Werewolf Parallel (14 page)

“Then –”

“No deal.” Morgan stepped forward, moving closer to Cameron. “We don’t work like that.”

“But Morgan… What if this is the chance we need? To stop Black and Grey
and
save my wolf-side?”

“There’s a catch – don’t you see?” Morgan’s eyes blazed bright and green. “Secrets won’t work out for us. It’s gotta be both – or nothing.”

“No. I remember…” Cameron nodded and turned back to Janus. “No deal, Janus. We’ll have to solve this for ourselves.”

“What an excellent partnership! It’d be sad to see it split apart.” Janus clapped a hand to either face. “Oh dear! Sometimes my mouth just
runs
away with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Morgan stubbornly. “So don’t pretend I am.”

“No?”

“Me neither,” said Cameron. “We’re a team.”

“How touching! Well, that accounts for two of you,” said Janus. “What about the third?”

“Eve will stick by us too,” said Morgan. “She’s a good kid. She’s sound.”

“I’m not speaking of her.” Janus threw back his head and laughed. “Times they are a changing, boys. Even a wolf month can’t last forever. You have very few howls left, and then it’s over.” He snapped his fingers. “Understand?”

The train dropped them by a frozen pond at the base of a hill. Janus conjured a doorway and hustled them out into the snow.

“Off you go, into the woods,” he said with wry amusement. “Come see me again. I may have a ‘reward’ for you, if you punish those who tried to hijack my Express… A new ward, even. Wouldn’t that be apt?”

“I saw the price you asked for that last time.” Cameron shivered as he stepped into the cold air. “It wasn’t one I’m willing to pay.”

“Prices change. By then a sacrifice will have been made.”

As the train pulled away, Cameron stared at the tracks running in straight black lines into the distance.

“I’ve had it up to here with predictions.” He liked to think he was making his own choices, but it felt like he kept being dragged back, forced onto someone else’s path… “Everyone’s saying I have to lose the wolf, that the Parallel’s gonna take it back somehow. What if I don’t want that? What if I still want to be me?”

Morgan took off his prized army greatcoat, bundled it up, and stashed it behind a tree. “You’ll be you.”

“You mean I can change things? I don’t have to go back to being normal?”

“Didn’t say that. I just meant…” He paused in the process of removing his sweater and t-shirt, checking the Omniclavis was cinched tight on the cord around his neck. “Why do you think you’d be normal without the wolf? I knew you before, and you were all kinds of weird.”

“Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Never figured that one out.” Morgan grinned lopsidedly.

“It’s a big thing to give up though,” Cameron persisted. “What if I don’t choose to let it go?”

“Then bye-bye Parallel?” Morgan shrugged.

“You reckon the Augur’s right, then? That’s the choice?” Cameron picked at the laces of his trainers with numb fingers. “I suppose there
is
always a choice…”

“Not always. Some stuff you only get to run away from for so long… And on that happy note – now you get to meet the family. Aren’t you lucky?”

“I dunno. Am I?”

“Nah, not really.
Beware of the dogs
. You’d better let me do the talking.” Morgan stretched and looked warily around at the forested hills. “Long time since I shifted outside of a Fat Moon… Gotta be some advantage to coming home, I guess.”

He leapt up, his arms pointed to the sky, white fur springing thickly from his skin. By the time his hands and feet hit the ground again, all four were paws.

Almost invisible against the snow, a sleek white wolf began to pad up the hill, scenting out a hidden path. Moments later, moving behind it like a shadow, came its counterpart: the black wolf that was Cameron Duffy.

Black paws on white snow…

The ground beneath your pads is hard and crisp.

Easy to slip on, so claws spread wide, but it’s firmer than the deeper drifts – more of a kickback from your hind legs – so you can go swift.

Ears twitch, eyes scan: left to right, down to the ground, then back to the horizon. White wolf in front of you, almost in camouflage with the snow, but you scent-see him – know him – instantly.

Morgan.

He turns to look at you, his eyes urging caution, so you bring your head down, press your body low to the ground, make your profile as slight as possible…

It’s hard to keep yourself so contained.

