“Why? You have a single friend? Because I was totally lying. Is he cute? Tell me he’s cute…”
“No. I mean yes. I know a couple guys, but that’s not what I meant.”
Jackie pushed the scone away from her. “Stupid, skinny Vivian,” she muttered. “If she was here, I’d punch her right in the thyroid gland.”
“This is what I meant.” Claire turned the paper so that her friend could see the article. The paper reported a massacre nearby. A group of campers just south of the city in the state park was found murdered. “It’s not the first, either,” Claire mentioned. “There’ve been a number of these recently—animalistic, or even ritual-like in nature. Who could do something like this?”
“Minnesota nice,” Jackie noted, “it only goes so far and then,” she motioned as if cutting a throat. “That’s when they snap!”
“Speaking of murderers, where is Vivian?” Claire checked her clock. “She was supposed to be here forever ago.”
Claire’s phone chirped loudly.
“Speak of the devil, right?” Jackie said.
Claire read the message. “She’s actually at the murder scene right now and offered to finally show us what it is she does for work, if we can stomach the macabre. Apparently, this is the kind of stuff her office works on.”
“I’m in.” Jackie scooped up the scone and shrugged at Claire’s goofy expression. “Hey, until you introduce me to my dream guy, I’m eating whatever the heck I want. And if he’s really my dream guy, he’ll let me eat it anyway.”
They squeezed into Claire’s tiny car and headed south.
Claire’s silver Jetta hopped and jerked on the pot-holed road as they left the city via the freeway. The further they got from it, the less polished the roads became, not that they’d ever been smooth in downtown Duluth, either.
“So these weird dreams…” Jackie let the statement trail off as a question.
“Yeah I had it again,” Claire said. “But it’s been different, lately. I used to have this recurring dream that I was alone in a wilderness-wasteland and this wolf was protecting me. It kept me safe, protected me from giant snakes.”
Jackie and Claire both shuddered. It was a mutual hatred of snakes that originally brought them together so many years ago. They shared a memory of a teenage bully putting a snake into the locker they’d shared; another boy had rescued them: a strange kid who nobody paid any attention to, even after he’d been bit by the poisonous reptile.
“Ugh,” Jackie shuddered. “I hate snakes,” she stated the obvious.
“Things have just been so weird lately. In the last year or so, that dream changed. It’s almost the same dream, except that the snakes aren’t attacking me—the wolf is. And now the snakes are my friends—it makes my skin crawl to say it out loud.” She grew quiet for a moment. “I die in my dreams… every night.”
They let the heavy statement pass. Gravel crunched under the wheel treads as her silver automobile turned into the parking lot.
. . .
As she conversed with three different people, Vivian motioned to the officer patrolling the edge of the crime scene where Claire and Jackie stood. She signaled that they were okay to cross the yellow-taped border. Vivian wore the same, disinterested look on her face she normally did. She scrawled some notes on a tiny notepad as the two approached.
Drawing just within earshot, they heard the campers’ surreal statement. Claire gave Jackie an incredulous look as the family of three recounted their story to an obviously skeptical Vivian.
“It came out of nowhere,” the unshowered man stated in his enthusiastic, southern drawl. “Almost eight feet tall, hairy and manlike! It trampled the other campers’ tents and ripped the poor folks limb from limb!”
“It’s true,” the child piped up. “Tell em, pa! Tell em it was Bigfoot!”
Vivian rolled her eyes. “Sir, have you used drugs at all in the last twenty-four hours?”
“My boys wouldn’t lie to you,” the female argued.
“It was one o’ them whatcha-call-it, sasquidditches,” he stood his ground.
“Drugs sir?” Vivian repeated. “You smell like you’ve been smoking pot. Recently.”
He stared at her dumbly for several seconds. “I have a prescription.” He barely managed the correct pronunciation.
“Thanks.” Vivian said. “I think I have enough here.” She walked away from the trio, face expressionless.
