Black Wolf (53 page)

"What makes
you think I'm part of it? Or that I'm staying here past this mess
being over one way or the other?"

"Because you
need a home," Kevin said softly. "And the best home you'll ever
find is..."

"Here? Oh,
please."

"Is where Jess
is. You'll break his heart if you tell him you're only with him
because you feel guilty and you'll be leaving once the guilt loses
its power."

Shaine stayed
silent.

Kevin
shrugged, and got up. "Jess will be home whenever. I do have a
suggestion, meantime. When an elvenmage is backlashed, light and
heat help us heal faster. Water might help you more than being
inside shields. It's your life, though, do what you want with
it."

51

Shivering,
though not from the faint cool breeze on his bare skin, Shaine
stood on the very edge of the lake and gazed at the bright sunset.
The light played across the ripples on the water, rosy and purple
and orange...

And
bloody...
came the reflexive thought.

But of the
blood that had terrified him, and driven him from the waters onto
the dry land scorned by his kin, he could see not a trace.

Jess knows. He
doesn't blame me. Even Samantha told me today she doesn't hold me
responsible.

The blood
isn't in the water, it's on the hands of my family. The ones who
were involved, and the ones who knew what was happening and yet did
nothing to stop it...

He tried to
ignore how hard his heart was pounding. The waters were his home,
the only home he'd known for the first fifteen years of his life.
The few years since were no barrier against the powerful
longing—and the equally powerful fear.

Little waves
splashed around his ankles as he stepped off the shore, then took
another step, deeper. Soft sand squished under his feet, brought
him the painfully vivid memory of him and Lew, both fascinated by
this new concept of legs and feet, the two of them endlessly amused
by how sand and mud and weeds all felt so different to walk on.

He forced
himself to take another step, and another. Nothing could happen to
him, even with his nerves in shreds there was still nothing in the
lake that could harm him, the merenai had to have given up by
now.

Water up to
his waist, up to his ribs... this beach couldn't possibly be
natural, but why should that be any surprise?

He had to swim
to reach the raft—Sundark and friends had it out already, though
the water was too cold for even the more hardy among them to take
more than an occasional quick plunge. He hauled himself up to sit
on the edge, got unsteadily to his feet, and crossed it to the edge
that faced the open lake.

I've been
around land-bound for too long,
he thought wryly, when he
noticed himself taking a deep breath.

Before he
could chicken out, he dove off the raft.

The water
welcomed him, closed cleanly over him. The switch from breathing
air to breathing water was instinctive, and took no thought at all;
the change from legs to tail took only a moment's effort, not even
the damage to his gifts could take that ability from him.

It took no
time at all to leave the shallows far behind, to lose himself in
the depths. A joy he'd been sure he could no longer feel shivered
through him; poor land-bound races, living all on one plane, up
there at the mercy of the weather, needing their buildings and
their clothes and all the nonsense that went along with them! No
wonder merenai had always found it so easy to sing humans away from
the land-bound world!

A turtle swam
by; he twisted around to chase it, but it wasn't much interested. A
large pike was a better game: he teased it by grabbing its tail,
deftly avoiding its increasingly annoyed retaliation. He had even
more fun with a beaver, once he talked it into playing tag with
him, until it wandered off to forage. When a large-mouthed bass of
reasonable size came too near, he snatched it before it could
escape, slashed it open with a knife formed from the water before
he even thought about what he was doing—only belatedly did he
realize that he was supposed to be unable to use his gifts. The
ice-blade was very sharp, and it took him only a moment to skin,
gut, and debone the bass. The remains he left to scavengers, while
he bit into the fresh raw meat: a large part of his diet for his
first decade and a half.

Nothing had
ever tasted more delicious.

He discovered
that he was near an island, and surfaced to take a look around.

An otter on a
nearby rock, a female who must be only from last year's litter,
raised her head from her meal and looked back at him, wary but
curious and not alarmed. Shaine called to her, asked her to come
play with him.

Unperturbed,
the otter finished eating, then slid into the water to join him.
Otters understood playing better than fish or even beavers; they
had a merry time chasing each other all over the lake, usually near
the shore as the otter preferred, and frightening everything else
that lived in the water. Even some that didn't; a deer that lowered
its head for a drink snorted and fled when a cat-sized otter and a
meren seven feet long breached the surface not five yards out.

Shaine helped
the otter catch a few fish, when she began to tire—otters had to
eat frequently for all that energy, something like elvenmages—and
he sprawled in the shallows of a different island, waiting for her.
Next year, he figured, she'd breed; for the time being, it was
unusual enough that a female so young had found herself a prime
territory uninhabited.

The otter,
belly full, came with him on a more sedate exploration. Because of
that, Shaine stayed near her territory rather than heading out into
the depths of the lake; that was fine, no way could he explore the
entire lake in one night. He ducked under when they neared
buildings and lights, otherwise alternated breathing water and air
at whim. Every so often, they stopped to fish and rest, and
wandered on.

Haven's lake
was pure heaven, rich in every sort of marine life that could
flourish at this latitude. He could happily spend the rest of his
life here; there was only one of him, there'd be no need to hunt
other lakes as a full colony of merenai had to do. No need to have
anything more to do with the madness of the land-bound world...

For the first
time that night, he thought of Jess, though before coming to the
lake he'd waited until he'd seen Jess alive and not much the worse
for wear.

Jess still
needed him.

It took some
time to find the beach again, even with his new friend's help. In
the shallows, he switched back to legs, and stood up.

