Present Day
Inside the library, Caroline dumped her notes on the table and took a seat, ready for the meeting about the Densmeet. Baron was already there, a stack of papers in front of him, with Tank sitting beside him, pen in hand, ready to take down the details of the meeting.
“I’ve got the list of visitors,” Baron began. “We’re getting five shifters from France, five from Spain, four each from Norway and Poland, twelve from Russia – four different Dens there – and four from Ukraine.”
“Ukraine?” Caroline asked in surprise. “We haven’t had them here before. Do they speak any English?” Not every shifter who came would know the language, but at least one member from each Den coming would be fluent and be able to translate for the others.
“Nikolai, the alpha, speaks English,” Baron explained, checking the guest list in front of him. And beside him, Andre quietly coughed.
Caroline glanced up at him. “What?”
“Nikolai is coming to Scotland?” Andre repeated, a strange note in his voice.
“You’ve met him?” Baron asked immediately. It was reasonable for them to expect to have met about half the visiting shifters before, while the rest would be strangers.
“Briefly. I had business in Ukraine a few years ago. What do you know of the Den?”
“Nothing, save what the Council tells us. I didn’t know they were any different from any other eastern European Den.”
Andre raised an eyebrow. “They live in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone,” he said, a touch of awe in his voice, and Caroline’s eyes opened wide at the news.
“They what?”
“On the edge of it,” Andre clarified. “Not right in the centre. But nonetheless, they’re exposed to a significant amount of radiation on a regular basis. There are some benefits to the location, though. Since humans were evacuated, the local wildlife has proliferated. There’s an abundance of deer and wolves in particular, and that gives them a great deal of freedom. Very few humans to spy on them, an established population of wild wolves to mask their activities, plenty of prey. And the shifter physiology seems to protect them from the worst of the effects of the radiation. But it has had a few unforeseen side effects, as well.”
“Like what?” Baron asked.
“It’s enhanced their magic. There have been a few new abilities to come out of that Den in the last few years, and not from any dabbling with the bloodlines. Nikolai himself…” Andre paused and swore softly in Italian, then continued. “There are Council reports that he’s learned to teleport. He can initiate a shift in one location, and his other form appears anywhere up to ten metres from that point. The Council is eager to conduct a further assessment on him and his Den, but so far they’ve been busy dealing with other problems.”
“Teleportation?” Caroline breathed in awe. “Wow.”
“You had a shifter here in England a good while back,” Andre went on. “I don’t remember his name, but he had the ability to disappear for a few seconds each time he shifted. His human body would vanish, but he found a way to delay the arrival of his wolf body, effectively rendering him invisible for a short time. He was of the line of Fellor. Nikolai is of the same line, so there’s a theory that he inherited the same ability, but the radiation allowed him to take it to new levels.”
“And what about the man himself,” Baron asked, no doubt eager to know more about any potential problems that might be arriving on his doorstep. “What’s he like?”
Andre let out a chuckle. “Unusual,” he said wryly. “Nothing dangerous. He’s just… he’s a character. Let’s put it that way.”
“It should be interesting to meet him,” Caroline said, curious about this foreign man. “What about the wolves from France? Who’s coming with them?”
France was the nearest Den to England, and as such, they were close allies, often traveling between the two countries to visit or assist each other, and they had several good friends there. It would be nice to have the chance to catch up with them.
“They’re sending Henri, Marcel and Vincent,” Baron said, reading from the list. “Vincent is new, recruited last year. And also Sabine and Annabelle.”
Caroline made a satisfied noise as she heard that last name. Annabelle was a good friend, and a constant source of both sound advice, and mischief. She was also a fine warrior and had a gift for rituals and ceremonies similar to Heron’s. Henri, too, was a familiar name, though Caroline hadn’t met the others.
“The Council has requested that Annabelle perform the Nochtan-Eil,” Baron said, literally the ‘Midnight Chant’. It was a sacred ceremony honouring Sirius and the lives of those who had fallen in the past year, and was generally considered to be the highlight of the Densmeet.
“The Council has advised them that you’ll be attending,” Baron said to Andre. “And Marcel has sent a message saying he’d like to meet with you.” And then he added, with a note of interest, “Apparently he knew your father.”