“You’ve got to believe em!” The woman called after her. “We’ll sell our story to the newspapers!”
Claire and Jackie busted a gut, laughing as soon as they were beyond earshot.
“And this is what I do,” Vivian said as she guided them through the roped off area. “I work with a team that chronicles, tracks, and discredits news of the weird. I was close enough that they called me in, even though I’m technically on vacation.”
Jackie scanned the scene of carnage, trying not to focus on what were obviously human remains. Most bodies had been collected into black bags or covered; some were just too mangled to even recognize which parts belonged to which bodies. A severed human hand lay within a cordoned off area; a heavy gold ring on one finger displayed an ornate seven-pointed star.
“I’m sorry,” Jackie said, suddenly covered her mouth, trying to keep her scone down. “You’re here because?”
“Didn’t you catch what the hippie said? Bigfoot just murdered eleven people.”
The statement hung there for a moment.
“Come again?”
“There were a few witnesses. Most of their stories corroborate it. They all describe some kind of animal-like humanoid as the perpetrator. Six said Sasquatch, two said werewolf, one said alien.”
“Are these killings all related?” Claire speculated. “I mean this one and the others that have been dotting the countryside the last few weeks? Most of them were also on, or near, other state parks.”
Vivian didn’t make eye contact. After a pause, “We’re not at liberty to make any kinds of statements or conjecture to that effect.”
“So Bigfoot is in the northland and he’s killing Minnesotans?” Claire asked.
Jackie tapped herself on the chest. “I’m from Seattle! I’m immune.”
“Obviously there is something behind it. These people didn’t accidentally die; maybe it’s a feral bear or some kind of group hallucination.” Vivian explained, “That’s what we do: get to the bottom of mysteries and disprove the crazy theories.”
Jackie whispered to Claire, “She’s not Kristen Stewart. She’s Daphne from Scooby Doo!”
Claire chuckled quietly.
“Jinkies,” Vivian said flatly. “Maybe you could whisper more quietly.”
Jackie Blushed.
“I know what we’re watching tonight,” Claire said. They still had another long afternoon before James got back from his press tour.
“I guess that means Jackie is Velma and James is Fred,” Vivian commented.
Claire was glad for the attempt at humor on Vivian’s part. She was a little unsure how to take it, though. It meant Claire was either Shaggy or Scooby, and neither seemed particularly flattering.
…A little while ago…
Zabe scrambled through the muddy pit under the cover of night. He wore his family’s crest strapped proudly around his wrist as he crawled behind a tall stack of supplies deep within the enemy encampment.
The vyrm had control over the castle, but much of their army still remained in siege formation around the perimeter of their prize. They kept an additional buffer between the royal family’s hereditary home and any rag-tag resistance groups that would surely form.
Zabe shook away the guilty thought that he ought to be leading that resistance. Surely they assembled even now in the highlands beyond the castle. Bithia’s rescue, however, was the more important thing. It was his father’s last order, and not an undertaking any militia could accomplish on its own.
He stepped li
ghtly, cautious. Zabe keenly understood the gravity of his situation. One misstep and the entirety of the vyrm army would flock to him in a heartbeat.
Zabe saw his chance in the distance; a lone patroller in a vyrm ranger’s cloak walked a lazy path that would inevitably meander past Zabe’s hiding spot behind the muddy supply crates. Scooping up handfuls of the muck that he’d just crawled through, Zabe caked himself wherever he wasn’t already covered in the dark, grimy stuff in order to better camouflage himself.
Hiding in the shadows, he remained perfectly still and waited for the guard to drift nearer. Zabe could see the vyrm from the edge of his eye; the soldier also covered from the knees down in the pasty, tenebrous mud. As soon as he took a full step past, Zabe leapt out and silenced the enemy, dragging the struggling vyrm out of sight.
Moments later, Zabe emerged from the darkness wearing a hood and cloak that identified him as a ranger of The Black’s army. The improved concealment let him travel quickly, purposefully through the enemy tents, searching for the nondescript tabernacle of his chief enemy.
