15. SOLDIER’S EYES

 

The officers make quick work of stuffing Daniel’s lifeless form into a body bag and hoisting it away, leaving only a red pool on the hardwood floor. The smell confuses my divided brain, overwhelming me with an uneasy mix of human nausea and animal adrenalin. I force myself to push past the distraction while I fill in Marrock on everything I know about Henri Boguet. How after months of tracking me — which drew the attention of Roul’s pack and led to my being bitten — he took a sample of my DNA without my consent and created Wolf’s Bane from it. The test tube potential of my genetic makeup continues to fascinate him. He’s the architect of this entire scenario. Without him I would have lived my entire life as a socially awkward gamer and this war wouldn’t be happening. It was Boguet who warned me about Daniel, but I can’t quite piece together why. Since the Luparii saved the mad scientist from trial by Hounds at Quedlinburg, he disappeared. Obviously, he still has a hand to play in this. Marrock just shakes his head at the end of it all.

“I know,” I start, “it sounds far-fetched—”

“No, that’s not it. You’re talking to a werewolf, remember?” he remarks. “You’re not just some kind of mutt. Whatever you got inside of you could wind up saving all the rest of us too. Why wouldn’t he want to keep tabs on you? You make a good science project. Probably turn a pretty penny too.”

That focuses my attention again. “I was under the impression you had a change of heart about turning me in.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grins. “Just thinking out loud.”

“So, what are you proposing?”

“Pack your things.” He makes for the exit. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen Paris.”

Amara and I exchange a loaded glance.

“Hold up,” I say. “That’s my turf you’re talking about.”

The captain turns on his heel. “So sign my permission slip.” After a pause, he asks, “You want my help or not?”

“I’m not going in blind, Marrock. You don’t know Boguet like I do.”

“Boguet is not to be trusted,” Amara agrees. “We have a long history together, one that cannot end well.”

Marrock chews on his words before spitting them out. “All I know is that he’s the Achilles Heel — a vulnerability that the Luparii didn’t expect — and we need to exploit that to our advantage.”

“We need to go in with a game plan,” I press. “You’re assuming Boguet will actually help us out somehow.”

“I’m just weighing the odds here. I figure meeting with this Boguet character is our best chance of putting the odds in our favor.”

“How do you propose we find him?” Amara asks.

“Seems to me he’s hiding in plain sight,” he says, glancing over at me. “Text him. Ask for a meeting at his biotech company, just the three of us.”

Memories of his secret lab in the middle of downtown Paris flood back and I shake my head. “Not when your cover’s blown. The Luparii know you’re NYPD.”

“You never heard of a dirty cop before?” he asks. “The way I see it, you’re short on options here. I got my shield. I got my connections with the counter-terrorism units overseas. We play this by the book and maybe we come out on top of the whole thing.”

I’d be a complete fool to turn down his help. All the same, I note, “‘Maybe’ isn’t really the endgame here.”

“I never trust a sure thing,” he says, turning to leave. “Hurry up, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

Amara turns to do the same but I stop her. “Hold on.”

She glances back at me from the doorway.

“When Arden gets back, he’ll re-establish contact where I sent the pack to hide. You understand the new risks.” I pause. “If you two want out, all you have to do is say the word. I don’t want to insult you by making assumptions. Just know that you don’t owe me anything.”

“I bit you,” she says, keeping her sight trained on the hardwood.

“That doesn’t make you my maker or whatever. We’re not vampires.” I try to lighten the mood with a joke but it’s more for my own sake than hers.

She glosses over my humor, as expected. “When I did so, I changed the course of your future. And ours.”

It’s true. In my old life, though, I was no different than Esrin and the wolves of Beyazkurt that Amara encountered those hundreds of years ago. Just a cave-dwelling gamer with my eyes closed to the world around me. The bite was a catalyst for me.

“I know,” I say earnestly. “Thank you for that.”

Her eyes flick up to mine for a second but she doesn’t say a word. I stare out the window across the length of the forest and beyond, where no one’s the wiser when it comes to the existence of werewolves.

