Forbidden (41 page)

“Except,” Dani added, “we can't afford one.” He must have looked confused, because she said, “The town is flat broke. If the town didn't own the land, we'd probably have been evicted by now. The life insurance that has kept the town running has been gone for at least a year from what I gather from listening to Mom and Dad. Mayor Monk ran up close to a dozen credit cards just to keep the store full. We're going to have to get
jobs
. Or open the town to visitors. Or
something.
Everyone's freaking out. Dad's talking about re-upping for another stint in the Air Force, maybe as a trainer, so he can get a promotion and retire on a higher pension. Rachel is doing a
lot
better, though. People around town have already offered to pay her to clean house for them, but she's thinking she might go back with me to college, if I can figure out how to pay for it myself. No more free tuition from the town.” She let out a little shudder but shook it off. “She had pretty good grades and could probably get a scholarship, or maybe we could both work at the pizza place just off the quad. And I already had bunk beds in my dorm. It would be nice to have a roommate that I know and could sneak out to go flying with.”

*   *   *

Jobs. Alek took that in. Nobody his age or younger had ever worked a real job. Crap! Was he still a Wolven agent, or was that just for show, something to placate him during a crisis?

Wow!
went on the board next.

“Definitely wow,” Claire said. “So even if I wanted to stay to teach, I'd have to do it for free. I don't know if I can do that.”

His head turned so fast his neck throbbed and he reached up to touch the bandage. Even though a part of him knew she hadn't planned to stay, he'd … well,
hoped
she might. He reached out to touch her hand.

Dani noticed. “Well, I'd better get out of here before that little cat pounces on this little bird. You heal up quick, big bro.”

Alek hesitated before turning the board to show Claire the single word he'd written there:
Stay?

“I don't know if I can,” she replied after a long pause. “There's going to be a lot to do first. We are still Wolven, and there's a lot of cleanup to do. I don't know where that will be or if we'll wind up in the same station.”

He reached out for her hand, pressing the words into her mind.
I don't want you to go.

She kept talking. “See, at the very least it'll take time to get the passports and visas and then there's the packing. It's a pretty long trip.”

She was
leaving
? Leaving the country?
Where are you going?

Claire touched his hand and smiled, then eased words into his mind.
Not me. We. I had a few long talks with Denis at your apartment over the past couple of days. We've worked things out. He showed me your research on Sonya. I did some checking of my own and called a few Council members. But the real kudos go to Amber. Turns out the reason you couldn't find anyone to read the letter from the Siberian pack is that it's not written in a Russian dialect at all. It's ancient Inuit. Your letter wound up in the Klondike. And it's just possible that your sister is somewhere on an island in the Bering Straits. I sort of figured you'd like to go with Denis and me to find out.

He couldn't figure out what to say. His mind was spinning.
So you're not leaving me?

She laughed and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I think Luna Lake is going to be my home for a while … give or take a few trips to Russia. I came here to teach, but it seems I got taught instead. And a certain principal told me recently that degrees are a dime a dozen, but
teachers
 … they're a rarity and you should grab them and hold on. I think that's wise advice.”

 

AFTERWORD

Welcome back to the world of the Sazi! For those of you who read the original eight books in Tales of the Sazi, thank you!

As you may have noticed, some things have changed in this reality versus that one. Ten years have passed in the reality since the events of
Serpent Moon
. Many of the characters that you came to love in the old series will reappear eventually in this new world, but you'll meet many new people who were just children when the drug that removed the magical shape-shifting abilities of the Sazi called “the cure” caused havoc among Wolven and the Sazi Council.

The cure has become “the plague” to those who survived, a term that can be used freely around humans, because the thousands of deaths around the globe were spun into a tale of biological terrorism that made every front page. The world simply couldn't help but notice. It taxed the limits and imagination of Wolven and the Council hierarchy to keep the press from digging too deep. But thankfully, the sheer scope of the massacres of men, women, and children, and the random nature of the attacks by “cells of multinational terrorists” helped keep the secret of the Sazi … barely. Government investigations quietly died behind closed doors due to timely intervention of those still in power.

