Black Wolf (30 page)

Let the little
black wolf-cub learn for himself what it meant to be wolf in this
age.

Let Kevin keep
pretending, if that was what he was so determined to do. If the
approval of his current coven-mates mattered so much to him that he
was willing to be less than he was, then he was no better than
Moira. Less, in fact, since the wariness of the rest of Haven still
made him feel bad enough that he tied himself into knots in the
attempt to reassure them. Tragic, when he had the potential to be
so much more, but there was nothing further she could do. He'd
chosen, and he hadn't chosen her.

The song
trailed off, one thread at a time, down into silence. Brown wolf
and black trotted towards the lane that led out of the pasture.

Rebecca
retraced her path there, back to the far side of the woodlot, and
began to search for other potential prey.

Interlude: Samantha's Journal

June 5, 1989

Gods, it hurts, having
to start a new journal. It would be easy enough if the last one had
just gotten full and was still here, that's just a continuation.
But my old one was only a few months old. It's back in Unity, or
maybe it's gone like everything else.

I need to write down
what happened. I don't know why, because I'll never be able to
forget, but I think it'll make me feel a bit better. And I think
I'll start way back at the first thing I can ever remember
understanding about the past. I may be the last one left who
remembers it, so at least if I write it down it won't be completely
lost
when I
if something happens to
me.

Alessandria, the wolf
of Coven Starluck which founded the first mixed village in Canada
and called it Haven, had six wolf children and a seventh child who
was fathered by a demon. That seventh child was Cassandra, who grew
up and fell in love with a Mohawk shaman, and they had five
children. From them descend the Cassandra wolves, the demon-wolves,
who can fight demons on the mortal plane the way most wolves fight
predators.

Haven has always had
an absolute categorical antipathy towards all demons, with no
acknowledgement of the immense variation among the residents of an
entire plane. That prejudice made the early Cassandra wolves and
their nearest feel extremely unwelcome, and they had some very
unpleasant experiences that finally led to their leaving Haven
entirely. The Cassandra wolves disappeared into Haven legend, just
a story.

But not just a story
to everyone. Some people saw the importance of their existence, and
others supported them for more personal reasons. They rallied
around them, at first for the sake of the Cassandra wolves, but
before long, they discovered that it was beneficial to all
involved. Or at least almost all. The numbers of elves and dryads
and witches were too low to be sustainable within such a small
pool. A few human gifts continued to appear, healing and psychic
gifts, but most of the magic of that community centred around,
appropriately enough, friendly and mutually beneficial relations
with peaceful and well-intentioned demons. That would have been
impossible in Haven, with the assumption that all demon interaction
can only be based in blood and pain. The presence of the Cassandra
wolves ensured safety during the years of experimentation and
refinement: an occasional mistake wasn't really such a risk.

As a result of feeling
rejected by Haven and thus by the other mixed villages, and not
living with those who particularly need the protection of a
coven-bond with a wolf, the Cassandra wolves developed their own
structures. They lived in small family packs that included non-wolf
mates and close friends, but not covens as such. Thus they tended
to live more spread out. That made mutual support more difficult in
many ways, and the broader community did its best to bridge the
gaps. The community maintained a tenuous contact with the mixed
villages, keeping track of events there and occasionally recruiting
new members, but taking care always to stay invisible. The
existence of the Cassandra wolves and the magical system used by
the community and the special friends that help us with it, these
would, it was firmly believed, be anathema to Haven and the
villages, and would trigger at best more stringent ostracism if not
an outright crusade.

For a hundred and
fifty years, the dream that grew ever stronger within the community
was that of a village of their own.

My parents were both
born into that network, and I was raised within it. A couple of
years ago, the dream came true: by pooling all resources, we'd
managed to buy land and have houses built, and could now move in.
It wasn't easy, because we had to rely heavily on the nearest town,
but that would only be until we could make ourselves more
self-sufficient. The village was named Unity.

There are some on the
demon plane who have always seen the demon-wolves as a threat and
an abomination. And, although only fire and earth are thought to
have children, water does as well. Those children of water allied
with the demons for some reason—were we seen as trespassers,
perhaps? In April this year, on the night of the dark moon, Unity
died. I can't remember the details clearly, that damned song made
everything all confused and dreamy while we were running. The cats,
our special friends, gave their lives in the effort to warn us,
instead of escaping as I'm sure they could have. My Uri woke me and
then demanded to go out, and he went towards the village. I don't
know how many others they managed to reach. United, they might even
have tried to stand off the attack.
I'm sure
I'm
As far as I know, I'm the only survivor. If nothing
else, I failed in my primary responsibility, I failed my families,
both of them. I don't see how a thirteen-year-old, even one as
smart as Jess is, could have survived after we were separated in
the storm. I don't know what happened to Dena and her other two
children. I don't know if my parents even made it out of their
house. How could I have lost Jess? I don't think I can forgive
myself for that. Ever.

Jesse's name, and
those of his family, are hidden in the forest somewhere around
Unity, I don't remember exactly where. It doesn't matter. They're
safe there. The residue of all that demonic and magical activity
will make it impossible for them to be found and misused.

I'm in Haven, now. I
was found by a wolf, Bryan, who took me home and put me in his own
bed, and waited while I slept off the shock. I woke up with days
missing in my head, I don't remember getting here. Bryan got me
this book so I could write down the nightmares I've been having,
and maybe take some of the venom out of them. I don't know what I'm
going to do now.
What's the point of

This hurts too much,
I'm not writing any more right now.