“Here’s the thing,” I admit. “I’m not actually sure how great I’m going to be out there. In battle, I mean. I think it would be better if you left before you found out.”

She moves directly in front of me, barely an inch from my face, and places her hands on my shoulders to peer into my eyes. “You are the living kin of Rodolfus de Aquila.”

I look away. “I’m not him.”

I can’t live up to the titanic shadow he left behind. She forcefully puts her hand on my chin to make me look at her again.

“You are a champion of our kind,” she says with more passion than I’ve ever heard from her. “Your most admirable quality has been your fierce determination. You have done more to unite us than Roul did in hundreds of years. That determination will be a trait unequaled by your adversaries, now and in your life after this.”

I swallow a lump of emotion. “Thanks, but that still doesn’t mean you have to stay.”

“Where would you have us go?” She steps back. “There is no place on Earth where we could hide from ourselves and the shame we would feel for deserting everything we have ever known during such a dire time of need.”

Taking hold of her hands, I bring them down between us. Her fingers squeeze mine and then she withdraws and stalks off to her own room. I strip out of the rest of the battle-worn suit on loan from the Founders, collecting my belongings while considering our plan of attack. Heading a counter-terrorism unit obviously comes with the ability to pull strings around the globe. He knows the European packs aren’t organized in the same way as the Americans, so there’s no real threat of him coming under attack by our own kind in Paris. All the same, it’s a gamble. The Luparii would have been wiser to leave the American packs out of the war. It was a ballsy move to use their own BadWolf technology against the Founders, but I wonder if they understood the repercussions of what they were doing. I’ll bet they didn’t bank on Captain Lyall Marrock.

Esrin enters my bedroom without knocking. She catches me half-clothed but I’m too tired to be embarrassed.

“Doors were made for a reason,” I note.

“Troublesome, aren’t they?”

Unlike the rest of us, she looks no worse for wear. I guess she’s been in lockdown until now. Marrock must have given her the all clear. She tiptoes around the blood, face contorted, obviously put off by the sight of it.

“You’re brave,” I say in an acrid, bitter tone, and she arches an eyebrow. “For coming in here.”

With a smile Esrin asks, “Is that your measure of courage? Returning to the scene of the crime?”

I scoff and I pull on a dress shirt, making toward the door. I’m nothing but frank with her. “I don’t know how you and Marrock came to this arrangement of yours in the New World, but you’re lucky to have him.”

“And he us.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she holds up a silvery gift bag for me to see and seats herself at the edge of the bed.

“Come,” she commands, placing the bag next to her.

I wrap a tie around my collar. “What’s in the bag? An apology for wanting to sell me out to our enemies?”

“A gift,” she says, unfazed, patting the bed.

I’m genuinely curious, but instead of complying I bend over the bag to see what’s inside. Behind us Marrock’s voice carries down the hallway, talking on the phone about police business. While my fingers riffle through the tissue paper, Esrin’s right hand winds around my tie right at the base of the knot, and she pulls me toward her. I pull away, taking a fistful of delicate silver tissue with me.

“You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?”

“It’s such an unpleasant word,” she notes, tilting her head.

Marrock clears his throat at the doorway. “Need more time here?”

I adjust the tie while casting a cursory glance back at the captain and Amara, who both stand outside the threshold of the room.

He leans into the doorframe and gestures over to the bed. “You open that up yet?”

Not trusting my voice to conceal my confusion, I shake my head. Esrin picks up the bag and places it on her lap, pulling the tissue paper out one sheaf at a time. Then she motions for me to receive my gift. A little more leery, I dip my hand into the bag and pull out a soft fabric.

“Spider silk,” he says with a broad grin. “It’s a new type of body armor Phenix Industries has been working on. Impressive, right?”

“Ultra lightweight,” Esrin jumps in. “It’s ten times stronger than Kevlar by weight. Naturally, this is a classified technology.”

I unfurl the fabric, and it’s shaped like a form-fitting vest. It’s the stuff of science fiction, flexible body armor that’s no heavier than a T-shirt but has the same protection of hard armor.