Caroline turned to Andre in surprise. “Your father?”
Andre nodded slightly. “My father was French. Hence my name. He lived with the Den there for eight years before he met my mother and was transferred to England. That was two years before they adopted me. I haven’t seen Marcel since I was fifteen. But before that, he was a regular visitor here. It’s been a long time.” That last part was said wistfully, and Caroline felt another unreasonable stab of jealousy. For all the time she’d spent with Andre in Italy, there was so much she didn’t know about his past.
“On the subject of the Nochtan-Eil,” she interrupted awkwardly, eager to change the subject, but not liking what she had to say. “Luke fell this year. And under normal circumstances, Mark would have taken part in the ceremony in his honour.”
A heavy silence greeted her statement, the implicit question hanging over them all. Mark had got into significant trouble last year and had subsequently been branded as a traitor, as well as demoted to the rank of omega. But the death of his closest friend left them with a dilemma. It would be hugely insulting to Mark to forbid him from participating in the ceremony, a slap in the face that effectively nullified the close bond he’d had with Luke. But on the other hand, to let a branded traitor take part in such a sacred ritual would cause an uproar with the rest of the shifters. She looked at Baron for a solution, and then, when none was forthcoming, to Andre.
“As it happens,” Andre said slowly, “the Council has already taken note of the issue. And they have requested that Alistair take part in the ceremony instead of Mark.”
“Ah.” That single word conveyed a great depth of emotion, and Baron’s expression tightened at the news. Alistair was a freelance reporter, the Den’s PR genius, tackling any media leaks that came a little too close to the truth about the shifters, and he had also been a close friend of Luke’s… but Mark was not going to take this well.
“I think,” Andre hedged cautiously, “that they made the decision to take any potential blame away from you and Caroline. I know it’s a little heavy handed of them, but they also like to avoid any situations that can create a sense of divided loyalty.”
It was very considerate of them, even if it was heavy handed, as Andre had said, an interference in the running of a Den that they would not usually take. But Mark had been a high ranking wolf, and they must have known that both Caroline and Baron continued to feel conflicted over his demotion.
“Let’s move on then,” Baron said a moment later. “George will be organising catering, but he’ll need help with preparing meals for so many people. Eric and Heron have both volunteered to help, and I don’t see any problem with that arrangement.”
Caroline nodded, glad that at least one item on their agenda had such a simple solution. At the end of the table, Tank was dutifully taking notes, not having said anything so far, though he’d been listening attentively.
“Skip will be running a three day seminar on hacking,” Caroline said next, consulting her own notes. “We’re taking four laptops for the purpose, and the other hackers will each be bringing one of their own. One of the Russian wolves needs to attend the sessions, but he doesn’t speak any English, so he’ll have a translator working with him. Silas will also be running his usual combat training sessions, but the translator isn’t a part of that, so if we run both groups at the same time, that’ll cut down on time taken away from other things.”
“I’ve asked Caleb to help arrange the Games this year,” Baron said, throwing a covert glance at Andre.
The ‘Games’, as they were exclusively known, took a variety of forms. For new recruits, they were a chance to hone important skills as a wolf, tracking, digging, manipulating objects in wolf form without the benefit of human hands. For more seasoned shifters, they rapidly increased in difficulty, more difficult scents to track, obstacle courses, team challenges designed to measure the shifter’s ability to work with wolves with an entirely different skill set from their own. Each year it was a challenge to come up with new and interesting Games for the visiting shifters, each one not just a test of skill, but an excuse to have some fun as well, but for the older wolves, it was almost as much fun to design the Games as it was to participate in them.
“Caleb’s got a good imagination,” Baron went on, “and he should be able to come up with a good variety of challenges.” It was a sideways reference to Andre’s ongoing assessment of the man for service to the Council, a more direct reference not possible with Tank sitting in the room, but Andre caught on quickly.
“As an assassin, I’m not qualified to enter any of the challenges,” he said, giving Baron a nod, “but I’d like to help set things up. I’d be happy to work with Caleb to get things arranged.” It would be a perfect opportunity for him to assess not just Caleb’s organisational skills, but his personality as well, opening up the chance for subtle one-on-one conversations as they put in long hours together to design each challenge.
