Fatal Moon Page 6

  “And find me a flight to Seattle. Bump a passenger, put me on first standby, and email a boarding pass to me. By the time I touch down, I expect you to have a list of names and addresses: anyone who came into Halifax between the time I showed you the location of the skull and the time you returned yourself, then flew to Seattle within a week… three weeks… Deos! Since then, but record the dates, I’ll have to check them all, though surely by now someone is there. And God help us if the thief is not the same person as the one who hunts the Skykomish pack. This will be difficult to track if that is the case.”

  “Got it, Luke. I’ll have that for you by the time you arrive. Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll have a flight for you.”

  “Good,” Luke replied. “Call me when you have it, I’ve still got work to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dwayne’s voice was almost back to normal when Luke hung up the call.

  He tried not to let his fury get the better of him. His new batch of assistants was less reliable, less aware of danger. It was hard to find good help anymore. He had to think about whether he was going to end Dwayne’s service to him. It was problematic; Dwayne was a liability with all the information he had gained as Luke’s assistant. If Luke didn’t watch over him, his existence would be too tempting for Luke’s enemies. Obviously, the enemy knew Dwayne now, so, if he kept Dwayne, he would have to find a new identity for him, a new home, and get him relocated. If he decided to find a different assistant, he would have to execute Dwayne, and he would no longer have an assistant who could break into and alter computer data anywhere in the world in a matter of minutes. And he had to keep in mind the two primary laws that his species was judged by; do not allow humans to discover you, and do not harm humans. But Dwayne was not a human. Like Luke, and all Luke’s people throughout the world, Dwayne was Homo lupanthrus: a werewolf.

  Luke knew, of course, that since Dwayne wasn’t human, the second directive didn’t apply. Luke was free to injure or execute any Homo lupanthrus that was a threat to the species, to either of the two laws. Dwayne was pushing it with this transgression. The crystal skulls held enormous amounts of information Luke had used, over the millennia, to do his job as chief protector, commander, and judge of all the werewolves throughout the world. To have that knowledge fall into the wrong hands would be disastrous. Luke would have to get the skull back, then eliminate anyone who had learned of its contents. He would suspend judgment on Dwayne – for now – and wait to see how well his assistant handled this crisis. For now, Luke had a witch, a werewolf cub, and a disobedient pack to deal with.

  Chapter 4 – Waking Up

  Carl awoke slowly to the sensation of intense cold, twigs, and stones pressing into his naked body where it contacted the damp earth. Eyes closed, he resisted the strong urge to shiver, remaining still for a minute or two. Hearing nothing but bird calls and a squirrel scurrying across tree limbs, he slowly opened his eyes to find himself looking into the face of a wolf sitting no more than ten paces away. He stared intently as it sniffed the air, staring at him for a moment before lowering its ears and looking down in submission.

  "Sweet sister wolf," he whispered, "where have you brought me this time?" According to texts he had read, the wolf had already made the first dominant overture with her insolent stare, and in his physical state of vulnerability, he couldn't afford that. He stifled another shiver and rolled his body over to face her; patches of gray fur fell off his shoulders, arms, legs, and side. The wolf dropped her ears to half-mast and let out a low "whuffle" sound as he stared at her, then slowly rose to her feet and turned to lope away through the trees. Carl relaxed. It was the second morning in a row he'd found her up in the mountains. His recent study of wolves hadn't fully prepared him for the subtle hints of aggression or submission in the social creatures, and it seemed lately that his life might depend on such subtleties.

  He unsnapped a collar-bag from his neck, which was the only thing he wore, and pulled out a heat-reflective blanket, moved over to a tree, and rolled himself in the blanket, glad that he had let his curly blond hair grow beyond his shoulders. He finally indulged in the shiver that would have betrayed him to the wolf. He was beyond the forest area where he had sprayed distinctive blazes on the trees, and he didn't know which direction he'd find the house in, so he tilted his head straight back, set his hands on either side of his mouth and called. The sound died away before he heard an answering note from a bugle, then sat back to wait, hunger gnawing at his belly like a stray cub.

  Chapter 5 – Finding Carl

  Miles away, Jordan stood over a workbench. He was looking, with dark, narrow eyes, at an open-bottomed, birdhouse-like box. In his latest battle against insects, he hoped to increase the bat population of the area by giving the small winged creatures safe places to roost. He listened to the wind. Jordan was on-call for the second of three days this month and he was looking forward to ruling his own mornings again, rather than rising at four a.m. to pack saddlebags with dried beef and cheese, clothes, and wool blankets while a concoction of cider, honey, and spices heated on the stove to be packed at the last minute.

  From a distance, up the side of a sheer mountain cliff, the wolf’s howl drifted down to him. His broad hands reached for a bugle from the workbench and he jogged outside. The howl came again, and he squinted up at two peaks to either side of the strongest echoes. Once he had his bearings, he lifted the horn to his lips and blew a long shrill note, the only one he needed to know. He jogged over to the laden mare, strapped the horn to the saddlebags and swung himself into the saddle. Lifting the reins, he kicked her with short, black street boots and she leaped through the open gate.

