Ascension (11 page)

I finished my undergrad degree at twenty and, true to my word, went away to university for my graduate program. I went no farther than Columbia but, despite Dominic’s offer to come live with them, I stayed in residence, which satisfied Jeremy’s desire to have me experience life in the human world.

The Pack changed little during those three years. Cliff Ward died. The summer before I went to Columbia, he was killed in a mutt fight. I mourned his passing even less than I had Gregory’s. He’d been a non-player, a sycophant of Malcolm’s with no power or position in the Pack. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way. Deep down, I wanted to see all my Pack brothers as just that—
brothers
. But the longer Dominic held power, the deeper the schism became between those who supported Jeremy and those who favored Malcolm, and I couldn’t help seeing Malcolm’s allies as future threats to Jeremy, which made them potential enemies.

That fall, just after I’d started at Columbia, Dominic called a Pack meeting. It was just a regular meeting, and by now everyone knew better than to expect to him to announce that he was stepping down. Still, there was always hope. On Saturday afternoon, though, we held the meeting portion of the weekend, and he didn’t say a word about succession. In fact, he said very little of anything, just snapped a few instructions to Jeremy, then left him to supervise the meeting while he stormed off to nurse a headache.

After the meeting, Nick raided the kitchen, and brought all the lunch leftovers into the sun-room, where Joey and I were basking in the heat of the September sun. As we ate, I talked about my newly discovered area of academic passion: anthropomorphic religion.

"—then, if you move to Nubia, you have the god Arensnuphis, who’s depicted both as a lion and as a man wearing—."

Nick yawned. "Is anyone else ready for a nap? I don’t know why, but suddenly, I’m just so tired."

I lobbed a pillow at him. "Hey, this is important stuff. If you’d gone to college, you—"

"Could be just as boring as you? Thanks, but no thanks."

I grabbed an empty plate.

Joey caught my hand. "Stick to pillows. Dominic’s in a bad enough mood as it is. As for lion-gods, as long as you find it interesting, Clay, that’s all that matters. So, are we going out tonight?"

"Hunt," I said.

"Bar," Nick said at the same time.

Joey sighed. "Someone give me a quarter and we’ll flip for it."

"Uh-uh," I said. "He can go to a bar and pick up girls any time. Hell, he does it every night of the week—"

"Every night?" Nick said. "Like hell. I don’t need to pick up girls
any
night of the week. Just open my book and dial a number . . . if they don’t call me first."

"Good, then you don’t need to do it tonight," I said. "I’m here, and I want to hunt."

When he started to complain, I skewered him with a look. He closed his mouth.

"Hunt," I said to Joey. Then I glanced over at Nick. "And if we have time, we’ll go to a bar afterwards for a drink or two. Without girls."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Something is seriously wrong with you, buddy."

"What’s wrong with who?" Malcolm said. He strolled into the sun-room, the Santoses in tow. "You better not be talking about my boy." He clapped me on the back. "Nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all."

"Nothing a lobotomy couldn’t fix," Daniel muttered.

"Hey, you guys hear that?" I said to Nick and Joey. "Sounds like a pup yipping."

"Danny-boy," Nick said. "When you going to grow up into a wolf? Still waiting for that first Change, aren’t you?"

"Nah, he had that last year," I said. "Not that anyone’s noticed. Still couldn’t take on a mutt with two broken legs. I hear that’s what happens. Guy doesn’t Change until he’s twenty, he never quite catches up."

Joey shot us both looks, trying to hush us. He was always telling us we should be nicer to Daniel, that if we tried, we could win him over. I didn’t see the point. I tossed Joey the "you worry too much" look I’d perfected from Antonio.

"Don’t listen to him," Raymond murmured to his son. "You’re just fine."

"Sure he is," I said. "And any day he wants to prove it, I’m ready. I can always use a few seconds of diversion."

Nick laughed. When Malcolm chimed in, Daniel reddened.

"At least I’m not some psycho who chops up—" Daniel began.