On a sudden
whim, he called the otter to him, coaxed her up onto the shore and
inside the walls, promising her that she'd be safe. Right up to the
kitchen door they went, she making worried noises at the smells,
but trusting him.

Everyone else
was up, having breakfast; nice timing. He opened the door, greeted
them absently, and started digging around in the fridge. "Is there
any chicken left from last night?"

"Third shelf,
in the white container," Deanna supplied. "Why are we having a
sudden need for leftover chicken?"

"Present for a
friend." He found it, and closed the fridge door. "I don't think I
can get her to come in, but you could come out and say hello."

They were
lucky none of them were cats, Shaine decided, because they'd all be
out of lives by now.

The otter
growled, scooted off the porch, but no farther. Shaine sat on the
grass, held out a piece of the chicken to her, reassuring her in
the language of the waters that no one here would hurt her, they
simply wanted to admire her, she was so handsome and graceful and
clever...

She came to
him, took the chicken in her forepaws, and chewed on it
contentedly. When she finished, he gave her a second.

"Will she get
scared if I come closer?" Deanna asked softly.

"Not if it's
just you, and you don't move too fast."

Slowly, the
dryad approached, and sat beside him. Shaine assured the otter that
it was all right, and she sniffed warily at Deanna's hand, then
accepted a piece of chicken from her.

"She's so
beautiful," Deanna whispered, and reached out carefully to run her
hand down the otter's back. The otter started, but allowed it. "And
so soft, softer than silk..."

"Easy," Shaine
cautioned. "She's getting pretty nervous."

Deanna
immediately drew her hand back, and reached for the chicken.

The otter
devoured all that was offered, then spun around and darted back to
the lake.

Deanna raised
her eyes to Shaine's, smiling. "Thank you."

He wasn't used
to being thanked, definitely not by anyone as... the only word he
could think of was
alive
... as Deanna.

"You're a lot
like her," he said, without thinking.

"I don't think
I've ever had a nicer compliment. Last night did you good, y'know.
You look considerably healthier and more relaxed than you did."

"I feel a lot
better, too. It's like..." He paused, searching for some analogy
that might give them some idea how it felt. "Like living on bread
and water for years, then being given your favourite food, and
finding out that you haven't forgotten how to taste it after all. I
can't put it into words any better than that."

"In poetic and
Christian terms," Bane said. "Like someone certain he's damned to
hell for all eternity, after spending some time there, then
discovering that heaven is right there waiting."

Shaine smiled.
"I wouldn't call this
hell
, although there have been
times..."

"So what are
you doing up here?" Kevin demanded. "Go, beat it, go catch up with
your furry little friend."

"No. Not until
this is over."

"Until I'm
dead or these demons are," Jesse translated. "Oh, relax. Go on. Sam
left this morning to do god-knows-what and gave me the day off, I
don't even have to go outside the walls all day if it'll make you
feel better about it."

Shaine shook
his head, and got up. A nice thing about Haven being used to
werewolves: bare skin didn't cause panics. "I'm going to get some
sleep. It's been a long week."

"You're
telling me," Jess muttered.

Everyone
wandered back into the house. Uncomfortable with the unaccustomed
feeling of actually
belonging
here, Shaine retreated to
Jesse's room.

Jess kept
telling him to stop calling it his room...

Exhausted as
much by exhilaration as exertion, he curled up in Jesse's soft bed,
and fell asleep.

For the first
time in recent memory, his dreams were peaceful dreams of wind and
wave and song, with no trace of blood.

52

Even in the
warm sunlight, Samantha shivered while she parked Katherine's
4-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee and got out. Alfari bounced across the
driver's seat and down to the ground before Samantha closed the
door.

Nothing
dwelled here now except ghosts and wild things; no one wanted to
take a chance on a place where two hundred thirty-three people had
all died or vanished, abruptly and with no official explanation.
Some fifty-odd households, one morning full of life and the next
silent. Buildings were boarded up, yards wildly overgrown... she
felt tears sting her eyes as the thought found its way into her
head,
this isn't Unity, this is the corpse of Unity, what was
Unity is dead
.

She left the
car, and walked along the empty street, Alfari staying at her side
without even wandering off to investigate. There was the store that
had everything from groceries to hardware, books to pet and farm
animal supplies; there the community centre that had held the first
incarnation of the library on the second floor. Most of the money
and energy had gone into building the houses, knowing and accepting
that for some time they would still be dependent on the nearest
town.

What mattered
was being together: fifty-eight demon-wolves, Cassandra's
descendants, from cubs to elders more grey than black, and their
friends, with their dream of their own village finally real.

A village with
a sense of community so powerful that it made Haven look uncaring
and fractured.

She paused in
front of one house, set back from the road, the rectangle that had
been an herb garden still recognizable. The long grass rustled as
she made her way to it, measured steps along the edge, and dropped
to one knee to search. She picked up the strong scent, smiled, and
broke off a few sprigs of catnip. Too bad she hadn't thought to
bring something she could dig the plant up with... But that wasn't
why she was here.

"Thanks, Dad,"
she whispered to the wind. "Alfari and Malta and Hob will love
this, later. I hope Rasputin's with you, wherever you are. Give Mom
a hug for me."

The catnip she
stored in her jacket pocket while she returned to the street, and
followed it farther. Each house called to her, in the names of
those who had lived there. It was altogether too easy to imagine
spirits held here by the lack of a resolution to the whole story,
needing to be set free.