White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul (4 page)

Justin Laroque had asked her out earlier this year. To a movie in Grand Rapids. She’d known what that meant. His kind didn’t date her kind, not in the open anyway. The Laroques didn’t do the Caboose. The clientele was too lowbrow for country club members like them.

Yet since that invitation, Justin had started popping in for the odd breakfast. A while back, he mentioned needing a date for a party. In the next county. Melanie had smiled and refused. How stupid did she look? As if she’d get in a car alone with him.

There had been other invitations, none of which she accepted. If only she’d been able to even picture kissing one of the men who asked her out, Melanie would’ve jumped at the chance. Anything to stop this relentless longing for Mike.

Minutes passed and sleep proved elusive. At three thirty, she decided to be productive. She washed up, dressed in a fresh uniform, grabbed her cell, purse, and shoes, retrieved the journal from the hamper, and snuck into the living room. She set the phone alarm for four and covered her legs with the worn but comfy fleece throw kept on the couch. The clip-on light she kept for the occasional sleepless night looked like it would dent the battered leather covers of the book, so she attached it to the table and adjusted the journal in her lap.

Susie had been on the money. The calligraphy-style writing proved difficult to read, but after a few stumbles, Melanie’s pace picked up. The first tale was entitled “Haa’lingan Kitchimee”—The Creation of the Earth.

The buzz alarm on her cell phone startled Melanie into a gasp. She’d been so completely ensnared by the legends that for a moment she was disoriented. Melanie glanced down at the journal, gritted her teeth against the temptation to read one more paragraph, tucked the book into her purse, and set about preparing lunch for everyone.

Thoughts jumped willy-nilly as she worked.

Had the two wolf sets, the black and the white, really begun in a deep underground cave that bordered Canada and the US?

According to the maggishawi’s notes, the Cwaatchii had once been one species fathered by the
Gaa’lingan
, the great earth spirit. They had lived in
Ma'ghiciwa
, the sacred diamond- and gold-dusted caverns that ran the entire west line of what was now Lake Superior.

Gaa’lingan loved his children and blessed them with his wisdom and many magical powers. The Cwaatchii prospered and populated the labyrinths of Ma’ghiciwa with loving bitches and powerful males. Most were content to live off the fish in the many streams and saw no need to venture aboveground.

The sun spirit,
O'aajiisi
, grew jealous of being denied the Cwaatchii and sent a child of his own,
Miigawashi
, a bird whose song entranced all living creatures, to lure the Cwaatchii to his fiery heat. The Miigawashi enticed the beta males with the promise of alpha powers gifted from O’aajiisi.

Melanie packed the lunches into three containers, donned her shoes, grabbed coat and purse, and hurried out the front door. The walk to the bus stop in the semidark always spooked her. This morning though, with her head filled with notions of enchanted birds, sun and earth spirits, and mystical creatures, she jumped at every frog croak and owl hoot; even the normal soothing cicada song had the hairs on her forearms and neck tingling.

Melanie didn’t relax until she boarded the bus.

“Mornin’, sweet girl,” Mac, the bus driver, greeted her.

“Good morning to you.” Melanie usually sat at the front and chatted with Mac, but this morning a stranger occupied the first seat, so she continued on and sat in the back. She had grabbed the clip light on the way out, and this gave her the perfect opportunity to read more of the legend.

The hissing sound of the bus doors opening captured her attention, and she glanced up to see that the stranger had exited. Frowning, she twisted around to check the direction the stranger took, but he had vanished. Uneasiness sailed a shiver across her bared nape. She shook her head. It was the cold, not a premonition; after all, she’d forgotten her scarf.

Sighing, because she couldn’t be rude and not go up and talk to Mac, she stood and made her way to the front, sat across from the bus driver, and asked, “Who was he?”

“Not the talkative type. Didn’t get more than a grunt out of him.” Mac geared down, and the bus’s transmission protested with a long-drawn-out grating. “One ’a these days, Herbie ain’t gonna make it up this hill.”

Melanie smiled. Mac had named the bus Herbie, after his favorite movie,
The Love Bug
. While he complained about the vehicle, he was absolutely proud of the ancient automobile and worried constantly about the bus’s innards.