Over the past year, on those three glorious moon-blessed nights a month, you’ve adventured through woods in the Parallel, and in the quieter parts of the Human World too, but this place offers something new…

You draw in scent, and information leaps in your mind: every tiny trace a key-note of the whole it comes from. There’s something furtive and squirrelly concealed near by, and your paws
itch
with the effort of trying not
to instantly hunt it. Next, you sense something warm and burrowing that your stomach believes would make good eating. Eager saliva wells in your cheeks, and you swallow impulsively. Meanwhile, out in the darkness, there are creatures deadlier than you, waiting with infinite patience to have your heart…

Daemon prey – and Daemon predator. It’s all here…

But there’s something still more exciting too.

Woven into the path, in a track that stretches back thousands of Fat Moons, you detect others of your kind. Werewolf after werewolf has climbed this way – with empty bellies and bellies stretched taut, in joy and in terror – but always as part of a greater whole. This intrigues you in ways you don’t fully understand. It speaks to you of safety, of comradeship and warmth; it offers the possibility of collective strength and power.

It is intoxicating.

It is
overwhelming
.

The howl leaves your jaws before you can stop yourself.

It echoes round the bowl of trees and out across the dark red Daemonic sky – a resonant musical cry. Its meaning:
I am here! I am here! Where are you? Where are you?

Morgan turns to you in alarm: ears back, eyes wide, teeth parted.
What have you done?
He’s scanning the surroundings for cover, somewhere to lay low, but already the howl is answered.

The forest speaks with its wolf-voice: low and high and multiple and all-together, the howl returns… Its meaning:
We are here! We are here! And we are many.

The night fills with eyes.

You don’t try to fight or run.

The newcomers are huge, muscled hunters. They are controlling: herding you and Morgan with low growls, circling round and driving you up the hill. They are deferential as well, surprisingly. Morgan has only to curl a lip and they drop back. But still – by force of numbers – they push you on.

On the hilltop, a low hall lies, its blackened wood scented with long-dried sap. You are guided to an entrance by your escorts. You and Morgan pass within, and your wolf-self retreats.

You are human once more.

It was the easiest wolf-shift Cameron could ever remember, like shrugging off a warm and comfortable coat. He stretched, feeling shivery and ill-at-ease in his human skin despite the fire-lit ambience of the hall.

He was standing in an antechamber that seemed to serve as a cloakroom. Coats and jackets and shoes and boots were littered round its edges.

Their escort had remained outside, patrolling. The white wolf beside him reared on its hind legs and became Morgan again.

“Had to go and howl, didn’t you?” Morgan scowled. “Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“No, I couldn’t. It felt true. Like I was meant to call them to me. Like I belonged.”

“They’ll make you belong all right… You could be happily safe and
bored
here for the rest of your natural, as long as you do exactly what’s expected.”

Cameron shrugged. “We were coming here anyway, weren’t we?”

“Yeah. But I wanted to do it on my own terms.”

A bearded red-haired man approached. He was tall – easily over two-and-a-half metres, Cameron reckoned – but he held himself in an awkward pose, with his head lowered and arms pressed to his sides.

He handed Morgan a rich embroidered cloak, which the boy took and put on with barely a glance. The man repeated the gesture to Cameron, then returned with water in leather flagons and some cuts of meat. Morgan lifted a leg bone and made short work of it – hungry as ever after the shift. He tossed the gnawed end to the floor and the man, after waiting a moment to be sure it wasn’t wanted, lifted the discarded bone and stowed it in the folds of his jerkin.

“What’s up with him?” Cameron hissed. “More to the point, what’s up with you?”

“He’s an Omega. Subservient. Thinks his place is to defer.”

“To you? Is that why you’re acting like a complete –”

“Power structures and bloodlines are important in the pack. Because my mum is Alpha Female, I get deference. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

The red-headed man obsequiously presented Cameron with the plate of meat. Cameron helped himself to a bone. “Why do I get the rock-star treatment, then?”

