The Patient Wolf (Wicked Urban Fantasy #1)

by Karen Hodges Miller

  “Good, good. I’ll meet you in front of the faculty dining room.”

  “Oo la la. The faculty dining room,” Monica exclaimed when the professor left the room. “You get all the best assignments.”

  “And all the extra work,” Ana reminded her glumly.

  Chapter 5

  At lunchtime Ana met Professor Fontaine outside the faculty dining room, which was housed in the original home of the university president.

  Ana was glad she had worn a skirt and heels to work that day. Even though many of the professors dressed almost as casually as the students, it was obvious Professor Fontaine was of a different school. While her casual, blue and green abstract print skirt and cotton lace blouse could never match the elegance of the professor’s gray bespoke suit, Ana felt at least she was not going to embarrass the man.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said, as they arrived simultaneously at the entrance to Mechant Hall, one of the oldest buildings on campus. Six two-story columns graced the front of the whitewashed brick façade of the antebellum building that was listed on the historic register. The faculty dining room was on the second floor, which one gained access to from a classic double circular staircase. The dining room itself was an eclectic mix of classic architecture, practical, modern tables and chairs, and memorabilia from the school’s history: trophies from the 1930’s, framed newspaper clippings of school events, and portraits of former university officials and benefactors.

  “While the dining room here is not up to the standards I was used to when I taught at La Sorbonne in Paris, they do offer a creditable selection of dishes,” Fontaine said as the headed toward the buffet.

  Ana would have thought him a snob if he hadn’t smiled at her delightfully as he took her arm, showing her his comments were meant in jest.

  Once through the buffet line and seated at a corner table, Fontaine quickly got down to business.

  “I understand that your family is from here. You must know all the legends of the region. Tell me some of the stories.” He took a small notebook and pen from his pocket and prepared to take down her words.

  “You know about my family?” Ana asked in astonishment.

  “Ah,” he said sheepishly. “That came out sounding very inappropriate, to say the least. No, of course I have not been checking up on you, if that is what you were thinking. What I mean is that when Dr. Tormisano and I were speaking about who could help me I mentioned that someone with some knowledge of the region around Rivelou would be helpful. He said that your family is from this area, while your friend, Monica, only moved here a few years ago. Naturally, I thought your background knowledge of the area would be very helpful to me. Not only in planning this seminar, but in the research I am doing here this year as a visiting professor. I hope I have not offended you.”

  “Oh, of course you haven’t offended me. That makes perfect sense,” Ana said, feeling relief. Her family liked their privacy. She had been raised with the motto that family business stayed in the family. But Dr. Fontaine’s explanation was perfectly logical, and he again he smiled at her so delightfully that she relaxed immediately and began to enjoy herself. A professor wanted her help for something other than typing up an exam or making travel arrangements? It was a novel idea.

  “So what would you like to know?”

  “Well, let us start with some of the legends of the area. That way we can determine which would be best for our Halloween seminar.”

  “Of course. You know this part of the country was settled by French hunters and trappers moving south from Canada in the early 1700’s. They were few in number, and since they were peaceful and offered no threat, they were accepted by many of the Native Americans in the area.” Ana was warming up to her topic, and to her listener. “Now, if you believe the legends, they say my several great grandfather, Jaquette Bertrand, was a proper villain.” Family business staying in the family didn’t really include someone who’d been dead a few hundred years, did it? Ana threw a lifetime of caution to the wind. Something about the way this man looked at her... She threw off the thought and continued the story.

  “He met a young, beautiful native girl on one of his fur trapping expeditions. They fell in love, but they had to meet in secret, because of course her father didn’t want her to marry outside of her clan. So one day, Jaquette went out to check his traps. It was winter, and a storm was coming. He didn’t realize that with the storm, it would grow dark much earlier than usual. As he trudged through the snow, finding his way by the light of the moon, he was cornered by a pack of hungry wolves…”

  Ana stopped.

  “Go on. Go on. You mustn’t keep me hanging. The young trapper was corned by hungry wolves, his life hung in the balance.” His eyes held hers.

  “Oh, well. The beautiful Indian girl saved him. That’s all.” Ana hurried on. “And of course, the mounds near the river are Native American burial grounds, and they come with all of the typical legends and stories. The jilted lover who haunts the graveyard. The beautiful young Indian princess who waits forever by the riverbank looking for her husband to return from the wars. People swear they see lights there on moonless nights, as if campfires were being lit all around the mounds. And the sound of chanting and drums.”

  “You sound skeptical.” Fontaine looked up from the notes he was taking.

  Ana laughed and took a bite of her pasta salad. “I think people do see campfires and hear drums—the fires and drums of people who are very much alive and having a great time telling ghost stories around a campfire—even if it is illegal to camp there.”

  Fontaine chuckled. “You may be right. Did you ever camp there yourself as a child?”

  “That would be telling, wouldn’t it,” Ana responded lightheartedly, her composure recovered.

  “But these stories that you have mentioned, as you say, are typical of many communities. I’m hoping for something more specific to this particular area.”

