I’d pulled up outside Indigo’s shabby apartment building a few blocks from my own after we’d dropped Dan back at the shelter. None of us knew what came next. We’d found the ship belonging to the bounty hunter, at least we’d felt pretty sure we had, but it was guarded by a squad of orcs and magic-wielding demons. Demons powerful enough to create a masking spell to hide themselves from the other normal dock workers that surrounded them. We’d also learned that Realm Walkers were assisting the bounty hunter as well and Dan had narrowly saved my life, disabling, if not outright killing, a demon in the process. That was certainly going to go noticed and I wasn’t sure how the bounty hunter would respond.
“Didn’t you say a few of those creatures attacked Loren, too?” Indigo looked over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs toward her apartment.
I nodded. “Yeah. Almost looked like members of the same clan, too. Same skin color, even some similar horn treatments. I’ll have to pay Loren a visit and give her this news. I have no idea what it means, but it must mean something.
We stood outside Indigo’s door and she used her key to unlock it, pushing it open. As she stepped into her apartment, Miranda emerged from deeper within the squat living room.
“Hey,” she said, a soft smile on her face. She and Indigo touched hands briefly in a way that seemed— a bit more than friendly.
“Evening,” I said with a nod and Miranda smiled back.
“I’ll be right in, okay?” Indigo gave Miranda a knowing nod and the other woman drew back, returning to wherever she’d been.
“How’s she holding up?”
“Good and bad days. I’m not sure what’s worse, me with this vampire thing or her with the pain killers.”
“Speaking of that vampire thing—”
“We really weren’t— but what?”
“How is she doing with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Sammy mentioned that when you changed— helped them escape that cell that Fenric threw you in— Miranda seemed—”
“Horrified?”
“Well, yeah. Since you put it that way.”
“She was surprised. I don’t think she had any idea. Remember, she was half out of it when we rescued her from that vampire den, she didn’t see what I did to Fenric’s goons who ambushed us afterwards. Far as she knew, I was just the same old Indigo I always was.”
“But she’s getting over it?”
Indigo looked back over her shoulder, toward the tiny apartment’s interior. “I think so. I’m sure it’s not her favorite thing in the world, but I think she’s doing okay with it in the grand scheme of things.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. I speak from experience when I say everyone handles that sort of thing differently.”
“Oh? What sort of experience is that?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been alive five hundred years and spent quite a bit of that time mingling in the human world. I made some— connections. Connections who tended to wonder why, after ten or fifteen years of knowing me— why they were looking older and I wasn’t.”
“Ah. Gotcha.”
“As you can tell from my personal life— those conversations didn’t have a tendency to go well.”
“I guess that’s why you’re better off sticking with Loren.” Indigo smiled and hoisted her narrow eyebrows.
“I guess we’ll have to see about that. Our schedules aren’t exactly homogenous at the moment.”
“Homogenous? Impressive, Gus.”
“I saw it on a carton of milk.”
Indigo rolled her eyes. “I’m going to at least try and grab a few hours of shut-eye before I have to see your ugly face again.”
“Right back at you.”
Indigo shut the door behind her and I could hear the low voices of she and Miranda having a conversation as I walked down the hallway.
#
As I opened the front door to my apartment, I wasn’t exactly prepared to see someone sitting on my couch, especially not someone who resembled a three hundred pound Viking, complete in ornate leather armor and with a pair of axes crossed on the coffee table. The leather couch almost sagged beneath the man’s weight, one arm stretched along the back of the cushions, the fingers of the other hand coiled through the handle of a beer stein, barely large enough to accommodate them.
“Gus! I was beginning to wonder if you would return.” The man named Troels turned his broad head, and a long spill of blonde hair fell across his opposite shoulder. Troels was, like me, an Enforcer for the Caretakers, one of their personal police officers, for lack of a better term. As I once had, he took care of problems for them. Which begged a sudden question— was I one of those problems that needed taking care of? We’d actually worked together quite a bit back in the day and when I’d needed help dealing with the Davit Sivaslian problem, Troels had helped.
He pushed himself from the couch, the piece of furniture almost sighing in relief as he stood, mug in hand. “I fancied myself a game of your bill yards, but the rules evaded me.” He scowled over at the pool table and I subtly let out a breath of relief.
“Troels?”
“Greetings!” He lifted the stein. “I brought you some Guinness— I know it’s your favorite mead.” He lowered the mug and stared inside. “I’m afraid I drank it all while I was waiting for you to return.” He shrugged, turned and set the stein back on the table behind him.
“What— are you doing here, exactly?” I remained rooted in place, studying the large man who stood in the middle of my apartment, uninvited.
“Are we not friends? Former comrades?” He strode toward me and slapped me hard on the left shoulder— the one with the bullet wound. I almost gasped in pain and the Viking drew back. “What ails you?”
I gently rotated my shoulder, a wince twisting my face. “Long story. Long, boring story.” I walked to the kitchen and although we were only about three or four hours until sunrise, I poured myself some whiskey.
“To answer your question, Troels— yes, we are former comrades, but— I don’t think that’s what brings you here tonight.”
