Hair of the Wolf (6 page)

“Yet,” Loki smiled enigmatically.

“Hopefully not ever. Where was the Angel reborn?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. It was nice to know that he had Wells’ interest in the right things. “London. A gutter punk with no family has heard the story and seized the sword. His name is Skid. What is the infant child’s name?”

Wells shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I do not know. The birth certificate was destroyed, and I had a doctor deliver the baby to the orphanage. Even I do not know his name or location. How long do I have to find and teach the Angel?”

“He must be ready in thirty-five years. Lilith delivered a prophecy, powered by the dying souls of the
Titanic,
which gave us a century to prepare. It is imperative that you begin his training. Will you allow me to protect these two, and release you to pursue the Angel?”

Wells thought it over. At his heart, Loki was a prankster, a trickster. At least … he used to be. Walking the mortal world in human form for two millennium had changed the god. Wells had watched him … mature? So the real question was, that despite the fact that the whole world of the supernatural was at stake, could he trust Loki right now? He knew he liked that god, but friendship is a far cry from trust.

Ultimately, he decided, it didn’t matter. He was backed into a corner.

Whatever Loki’s game was, he, Wells, had to be the one to train the Angel if he wanted to stop Kaine and the Gray Ones. His side didn’t even know the full plan, there was a lot of shooting in the dark going on here. “You realize I've been perfecting my skills for centuries and centuries? Either way I am screwed." Wells sighed. There was no other way around it, "I guess it doesn't really matter whether or not I will allow it, it takes decades to train an angel properly and I now have thirty five years to do it. If I choose to trust you in this situation, will you agree to work towards my ends instead of your own?”

Loki thrust his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I won’t abandon the goals that I work for. So long as protecting your interest doesn’t mean you expect me to abandon my own goals, I’ll be happy to put your needs first.”

Eons of friendship with Loki had taught Wells to cover his bases thoroughly, but that Loki was also a different person now. How a god was changing … it was something new. “And if our goals fall into conflict with each other?”

Loki sucked on his own lip and thought for a moment. “I shall put yours first, so long as nothing in your agenda directly acts against mine. If it does, I’ll warn you. For thirty-five years I will protect these werewolves as you would have, and though I cannot guarantee they will not come to harm I will guarantee that I will protect them exactly as well as you would have. Good enough, Wells?”

Wells knelt down, turning towards Andrew and placing a hand on either of the boy’s shoulders. “Drew, I need you to listen to me for a moment.”

The toddler nodded, looking comically serious and solemn.

“I have to leave now.” Wells told him. “But I want you to know, that I will be watching you and Tabby. My friend Loki is going to be taking care of you. He is even stronger than I am. As you grow up I want you to promise that you will be brave and true, and that you will protect Tabby.”

The boy nodded, sniffling quietly as a tear ran down his cheek. “I pwomise, Uncle Wellf.”

Wells tousled Andrew’s hair. “Good boy.” He stood back up looking at Loki. “We have a pact; I care about them, so please, no games. Take good care of them.”

Loki walked forward until he could take Andrew’s hand. With his other hand he reached out, placing it on Wells’ shoulder. “I wish you luck.”

Wells still didn’t fully trust Loki, but he knew it was the best he would get.

***

Tabitha Magyari

Tabitha awoke to a hand gently petting her cheek. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked up to see the child. “Andrew. Are you okay?”

The toddler solemnly nodded. “Yef, Ta-ey.”

She smiled, and then looked around. They were on a train, racing through the night. Had she really been out for a full day? Regardless, the protector had delivered them safely. He had upheld his end of the bargain. They were on their way, being smuggled to safety under the cover of a road tour. She sighed in relief and pulled Andrew close. They were on the way to sanctuary, where she could start the pack over.

Tabby listened to the band, practicing one car over. She could faintly hear the lyrics, “I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day.” She smiled at the song. Peter was a good man, and a friend to the wolf community.

He was a Felinthrope, but unlike most of the cat community, he embraced all the shifting cultures. It was important to have someone like him around who could bridge the various animosities shifters collected like wines in a cellar—they kept them cold, buried, and in the dark until it was time to open them up and start the party.