  “Of course we have our share of vampires and ghosts. There is an old mansion downtown where a reclusive gentleman lived for many years. His neighbors at the time swore they never saw him during the day, only after sunset, so of course, someone decided he was a vampire.

  “And then there is the story about the ghostly woman who is seen walking the halls of the courthouse. It’s another pre-Civil War era building, just like this one. Her husband and his lover were found hacked into little pieces in her bed. Of course, the wife had an alibi. She was with her lover at the time. But no one believed him, because he was from the other side of the river—Kentucky, which meant he was a Southern sympathizer, and so could not be trusted.

  “Well, when the sheriff came to arrest them both the next night, the Southern gentleman jumped out of the bedroom window and was never seen again.”

  “So much for Southern chivalry,” Fontaine put in with a chuckle.

  “Southern or Northern, a man will always look out for himself,” Ana said cynically.

  “Oh, I am hurt. You lump all men into this very ungallant Southern lover. We are not all the same, you know.” Fontaine put on his most charming smile, and Ana laughed.

  “Okay, you are right. I am sure you would be much more the gallant gentleman,” she flirted back.

  “You may have heard the saying, ‘a gentleman is simply a patient wolf,’ I am very, very patient,” Fontaine said softly.

  “Oh!” Ana turned scarlet. This man had a way of confusing her. He was all business one minute, then flirting with her the next.

  Now, he noticed her confusion, took pity on her, and returned to the safer subject of ghosts and hauntings.

  “And is that the end of your story? The lover jumps out the window, leaving the poor, possibly innocent woman to take the blame?”

  “Oh no. It gets much juicier,” she said. Despite his flirting, she was beginning to relax her guard with this man, something she hadn’t done in a very long time.

  “They grabbed her from her bedroom with only her nightgown on, and they said in the light of th
e full moon her body was completely visible through the thin white muslin.”

  “What remarkable details have survived through all these years,” Alexander murmured.

  Ana laughed appreciatively, and continued. “They didn’t wait for a trial. They pulled her up to the hangman’s gallows and sent her to meet her maker. They say she was swearing her innocence until the moment the rope snapped her neck.”

  “That is quite a tale!” Alexander said. “And now she restlessly roams Rivelou?”

  “I thought you were a believer, and here you are making fun of a poor ghost! And no, she doesn’t roam all of Rivelou, just the courthouse where she was taken for hanging by the sheriff’s men. A lot of people have heard and seen strange things there: water turning on and off, lights flickering, furniture moving. The usual sort of things for a ghost”

  “And are you skeptical, or a believer? I can’t tell,” asked Alexander.

  “It’s an old building. The plumbing is original. The wiring is knob and tube. Of course the lights are going to flicker and the water faucets not work. I enjoy the stories, especially when my grandfather is telling them—he is quite the storyteller—but, I guess, at heart, I’m just not a believer in ghost stories.”

  Ana found herself relaxing and enjoying the conversation. She knew more than she would ever mention to Dr. Fontaine about the veracity of some of the old legends, but it didn’t seem to matter to the professor whether she believed or not. He was an excellent audience, obviously interested in every word she said. What a difference from Jonathan. Any time she had mentioned the old stories—some a part of her own family’s history—in front of her ex-husband he ridiculed her and her family, particularly her grandfather, who was well known throughout the area as a storyteller and a keeper of the lore of the area. Jonathan had thought her interest in the history of a small and unimportant town such as Rivelou was silly and her mixed heritage of French, German, Spanish, and Native American made her a “mutt,” unlike his own purebred East Coast upbringing. He hadn’t known how close he was to the truth, she thought for a moment, then returned her attention to Dr. Fontaine’s conversation.

  “Your friend Monica mentioned something about werewolf legends connected to the area?”

  “Really? You want to hear about the werewolf stories?” Ana threw as much skepticism as she could into the comment. This was getting a little too close to home.

  “Yes, of course. I am interested in all the legends of an area. I told you I study not just the legends, but how they affect the people of the community. I think you would be a very good subject for me to study. You obviously have grown up hearing all of these tales, and enjoy telling them, but from the way you talk I don’t think you believe in any of them.”

  “Oh, that’s not true. My grandfather says there is, at the least, a grain or two of truth in every tale. You just have to sort out the fact from the fiction.”

  “So, you’ve never had any experiences yourself?”

  “Well, I certainly had a strange experience last night.” Now why had she brought that up, she wondered? This Dr. Fontaine had a way of making her feel too comfortable for her own good, she thought.

  “Last night?” Fontaine’s head came up and he stopped eating as he looked at her sharply. “What happened last night?”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve been so busy at work this morning, I’d managed to forget about it for a few hours, but your mention of werewolves brought it back. There was a man killed in my neighborhood last night by a dog, Dr. Fontaine, just a few hours after he attacked me.”

  Now she had startled him. She hated to admit it, but her feminine vanity, long held in check, had begun to bloom throughout this supposed business lunch. Dr. Fontaine was obviously a flirt. “I’m nothing special, I’m sure he acts like this with everyone,” she told herself. She’d been putting herself down for so long it was hard to believe a man could actually be attracted to her. She felt a little guilty she was using the story of a person’s death just to get the attention of an attractive man. “Oh well, no way out now,” she thought again, and told her tale of encountering the dog.