Raymond caught his son’s arm to shush him, but Malcolm advanced on Daniel, looming over him.

"No, you’re not, are you?" Malcolm said. "You’ve never even fought a mutt. Never needed to. You know why that is? Why a pup like you can run in peace, without worrying about some mutt tearing you to shreds?"

Daniel muttered something.

"Speak up!" Malcolm barked.

Raymond laid a hand on Malcolm's arm. "He knows, Mal. We’re all . . . grateful." He choked on the word, but pressed on. "Clayton did us a favor and we realize it."

"Yeah," Stephen said. "Big favor. Now we have to go find the mutts. Even then, some of them just run the other way—"

"But it’s a small price to pay for being safe on our property," Raymond said. "Come on, boys. Malcolm wanted to talk to Clayton. Let’s leave him alone."

"Hold on," Malcolm said. "I was going to ask Clay if he wanted to hunt tonight. A full Pack hunt."

"Sure," I said. "Did Dominic say—"

"No, he did not," growled a voice from the doorway. Dominic strode in, followed by Antonio and Jeremy. "Since when are you allowed to set up Pack hunts, Malcolm? Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Sorry, Dom. I just thought since you weren’t feeling well—"

"I feel fine," Dominic said, then winced, belying his words. He spun on Jeremy. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Jeremy said calmly. "That you have a headache, which you do."

"I don’t have a headache. I
never
get headaches."

"Which is why, as I suggested, you should let me call Doctor Patterson and—"

"You’ll call no one," Dominic snarled. "And there will be no Pack hunts tonight. In fact, you won’t be here tonight. None of you. This Meet is adjourned. Go home."

He stalked out the door.

No one went home. We were accustomed to Dominic’s moods, and knew that if we did take off, he’d summon us back the next day and blast us for leaving the Meet early. After his outburst, he retreated to his room, and the Meet progressed as usual. There wasn’t a Pack hunt that night. Even Malcolm knew better than to press his luck that far. Jeremy advised that Nick, Joey and I should skip our mini-hunt. With the mood Dominic was in, he might even see that as a breach of authority. So we went out drinking instead.

When we returned to the Sorrentino estate a little louder and more boisterous than we’d left, Jeremy met us in the garage and warned us to tone it down. Dominic’s headache was worse, and he was now complaining of dizziness and other pains. Jeremy was obviously worried, but Dominic only brushed off his suggestion to visit the doctor and popped some aspirin.

So we bustled off to bed. I slept in Nick’s room, and Joey slept in one of the guest rooms with his father. Nick and I stayed up for a while, talking, but drifted off shortly before two.

At three-thirty, I awoke to Jeremy shaking me. One look at his face, and I leapt up.

"What’s—?" I began.

"Dominic," he said, handing me my clothing from the floor. "He passed out and I can’t wake him. We need to get him to the doctor, fast. Are you okay to drive?"

"Sure," I said, and grabbed the clothes.

Challenge

I drove Dominic to the hospital so fast that, if I’d been pulled over, I’m sure I would have lost my license.

He’d had a stroke. Things like this are less common among werewolves—maybe because of our different physiology and maybe because of our more active lifestyle—but sometimes it doesn’t matter how healthy you are, mother nature decides your time is up. And so it was for Dominic.

For the next three days we kept vigil at his bed in the private clinic. I wanted to stay, but Jeremy insisted there was nothing I should do and so I shouldn’t miss school. I did, however, skip classes that weren’t absolutely necessary so I could zip across town to the clinic and spend as much time there as possible.

On Tuesday morning, Dominic died, having never regained consciousness. I didn’t learn of it until I arrived late that afternoon and found Nick and Jorge alone, sitting beside an empty bed.

Antonio made the arrangements for Dominic’s funeral. Or, he did his best, but Jeremy ended up quietly taking over. This is one part of Western death rituals I’ve never understood, that a person has just died and, within hours, those closest to him, who most want to go home, close the door and grieve, must instead sit in some stranger’s office and decide what kind of coffin or flowers they want. As for the service itself, it was small, as are all Pack funerals. Afterward, we retreated to the Sorrentino estate to grieve.

