Bloodlines (60 page)

“It’s
not
,” Randall bit back, concern turning his voice into a growl. “That isn’t how lives are weighed. You are important, you are too important to throw away without need. Knowing what might happen is no guarantee that our very actions won’t
lead
to it. This isn’t a promise of safety. It’s not worth the risk.” He reached out, laying his hand on Victor’s. “Please,” he asked, voice cracking. “Don’t.”

“I disagree,” the Gray Lady said smoothly. “There
is
a need here, and any information we could get outside of what is normally available to us would be of great help.”

This decision, Victor knew, would be a lot easier if he didn’t have two people arguing about it right in front of him. If it had just been him and the Gray Lady, he likely would have said yes and not thought twice. But with Randall asking him not to….

“May I take a few minutes to think about it?” he asked.

The Gray Lady looked a touch impatient, but she inclined her head. Victor took that as permission and exited her house, suddenly feeling the need for fresh air.

There was every possibility that Randall was right, that a medusa broke according to how much they had seen. If that was true, then looking into the eyes of the Gray Lady would surely do it. He could barely comprehend how much history she had, let alone how much future he would see. If looking into the eyes of vampires and wolves knocked him out, then her eyes would surely do worse.

But how could he live with himself, if wolves got killed when he knew he could have done something to help prevent it? Redford and Edwin had recently suffered upset from killing hunters. At least they had done it directly, to prevent harm to those they loved. If wolves died because Victor refused to see the future, they would die from his inaction, from his
fear
.

And then there was a small part of the back of his mind that
wanted
to look into her eyes, for no reason other than to see. To absorb. To share in that knowledge for himself. A part that didn’t mind if he went crazy, craved it, even.

Victor might have never been able to read to the end of the accounts of medusas, but they all had one thing in common. Curiosity killed the cat, and it drove the medusas insane.

Randall emerged from the cabin and quietly sat down on the steps next to Victor. Hands laced together, arms resting on his knees, Randall just stared out over the pack. Under the surface of wolves waking up, cleaning up after the solstice activities, having breakfast, was a very real thread of fear. There were groups of wolves patrolling the perimeter, the cubs were being ushered by three or four adults, and no one seemed willing to stay alone for too long. The wolves were worried.

“I don’t know what to say,” Randall admitted quietly. Slowly, he let out a long breath. “You shouldn’t do it, Victor. There are some risks that simply aren’t worth it.”

“Not even if it could help your brothers?” Victor asked.

“I don’t believe it will.” Randall didn’t answer the question directly. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t a fair question. Victor felt a little guilty about it already, but he didn’t apologize.

“I can’t be sure that it
won’t
,” he replied. “Any scrap of information here is going to be useful, Randall. I can’t ignore that.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit.” It was a sudden exclamation, sounding rather odd coming from Randall. But he scowled down at his hands, not shying away from the message. “You know better than anyone that your glimpses into the future can be as harmful as they are helpful. This isn’t you doing it for the very small chance that you will not only see a possible future that will be helpful, but that by telling us about it you won’t then
change
that future. It’s because you want to.” Randall turned to him, pleading. “The thrill, the knowledge, whatever it is, Victor, it’s not good enough to chance losing you.”

Victor frowned and looked away, oddly hurt by Randall’s words. “Are you implying that I wouldn’t do whatever I could to help people? That I am only selfish and doing this for myself?”

“I’m telling you that this isn’t helping people.” Randall had turned back to staring down at his hands, obviously tense. “Everything I’ve read about medusas tells me that they crave knowledge. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to see the Gray Lady’s past and future. If I could, I know I would. But it will hurt you, Victor. It could hurt you permanently.”

“So could skydiving,” Victor said, suddenly frustrated. “So could driving a car. So could walking along a road, and people do those things every day. I have the smallest chance to be
helpful
, Randall. I’m not like you. I’m not strong. I don’t have good senses—”

“Clearly,” Randall shot back. Victor withered where he sat, the wind taken out of his sails. Randall immediately reached over, apologetic before the word had died between them. “I’m sorry. I just…. I’m scared.” Randall leaned forward, resting his head on Victor’s hand. “You are like me. You’re
better
. You’re brilliant. You’re strong. You don’t need to do this in order to help.”

“Let’s take a poll of where we both were last night.” Victor sighed. “I was hiding in the cabin, hoping desperately that a hunter didn’t sneak up on me.”

“Victor,” Randall started. He stood, pulling Victor in, resting his forehead against Victor’s temple. “That doesn’t matter. I nearly got shot. If Anthony hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t even be here. Should I go do something stupid to prove that I’m not worthless?”

“At least you
tried
to do something,” Victor said.

“I can’t lose you.” Randall’s voice was low, desperate. “Please, Victor. There’s other ways. Please, don’t do this.”

The last time Victor had deliberately looked into someone’s eyes, they had been David’s, and David had merely sighed at him and set his glasses aside so Victor didn’t break them when he fell. Randall’s pleading was new to Victor.

But it would be a lie to say he didn’t know what he was going to do. His mind had mostly been made up the second the Gray Lady had asked him.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said gently. “But I have to do this.”

He turned and walked back into the house as quickly as he could, unable to bear the thought of Randall pleading with him more. He had reasons—good reasons, Victor thought—for doing this, and if he was going to help at all, this would be the one way he could do it. He could not fight or protect or even research Jed’s kind of work very well.

But he could use the one inborn talent he had and hope that it would be at least
some
help.

“I’ll do it,” he said as he reached the Gray Lady. There was a quick spasm of relief at the corners of her mouth, in the tense line of her shoulders. She stood gracefully and inclined her head to him.