  “But that is terrible. Were you hurt? And please, call me Alexander. We will be working quite closely together in the next few weeks.”

  “Thank you. No, Alexander. I wasn’t hurt. I was much luckier than the next person the dog encountered. I was just scared a bit. A neighbor rescued me. He got a few scrapes, but nothing serious.”

  “It was a full moon last night, you know,” Alexander said with another of his delicious smiles. When he looked at her like that she didn’t know whether to take his words seriously or not, but he did make her feel as if he appreciated her—for her stories as well as just as a woman. It was obvious he was very serious about his studies, but then, in Ana’s experience, professors were always a little over the top when it came to their subject matter, no matter how esoteric.

  “But of course I really don’t believe it was a shapeshifter, er, werewolf. Just a large, mean stray,” she quickly added.

  Alexander gave a small smile at her quick correction. Only someone with insider knowledge would know that the term “werewolf” was no longer politically correct. “Shapeshifter” had become the more popular term. It didn’t have as many negative connotations. “Of course. You have explained that you are a skeptic,” Alexander said, letting her slip of the tongue pass without mention. But the moon was full last night, and it will be full for the next two days. You say they didn’t catch the dog? And this man who rescued you? You didn’t know him? Had never seen him before? You should watch out on your way home this evening.”

  Ana laughed off his insinuations about her recent experience with the dog and returned to the safer subject of local legends.

  “So, you want to know about the werewolf stories. It starts with the name of the town; you are French, I’m sure you’ve already thought of that one,” Ana said.

  “Rivelou? A derivation of the words Wolf River? You mentioned hunters and trappers. I had assumed that it just came from the abundance of the animals in the area.”

  “Yes, but it’s more than that. There is an old legend that not just wolves, but werewolves lived in this area.”

  “Werewolves,” said Alexander, “Now this is the kind of thing that can make my research much more interesting to the public. A scholarly journal brings tenure, but it does not attract a popular audience.”

  “Of course. Your ‘Legends’ series. I forgot you were that Alexander Fontaine. My grandfather reads all of your books. And of course, that would explain why Dr. Tormisano doesn’t like your seminar idea. He believes that anyone who writes ‘popular work which appeals to the uneducated masses’ can’t be a true scholar,” she said, imitating her boss’s intonation exactly as she quoted one of his maxims.

  “I’m flattered you have heard of my work. And that your grandfather has read it. He must be a most enlightened gentleman,” Alexander said teasingly.

  “Well you haven’t heard what the rest of the family says about his interest in them. Oh!” Ana covered her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound condescending about your books.”

  “Not at all. I learned years ago that while scholarly writings will bring me the security of tenure and speaking engagements at a few obscure conferences, it does not purchase the kind of lifestyle I prefer. And while it does upset some of the people in the areas I research, and some of my colleagues, I’ve never been one to care what the other members of the pack—the faculty—say. And that, of course, leads me back to the werewolf legends of Rivelou. Tell me what you know.”

  “It begins with the Native Americans. You probably know that many tribes feel a special connection to wolves, and also that many Native American tribes have legends and superstitions about men being able to transform into wolves. If you come across a wolf in the wilderness one of the ways you know he is a werewolf, rather than just your garden variety wolf, is his eyes. They will be an iridescent blue color…”

&
nbsp; Ana faltered and stopped her tale in mid-sentence.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, no. Of course not. I just remembered something from last night. The eyes of the dog. They were blue. And glowing.” Ana shook herself. “I’m being silly. It’s all this talk of ghosts on top of last night. I’ve given myself the creeps. Animals’ eyes often seem to glow in the dark.”

  “You never know. I’ve seen many strange things over the years. Maybe these legends that you discount are real,” said Alexander, looking at her intently.

  “I can never tell if you are serious or teasing,” Ana complained. “But anyway, the werewolves are said to be very tough. Axes and arrows—the weapons of the Native Americans—cannot hurt them. There is, of course, the silver bullet method for killing them, but I suspect that is borrowed from the European legends. The earliest of the Native Americans wouldn’t have had a lot of access to silver bullets, or guns.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Alexander said as he continued to make notes. “And how does one become a werewolf in your local legends?”

  “Oh, the usual methods, I believe,” Ana said, waving her hand casually. She had recovered her equanimity and was feeling lighthearted again. She could keep the conversation general, and not get too close to home.

  “Some say that a werewolf is made because he or she has done something particularly evil, such as murder, although I really don’t believe that one, myself. Or if two werewolves mate, their offspring will be werewolves, too. And of course, if you are bitten by a werewolf at the full moon, you will become a werewolf. Werewolves are always looking for a mate, and there aren’t a lot of them, so a male werewolf will stalk likely human females, while a female werewolf will stalk human males.

  “While in werewolf form they have supernatural powers,” she continued, warming up to her lecture. “They can hypnotize their prey, their sense of smell and their speed are even greater than a real wolf, they ‘talk’ telepathically to other of their kind when in wolf form, they heal easily from wounds, and they have superhuman strength.”