“Great,” is all I can manage as I wonder how I can get my hands on a few dozen more.

“And for you, Amara Liang,” she starts, “we would like to try to repay our debt.”

Esrin withdraws an envelope from the bottom of the gift bag. Hesitantly, Amara receives the gift and pulls out what looks like a note on Phenix Industries letterhead.

Her eyes flick up to meet Esrin’s. “This ... is very generous.”

I look over her shoulder to scan the sheet. It’s appears to be a shipping waybill for enough weapons to arm a small militia. I smile broadly. Finally something good, something to give us a fighting chance. I only hope we have an army to give them to when we get back to Europe. At the same time, anxiety builds at the idea of blood being shed by my hands or at the very least by my command.

“It is our wish that these weapons will do for you what your blade did for us,” Esrin continues. “These are experimental as well.”

“Not to sound ungrateful but the other packs aren’t exactly trained in modern warfare,” I note. “These weapons could prove to be more of a danger to them than to our enemy.”

“Indeed. After consulting with Captain Marrock, he suggested non-lethal rifles.”

“Rubber bullets,” Marrock explains. “Knocks out any long-range target regardless of distance. There’s a ballistic computer tied to the scope that takes the guesswork out.”

“Cool,” I say with relief.

“It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Connor Lewis.”

She stands and extends her hand, a wry smile on her lips to show that she’s playing nice. It’s not lost on me that this all would have taken more than a few hours to arrange. I regret being so harsh. Obviously it wasn’t her intention to actually turn me in. Leaning over and taking her shoulders in my hands, I plant a kiss on each of her cheeks. The heat on my cheeks makes it difficult for me to maintain eye contact when I pull back. I clear my throat.

“No need for formalities among allies, right?”

Her smile widens. “Indeed.”

Marrock gestures for us to follow him. He’s dressed in his civvies again and carrying a black duffel bag that I don’t doubt has at least one weapon in it. I turn to give Esrin one last goodbye, but she’s moved on already with her focus back to her phone. Her attention span for everything around her is fleeting, but then again, so little of the world is of any real concern to her. Amara and I follow Marrock outside. We make our way through the meadow, where the Big Tent has been torn down and taken away, the grass tamped down from the many footsteps that have passed here over the past few days. The thaw of spring is thick with the scent of warm earth reaching up into the air. Some of the Wilds, curious about our movement, stalk around us in the woods while uniformed rangers keep a watchful eye. The wolves follow only as far as they’re allowed. It becomes clear that the rangers are intent on dispersing the crowd in order to keep them away from the exit. By the time the gravel parking area comes into view we find ourselves almost entirely alone.

“Ben, so help me,” Marrock shouts, calling my attention to the sandy wolf trailing us. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn back now.”

The wolf with heterochromatic eyes lets out a low growl. His paws move him one direction then back. After a few seconds of indecision, he lets out a long huff then bounds into the woods ahead of us and disappears momentarily. We reach the small parking area and Marrock’s waiting NYPD officers greet us with a nod before stepping in to their police cruisers. Next to the captain’s unmarked Ford Interceptor, Ben stands, a young man in a simple navy blue jumpsuit, his hair shorn down to a buzz cut like a military cadet.

“No,” Marrock says, moving to the driver’s side as if that’s all there is to the conversation.

“We don’t know what’s out there, but we oughta,” Ben argues.

The captain looks at him over the vehicle roof. “I said ‘no.’”

I’ve been here before myself. He’s talking like a father does to his son, forbidding him from doing something reckless. Obviously Marrock’s never had kids before, because Ben just digs in his heels.

“A chieftain oughta know his enemies,” he presses. “You saw what they did, not just to the Appalachian pack. They’re more than just hunters. They mean to put an end to all of us.”

For a moment the captain considers the argument, leaning his forearm against the frame of the vehicle. The Wild takes the opportunity to drive home his final point.

“Besides, I owe him.”

I start to dispute his assertion but he throws me a hard look. Marrock shakes his head slowly and I can see the wheels turning in Ben’s head.

But instead the captain accedes. “Alright.”