Families worked to salve the physical and emotional wounds of surviving parents and children, sisters and brothers. Orphans were gathered together and closely guarded to ensure their survival. Luna Lake began as one of the secure emergency compounds to protect those who remained. Set deep in the forest of northeastern Washington State near a crescent-shaped lake, Sazi of all species went there, expecting it would be a temporary refugee camp—a place to hide and lick their wounds. But they discovered something they didn't expect. They found peace from the horror of the plague and the threat of attack from enemies. They found plenty of food, fresh air to fly in, and space to run.

The compound began as a melting pot of the injured and desperate. But it soon became a colony and then a town. It became home.

But secrets abound, as well. Not everybody is who they seem. Like the Old West, the plague created a vehicle for many to escape an old life and create themselves anew. Still, escaping the past seldom changes a person's nature. A predator can't pretend to be prey forever … Welcome to Luna Lake and a whole new chapter in the Sazi reality!

*   *   *

(P.S.—Yes, if you think you recognize the names of the hero and heroine in this book, you have seen them before! Alek Siska and his brother Denis were the mischievous boys in
Moon's Web,
and Clarissa Evans was one of the girls kidnapped by Nasil in
Moon's Fury
.)

 

READ ON FOR A PREVIEW OF
CATHY CLAMP
'S

Hunter's Moon.

 

CHAPTER 1

Nick's Tavern is in the worst part of town. The front door opens onto a back alley and the back door dead-ends inside another building. The Fire Code wasn't in effect when the building was built. Nick's has been there that long. My Dad remembers going there after work for a schooner of beer—twenty-four full ounces—and a plate of cheese. A buck bought both in the 40s. It was big enough for lunch for two or dinner for one. They don't do cheese plates anymore. Pity.

One time I went around the back of the building just to see what was on the other side. It's an upholstery shop. Big frigging deal.

Most of the buildings that surround Nick's are vacant now. Multi-colored graffiti scars plywood-covered windows. God only knows the last time someone cleaned the trash from the sidewalks.

I'm known as Bob to my clientele. That's not my real name. I'm the kind of person you would expect to find at Nick's. Call me a businessman who works the wrong side of the street. All sorts of people have need of my services: high class, low class, quiet suburban mothers, good church-going men. At one time or another all of them give into their primal instincts and call me. I meet them here at Nick's to talk details.

I'm not a hooker or a drug dealer. Too many risks, not enough money. There are no drug deals at Nick's. You'd get bounced on your ear if you even thought about it.

I'm an assassin. A killer-for-hire. If you have the money, I'll do the job. I like puppies, kids and Christmas, but I don't give a shit about your story—or your problems. I'm the person you call when you want the job done right the first time with no sullying of your name. Yes, I am that good. I apprenticed in the Family.

Oh, there's one other thing I should mention. I'm also a werewolf.

Yeah, I know. Big joke. Ha. Ha. I never believed in “creatures of the night” like vampires, werewolves, or mummies. They're the stuff of schlock movies and Stephen King novels. I'm not.

The door to the bar opened and the figure silhouetted in the doorway almost made me laugh out loud. I stifled the laugh with a snort of air. Then I let my face go blank again. Talk about stereotyping. The woman wore an expensive black pantsuit, odd enough in a low-class part of town. But the part I liked was that she wore a dark wig-and-scarf getup like something you'd see in the 60s, and huge round black sunglasses. Oh yeah, she'll blend right in with the steel workers and biker babes. Sheesh.

My client had arrived—and she was early. No big deal. We'd only set the appointment a few hours ago. I hadn't even unpacked from my last job. The quicker we finished, the better I'd like it.