“Tell him. Go on.” Morgan instructed the bearded man.

The man looked at Cameron uneasily. His jittery agitation reminded Cameron of a red-setter dog whose tail was lashing from side to side: as if you’d stepped into his house, but he hadn’t quite decided if you were welcome or not.

“You’re with him, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Under his protection? That makes you important too… Aren’t you important?”

“Very,” Morgan growled. “Don’t you forget it.”

The man cringed and backed off. “No, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow and studied Cameron. “Still think you want a pack? That you belong?”

“I dunno. Part of me does…” Cameron scratched his neck through the woven cloth of his robe. In his human body, his wolfish thoughts and urges were on the retreat again. “It’s complicated.”

Morgan looked sceptical. “They’re not all as easily impressed as friend Omega. Let’s get this over with. Remember – I’ll do the talking.”

They moved into the main section of the hall. Round the edges of the room, a dozen children play-fought with sticks and bones, while old people dozed by the fire. Low tables and benches were covered with the scattered remains of a banquet, around which men and women in hempen robes ate and talked and laughed. They were physically larger than average, at least for humans, with long tangled hair and a powerful, slightly hunched-over posture that reminded Cameron of hackles: the ruffs of fur that rose up on wolves’ backs.

The Were-people looked at him and Morgan with shielded eyes, noting their presence while keeping their attention pointedly focussed elsewhere. They seemed a different lot to the Weres he’d encountered elsewhere on the Parallel, camped in the old Alhambra Cinema where Morgan used to hang out. It suddenly hit Cameron that everyone here was an adult or a young child.

There was no one in-between.

He snuck a glance at Morgan. He’d said that Weres changed as they grew older – would that count for him as well? Would Morgan lose his passion for rock music, for adventure… for the Human World altogether? Would he become another wannabe Viking, like this strange group?

“Here he comes, our noble stepson; the lone wolf and relic thief…” A mocking voice rang out, and the general hubbub in the room faded, as if someone had dipped a volume control.

At the end of the hall, on a raised dais were two wooden thrones carved with moon and holly symbols. A man with a clippered goatee and a dark saturnine look sat on one, while a flaxen-haired woman occupied the other, a simple silver circlet resting on her head. Her fierce green eyes and pointed cheekbones made clear her family connection to Morgan.

“I’m not going to let him rile me, I’m not,” Morgan muttered to himself, his fists clenched by his side. He approached the dais. Cameron followed, acutely aware that since the Wolf King had acknowledged their presence, everyone in the room was openly staring.

The Wolf Queen caught his eye for a second. She shifted on her throne, and he just noticed the spine of a worn paperback book –
The Picture of Dorian Gray
– before she covered it over with a fur. It was the only glimpse of modern life he’d seen inside the hall.

“Two visits in less than a week. We are indeed honoured,” the Wolf King continued. He eyed Morgan dispassionately. “We could almost mistake this for enthusiasm – were it not for the fact you had
to be brought here under escort. Do you think that is appropriate behaviour?”

“Wouldn’t come at all if I could help it,” said Morgan cheerfully. “Not to see you anyway.”

“
You forget your place!
”

“Ok, ok. I defer. You’re the King,” Morgan drawled. He bobbed an insincere bow. “But this isn’t about you and me, and who gets the most bones. It’s about the Parallel… It’s shutting down and fading out –”

“We know. We have seen.”

“If Dr Black and Mr Grey get to run their World Engine, it’ll be gone for good. We need the pack’s help to stop them.”

“How does this concern us?” The Wolf King lifted a jewelled hand and gestured expansively. “Our domain is here in Daemonic. The humans have their metal-snarled world – and welcome to it. As for the Parallel…” His hand fell to the side of his throne. “A half-place. A mistake. A mixed-up zone, filled and fuelled by sad wanderers who belong to neither true world. Let these Grey and Black creatures do with it what they will.”

“You can’t mean that!” Cameron burst out. “You’ve got to help. The Parallel affects us all!”