Ben beams and immediately jumps into the front seat. I don’t know how a Wild could possibly help with the troubles overseas, but I’ll take what I can get. Roul once said that a surefire method for securing someone’s loyalty is saving that person’s life, and Ben appears to be determined to make good on that promise. I trust that Marrock has trained him. Having another person on the battlefield who’s got my back isn’t going to hurt. After a long while the motorcade pulls into a private hangar at the Portland International Jetport. Marrock has a lengthy discussion with security while the rest of us wait by the cars.

I take the opportunity to learn more about Ben. “I was under the impression that you never left the wilds.”

He shrugs. “Habbakuk used to run into town on occasion. Now and again I went along for the ride.” There’s a pause and I think that’s the end of the conversation, but he picks up the thread again. “He fancied pears. Would barter with the farmers for them with whatever we had on us, furs and game mostly. Habbakuk could’ve just bought them outright and planted a dozen trees himself if he wanted, but there was something he missed about the bartering that he took pleasure from. Give a little, take a little. Said it reminded him of the worth and the value of things. I never really caught on to his meaning.”

I catch a grimace cross his face before he turns his head. His voice is low when he continues, and it’s obvious that he’s still wrestling with the loss.

“Standing in that graveyard with you ... the light finally dawned on me. You were right. You and him both. Everything on this green earth has a price. Some things, the ones that are important, you don’t often pay for, but when you do it could cost you damn near everything.”

“Ben—”

“Nah,” he says, meeting my eyes in a watery gaze.

Better to say nothing.

The hangar doors open up. There’s a business jet waiting for us outside on the tarmac — correction: my business jet, with the Fenrir Pharmaceuticals logo on the tail. I shake my head.

“How did that get here?” I ask Marrock, raising my voice over the high-pitched whine of the engines.

“Told your pilot you wanted him to meet us here.” He winks. “Mind if I hitch a ride?”

He’s resourceful, I’ll give him that. Before long I’ll have to rein him in so he doesn’t assume control over all my resources, but everything is happening too quickly to pick unnecessary fights for now. There’s wonder in Ben’s eyes as he moves toward the Learjet. His eyes flick over the spinning engines, the gear, the hatches and doors. His nose twitches at the scents of asphalt and kerosene. I can only imagine how overwhelmed he must be.

“Believe it or not, it’s the safest of all modes of transportation,” I assure him as we make our way over.

“No doubt,” he says and leads the way to the aircraft steps.

We climb on board the plane, where my pilot is waiting. I can’t quite read the look on his face as he eyes my companions, but it registers quickly when his eyes dart questioningly to the concealed weapons locker. I shake my head infinitesimally.

“New friends?” he asks cordially.

“Unlikely allies.” I smile and pat him on the shoulder.

Amara and Marrock climb in behind us and the pilot pulls the hatch up with a grim smile but says nothing more as I set my bag down and take a seat. She hasn’t given any indication about her state of mind, but I’ve known her long enough now to tell that she’s anxious to return and reconnect with Arden. I doubt her worry is because he’s gone off the grid. That’s not out of character for him. Everything is on the line for them now. If she gets cured and is trapped in wolf form, it will put an end to the life they’ve built together. I don’t want to experiment by biting her because I’m too afraid the chances of my venom inoculating her are equal to the chances of, well, who knows what could happen anymore. It almost killed Arden after he’d been cured. If I were in their situation, I would sincerely consider running from this world and never looking back. It must have crossed her mind. It’s a testament to their loyalty to their pack that they haven’t, and I’m glad for it. I check my phone one more time before we leave. Still nothing. If Daniel wasn’t bluffing and they do have Madison captive, it’ll make negotiating a lot more difficult. I can’t let them hurt her.

Marrock leans forward in his seat across from me. “Tell Boguet we’ll meet him just past midnight.”

I fire off a text as the hum of the plane’s engine grows louder. As the Learjet takes off I’m pushed into my chair. I only briefly consider the luxury of sleep, knowing that the days ahead will afford me little. I should have come up with a more solid communication plan so we could all keep tabs on each other. Stupid. The moment Marrock closes his eyes across from me, I smack the tip of my shoe against the side of his boot. He glares at me from his seat.