  Minutes later Jordan felt the horse's hooves slipping and swung down so he could walk her across a rockslide, then got back up on the other side of it. He swore elaborately at the sharp grade. He gripped the saddle horn when she shifted her footing, then guided her past a boulder and drew the reins to one side, kicking gently this time. She surged like an ocean wave up the slope and Jordan swore again as he gripped her sides with his knees, grabbing the saddle horn with his free hand. On the crest of the hill, he pushed her into a gallop. He knew the terrain well and raced against time. It was late autumn and snow had already fallen at higher elevations. Carl would have to remain still under the blanket until Jordan arrived. For the next twenty minutes, he guided the horse up between the slopes of the two peaks he was using as landmarks. He finally stopped, lifted the horn and blew again. The sound echoed back to him for several seconds, then a long, drawn-out howl gave him time to pinpoint the caller. He headed that direction and soon heard Carl’s yell.

  * * *

  Jordan glimpsed the Mylar-draped form through the trees. Carl must have heard the rustle and thud of horse hooves trotting through damp leaves, because he rolled over and looked at Jordan, his gaze emanating from above the silvery plastic of the heat blanket. Jordan slowed the horse to a walk, then slid off and led her while she tossed her head and rolled her eyes. She strained against the reins, trying to stay as far as she could from Carl. Her reluctance forced Jordan to stop a couple of yards away, snatch a flask from a saddlebag and toss it to Carl, who whipped his arm out and grabbed it from the air. Carl shivered again, uncapped the thermal container, and tipped his head back, pouring the hot drink down his throat. Rummaging in the saddlebags, Jordan pulled out jeans and sweater and dug for more items in the other bag.

  Carl slowly eased himself up the trunk of his tree, and nearly dropped into a faint. "Food, Jordan," he gritted through clenched teeth.

  Jordan saw pain in Carl's blue eyes and swore, "Oh, Christ! I thought you'd... uh... eaten... something. Here!" He ripped a plastic bag from the saddle horn and yanked a hunk of white cheese from it, tossing it to Carl's shaking hands. Carl tore off a large corner with his teeth and nearly choked while swallowing it, then bit off another stringy hunk of the mozzarella, devouring the block as Jordan yanked dried meat from one of the saddlebags. After Carl finished the cheese and went t
hrough half the meat at a slower rate, he finished off the juice, then took the clothes Jordan handed him and put them on swiftly, remembering the cold only after his belly was full. Carl sat down on the blanket, folded it over himself, curled up into a ball and fell asleep.

  Jordan pulled the bedroll out from behind the saddle and draped it over Carl for additional warmth. He sat down, leaning against a large fir tree as he looked at the blanket covering Carl's bony back, then closed his eyes. If Carl was skinny, it was Jordan's fault. He reviewed Carl’s weight loss, tremendous on the three consecutive nights a month that Carl went through the strange transformation. The trick was not only getting enough food into Carl between those nights and the next cycle, but also getting him to work out enough to make sure it went on as muscle. His body was cannibalizing muscle tissue, particularly during the transformation. But Carl was so damned focused on collecting and analyzing data, looking for a cure, it was a battle to get him to step away from his microscope and computer to lift weights. What he needed was a treadmill instead of a chair, and weights hanging over the computer so he could be lifting while he stared at the screen. And discipline to do it.

  Chapter 6 – Going Home

  Carl woke up and looked over at Jordan, who seemed to be lost in thought, leaning back against a tree with his eyes closed. Knowing better than to pry into to the internal workings of Jordan's mind, Carl pulled the blankets around himself and stood up. Daisy was straining her neck to reach the nearest leafy bushes. He took a deep breath of mountain air into his lungs, filled himself with the rich scent of pine trees and dark earth.

  Jordan cracked an eye open, shook his head and stretched, then handed Carl a pair of hiking shoes from the saddlebags at his side. Though Carl had bought the damned horse, she would kick him if he came too close, so he would walk. Carl set off down the nearby path on foot while Jordan swung up on the mare and walked her around in front, the wind blowing against their backs. They spoke little as they found a way down the steep slope.

  "How far do we have to go?" Carl asked while his blue eyes searched the terrain for familiar landmarks.

  "Just five miles or so, if we follow the trails most of the way," came Jordan's reply. "Are you okay for it? There's still some meat and another flask of enerjuice." Jordan didn't seem to be listening as he braced himself fluidly, swaying with the horse.

  Carl was concentrating on his footing. "I'd prefer a steak. I believe I can wait until we get to the house." Carl had learned that his body needed a great deal of protein over the past three months, to replace what was lost when fur fell out after each change. Carl's original teeth appeared to have fallen out the very first time – he had discovered them lying on the floor when he got back to his house. It had scared him even more than waking up naked in a strange place. He hadn't found any teeth lying around his house since then, and a surreptitious X-ray had shown him that his new teeth included long, sharp canines that went nearly up to his eye sockets. He had them lightly capped for appearance, disliking the sharpness of them. Back then it made no sense at all, but he assumed now they dropped into place during the transformation.

