Black Wolf (8 page)

Bane's room
was, like Bane, utterly practical and organized. Bed, dresser, a
small table beside the bed, a bookcase with glass doors, that was
it. Jesse searched drawers quickly, found only clothes; searched
the bookcase, found only ordinary books, mostly horror and fantasy
and at least half a dozen on wolves and others that looked like the
kinds of things he recalled from English classes.

Cynthia's
room, the master, across the hall. Double waterbed, dresser, a
larger open bookcase, a table on one side of the bed, a squarish
wooden chest about the same height in the mirror position on the
other side. A sturdy large basket near the door, where she could
take it easily downstairs, held yarn and knitting needles and
sundry mysterious objects; several bags in the closet, beneath her
clothes, held more yarn. Only clothes, again, in the dresser, and
on it a compact stereo and a collection of cassette tapes, mostly
unfamiliar to Jesse. The books were lighter kinds of fantasy, and
the rest on things like T
he Ecology of the Northern Canadian
Forests
and
Mammals of the Canadian Wild
, but also
meteorology and weather and windmills and wind energy. One entire
shelf was poetry. He pulled one at random, and opened it to the
page marked. The poem was called "True Thomas" and looked long, the
language old.

The drawer of
the table held only a small flashlight, a notebook and pencil—the
notes, all in a neat, elegant hand, were things like, "Register for
class Thursday" and "Pick up milk and eggs" and "Call Naomi"—and
stray odds and ends. The chest proved to be locked; a little
searching, in Kevin's room in fact, provided a couple of paper
clips he straightened while returning. Despite all Shaine's lessons
and his own experience, though, he couldn't coax the lock open, and
finally gave up before he could leave scratches that would be too
obvious.

Kevin's room,
on the same side of the hall as Bane's.

The walls were
plastered with posters ranging from elves, unicorns, and
forest-scenes to Depeche Mode and Queen; the floor was strewn with
clothes, books, cassettes, and random objects. A wooden desk
covered with books and paper and binders stood in one corner, and a
few shelves above and beside bore a heavy load of yet more books; a
dresser had ornaments and jewellery scattered on it and hung from
the mirror corners. Through an open door he could see a closet
piled knee-deep with unidentifiable stuff, clothes hung above in a
bright-coloured blur of predominantly strong blues and greens and
reds. A fairly expensive compact stereo sat on the floor beside the
bed.

He gave up
totally on the piles of paper. The books defied any classification,
there seemed to be everything under the sun, though the non-fiction
leaned towards psychology and related fields, which made sense.
Kevin had told him he was starting a four-year program in
counselling; well, nobody was perfect. Jesse had to admire some of
his taste in music, at least, but it wandered, too, from something
called the Pachelbel Canon to a group called Enigma who certainly
had some songs with interesting names, through more ordinary rock
like Aerosmith and Blondie.

In the bottom
of the closet, he found a polished chest of rich dark wood.
Carefully, Jesse dragged it out. About a foot tall, and a foot by
two across the top.

Locked, but
this one he managed to get open without much trouble or much
visible trace. He raised the lid, wondering what he'd find.

At first all
he saw was a considerable amount of bright-hued silky fabric much
like the blankets in the living room. He reached in, found
something solid, and pulled it out. The silk hiding it reminded him
of water, shimmery blue and green and grey. Carefully, he unwrapped
it, found a cup, shaped like a wide-mouthed wine-glass but made of
some silvery metal, engraved around the outside with fish and
wave-patterns and swans. It was so clean it caught the sunlight and
gave the brief illusion that it actually held the golden light like
water. He didn't touch it, kept the silk between it and his hands,
but even that made his skin tingle intensely.

Feeling
something akin to awe, somehow sure that he'd found something very
old and special, he returned the cup to its place, and reached for
something else.

Concealed by
silver-grey and ice-blue and pale gold was a knife like nothing
he'd ever seen, the blade something like eight inches long, the
hilt wrapped in gold wire and set with a clear red stone on each
side. Utterly unable to resist, he lifted it from the silk—the
tingling grew stronger—and slid it free of the ornate metal sheath.
The blade was shining-bright, he could see himself in it, and
looked deadly sharp.

That prickling
was getting worse, fast. It escalated sharply, felt like someone
lashed him squarely across his shoulder blades; he dropped the
knife with a half-strangled cry, and the sensation eased. Without
touching it directly again, he re-sheathed it, wrapped it and
returned it to the chest, then put the chest back in its place. He
hadn't been down to Deanna's room, but that was definitely enough
prowling. The skin of his hands felt hot and tight, the muscles of
his arms and upper back throbbed a little, and there was a pressure
behind his eyes that felt like the beginnings of a headache.

Snooping
around here was dangerous. Things bit back.

Still, he
definitely had a lot to think about.

* * *

Kevin stepped
in the door of his bedroom, and paused. Something had disturbed the
wards he'd automatically built into it. Disturbed them violently,
in fact. He tracked the source, and pulled the chest holding his
great-grandmother's tools out of the closet. Faint traces, on the
Spanish steel cup; then he reached his knife.

He wasn't sure
quite what he felt, about that. A certain amount of sympathy, for
how much it had to have hurt Jesse in his present state; an
uncharitable righteousness, that he'd asked for it; amusement and
apprehension about what else Jesse had been into and what
conclusions he was making; annoyance because only his own peculiar
layered shielding had protected the spells on the knife, and they
were going to need work to fix regardless.

He kept the
knife out to start on later. It was going to take a while, since he
was still recovering, but he rarely used them anyway, and really
didn't need them at all; normally he only brought them out when
helping Deanna or Cynthia with the ritual magic they were so much
better at. His own abilities worked just fine without props. He
returned the rest, and added an extra layer of protection around
it. Although, he thought wryly, that was a classic example of
locking the barn door after the horse was in the next county. He
doubted Jesse would forget this quickly.