“Just one other thing,” Caroline said, before they wrapped up the meeting. “I take it you’re making the usual provisions for John?”
Baron nodded. “I’ve got it under control.” Not good at socialising and prone to fits of temper, John found the Densmeets to be more than a little stressful, and Baron had learned to make arrangements to ease his tension. A quiet bedroom for himself and John, away from interruptions and noise. Regularly scheduled breaks when either himself or Heron could take the boy away from the crowd for some down time. And plenty of exercise to keep his energy levels under control.
“Tank?” Baron said, drawing the man into the conversation for the first time. “Are you still up for putting in a few sparring sessions with him?”
“No problem,” Tank said, aiming for his usual easy going mood, and not quite making it. “Happy to help.”
“Thanks,” Baron said, and Caroline made a mental note to talk to him about Tank in the near future. His ongoing reluctance to deal with his captivity in the Noturatii’s lab was worrying, and she wasn’t keen on heading to Scotland, with all its potential dramas, with him in the condition he was in.
“We should also think about Dee,” Caroline said. “There’s going to be a reaction to her and her wolf. Rumours will have spread by now about Fenrae-Ul and the prophecy about her destroying our species, and I don’t want anyone giving her a hard time about it.” Dee herself had said several times that she had no intention of harming anyone in Il Trosa, and Caroline was more inclined to listen to the woman herself than a millennia-old prophecy in a barely-translatable language. “But at the same time, I don’t want people upset because they’re worried about what she might do.”
“Mark is just as likely to be an issue,” Andre added. “People aren’t going to be happy about having a traitor in their midst.”
“I think we’ll need to play that one by ear,” Baron said, after a moment’s consideration. “Making an issue out of either of them is only likely to create more tension, and a little heckling is to be expected. We are wolves, after all,” he added with a wry grin. “But if anyone steps too far over the line, we need a couple of people on hand who can step in for them. I’ll have a word to Silas about it. And you, Andre?” Andre nodded, wordlessly offering his support. “Tank? You okay with putting out a few fires, if they come up?”
“For God’s sake,” Tank snapped, his pretence at a good mood vanishing. “I’m not a fucking invalid. I know my job, and I’m perfectly capable of doing it, so stop asking me if everything’s okay like I’m about to break at any moment.”
And that, Caroline thought blackly, was exactly why they were worried. Tank was known for his good humour, his extensive patience and his ability to see the funny side to just about any situation. And this latest display of temper was not doing anything to reassure her that he was still capable of fulfilling his duties.
18 Years Ago
Andre marched into the Council’s headquarters, a large villa just outside Cison de Valmarino, feeling on top of the world. It was three years since he’d been converted – later than he would have liked, but an exhilarating moment, nonetheless – and now at the age of twenty-two, with the skills from new training and the weight of new responsibilities on his shoulders, he was, for the first time, feeling like more than an awkward child. He was becoming a man, a warrior, a valued part of his pack. And it was a heady feeling.
The villa was set in a remote part of the country, surrounded by forests and even a few wild wolves. Though small in number, the presence of wolves gave the shifters much greater freedom in their day to day lives; if one of them happened to be spotted by a stray hiker or farmer, they would be dismissed as merely one of the regular wolves.
In the past three years, Andre had completed two and a half of the possible four internships available to him. He’d spent a year with Il Trosa’s science division, seeing in detail the experiments they ran to try and decode the complex shifter magic. He’d spent a year and a half with the historians, learning the ancient language, studying the myths and genealogies, and most recently, he’d spent six months in training with the assassins. It was tough work, mentally as well as physically, and while he now had a renewed admiration for the Council’s last and most deadly line of defence, he also found the whole business to be rather distasteful. It was a noble duty, to be sure, safeguarding Il Trosa from any and all threats, but killing people, sometimes innocent people, and the sometimes gory methods involved – particularly where the Noturatii were concerned – left him feeling rather dirty, if he was honest about it.
