White Winter (The Black Year Series Book 2) (15 page)

“Cease fire, cease fire!” The range safety officer ran up, face red, and shouted, “No automatic weapons on the pistol-” He saw Damien, blinked, and said, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s okay, Bill. I’ll warn you next time.”

“Thanks.”

A few seconds later, the other shooters returned to their booths and started shooting again.

Frank exhaled. “Jesus H. Christ. Can you teach me how to do that?”

Damien smiled, handing back the weapon and the two magazines. “Let’s take a look at how you’re used to shooting, and work from there.”

Jonas stepped back into his booth, feet parallel to the target, and fitted his palm to the grip.

♘

Eve finished talking to Viviane and raised an eyebrow at Jonas when she saw him waiting outside the training room.

“Hey, Jonas what are you-” Eve scrunched up her nose and said, “What’s that smell?”

“Gunpowder and CLP,” Jonas said, reaching for her waist and leaning in to peck her cheek.

She stopped him with a palm to the chest. “Nuh uh. You’re not getting near me smelling like that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I like it,” Jonas said.

“No, you like things that make loud noises, and sitting around with Frank and Damien cleaning your guns, talking about how manly you all are. The smell just reminds you of that.”

Jonas grinned.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” she said.

Yes, it was,
he thought. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but her heart beat a little bit faster.

They started walking toward her room.

“What are you doing here so early, anyway?”

“Frank went home, and Damien said he was leaving New York for a couple weeks to visit friends.”

“He has friends?”

“Apparently.” He shrugged. “He’s actually pretty funny, once you get to know him.”

She made a face. “If you say so. Should we make plans with Kieran and Amelia?”

“Amelia and her parents went to Minnesota for the holidays. Kieran’s at the house on King’s Point all week. It’s just us.”

“You’re not going to spend time with-”

“She’s busy.”

She gave him a look, but she didn’t say anything. He shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about it.

They rode the elevator down and stopped outside her room.

“Where do you think
you’re
going?” she said.

“Inside?”

“Not until you take a shower.”

“There’s a shower inside.”

The look on her face told him that was a galaxy far, far away from happening.

“Fine,” he said, “I just want to show you something first, and then I’ll go.”

Eve frowned. “What do you mean, show me something. Were you in my room?” She touched the panel and her door slid open.

There was an easel and blank canvas set up between her bed and desk. Brushes, tubes of paint, a plastic palette, and a jar of turpentine were set up to the right of her laptop, along with two old newspapers he’d scavenged from the lobby.

She didn’t say anything, and he started to wonder if this had been a bad idea. “I know you like your room the way you had it before… well, before. But I remembered how focused you were on that guy’s skin tone, I just thought-”

“It’s fine Jonas. I mean, it’s great; I haven’t painted since I was turned, but why now?”

He cocked his head. “Um… it’s past midnight.” When she didn’t react, he added, “Merry Christmas.”

Surprise, joy, grief, and worry in the space of about a second. “I didn’t get you anything,” she said, still staring at the canvas.

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling.

♘

The flat smell of paint and the chemical smell of turpentine woke him as much as Eve’s fingertips on his cheek. He must have fallen asleep watching her paint. “Is it time for me to go back to my room?”

She kissed his forehead. “It’s fine, sweetie. Go back to sleep.”

♘

He heard the scratching of claws on stone as the Jackals half-carried the prisoner up the stairs. The guards’ black, short-cropped fur shone in the moonlight, white canines hooking over their lower lips. Their eyes gleamed like embers. 

The prisoner wasn’t nearly so impressive: crooked limbs and swollen joints, yellowed eyes, and a weak, confused look on his face as he clutched the skin bound codex to his gray chest. If he’d been human, the Sorcerer would have thought he was about to die of old age, but wolves didn’t let the weak survive that long. A cripple then, one of the few mutants to survive the brutal competition for food young wolves went through.

“Bring him inside,” Alam-Baal said.

They obeyed without a word, ducking slightly in the entryway and stopping two paces before the altar. Their characteristic pointed ears almost touched the soot-stained ceiling. The Sorcerer relaxed. In 1000 years of service, jackals had never rebelled. They were his elite. They spied on other werewolves, reporting them without remorse, killing at his whim.

“Set the book down, old one,” Alam-Baal said.

The cripple hesitated, blinking rheumy eyes, then his face went slack and he dropped the book on the altar as Alam-Baal compelled him. The guard on the left bared his teeth, startling the Sorcerer. The second guard snarled; they were both back to normal before the Sorcerer had time to react.

“You may read it, my lord,” Alam-Baal said, unperturbed.

“What is it?” the Sorcerer said, running his hand over the cover.

“Their laws.”

The Sorcerer’s breath caught in his throat. “I must have misheard you. The wolves have no law but me.”

“Even so, my lord, they’ve taken to writing down… ways to serve you better. The laws are primitive and often counter to their nature, but we believe they are behind the reduced mortality rates and longer lifespans among the packs.”

“Your meddling, then.”

“They did this themselves, my lord. You see the evidence before you.”

The gray werewolf smiled, exposing yellowed teeth.

The Sorcerer grunted. He opened the book and read, the room quiet except for the crackling torches and the gray wolf’s wheezing. After ten pages, he said. “No wolf could live by this.”

“No, my lord; none has. But if one were to imbue it with magic and swear by it, and then succeed…”

The Sorcerer glared at him. “I do not recall giving you access to my library, Alam-Baal.”