“That’s fair,” Troels replied and swept his stein from the table, taking a sip. “You are right, I was asked to pay you a short visit. To inquire about a few things.”
“Inquire?” I drank half the whiskey in one gulp. “No offense, Troels, but the only beings who can ask you to do anything are the Caretakers, and if they sent you, I’m not feeling all that inclined to answer any questions.”
“They are indeed the ones that sent me.” He set the now empty stein on the counter. “They are— concerned.”
“Concerned?”
“They understand that there are werewolves in the city. Possibly the first sightings in nearly a hundred years, yes?”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
Troels affable expression suddenly hardened. “You know how the Caretakers feel about werewolves, Angus. You know the dangers they pose, not just to humans, but to all species and races. If you’ve seen them— if you know of their existence—”
“What? I should go running to the Caretakers to tell them? After they’ve more or less kicked me to the curb?”
“That’s not exactly how it happened.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly how it happened.”
Troels opened his mouth, poised to respond, then finally accepted my point. “Okay, fine. Yes, that’s how it happened, but that doesn’t change the fact that they remain concerned about you and about the human race at large.”
“They don’t give two shits about the human race.”
“It’s like I said,” Troels continued, annoyance shaping his words, “the werewolves don’t just pose a risk to the human race. The Caretakers, and frankly, I, too, are curious why you seem to be helping one of them?”
“I’m not helping one of them.”
“That’s— not how it’s being perceived.”
“Oh?” I set the empty glass on the counter. “And exactly how are my actions being perceived, Troels?”
“They are worried for you, Angus. I am, too.” He gestured toward my shoulder. “You are clearly injured. Already in the middle of something you cannot control. Should this conflict with the werewolves escalate, there’s no telling how far things could spread.”
“It’s not a conflict. It’s one guy. A kid, for what it’s worth. Barely older than a teenager, if that.”
“Need I remind you of the operation in Germany? The threat to King George?”
“You never have to remind me about that.”
“There were pups in that den, Angus— I’m sure far younger than this teenager you’re referring to. You remember what happened that night, I’m sure.”
“Every time I close my eyes, Troels. Trust me.”
“Then I don’t understand why you are helping this one? This teenager? No good can come of it. We are almost at a full moon! Every minute that ticks away he will only be more dangerous.”
“I have a responsibility.”
“To who? The werewolves?”
“Not werewolves, Troels. You keep saying that. Talking about the entire species as if they’re a singular thing. Dan is a werewolf, yes, but he’s not some nameless and faceless species. He’s a kid.”
“A kid who is capable of tearing someone apart at a whim. A kid who, the closer we get to a full moon, the stronger, more feral and less in control he will be. You are playing with fire, Angus and if you are not careful, you are going to get burned.”
There was a hardened seriousness to his words that took me aback. Troels, no matter the situation, had that attitude of affable surfer jock, a guy who didn’t feel the pressure, just went with the flow. That was not the Troels I saw.
He drew a deep breath, then walked back over to the coffee table, his leather armor creaking as he moved. Lifting the two throwing axes from the table, he threaded one of them through a sheath on the back of his shoulder armor and turned back to face me, holding the other at his side.
“The Caretakers asked me to come retrieve you,” he said. “To bring you back to the realm so they could have a little face-to-face.”
“Oh?”
“I convinced them that I just had to have a conversation with you— to help you see the light.” He gestured between the two of us with his axe. “This does not feel like it was an illuminating conversation.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult. I— I felt the same way you do, Troels, even just a couple of days ago. But then— then I spent some time with him. Saw what he struggles with. Heard his perspective. Werewolves can be dangerous— very dangerous. I won’t argue that point with you. But not all werewolves are the same. They’re not all savage killers, Troels— and— I owe this one a debt.”
“Owe a werewolf a debt?” Troels shook his head, his eyes twin, dark slits. “I do not understand this, Angus— and I can guarantee the Caretakers will not understand it either.” He sighed and tapped his axe in the palm of his left hand. “I am going to have to give them this news. To tell them that you were— uncooperative.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“They will send me back. Perhaps others.”
“Then that’s a chance I’m going to have to take.”
Troels studied me for a long, quiet moment, seeming to take in what he saw, work through some mental calculations. “You are a good man, Angus— perhaps a better man than I. But there are times that can get you into trouble.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Troels made a slight motion with his axe, using its enchanted blade to pierce the veil and draw mystical energy into its metal surface. He waved his opposite hand in a broad, wide circle and within a twisting spiral of sparks, a doorway seemed to open in mid-air, revealing a different world within. The interior of my apartment was blotted out by the spinning sphere as a portal irised open.
I could feel the resonate energy leak out from within, I could smell the pungent aroma of magic, almost taste the sweet nectar of the land that had been my home for so many years— one I was barred from returning to. I felt a sudden longing for it that I couldn’t explain, an almost uncontrollable desire to sprint past Troels and dive head-first through the portal, drop to my knees and beg forgiveness from the Caretakers.
That thought didn’t last long. I firmed my mouth, my back teeth pressing together and without another word, Troels ducked his head, stepped through the circular doorway and it hissed closed behind him. I released the lungful of air I hadn’t realized I was holding, then filled my glass back to the top with whiskey.