Of course, the fourth possible role for him was that of Diplomat, the political geniuses who wooed politicians, lobbied for laws in favour of wolf conservation and the preservation of wilderness areas, cosied up to rich philanthropists… it was all unbearably boring, and Andre had never really given the role of Diplomat more than a passing thought.
But this third internship was not shaping up well, and so in the very near future, Andre was going to have to make a choice about his future. Assassin wasn’t for him, he’d decided, but he was having a tough time deciding between scientist and historian, both roles equally fascinating, both containing the potential to make real progress for their species.
There was also the thought in his mind of a relationship with a female shifter. Andre had met two or three women over the past few years who had caught his attention, though he had yet to develop any serious attachments. Assassins, in general, did not form long term romantic relationships – a consequence of their nomadic lifestyle and the necessary dangers of their job – but it was a serious possibility if he became either a historian or a scientist, much more of his life spent in a safe, stable environment at the villa, and while he still felt himself a little young for a serious commitment, the idea of marriage somewhere down the track was appealing.
As he stepped inside the wide foyer, a white marble floor lending a bright, airy feel to the villa, he found Eleanor waiting for him. She was sitting on the bottom of the stairs, and when she looked up at him, Andre felt his body turn cold, such was the look of desolation on her face.
“Come into the lounge,” she said simply, standing up and leading the way, and Andre’s mind immediately started imagining all manner of horrors that might have occurred. Bad news was on the way, that much was certain, but what? Had a Councillor been killed? Had a Den been raided? Or had one of the other trainees been injured, perhaps? Their training was tough, physical, and at times dangerous, and it wouldn’t be the first time a trainee had suffered a broken leg or a bad concussion. Perhaps the injury had been worse this time…
Inside the lounge, Andre took a seat on the edge of a sofa, waiting apprehensively as Eleanor composed herself, two other Councillors watching on from the side of the room.
“I have some bad news,” Eleanor said, stating the obvious, and Andre simply nodded. “There was an attack involving the Agordo Den. They ran into a group of Noturatii operatives out in the forest. Five wolves died in the battle.”
Andre’s heart sank. While the Council and their emissaries lived in the villa, the main shifter presence in Italy was a large Den to the north. This was bad news indeed-
“I’m so sorry, Andre. Your mother and father have both been killed.”
Andre felt his world tilt, and he actually grabbed onto the arm of the sofa to steady himself. “What?”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, stark sorrow in her eyes. “Alessandro, the alpha, was also killed. He did everything he could, and without his efforts, more would likely have died. Your parents fought bravely. May they find glory in the House of Sirius.”
It was an oft repeated sentiment, a mark of respect for those who had fallen and a reminder that this life was not the end of their existence. But as he heard the words now, Andre felt no comfort in them, no relief or bitter-sweet joy in the idea that his parents had returned home to the Great Hall in the divine house of the Wolf God.
He wasn’t aware of the hot tears running down his cheeks until Eleanor reached for a box of tissues and held it out. He ignored it, so she set it on the coffee table.
“You’ll be given leave to attend their funeral, of course,” she said softly, “and remember that we’re all here for you. If there’s anything at all that you need.”
Andre felt like a great, black wave had just swallowed him whole. His parents were dead. Both of them. He could barely process the avalanche of emotion swamping him. Grief, a black, aching sorrow… and an almost frightening surge of fiery rage overtook him, demanding revenge against those who had taken his closest family from him.
It was in that moment that Andre’s future suddenly crystallised into a clear picture, a singular purpose.
The Noturatii had killed his parents. And Council assassins killed the Noturatii. Revenge, as a general rule, was frowned upon in Il Trosa, the Council all too aware that one act of retaliation tended to lead to another, and another, and that was how wars got started.
But to become an assassin was a neat sidestep around that irritating barrier. It was a free pass to hunt down those who had hurt him, those who continued to threaten his pack, and the feeling of power the idea gave him was intoxicating.
“Thank you,” he said respectfully. “I’ll head north this afternoon. But before I go, there is just one other thing…” He glanced around, seeing the grim expressions on the Councillors, the stark sorrow etched in hard lines on aging faces. “I’ve made my choice about which guild I would like to join,” he told them, knowing this was a sudden change of topic, and registering the surprise it caused. “I have decided to become an assassin.”