“We have about seven hours.”

“To do what?”

“Strategize. I’m guessing you’ve got more than just a bit of hands-on experience with war, but you don’t know the situation or the enemy as well as I do. If you’re really in this to help, you’ll let me pick your brain and we’ll figure out how to make our move.”

“You’re pretty level-headed about meeting with Boguet.”

“What choice do I have?”

“Connor may be part human,” Amara interjects, “but you must understand that is an advantage when dealing with the bitten. Roul saw that quite clearly from the start.”

“Fair enough,” he says.

“Have you ever had a run-in with the Luparii?” I ask.

He takes a long pause before nodding. “They started out as a wolf-catcher society in the days of Charlemagne. Even back then they were skilled hunters. It’s not much of a surprise that they broke off whatever deal they had going on with the Hounds for someone like Boguet. The Luparii always had a twisted use for dogs.”

“What do you mean?”

He grimaces, glancing over at Ben, who stares out the window with childlike fascination at the clouds below us. “In those days they trained hunting dogs to have no fear of wolves. Eventually they did the same with werewolves. Wolf-baiting...”

There’s no need for him to say more. To this day the only reason I know anything about football is because of Michael Vick and his twisted dog-fighting story. Pitting animals against each other is a terrible human cruelty.

“Fear’s a natural instinct,” he continues, lost for a moment in the past. “It serves a purpose. When you’re alone and that fight-or-flight adrenaline kicks in, sometimes you just got to know to run.”

He still hasn’t told me anything about himself, and in this moment, curiosity eats away at me.

“Were you a Wild when you first landed here?”

A hint of a smile is tinged with a flash of sadness in his eyes, but he doesn’t answer outright. “I spent a long time out in the wild, but there wasn’t a name for it back then.”

We all have our secrets that we keep so others won’t judge us. I’ve only ever told one person about my first day of kindergarten and how that day formed who I am — and that person is dead now. I doubt I’ll share that story again. With that I decide against pressing the question about the life Marrock left behind in the Old World.

“In the case of the Hounds it’s pretty simple,” he says, switching back to strategy.

I eagerly sit up straight.

“Cut off the head and the body dies.”

It’s a gruesome analogy but a clear one: the endgame means killing Breber. It makes sense in its simplicity. The Hounds are a cult of personality. They follow the man. Without Breber, there are no Hounds. Killing him, though, the thought sends a quiver through my stomach. I’m not a general or a king; I don’t gamble with people’s lives, but I guess I have to start. I swallow back the emotional impact of what’s expected.

“You call that simple?”

“Simple compared to what needs to happen with the Luparii.”

“Breber is still surrounded by an army,” Amara reminds him. “A loyal army.”

“One he needs to keep hidden from humans,” the captain says. “That’s his weakness. Whatever has to happen on that front, he needs to make sure it happens quietly, not in the open. In the human world his army is useless, and when it comes to guerilla warfare wolves make natural-born soldiers. You think like a human, the packs will think like wolves, and you can make pretty short work of the Hounds.”

I swallow down my uneasiness at what he means by ‘short work’. The way he speaks, there’s no way around it, but when I consider Josh and the others I’m not ready to accept that. He asks me questions about our numbers and make-up and walks me through a crash course on combat scenarios, and as I listen with rapt attention, the reality of war sinks in. The jargon is particularly disturbing: loss exchange ratio, casualty estimation, body count. ‘Acceptable loss’ is the one that haunts my thoughts as we run through simulations. We continue to talk late into the night about tactics until my head gets heavy and my eyelids can no longer stay open. The unwieldy weight of war is on my shoulders and I can see now that all-out battle is not what I want. But how do I avoid it? After a few hours I’m exhausted from going over strategies. Even Marrock shows signs of wear as he stretches out his broad shoulders and scratches at his day-old beard.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I mumble as I begin to doze off.

The captain sinks back into his seat, shutting his eyes. “You come out on the winning side,” he says, “and I think we’ll be the ones thanking you.”