There were a few people like Peter, and the rest of the band, who helped everyone. It was a turbulent time for the supernatural community, and Tabby couldn’t wait for the seventies to be over. Vampires were on the move, slaughtering everyone they could.

It wasn’t abnormal in and of itself. Vampires tended to make bids for world domination as often as most people sneezed. In fact, it seemed to just be a part of their genetic makeup. Wake up, stretch, have your morning cup—A, B, AB or O—and embark on a campaign for conquest of the globe. It was in their blood.

The angel community had all but disappeared, rumored to have lost a major offensive against the vampires, whereas the fey had all vanished eight years ago at Woodstock. Mages, well, everyone knew that the last of the public mages, Benjamin Franklin, had died almost two hundred years previously. What was left, rumored to be a dozen or so, all kept to themselves.

So now, it was the shifters trying to stay alive against the vampires. Tabby knew that it wasn’t a full scale war, thankfully. The various factions acted more like gangs, roving bases of power snagging what they could while trying to avoid detection by mortals.

There were others, like the Anubians, Zombies, and the Anans who mostly stuck to themselves. For now. If the shifters lost to the vampires, it would only be a matter of time before the other races were forced into conflict.

Tabby shook her head. Let the band deal with it. They already had two Anans—scions of Anansi—a Felinthrope, and an Anubian working to counter the moves of the vampire courts, and they were good at it. She had more than enough on her hands taking care of the orphaned puppy, Andrew.

She reached over and tousled his sandy blond hair. “Hey Kiddo, you hungry?”

Andrew solemnly nodded again. “Yef, Ta-ey.”

She smiled at him as she stood up. “Well then, let’s see what there is here to eat, okay?”

Andrew pointed toward the opposite side of the train from the band’s practice car. “Wellf’ fwend faid that way!” He seemed very proud of knowing where the food was and Tabby bent down to pick him up, her long red hair falling between them.

She scooped the toddler up, giving him a tight hug as she held him. “Thank you, Andrew. I’m very proud you remembered the directions.” She started walking to the end of the sleeper car they were in, realizing for the first time that the train car was set up like a studio apartment, with everything set up as one large living quarter. “Let’s get some grub in you.”

Andrew pulled back a little from the hug so that he could see her face clearly, then gave her a big grin and thumbs up.

Moving carefully from car to car, Tabby carried Andrew towards the food car. A hiding space from the hunt, the new home in Denver, was a huge weight off her shoulders. It almost felt as though she could feel the weight of fear lifting as mile by mile passed on the tracks. A storm was coming, but she had found refuge from it, temporary and false though it might be.

As she slid open the final door, Andrew’s words,
Wells’ friend
clicked home. Her benefactor, her friend, was nowhere to be seen. The lone occupant of the dining car was a well-muscled, but still reedy looking man. He had the look about him of a Viking warrior, only a miniature version.

He looked up and smiled. “Hello Tabitha. Glad to see you are finally awake.”

Tabitha couldn’t help but feel that his tone was mocking. “Who the hell are you?” She defensively tightened her arms around Andrew.

“I’m your new bodyguard. Wells had a … bigger, and previous, commitment to see to. I am his replacement.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Besides the obvious, which is that I could have killed you in your sleep? I suppose … a demonstration.” Casually waving his hand, he mumbled under his breath and golden light gathered in the train car.

A thousand fireflies of light gathered around Tabitha and lifted her. She struggled, but it was useless.

Andrew giggled in her arms.

The sitting man snapped his fingers and she dropped. “You are young wolfling. You have much growing to do. I could kill you any time I wanted. But, you see, I made a promise to Wells. Satisfied?”

She nodded mutely, warily standing.

He sighed and got up. “I’m going to the restroom. You two need to eat. Do so. By the way, my name is Loki.”

He turned and walked to the end of the car, slipping into the bathroom.

Tabitha, stunned, let out a sigh of relief. Her new bodyguard was, well, he was intimidating. Sitting Andrew down at the table while he stared at her, wide-eyed, she glanced towards the car’s bar. Food was laid out, banquet style.