They talked about the weather and the new mayor, who’d been endorsed by most of the city’s elite but after five months hadn’t seemed to accomplish much. The man was the type you passed on the street without a second glance. Charles Smith. Even the mayor’s name proved innocuous.

“Wish Mike had come back before the election. The Dorlands always did back the right horse.” Mac rounded the bend that led to the Caboose’s stop.

Melanie gathered her purse. “I guess everyone knows he and Drake are back.”

“For good. It’s the right thing to do. Those two boys should never have abandoned their heritage.” Mac pulled on the bus’s hand brake.

Why had Mike and Drake left? She’d always wondered about that.

“Have a good one. Don’t do any damage.” Mac waved his gnarled fingers.

Such a sweet man, Mac, and he had so many problems, including his health.

The first person she ran into was her friend Brinda’s daughter, Yvonne. That was unusual since the girl was in her freshman year at high school, and Mackinac High didn’t start for a good couple of hours.

Yvonne bounded off the bus stop bench, backpack hanging loose from one hand. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The teenager colored, bit her lip, and then blurted, “Nadine’s saying mean things about me.”

Nadine de Verteuil, the lagniappe sister, born a dozen years after Valérie.

“Like what?” Melanie sat on the bench and patted the slats.

“That my mom’s…” She shook her head; her lips flattened, and Yvonne slumped onto the seat. “That she and Sheriff Pincer are…”

Melanie blinked. Tried to keep her expression neutral. No way. Brinda knew how much Melanie disliked Pincer, and Brinda was as close to a best friend as she’d ever had. Besides, Brinda had had a mad crush on Doc G. for forever. “Now you know that isn’t true. Your mom’s working two jobs. She doesn’t have time for anything else. Besides you know that you’re her only priority. Have you told her about this?”

“How can I?” Yvonne fiddled with the buckle on her backpack. “There’s something else. She’s been real sick the last few weeks. I hear her in the bathroom. She tries to be quiet, but I can hear.”

Sweet Lord. Was Brinda pregnant? With Pincer’s baby? The notion bittered the saliva in Melanie’s mouth. She refused to even consider the option. “Okay. Here’s how we’re going to deal with this. I’ll talk to your mom and find out if she’s ill. Don’t worry. I’ll be real subtle about it. She won’t ever know you talked to me. Has Nadine gotten physical with you?”

Yvonne dropped her gaze. She swung a sneaker-clad foot to one side. “She knocked the food tray out of my hands a couple of times. She hasn’t hit me if that’s what you’re asking.”

Melanie didn’t know whether to believe the girl or not. “Yvonne, you’re taller than her and smarter than her—”

“I tell myself that. But when she gets snarky with me, I freeze. It’s like my brain hangs up. And then a couple hours later, I think of the perfect comeback.” Yvonne clapped her heels together. “It makes me so mad at myself.”

It sounded like her and Valérie all over again. Melanie squeezed Yvonne’s shoulder. “Hindsight’s always right. The same thing used to happen with me and her big sister.”

The young girl’s ash brows climbed, and her blue eyes seemed to pop out of her head. “No way.”

“Way.” Melanie couldn’t hold back a grin. “Let me think about it today, and we’ll work out a plan, but first things first. Try to make sure that you’re never alone with Nadine. I know you have friends at school. I’ve seen you with girls from school at the Caboose. Why don’t you start a group lunch thing? Organize a few friends and pick a table.”

All the tension in the girl’s hunched shoulders evaporated; she straightened. “The only times Nadine’s got me was because I was late from PE, which is the last class before lunch. Our PE teacher is really cool. I think I’ll ask her to let me out a couple minutes early.”

“You might even want to tell her what’s going on. No teacher likes a bully, Yvonne.” Melanie could see from the way the girl averted her gaze she wasn’t keen on the notion. “Just consider it an option.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you feel better for having told me?”

“Sort of. Yeah. I guess so.”

“So, don’t write off talking to your PE teacher.”

“What if she tells everyone? I’d look like an idiot.”

Melanie well understood Yvonne’s predicament having once been in the same situation herself. Sheesh, what else could be done? “What about if I ask my brother Gray to teach you some self-defense moves? It’ll boost your confidence. He plays football and knows all sorts of tricks.”