  They moved on in silence for a while. Jordan took every opportunity he could find to force Carl to a faster pace. He seemed to take his job as Carl's trainer seriously, and Carl was always reluctant to work out on mornings after the transformations. He felt it was more important to catalog his pulse rate, his weight, and any other test he could think of to give himself.

  Carl’s stomach growled loudly as Daisy stepped delicately across a clear, rocky stream.

  "Will you be waiting 'til we get to the house, or can I expect you to drool all the way down? I've got more meat in the pouch.”

  "Meat? That cardboard stuff has all the flavor of kidney pie! I never did understand what my father saw in odd bits of internal organs."

  Jordan swung down off the horse to lead her across the rockslide

  "We’re getting closer, and my weight is surely on the increase, soon enough," Carl said, waving a hand at a blazed tree.

  "You really think you’re that close?" Jordan asked, skeptically, flicking the tail end of the reins against the horse's rump as she slowed down. She tossed her head and sped up.

  Carl wondered if he was just trying to convince himself. According to the data, they'd managed to extend his weight loss curve for another few months already, but it wouldn't last forever. He was on the downslide again, and he only had a few more weeks before it became critical, and that would be right when another devastating transformation cycle occurred. Jordan hadn't said anything about it yet.

  Carl took the crisp air into his lungs as he stood on the slope, hand braced against a tree for a moment while he nodded, catching his breath after half-sliding down the last hill. Carl started moving down the slope again and tried to make conversation. "You said yesterday we need more meat. I wish we could fit more than a week at a time of groceries in the Jag."

  Jordan stopped the horse and turned around to face Carl. "I’m not the one that brought a sports car into the mountains." Carl looked up at Jordan, who stared back at him from his higher position on the horse. Jordan continued, "I'll get your groceries, cook your food, clean your house, do your endless digging for clues, and track you down at ungodly hours in the morning, but I think it's time I had a truck. I could stock up for several weeks at a time, make fewer trips into town."

  Jordan was right, of course, but Carl didn’t like the image that came with trucks. Jordan eventually turned his eyes back toward the house and got the horse moving again. Carl took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Wolf or man, he couldn't seem to win today.

  * * *

  After several hours of traipsing down the path, they came down the last rise to see the three-story stone house, with two floors above ground and one below. From this angle, it looked as if it were carved out of the mountain itself. Carl saw Jordan pause when it came into view, as if out of reverence. The bars Jordan had fashioned and placed over the windows were in keeping with the European style, and the front door had a silver doorknob and strips of silver beaten into it like runes on a magic tome. Carl had watched Jordan go out with a blowtorch and hammer every so often to correct a curve in a window grate or to reinforce a bar, considering it his personal duty. Of course, nearly everything involving upkeep of the house and Carl himself was Jordan's personal duty. Carl paid him well for it.

  Jordan nudged Daisy toward the stables with his knee, tossing the key in Carl's direction. It fell several feet short, and Carl glared at him, but Jordan wasn't looking.

  "Did you write up that report on the books I'm looking for?" Carl asked Jordan's swaying back.

  Jordan spoke without turning around. "It's on your desk. If you want it in triplicate, I can print it out a few more times."

  Carl had to remind himself that Jordan had never asked for this position, like other servants that he’d known. Jordan's most important job was as a physical trainer, and he did it well. Carl went up the curved stone steps, pulled on the glove that Jordan had left on the landing, and opened the door by its silver-plated serpentine handle. He shucked his shoes in the entryway, more to get the wet things off his feet than out of any concern for the slate floors that Jordan kept clean. He went through the living room, then the sliding pocket doors to the den, where he saw the printout sitting neatly on his desk. Skimming it, he wasn't surprised to see that nearly all the books he wanted were long out of print, but he was taken aback by the large number in the next column over that were still unfound. He decided to take that up with Jordan later. For now, he strolled through the library to the kitchen to warm up a steak.

  He saw a pink sticky note stuck to the phone and pulled it off to read it. "Damn!" He swore. "Why didn't he tell me my father called?" He looked at the clock. "Hours ago." Carl crumpled the note and tossed it away. "Undoubtedly long gone or having dinner by now."

  He finally headed toward the refrigerator, asking himself one more time whether to reveal
his problem to his father or not. He passed a mirror in the hallway, one of the many that had appeared since Jordan arrived, and paused to look at his face. It was gaunt and bony; he almost didn’t recognize himself. He frowned and turned slightly, trying to see his profile. His nose rose off his face like a cliff, and his cheekbones looked so sharp it was almost eerie. It wasn’t the face he’d grown up with, and it wasn’t a good sign. Scowling, he continued into the kitchen. He didn’t like the mirrors, the constant reminders where he least expected them, but Jordan had insisted. Carl had seen Jordan looking back over his shoulder periodically whenever they were outside, even in the mountains, and he knew Jordan wanted eyes in the back of his head, but the mirrors were almost too much. He thought again about breaking them, but he knew they would just be replaced. With a sigh, he resigned himself to seeing more, or less, of himself than he wanted. Then, with another sigh, he lifted the receiver on the desk phone to call his father. He hated to disturb his father at dinnertime, but he still wasn’t accustomed to the loneliness of his exile, and it would be nice to hear the voice of someone who cared about him, for a change.