Skirting the perimeter of the tent, Zabe spotted the markings which identified a tent as Nitthogr’s. His disguise didn’t need to deceive many enemy eyes; most of the important members of warlock’s entourage had moved inside the castle, plying their wills toward whatever plans the dread sorcerer had devised this time. There were still low ranking vyrm to be wary of, however, militant followers of the sorcerer whose appetites for promotion were hungrier and perhaps more vicious.
Zabe wasn’t looking for a fight, though. He needed information, and conquerors rarely wasted time cleaning up during the aftermath of their battles. That was always a task for the proles: the lowest ranking members.
Positive that Nitthogr’s tent might hold some clue to his next step, Zabe sat several paces away from the tent flap, watching, waiting for his moment. He planned to slip inside and locate notes, strategies, anything that could give him an idea of Nitthogr’s nefarious scheme as soon as he was sure the coast was clear.
He saw her coming from a distance and knew exactly who she was. Despite their victory, Caivev still moved stealthily through the grounds; a former member of the royal shadow guard, those habits did not die easily. She’d defected years ago, right before an entire regiment of corrupted shadow guards attempted a coup under Nitthogr’s direction.
Zabe narrowed his eyes at the raven haired woman. His father had foiled the plot, for sure, but casualties had mounted high nonetheless. Caivev had been part of the enemy’s inner circle ever since, and she’d make a better source of information than ransacking Nitthogr’s tent.
He rolled to his feet and walked a lazy intercept course. Moments later, he fell in step two paces behind her. Mid-step, he made sure he had firm footing and then pounced towards her and slipped a silent arm around her neck. Caivev struggled for a few seconds, thrashing in the mud.
Zabe cast a wary glance in all directions as the hold rendered her unconscious. Relieved that he hadn’t been seen, Zabe snatched the cords off a tent flap and tied her up. He knew of a safe place nearby, and he dragged his prisoner off to the nearby cave.
. . .
“Claire!” Jackie yelled with remote control in hand. She pointed it at the television and continued scrolling through the streaming services. “Your popcorn’s burning!”
Claire stepped back into the living room and sniffed. “That’s not food.” She nodded to her patio door. Vivian stood just outside, dragging deep off the cigarette in her hand.
“Oh. Disgusting,” she noted as Vivian opened the sliding door and reentered the apartment.
“Not as disgusting as the great unwashed down on the street,” Vivian remarked.
Claire gave her a quizzical look.
“There’s a gross hobo down on the street. He was staring at me the whole time…gave me the stink-eye.”
Jackie jumped to her feet. “Where is he? I’m the only one who hasn’t seen him yet, and Claire says he’s cute!”
“What? I did not! And don’t look right at him! Peek out this window, here,” She cracked the drapes.
The three girls huddled close to the opening and gazed at him. He was watching everything, scanning traffic and the surroundings, glancing occasionally back at the apartment. He wore a tattered, hooded sweatshirt that covered his face and he’d obviously staged the boxes and bins nearby as his bed.
“He is kinda cute,” Jackie stated. “I see a dimpled chin and stubble. That’s all I need.”
The others looked at her, but didn’t disagree. “What? I like the rugged look.”
She jumped back from the window. “I think he saw me!” she squeaked. She leaned back in. “Oh, no. We’re fine.” She exhaled with a shudder. “My heart is racing. Maybe it’s love,” she laughed.
Vivian chuckled. “Looks like Claire has her own personal stalker…and your stalker has a stalker of his own. Do you suppose he’s dangerous? Maybe he’s trying to get close to my brother?” she reminded Claire that she was betrothed.
Claire rolled her eyes, but kept observing the scene on the street. “I’m sure he’s no threat,” she lied. “He’s probably just passing through to a warmer city.”
He peeled the hood back from his face.
“Ohmygod!” Jackie jumped again. “I know him. That’s Robert Somethingorother… You know, that weird kid from high school. Rob, he went by.”