The woman in the doorway was forced to take off the sunglasses to look around the darkened bar. I got a look at her face. Nothing special. Deep, green eyes looked out from a relatively plain face. She stood about 5
'
5
”
. I felt like I recognized her, but she was like me—a blender. She could probably get dolled up and look pretty but she would never be stunning. She was a woman that a man would fall in love with for her mind or personality. Or maybe her body, which was on the good side of average. She was probably a size ten—Maybe a twelve. She carried it well and comfortably. The suit spoke of money. Good. She could probably afford me. The rest of the get-up spoke of nerves.

She scanned the bar, looking for someone she had never met. You can't mistake the look. The person just stands there, hoping that someone will wave or pick them out. I let her feel uncomfortable for a moment, just long enough to size her up. She wasn't a plant or a cop. Nobody can fake that level of nervousness. She wasn't wringing her hands, but close.

I was sitting in the back booth—my usual table. I looked around the bar while I counted slowly to ten. It's a comfortable, familiar place. A Family hang-out. See, it hasn't been too long since the Mob ran this town. Nick's was one of the neutral taverns. Not upper-class. Nick didn't run “no hoitsy-toitsy gentlemen's club.” His words, not mine. Nick's son Jocko runs the place now. Yeah, really. Nick actually named him Jocko. Poor guy.

The bar looks old. Not elegant old, just old. Dark wood covers the floors and walls and surrounds a real marble-topped bar. Remnants of old sweat and stale cigarette smoke cling to every surface. You can't see through the nicotine haze on the windows. Jocko doesn't do windows.

I finished counting, raised my hand, and caught her eye. She walked toward me, both hands clutching her purse like someone was going to lift it. A pleasant jingling reached my ears. Jewelry of some sort. When she reached the booth she looked at me, surprised. Apparently I wasn't what she expected.

I don't wear an eyepatch or have a swarthy mustache. I even have all of my teeth. I look absolutely ordinary. Collar-length black hair, blue-grey eyes the color of gun metal, and a build that shows I work out but not to excess. I was dressed in a blue cotton long-sleeved business shirt with the sleeves rolled up, grey slacks and black sneakers that look like dress shoes as long as I keep them polished. The jacket that matched the slacks was folded on the bench next to me. I look like I could be a lawyer, a writer, or a mechanic. I don't look like someone that would as soon shoot you as look at you. That's the idea. I gave her my best mercenary look; cold, uncaring. I wouldn't want her to think that I was just some guy hitting on her. She looked away, rattled.

Her scent blew me away. I notice smells more since the change. Nice term—“change”. Her scent was stronger than it should be, but not perfume. This was just her. The woman smelled sweet and musky, with overtones of something tangy. I learned from Babs that means she's afraid. Fear reminds me, although Babs said I'm nuts, of hot and sour soup. Every emotion has its own particular scent. And lies! When someone lies, it smells like black pepper. I don't mind; it helps me interview clients.

Most scents are soft and not particularly noticeable. They rise off a person's skin like ghostly presences, only to disappear into unseen breezes. I have to concentrate to catch a person's real scent.

My client slid into the opposite side of the booth. I didn't stand. She didn't expect me to. Good thing. She sat with her back to the room. Another good indication that she wasn't a cop. Cops, like crooks, have a thing about having a wall at their back. Nobody can hit you from behind or pull your own gun on you.

“Um,” she began when I just stared at her without saying anything. “Are you Bob?”

I nodded but still made no sound. It unnerved her and amused me. She was having a hard time looking at my face, whereas I looked straight into her eyes.

“I'm hoping you might be able to help me,” she tried again. It required no comment, so I didn't make one.

My nose tingled. The client smelled like blood; like prey. But that's true of most people. Especially near the full moon. I never used to think much about the moon phases. Now I plan my life by them.

People didn't used to smell like food. Some days it pisses me off. But I didn't get a choice in the matter. A hit went bad. The woman I was stalking stalked me back. I wasn't prepared for a being with superhuman speed and strength. She ripped my throat out of my body and left me for dead. I should have died. She said so later. Guess I was too damn stubborn to die.