“What do you know of our history, human-born?” The Wolf King leant forward, his upper lip stretched taut to expose his teeth. “Those who travel between the worlds, be they daemon or human, what do they have in common?”

“The Parallel Inheritance, of course,” Cameron said, uncertain what the King was driving at.

“Which means what?”

“Which means we are descended from those in
Mitchell and Astredo’s covens, from the World Split conspiracy… They looked into the Parallel as it formed, and that connected them to it forever. That’s how we can world-shift.” Cameron gave a hard smile. “I know the story. I’m not a newbie.”

“The shifting was a
side-effect
, not the intention,” the Wolf King snarled. “Those who supported the World Split plan were separatists, who believed our interests would be better served if humans and daemons lived apart.” He glowered at the assembled Weres whose heads swiftly bowed in response. “It is a bitter irony that I preside over a pack who may still travel to the Human World, when our ancestor wished instead to keep us safely isolated.”

They looked like they’re being told off for bunking off school
, thought Cameron, glancing round the hall. He wondered how many of the pack might secretly miss their excursions through the Parallel…

“If some fungus-daemon and his pet human wish to destroy a sordid back-alley that leads out to a world of danger and distraction, I have no objection. My pack will not interfere.” The Wolf King sat back in his chair, seemingly basking in his dominance. “Let the Parallel die.”

“Knew we shouldn’t have come,” Morgan spat. “So much for the Augur! Looks like his crystal ball was out of warranty. Come on, Cam. We’re better off without them.” He turned on his heel and started to march down the hall.

“Wait. You do not have leave to go.” The Wolf Queen’s voice was soft, but the authority it wielded was clear. Several of the largest Were-people rose from their
benches and moved to block off the exit.

“Seriously?” said Morgan. “You’re gonna keep us here? Is that what it’s come to?”

“I merely wish the pleasure of your company a little longer, my son.”

Morgan looked dubious. “Then call off your guards.”

The Queen rubbed her forehead and managed a patient smile. “Tell us, at least, who the friend is you have brought with you?” She indicated Cameron. “He is Were-kind, I sense it, but not one of us.”

“The boy is without a pack – not born a wolf at all,” the King sneered. “My spies tell me everything. Just another half-breed liability who will run wild at Fat Moon, spreading our legend in the Human World until our existence is known to all.” His arms folded across his chest. “It would be best he is not allowed to return to it.”

Cameron felt his stomach tighten. The guards who had stood up earlier were moving closer, striding purposefully down the hall. His mouth went dry. Even if he made it outside, the patrol would be waiting…

“If he was not born a wolf, then he must’ve been gifted our heritage,” said the Queen. “Who would do something so dangerous?”

“Your son. Who else?” the King retorted. “He bites indiscriminately. Another sign he is not fit to succeed –”

“I believe he is.” The Wolf Queen’s eyes flashed a baleful green. She swept down from the dais. At her unspoken cue, the lumbering guards halted.

“I will hear his reasons.” She placed a pale hand under Morgan’s chin and raised it. “Tell me, Morgan, my wolfheart… Did you make this human prey to the Fat Moon?”

“I did.” Morgan jerked his head away, avoiding her gaze. “I’d do it again too.”

The Wolf Queen looked sad. “I thought I’d raised you better.”

“He saved my life! I begged him to do it,” Cameron interjected forcefully. “That’s the only reason… Don’t blame him! If he hadn’t bitten me, I’d be dead. I owe him
everything
– and I don’t regret it for a second.”

“Is this true?”

“He’s saved my life too… more than once,” said Morgan. “There was a time I was moon-mad. If anyone was in danger of going wild and drawing notice, it was me.” A horrified murmur ran around the room. “Cam looked after me till it passed, and I could re-learn how to master my instincts. That’s not all. He stopped me being food for Mrs Ferguson, and put an end to that toxic old Weaver, and –”

“He’s resourceful then,” the Wolf King stroked his goatee and mused. “I could use a deputy with fire and imagination. A new Beta perhaps, or a general in waiting… But we still cannot let him go.” He gestured sharply. “Have them locked up, until I decide my course of action.”