The other two pressed their noses to the glass and scrutinized him. “Who?”
“The snakes?” Jackie explained. “Remember when I first moved here in the middle of tenth grade and they made me share a locker with Claire? He was the kid that saved us from the snake that Jeffrey Bremer put in the locker!”
“Oh yeah!”
Vivian tried to hide a mischievous smile. “Jeffey B. I paid him a dollar to put that snake in there when I was a senior.”
The two stood aghast at her omission.
“What. It’s not like I knew it was poisonous! Jeez.”
“I remember,” Claire stated. “He got bit and went to the hospital. I had a few classes with him. Quiet. I didn’t know anything about him.” She leaned back towards the window again. “Yeah, that’s definitely him.”
“I am going to call someone.” Vivian had her phone in hand.
“No,” the other two shot her down.
They observed him a few more minutes on the street. Rob watched the cars pass. Something made him tense. He stopped and shrank back towards the alley, crouching down to avoid detection, even though the girls could see him plainly from their level.
Rob glanced up at the apartment once more and then darted down the alleyway behind his viewing post. After a few more moments of watching and waiting for any return, a knock came at the door.
“Maybe it’s him?” Jackie whispered giddily.
Claire walked across the room. She tensely checked the peephole, then flung the door open, “James!” She flung himself into his arms.
He wrapped his arms around her, roses in one hand. “I’m glad to see you, too!”
Chapter 4
Claire struggled to raise her head off the table. She groaned as she reached for the cup of coffee and struggled to keep her throbbing head upright enough to see her foam cup. There wasn’t enough caffeine on the planet to help with the hangover she battled.
She turned her face to Jackie who sat slumped in the adjacent chair. The outdoor table’s undersized umbrella provided little help against the morning. Claire grinned stupidly; her friend looked dead: pale, slouched, and motionless. Jackie’s broad sunglasses hid most of her face from the late morning sun which had heated the table to the same approximate temperature as magma.
Grimacing, Claire felt the crosshatched metalwork of the hot tabletop searing her cheek like a griddle. Moaning, she slumped back into her own hang-over pose and raised the cup to her lips.
Claire glanced right. Vivian remained straight faced as ever while she sipped an espresso. In that m
oment, Claire knew Vivian wasn’t human; she’d drank enough tequila at last night’s bachelorette party to make a buffalo blind. Yet, here she sat. Claire could feel Vivian’s judgmental eyes scan her critically.
“Shut up,” Claire croaked as she held her head in her hands.
“I didn’t say anything,” Vivian remarked, coolly.
Claire groaned again. “You were thinking it.”
She merely nodded.
Jackie snorted a half-asleep snore and then sat straight up—waking herself. She mumbled something unintelligible and reached for her cup on the table.
Vivian’s phone chirped a few times. Claire winced at the shrill noise.
“I’ve got to go,” Vivian stated, eyes scanning her text message. “There’s been another… incident.”
They let her leave in silence, save for the scraping of her chair on the concrete. A few minutes later, slightly sobered by the coffee, Claire and Jackie laughed about the previous evening’s events. The conversation quickly descended into another Vivian bashing session, but eventually turned back to other issues.
“How is your dad doing, anyway?”
Claire absentmindedly twirled her pendant around her index finger. “He’s not able to get away for long, but he’ll be at the wedding. The local government at the dig site is in some political disarray and that means they’ve got to dig as much as possible and as quickly as they can. They’re trying to ignore the hostile activity all around, but if the rebels have their way, there would be a civil war,” Claire glanced down at the paper. There was a small, world-news headline about a foiled coup in that country on page thirteen. “If there’s war, all their work will be lost, even if their town misses any hostilities, which would be unlikely. By the time it’s sorted out and the archaeologists can get back to business, he might be…”
She trailed off. Jackie finished her sentence for her, “Retired.” Nobody wanted to think of another option, and Jackie knew how important of a figure he’d always been in her life.
Wolves of the Tesseract Collection Page 3