June 5, 1994

Five years ago, I made
my first journal entry after I lost everyone I cared about. I was
sure Jess was dead, and that it was my fault because I let him get
lost.

At least one Unity
demon-wolf survived, though. It's so good to have Jess here and
running happily with Bryan and his pack, even if he still doesn't
remember anything from before. Nick and Sonja talked Tomas into
giving him a trial period at the Brewery waiting tables, and Jess
passed with flying colours. It's part-time, true, but he doesn't
need to pay rent or anything, so it'll be fine. Besides, I'll keep
finding work for him here. Maybe next fall I'll see if he'd be
willing to watch the shop for me so I can take a couple of daytime
classes at the college without needing to close.

Things are looking
brighter than they have in a long time. So bright, in fact, that I
have to put this down and go meet Bryan at the library: I'm taking
him out for supper at the Brewery to celebrate being friends for
five years, just because.

Black Wolf

24

Of the entire
year, December gave Patrick the least freedom.

Not only did
he have his usual dark-of-the-moon hunt to see to, but he needed to
find a life to offer on the night of the solstice. And all this
during the time of year when the sunlight was fading, a time elves
generally found either wearying or stressful, according to
individual temperament. Patrick, personally, tended to tire more
easily, this close to the longest night, with sunlight in short
supply.

His demon
servants had no sympathy. They expected him to complete his side of
the bargain, as he had each year for a decade. And, as unpleasant
as he found this part of it, he intended to do so.

He'd arrived
in this city yesterday; the dark moon was past, and he had a week
still before the solstice to choose an appropriate sacrifice.
Probably one of the street kids, they had no one to miss them
except each other. Living like animals the way they did, what were
their lives really worth? They had no possible future anyway. It
was a mercy, ending it quickly.

A flash of
bright gold caught his eye; he glanced in that direction, and
paused, attention caught. The girl couldn't have been more than
sixteen; she was certainly not mage-gifted. She was perched on the
steps of an ancient limestone church with three humans of around
her own age, sharing two pasteboard cups of fries between them;
they could all have used a bath and some decent clothes, Patrick
thought in distaste.

The girl
looked in his direction, and her eyes narrowed—picking up on the
presence of illusion, though unable to see through it, most likely.
Very briefly, Patrick let his current human disguise slip, just
long enough for her to see it.

Unsurprisingly, she left her companions, and came towards him; he
waited.

"I'm not going
back," she said firmly.

"Back
where?"

"Oh, come on.
Like someone didn't send you to find me and drag me back to my
family?" She tossed one lock of hair, dyed vivid magenta, out of
her eyes; the rest of her hair was its natural blonde, but cropped
short.

"I have no
idea who your family might be or where you might have come from,"
Patrick assured her. "I'd be the last to try to make anyone go back
to one of the villages, anyway, since I left Falias a decade ago
and haven't been near any of them since."

Blue eyes
widened. "For real? You don't like all their rules and shit
either?"

"Their rules,"
Patrick said dryly, "are at the top of the list of what I don't
like about them, along with their two-faced set of values that
claims everyone is equal while giving special status to some."

"Like the
damned wolves," she commiserated. "Think they rule the world and
can get away with anything."

Pity she
wasn't a mage, but an elf would be a new flavour for his demon
servants regardless. Obviously no one would miss her, and it should
be easy enough to win her trust.

"What would
you say to some supper?" he asked. "My treat. Then we can talk
somewhere more comfortable."

He wasn't at
all surprised she accepted the offer instantly—the high elven
metabolism must be extremely inconvenient living on the street,
with chancy meals at best, especially with her body struggling to
compensate for the winter cold.

She wouldn't
survive the whole winter homeless. She'd starve or freeze or a
combination of the two. Why let her suffer?

* * *

Wynne was
where she should be, waiting outside the small restaurant where
he'd bought her supper every evening for the past week.

Patrick went
along with it—well-fed, her life would be stronger, would feed the
demons better and give him more power. To stay casual and friendly
grew harder with each passing day, though. More and more, she
reminded him of Irina. Brilliant sixteen-year-old Irina, who had
challenged him to a game elvenmages commonly played with illusions,
all innocent smiles. Half-trained Irina, who had defeated her
twenty-two-year-old cousin so thoroughly, so effortlessly, that
he'd walked out of Falias, unable to bear that final humiliation of
countless others. Deceitful Irina, who had feigned such distress
over his rage and embarrassment, who hid her contempt behind a mask
of concern that fooled everyone else.

And Wynne's
mother had been a Lioren, like that arrogant showoff he'd
encountered a year ago and not yet gotten around to tracking down.
That meant she was a Lioren, by blood though not by name.

This year, he
didn't think he'd find his task nearly as disagreeable as he
usually did.

He encouraged
her to eat as much as she could, and ate well himself—he wouldn't
be able to grab quick snacks tonight, his mind would need to be on
what he was doing.

"Tonight's
solstice," he commented, while they lingered over tea.

Wynne
shrugged, carefully neutral. "Yeah, so?"

He gave her
his best, most charming smile, and backed it with just a hint of
magical suggestion. "The longest night of the year isn't a time I
enjoy being alone. I don't know any elf who finds it a comfortable
night. Maybe if we spend it together, it won't be so bad." He left
it up to her to interpret what he might mean specifically.

Briefly, Wynne
hesitated, then nodded. "Solstice always makes me feel all tense,"
she confessed. "I don't want to be alone either."

He paid, and
they walked back to his motel room.

Sikial was
waiting, sitting in mid-air, legs crossed. It saw Wynne, and licked
its lips.