“I guess. Anyway that’s not what’s important. My mom’s what’s important. Will you ask Mom about being sick? I looked up the symptoms on the Internet. She has these bumps on her back, and her hair’s falling out. Is it cancer?” Yvonne worried her lower lip. “It’s only me and Mom. I don’t have any aunts or uncles. There’s only me to take care of her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. There’s me, Virgil, Janie; everyone at the Caboose is family.” Melanie tugged the teenager into a tight embrace. “Your mom doesn’t have cancer, I promise. Now stop worrying. We’ll figure this out, together.”

“You won’t tell her? About Nadine? I don’t want her to worry.”

“Pinky swear.” Melanie grinned and held up her finger and put on a brave front while worries chased her brain. Was Brinda sick? She hadn’t noticed a thing. Surely as a maggishahwi, she would’ve picked up on any illness?

She watched Yvonne leave and sighed. The poor girl had grown five inches over the summer, and awkward didn’t begin to describe the teenager’s gait or posture. Maybe being short wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Melanie checked the time on her phone: 5:15. She hurried to the bench under the trees that faced the back entrance to the Caboose, set the cell’s alarm, and sat. Within seconds she was thoroughly engrossed in the journal.

When the phone dinged, she jumped, and it took a minute to adjust to her surroundings. She tucked the book into the depths of her purse, dropped the cell into the open outside pocket, and started for the Caboose’s employee entrance.

Had it all really happened?

Miigawashi had lured half the tribe to the surface.

A victorious O’aajiisi gifted those who had left the sanctuary of Ma’ghiciwa with great strength, a deep hunger for power, and the ability to shift form.

Gaa’lingan ordered the remaining Cwaatchii, the powerful alphas and their mates, to retrieve those who had abandoned the cave. The Cwaatchii reached the surface but could not find their fellow wolves.

Bii’lingan
, the great water spirit, coveted wolves of his own, so he flooded the land with five great lakes so the Cwaatchii could not return to the caves. And thus began the great divide between the wolves.

Was that how the black wolves came into being?

Was that how their last name had come about?

Gramps had brought them from their hometown, Twisp, Washington, to this reservation, hoping to cure Papa of his addiction. So the
Makgamii
tribe had to be white wolves like they were. Why then had the tribe shunned them after Papa and Gramps died?

Yet when Mama’s drinking had gotten out of control and Melanie had gone to Shuman, leader of the Makgamii, he had agreed to send Mama to the rehab center. Once Mama came back clean and sober, Shuman had even offered her a job.

But none of the tribe’s alphas had taken Gray under their wing. Maybe when she finished the journal, there would be more answers. She sighed and climbed the five steps leading to the Caboose.

The door swung open. Brinda, hands akimbo, frowned down at her. “I thought you were going to sit on that bench right through the breakfast shift. What were you reading?”

“Library book. I need to talk to you. It’s about Yvonne. She’s being bullied at school.” Melanie grabbed Brinda’s hands because she looked about to faint. “Now don’t get all worried. I think we can nip this in the bud. She doesn’t want you to know.”

“But why wouldn’t she come to me?” Brinda wailed.

Because she thinks you’re dying of cancer
, but Melanie didn’t say that aloud.

Chapter Three

“What’s up?”

“You heard about the bear cubs and mothers being slaughtered?” Mike knocked his brother’s boots off his desk and hooked a thumb. “Up. We have the same blasted chair, Drake. Why is it that you have to sit in mine when I’m gone?”

“No. Where’d you hear that?” Drake swirled the leather seat and stood. “But then again, I only got into town about an hour ago. Your chair has that heat warming thingy. Mine doesn’t.”

“Switch them out and then leave mine alone. Why
must
you move every single item on my desk? You gotta learn to contain your fiddling.” Mike slumped into the warm seat, adjusted the desk blotter equidistant from all four corners, and scraped at his chin stubble.

Drake crossed his eyes. “You’re such a neat freak. What’s this about bears and cubs and slaughters? And how do
you
know?”

“Found a cub and its mother on the way to the cabin yesterday. Mother was torn apart. Shredded. Cub was still breathing, not that there was much left of it. I took it to Doc G.’s, but it died. And Doc G. told me there’s been a spate of similar slaughters.”

“So someone’s hunting bears. What’s it to you? Want coffee?” Drake dug a creamer out of the coffee basket, stared at the label, and made a face. “Hazelnut flavored cream? Must we have Mrs. McIntosh as our receptionist? How many other kills?”