She hadn’t made it two steps when the roof of the train car, metal screaming in protest, was ripped away from the walls and went sailing off into the night.

A screamingly pissed Elizabeth Bathory leapt into the car and grabbed her by the throat. “Who was he, pup? Who do you have protecting you?”

***

Robert Crowley

Robert wiped some of the sweat off his dark tanned skin, rubbing it between his fingers and focusing on the slick texture. He shifted his weight slightly, spooning a ladle of water onto the hot rocks in the center of the room. Steam rose, clouding the already hazy room with a close heavy sultriness.

He sighed and leaned back. Heat kneaded its way through his flesh and muscles, soaking down to the bone. Robert relaxed contentedly.

Wiping his hands on the damp towel around his waist, he clapped once. “Show yourself, spirit.”

The steam coalesced, swirling in place, until a form began to appear. He closed his eyes, tasting the spirit’s essence with his mind. There were three of them, though they had the feel of something singular, spinning in place as though uncertain which manifestation to take. Eyes still closed, he focused on his hearing, projecting that sense beyond the physical plane.

Across the reaches of time and space the ethereal voices of three women could be heard. Voices echoed in his mind, teasing his soul. He raised an eyebrow. They were bickering with each other.

“… seen one before. You two always say I’m too young! Poo! I’m tens of thousands of years old, I just look young.” In all fairness, the speaker did sound very young to Robert.

“You are too young, dearest. Function follows form, you know that. You look young, so you are young. It should be me. I can appreciate the advantages of a naked man in a sweat lodge. Appreciate them fully.”

A cracked voice, heavy with age, spoke last. “You’re both too young. You get distracted. You also make too many distractions. I shall deliver the message.”

The second speaker jumped back in. “Not so fast, you old crone. I get the yummy man. You haven’t let me have one since Plato died. That’s just wrong. I’ve had blue bean for two thousand years. I’m more frustrated than a Trojan at the gates of Troy.”

Robert grinned.

“That’s right I haven’t let you. Last time I let you spin the Fate of a naked man you started a war half a century too early!”

The little girl giggled. “But I ended it, lightning on the sea. Snippity snip, kindling from a ship! The Peloponnesians went to the sea’s bed, Nicias replaced the thread.”

The crone spoke again. “Indeed you did, dearie; indeed you did.”

The middle aged woman spoke again. “As is her right to cut the threads. And it is your right to draw the length of the life, dear sister. But it is my right alone to spin the life.” She sounded smug.

Robert got the feeling he was eavesdropping on an often-revisited fight. He cleared his throat. “Ladies? Am I interrupting something?”

“I go.” The eldest spoke.

“Poo.”

“Hmph.”

The mist pulsed, an unseen wind separated it to reveal an old woman, supporting herself with a gnarled walking stick. She cocked her head to the side, staring at Robert. “Not at all, little mortal. We always talk like that, and it is no interruption.”

He nodded politely. “May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Your house, your rules.” She replied. “We are the three. The Sisters of Fate and Destiny. Never have we been correctly named, for your kind only glimpse us in half-truths. By a thousand names we have been known, and throughout time a thousand more names shall be shown. Imprisoned beyond the stars we lie, though without us humanity will slowly die.”

“Probably. Hmph.” The middle sister’s ethereal voice danced on the edge of Robert’s hearing.

He smiled at that. “Perhaps something a bit shorter?”

She nodded solemnly. “You may call me Clotho.”

“Clotho, Sister of Fate, she who spins the thread. Wait. I thought that the child spun the thread, not the crone.”

“You callin’ me a crone, sonny boy?”

Robert blinked. “I apologize. It was not my intent to slight you. I was only trying to clarify my lack of understanding.”

Gap toothed, she replied with a grin. “As I said, not correctly named. With knowledge comes power, and we are careful to guard true knowledge of our nature. Your kind know half-truths, by design. We are beings of the cosmos, of ideas, of unknowable origin. We take the forms that please each of us best. And we make sure the forms of our names do not match the forms of your ideas.”

Robert shrugged. “Okay. How can I help you? Or, rather, what do you need from me, to come to me in this fashion.”