean ‘interesting’?” she asked.

  “Well, let’s just say there was a visit from the police,” he explained, looking in any direction but hers. “And I ended up jumping out a window with no clothes on.”

  Bonnie smiled in spite of herself. He was a wolf after all, in spite of those nice manners. That must have been the kind of fun Cressida had warned her about. It sounded right up her alley.

  As if on cue, a police car pulled up behind them.

  Oh boy. The woman who owned the house must have called as soon as she saw Mac’s car pull up.

  But Mac only smiled.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I invited a friend who might be able to help us.”

  “Is she a history buff too?” Bonnie asked, getting out of the car.

  “Something like that,” Mac said.

  A tiny policewoman with dark hair and Asian features jumped out of the squad car.

  Grace Kwan-Cortez.

  She was Ainsley’s best friend. They’d met briefly at Thanksgiving. But Bonnie had no clue how she was supposed to be of help.

  “Mac,” Grace said, in a clear bell-like voice.

  “Hi Grace. You remember Bonnie.”

  Recognition sparked in Grace’s eyes and she turned to smile warmly at Bonnie.

  “Nice to see you again, Bonnie,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Thank you,” Bonnie replied, noticing the firm grasp of the delicate looking woman before her.

  “Grace, we need you to check out some artifacts. See if they’re the real deal,” Mac said. “Bonnie can fill you in on the rest later.”

  Grace nodded smartly and they headed up the driveway. So far, neither of them ha
d paused for the slightest instant before offering their help.

  They rang the door bell, and at length a woman opened the door. She was probably in her mid-fifties, tall with strong features. She wore a wool sweater with pearls and brown velvet trousers.

  “Jerome, what a surprise,” she said, looking like it might not be a nice surprise.

  “Helen, we’re so sorry to disturb you,” Mac said. “But this is Bonnie Summers. She’s researching the Lenni Lenape history. When I told her that no one has a private collection like yours, she was dying to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Helen looked somewhat appeased.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Summers,” she said with a smile. “And always a pleasure to see you, Officer Kwan-Cortez.”

  “Dr. Thayer, it’s very nice to see you as well,” Grace replied in her clear voice. “When I heard what these two were up to, I couldn’t resist a chance to see your collection.”

  “Well, come in then,” Dr. Thayer trumpeted. “Let’s all have a look.”

  Bonnie tried to keep her jaw off the floor as they entered the marble hall and followed it, past a fragrant two-story Christmas tree big enough to belong in a department store, and behind the enormous curved stair. They passed so many doors Bonnie felt like she was in a Hitchcock movie.

  At last, Dr. Thayer stepped through one of the doorways and flipped a switch.

  A fantastical crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling like an upside down bonfire and illuminating a room so large, Bonnie thought it must be another living room.

  Looking around though, she noticed a huge wooden table with a sleek desktop computer and a black leather chair. So this was an office.

  Above the table, Bonnie noticed a framed picture showing Dr. Thayer shaking hands with the vice-president.

  She searched the other walls for celebrities but found only old paintings of people she assumed must be Dr. Thayer’s family members.

  An antique table stood in the center of the room. Resting on top was a clear glass bell jar with a collection of what looked like very old keys.