The vampire inclined his head in a shallow bow. “Even so, my lord, would it work?”

It might,
he thought, touching the wards at his hip out of habit. Oath magic was the stuff of creation. Between the perfection of the wolves’ design and the creator’s obsession with rules, he could become something truly powerful.

He smiled. “Have the wolves recapture the slaves.”

♘

“Were the jackals traitors, father?” Kieran asked, his voice high and reedy.

“No, Kieran. The jackals set us free,” Phillip answered. He spoke deliberately, as if from rote, and Jonas got the impression he was watching a werewolf family ritual, similar to a catholic mass or Passover, with scripted questions and answers. Something holy.

Phillip noticed him standing just outside the circle of children and frowned.

Jonas jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “This is
my
dream, Phillip.”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, and he was dragged backward into the darkness.

♘

“Sir?”

Jonas blinked and stepped back from the empty gun port. “Oh, hi Sam.”

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, I think. Why is there a forest outside the wall?”

Sam rushed to the gun port to look. After a few seconds, he exhaled and said, “Good one, sir. Scared the piss out of me. There’s nothing there.”

Jonas looked; nothing but grass to the horizon. He had a bit of a headache, and his eyes seemed to slide over the landscape without finding purchase. “I must be tired,” he said, yawning, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

CHAPTER 18

Jonas followed Kieran into the elevator. It felt a little cramped. Which was ridiculous, because it could easily carry three werewolves or five adult humans, but still. “How much do you weigh now?”

“208.”

“Wow.”

Kieran shrugged. “My dad maintained about 240 when he was operational. I’m not sure if that’s the build I want, but I wouldn’t mind trying it out.”

Jonas felt that odd sense of pride he’d felt around Kieran before. He wasn’t sure what 240 or even 208 would feel like. Damien would probably say it would only make him slow.

They walked through the lobby to the outer doors. The entrance looked less festive without the Christmas decorations, but it was the first week of January and they couldn’t stay up forever.

“Evening Mr. Black, Mr. Macready.”

“Evening, George,” Kieran said.

Jonas waved, trying not to picture Jared’s charred body slumped over the desk. He’d avoided getting to know the new security guards so far. Maybe that was cold, or pessimistic, but he didn’t feel like getting attached only to lose them the next time something went wrong.

Kieran stopped outside the door.
Sniiiiiifff. Sniff sniff.
He opened his mouth, like he was tasting the air.
Sniiiff.

“Are you okay?” Jonas asked.

“Something’s changed about the city,” Kieran said.
Sniiiiff.

“Like what?”

“The people,” Kieran said, only partially paying attention to him. The wolf craned his neck, staring at people as they passed.

Jonas shrugged. “Winter break’s over, people coming back from holidays, tourists going home. It’s just-”

“Not humans. Werewolves. There are clans here I’ve never smelled before. A lot of them.”

Jonas tensed, taking a closer look at the people on the street. They looked… normal. Probably a little weirded out by Jonas and Kieran staring at them. “Should we tell someone?” he said, looking inside.

Kieran relaxed and shrugged. “There isn’t a werewolf within two miles that doesn’t already know. Let’s just go meet Amelia, if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine by me.” They started walking north.

After about two blocks, Kieran said, “Hey, Jonas?”

“Yeah, man. What’s up?”

“I appreciate what you’ve done for me and Amelia. Really. A lot of guys would say they didn’t mind a friend dating their ex, and that you just wanted her to be happy, but you really meant it.”

Jonas wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t really okay with it, not completely, but he couldn’t give her the support she needed either. “Okay?”

“I guess what I want to ask, is, did you plant the thought to date me in Amelia’s head, or was it already there?”

Jonas felt his face heat. “I never pushed her toward you, Kieran.”

“Did Eve?”

Damn.
“Just the once. All she did was calm her down.”

Kieran nodded.

They waited for a truck to pass before crossing the street.

Kieran didn’t get angry; he didn’t tense or change his pace. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “I’d prefer you not do that again, clan leader. Either of you. Ever.”

“I’ll talk to Eve when she gets back.”

“Thanks.”

A few seconds later, Jonas said, “Sorry.”

Kieran shook his head. “Werewolves don’t hold grudges,” he said.

And that was it. After two more blocks of silence, Jonas put his earphones in and listened to his Christmas present from Eve. She’d contacted the club owner in California and gotten him a recording of the music she’d heard in the club. It was a cover of an album called
Axiom
by Archive. A vampire had read the songs out of the songwriter’s mind before they were written; it would be at least two or three months before they released it, and there was one song he wasn’t sure Darius Keeler would include. It was called “The Sound of Fire Crashing” or something like that, which he’d thought wouldn’t be a great loss until the vocals kicked in about a minute and a half into it, sending shivers up his spine.

He still preferred their older stuff, but it was the coolest gift he’d ever been given.

♘

“Hi, Ames.”

“Hi, handsome.” Amelia placed a hand on Kieran’s shoulder, got on her tiptoes, and pecked his lips. There was a fearlessness to their familiarity Jonas didn’t regret, even if what he and Eve had done was wrong. He winced, realizing that was part of the problem. Kieran would never know if it would have grown on its own without them.

“Hi,” Jonas said.

“Oh, hey Jonas. Where’s Eve?”

“She’s out of town this week.”