“My gratitude, then, medusa.” She gestured for Victor to sit. “There’s no reason to waste time, then.”

Randall had come back in, Victor saw out of the corner of his eye, taking a place next to Anthony. He was staring steadfastly down at his hands, refusing to watch. Victor shoved aside the twinge of guilt.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be unconscious, given that I’ve never looked at somebody with your lifespan before,” Victor said, taking off his glasses. He knelt on the cushion she had placed on the floor near her chair. Someone behind him put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Redford, Victor confirmed as he looked back. “I will make every attempt to give you an answer before I pass out, though.”

Victor wasn’t sure what to feel about the silence behind him. Randall, he knew, wasn’t happy with him doing this, but he couldn’t help but wonder if everybody else was just bored or didn’t care. It was an entirely self-centered thought that he immediately struck down. He had a job to do, and if he succeeded, then perhaps he would finally be useful.

He felt an arm around him and looked over to find Jed on his other side, bracing him, jaw set. He gave Victor a little nod, clearly ready, with Redford, to catch him when he fell. That made Victor feel somewhat better, at least.

He cleared his throat and turned back to the Gray Lady, who had knelt in front of him. She grasped his face in her hands, gentle but as firm as steel, and their eyes met.

She actually had quite beautiful eyes, Victor noticed, somewhere between a light hazel and the permanent gold of a wolf’s eyes. He didn’t even need to fall into the visions to know she had a long past.

What little sound there was faded to nothing, deafened by the noise of blood rushing in his ears. Everything else but the Gray Lady’s eyes blurred out of focus. Victor felt an odd warmth trickle from his nostril, but he didn’t take the time to wipe it away. A bleed, already? That was new.

And then he was gone.

Heat and dry ground were the first things she remembered.

The buzz of insects much larger than now, the stampede of hooves and paws all around. She didn’t know what she was. She was new. She had no name for herself. Her mother was not like her. All her mother seemed to notice was food and danger.

She noticed much more.

A blur of time. Days fading into nights and weeks and years. Her mother died in an avalanche, and the only real word she could get out of her was a soft, low whine of pain. No thought for her cub, no higher consciousness to understand what was truly happening, only barely intelligent enough to recognize the agony of crushed organs.

She finds another that looks like her, and is surprised to find that he
thinks
like her too. She is relieved, and so is he.

They learn to turn into the strange sort of evolved monkeys they see around, but neither of them likes it much. That shape is too soft and unbalanced. The one advantage of the evolved monkeys is their intelligence, and the wolves have that already. The strange creatures do not talk in anything other than grunts, but they have a name for themselves.

The name changed. Grew, as they did, evolved. It all came to mean the same thing, though.

They became humans.

The wolves learn too quickly that humans are not friendly to them when they appear on four legs, and they are loath to spend much time on two legs. They run instead, and keep to themselves, though they never stray too far from human groups. The humans learn at a fascinating rate, and the wolves learn from them, though the tool use of humans is something they do not mimic, having no need for it.

They see their own kind evolve, but at first they do not understand why the wolves that look like them cannot talk to them. They begin to understand. They are not even like those which resemble them. They are something else entirely.

Thousands of years pass. The humans evolve, as do the wolves. The humans have long since spread out of Africa, and the first real settlements begin.

Languages become complex. The humans begin to understand the world around them. Tool use improves so quickly the wolves have trouble keeping up.

They see the start of the animal wolves staying close to humans and becoming domesticated. It disgusts them.

They have their own children. After thousands of years of trying to find others like them they have had no luck, and come to the conclusion that it is their responsibility to foster more like them. Their children are happy and live for two hundred years before they die of old age. The first two wolves are devastated. They have lived for thousands; why do their children die at mere hundreds?

They take on different names, depending on where they live and travel.

Their species grows in number as humans do. They see the first manipulation of metal, the first rolling mechanism, the first machinery. The first written word, the first true city, the first large-scale war.

Victor, through half-closed eyes, was dimly aware of having fallen onto his side. Everything
hurt
. He usually only experienced pain afterward as a result of the seizing, not
during
. There were strong arms circling him, a slim body pressed tight to him, soft hair falling against his cheek. He heard his name dimly, concern and so much fear there, but he couldn’t seem to form a response.

The visions pulled him back.

The present. Her worry about her pack, her
children
, her bloodline. The species would not die out if this pack were to be eradicated, but she loved them nonetheless.

She wanted to run. She did not want a fight. But if she needed to, she would make a stand.

Another blink. There seemed to be a small puddle of something red under his nose and chin, streaked messily across the floor from movement. Victor dimly saw his hand, stretched out in front of him. Bruises bloomed randomly under the skin.

Odd. His blood vessels must be breaking.

A flash of yellow eyes. Dark hair. Randall.

And then the future.

The only way to accurately describe it was an explosion.

Even in the middle of the visions, Victor felt pain. He wished it would stop.

Threads arcing off into the distance, many different colors. Some ended soon, some ended so far into the future that even Victor couldn’t comprehend the flashes he saw there.

The pack stayed where they were, and O’Malley hired every gun he had. The entire pack died.

The pack ran and were gunned down nonetheless.

They stayed and Jed trained them, and most of them lived.

They ran and stayed hidden.

She outlives all of them, and in the end the survival of this pack doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She dies and the wolves continue on without her. She dies and the wolf species dies with her.

In every possibility, there is a war. Wolves, vampires, half bloods, and humans. It starts slowly, murmurs in back alleys and whispers and half-spoken fears. But it always starts. It always happens. There is always death.