We’d been back for less than an hour, all gathered in the living room. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts—each except Malcolm, who knew exactly where he was heading and wasn’t waiting another minute to get there.

"We need an Alpha," he said. "Word gets out that Dominic died without a successor and we’re in trouble. Every mutt in the country will think something’s wrong with the Pack."

"We just put my father in the ground," Antonio said, lifting his head from his hands. "You can wait another goddamned—"

"No," Jorge said softly. "He’s right. We need to get this over with."

"I don’t mean any offense to your father, Tonio," Malcolm said. "If it seems that way, then I apologize. I’m just thinking of the Pack. We can get this over with quickly and painlessly, then let everyone get back to mourning a great Alpha. We all know how this works. I’m putting my name forward. If anyone cares to challenge me, we’ll step outside right now and settle this."

"Challenge you to what?" I said. "A duel? You gonna pick swords or pistols?"

Jeremy’s lips curved as he recognized his own words from so long ago.

"A fight, Clayton," Malcolm said. "A fight to the death. That’s how it works when an Alpha dies before the Pack chooses an official successor. Now, the only people here who might have a shot at winning that challenge are you and Antonio. Tonio doesn’t want it. Never has. As for you, I’m sure you’d make a damned fine Alpha . . . in ten or fifteen years. If that’s what you want, you can have it then. I’ll pick you as my successor and I’ll make sure you win. That’s a promise."

Jeremy cleared his throat. Malcolm turned on him before he could get a word out.

"Don’t embarrass yourself, Jeremy. Do us all a favor and keep your damned mouth shut for once."

"No, I don’t believe I can," Jeremy said. "You said that this is how we choose an Alpha when the previous one dies without a successor, but I must point out that you are mistaken."

"Bullshit. Go grab the Legacy. The last time an Alpha died without a successor—"

"—was in 1912," Jeremy said. "And they did indeed choose the next Alpha with a battle. However, there is nothing in the Law to say that’s how it
must
be done. If you read the Legacy entry, it quite clearly states that a battle was how both candidates decided to handle the matter. I am putting forward myself as a challenger but, unless I agree to a fight, which I will not, then the matter must be handled in the same way all Pack successions are handled, by a vote."

"He’s right," Jorge said. "Do you want to check the Legacy?"

"Never mind," Malcolm said. "He wants a vote, let’s give him a vote. All in favor of me—"

"That’s not how it’s done," Jeremy said. "We both need to deliver our platforms, let the Pack know our plans for the future—"

"Screw the future. If we don’t decide this fast, we won’t have a future. The mutts will see to that. A leaderless Pack is a weak Pack. Everyone here knows you and they know me, and they both know what kind of leader we’d make."

"If that’s what you want, that’s fine by me," Jeremy said. "We’ll vote. But, as the Law says, if any Pack member feels he isn’t ready to make a decision, he has two days to consider the options."

With that, a decade of Alpha campaigning came to a sudden end. The vote was open, as all Pack votes are. Antonio, as the former Alpha’s closest relative, led the vote. He went around the group and each person named their choice.

Antonio started by casting his vote for Jeremy. Then he turned to Jorge.

"Jeremy," Jorge said.

Next to Stephen. "Malcolm."

"Malcolm," Andrew seconded, before being asked.

"Malcolm," his father said.

Antonio looked at Peter. "Jeremy."

On to Ross Werner. Ross cracked his knuckles then, gaze still on his hands, said, "I’m not ready."

"Oh for god’s sake," Malcolm snarled. "Just pick—"

"He gets his forty-eight hours," Jeremy said. Then, to Antonio. "Should we continue? Or leave it there?"

"We’ll keep going," Antonio said. "Anyone else wants time to think, just say so." He turned to me. "Clay? Do I need to ask?"