Had he gotten
into Cynthia's or Deanna's? Cynthia's power was so much more subtle
than his, she lacked the unique protections he'd built, and she
used her tools more often than he did. On the other hand, he
doubted that any amount of unauthorized handling could cause Deanna
the slightest trouble with her tools. He left his room, the knife
under his pillow and out of sight, and went to Cynthia's. The chest
opened immediately under his hand. He checked each briefly, the
crystal sphere that had been her grandmother's, the mostly newer
tools, and found everything as it should be.

Then, just for
now, he wouldn't mention this either, any more than he had Jesse's
attempted midnight flight. He didn't think Jesse had meant any harm
today, he couldn't be blamed for curiosity.

Still, this
was getting a little out of hand.

He headed back
to his own room, mulling over what he might be able to devise to
keep Jesse out of things. For his safety and theirs. He was saying
that a lot lately. Keep everybody safe.

Inner senses
picked up Bane's presence; he turned around, just in time to watch
his dark coven-mate lean against the edge of the doorway, arms
crossed. Even from here, Kevin could see the gold flaring in his
eyes and hear the low rumble of a growl.

Uh-oh...

"He was in my
room," Bane said, each word precise, reminding Kevin of the sharp
edge of his knife. "His scent is everywhere. I want him out of my
territory.
Now
."

"Can we talk
about this? Please? For my sake and Gisela's, at least?"

Bane didn't
move for a long moment, then he nodded curtly and came farther into
the room, turned the chair from the desk backwards and straddled it
with his arms crossed on the back. Kevin glanced at the door, and
it closed itself with a soft click.

"Why should I
not chase him off?" It still held more than a hint of growl, but
the edge was muted somewhat.

Kevin sank
down on the bed, facing him.

"Lots of
reasons."

"Start listing
them, then. And don't tell me again that it's dangerous to send him
back to the outside world with no knowledge of what he is. He'll
never heal completely, Flynn's cards are wrong this time. Whatever
the unfinished business is he keeps getting on every reading, that
isn't it."

Kevin tried to
put his tangled thoughts in order.

Okay, he's not
going to listen to logic this time.

"There was a
time, once, when Deanna and I ran away from Rebecca," he said
quietly. "And you were the only one in all of Haven who was willing
to give me a chance. Remember?"

"You didn't
take advantage of hospitality and trust to violate privacy!"

Oh, if you
only knew about Jess trying to leave in the middle of the
night...

"No, I had
attacked Flynn for voicing an opinion—which was shared by just
about everyone and was in fact extremely valid—and terrorized
Cynthia when she came after me for it, and got in a fight with you
when you told me that I'd be taking my life in my hands to go
anywhere near them ever again. Among other things. I racked up a
long list of sins in a very few months."

The angry gold
faded from Bane's eyes, and his expression softened. "That was a
long time ago."

"A couple of
years isn't so long. Less than that, actually. A couple of years
ago, around now we were all meeting Rebecca. You had stronger
reasons to distrust me, but you took a chance. Please. If you don't
want to, that's your choice, but don't stop me from making my own
choice."

Bane rested
his head on his arms, silent for what felt like forever, then he
sighed heavily.

"I'll be glad
forever that I took that chance on you. For the moment, I'll let
him stay. But he's running out of chances, phoenix. Put him on a
leash if you want him around, okay?"

"I'll get Dia
or Cynthi to help me put short-term specific wards everywhere and
on everything we can think of," Kevin promised. "But I bet he
learned his lesson."

"Oh?"

"There are
psychic fingerprints all over my knife."

Bane grinned,
showing even white teeth, the pointed canines just slightly longer
than the rest. "Aw, poor baby, he got a shock?"

"A pretty good
one, I'd say."

"Good. Maybe
it'll teach him to keep his hands off other people's stuff." He
stood up, and stretched. "For your sake, I'll put up with him. But
you remember what I said."

"I will. I'll
keep an eye on him, I swear."

"You do that."
He padded over to the bed, leaned down to give Kevin a tight hug,
and wandered off.

Kevin sat
quietly for a moment, shivering a little as he forced the old
memories into the back of his mind and reoriented on what he could
do at present. Wards, first.

And somehow,
somehow, he had to get Jesse to trust them. He was sure Jesse was
only there because he was responding unconsciously to the
triangular connection that had formed when Kevin and Gisela healed
him, an unanticipated little consequence that probably wouldn't
have stopped them anyway. Without that, surely, he would have left
days ago, and Brigid and Lugh knew how long it would take for the
paranoia he kept sensing to win over the tentative power of that
link...

The same link,
he thought wryly, that had an equally strong effect on all three of
them, aware of it or not.

* * *

The house was
very quiet. Jesse lay still, comfortable on the couch, especially
after some of the places he'd slept. Listening to the silence,
wondering what secrets it was keeping.

How long had
he been here? Days, two weeks, three. He had to leave. Nothing else
spooky had happened, although he hadn't ventured any further
exploring, but he didn't want to chance sneaking away again. He had
to leave, and during the day, openly.

Damn it, Jess,
you can't afford to care! Get back to Shaine, forget all this.

Caring would
get him in trouble.

He'd have to
leave. Tomorrow.

* * *

It took a
messily long time to convince them that he needed to leave. He had
to swear to call once in a while and to remember that he was
welcome back any time. Flynn insisted on giving him a ride home;
and Jesse surrendered without much protest. At least Flynn was more
likely to be willing to compromise and drop him off wherever Jesse
requested, instead of right on Shaine's doorstep.