Moon Called (26 page)

Except that then Adam attacks. So they shoot Adam, too, and chain him so they can hold him until he listens. But Mac dies and Adam is not in any mood to listen. He begins to break free, and when you have enough drug in him to stop that, he is too far under to discuss anything.

They are panicking. They have to come up with a new plan. How can they get Adam to cooperate?

“Jesse's upstairs,” I said, snapping my fingers in a quick rhythm that answered the speed of my thoughts.

Take Jesse, then force Adam to listen. Or, if he won't listen, then threaten to kill Jesse.

It made as much sense as anything else. So where did Mac and the drug experiments come in?

I scrabbled out of the Bug and jogged into my office to locate a notebook. I had no proof of any of it, just instincts—but my instincts were sometimes very good.

On one page, I wrote down:
Drug experiments/buying new werewolves?
and on the next
Why replace Bran with Adam?

I set a hip over a three-legged stool and tapped my pen on the paper. Other than the tranquilizers that had killed Mac, there was no physical evidence of any other drugs, but Mac's experiences seemed to indicate that there were more. After a moment I wrote down:
Were Ketamine/silver nitrate/DMSO the only drugs
? Then I wrote down the names of people likely to have knowledge of all the drugs.
Samuel
,
Dr. Wallace
, and after a thoughtful pause I wrote
Auriele
, the chemistry teacher. With a sigh I admitted:
it could be anybody.
Then, stubbornly, I circled Dr. Wallace's name.

He had the ability and a motive for making a tranquilizer that would render him harmless to the people he loved. I quit playing with my pen.
Or would it?

Wasn't the vampire's Kiss a tranquilizer? It was possible a submissive werewolf might have come out of it like any other tranquilized animal, groggy and quiet. Stefan had said that only some wolves became problematic. Samuel had come out fighting, with his wolf ready to attack, just as if he'd been trapped.

I thought of the broken manacles Adam had left behind in his house. He'd put his reaction down to Jesse's kidnapping—but maybe that was only part of it. But, that was a side issue for now.

I looked at the second page.
Why replace Bran with Adam?

I brushed my finger over the words. I wasn't certain that was the motive, but it was the kind of motive that would leave bodies on the ground without discouraging the perpetrators. They left Adam alive when they could easily have killed him, so they wanted something from him.

Bran had been Marrok for almost two centuries. Why would someone get desperate to change the way things ran just now?

I wrote down:
want change
.

Bran could be a bastard. He was a ruler in the old-fashioned despot sense—but that was something the werewolves seemed to want. Under his rule the werewolves in North America had prospered, both in power and numbers—while in Europe the wolves waned.

But would Adam be any different? Well, yes, but not in any way that I could see would benefit anyone. If anything, Adam would be more despotic. Samuel said that Bran had considered using Adam as the poster child for the werewolves—but it would never have worked. Adam was too hot-tempered. Some reporter would shove a camera in his face and find himself flattened on the pavement.

That was it.

I sucked in my breath. It wasn't change that someone wanted—it was
to keep everything the same
. Bran was planning on bringing the wolves out.

Suddenly it didn't seem so odd that one of Adam's wolves might have betrayed him. (I wasn't as confident that my instincts were right as everyone else seemed to be.) But I could see how one of Adam's wolves could feel that aiding the enemy had not been a betrayal. They were preparing the way for him to take power. No harm was supposed to have come from their raid on Adam's house—but they wouldn't be discouraged by the deaths there. Werewolves die—and their wolves had died for a cause. A wolf like Mac, who wasn't even pack, wouldn't be a great loss when measured by what was at risk.

The betrayer could be anyone. None of Adam's pack had any personal loyalty to Bran.

I took out the card Bran had given me and called the top number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Bran, this is Mercy.” Now that I had him on the phone I wasn't certain how much to tell him—far too much of what I'd put together was pure speculation. Finally, I asked, “Have you heard from Adam?”

“No.”

I tapped my toe. “Is . . . is Dr. Wallace still there?”

Bran sighed. “Yes.”

“Could you ask him if he developed a tranquilizer that works on werewolves?”

His voice sharpened. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. Not a damn thing, including where Adam and your son are right now. Just when are you considering bringing the werewolves out in public?”

“Samuel's missing?”

“I wouldn't go that far. The whole pack is with them—they just haven't bothered to check in with me.”

“Good,” he said, obviously not surprised that they hadn't seen fit to keep me updated. “In answer to your previous question—I believe it is something that must be done
soon. Not this week nor next, but not a year from now either. My contacts in the FBI laboratories tell me that our existence is an all-but-open secret right now. Like the Gray Lords, I've come to the conclusion that since coming out is inevitable—it is imperative to control how it is done.”

See? Werewolves
are
control freaks.

“How many people . . . how many
wolves
know about this?” I asked.

There was a pause. “This is pertinent to the attack on Adam?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Most of the wolves here would know,” he said. “I haven't been keeping it a secret. Next month at the Conclave I am going to make a general announcement.”

He didn't say anything more, just waited for me to tell him what I'd been thinking. It was pure speculation, and I was opening myself up to ridicule by saying anything at all. I sat on that stool and realized that I had my loyalties, too. I was not a werewolf, but Bran was still my Marrok. I had to warn him.

“I have no proof,” I told him. “Just a theory.” And I told him what I thought had happened and why.

“I don't have any idea who it is,” I told the silence at the other end of the line. “Or if I'm right.”

“If it is a werewolf who is unhappy about revealing himself to humans, it seems odd that there would be humans working with him,” Bran said, but he didn't say it like he thought my theory was stupid.

I'd almost forgotten about the humans. “Right. And I don't have much of an explanation about the drug tests that Mac told us about either—other than maybe they were worried about dosage or side effects. Paying for new-made werewolves seems like a lot of risk with very little benefit.”

“When two wolves are fighting, having one of them drugged could greatly influence the outcome,” said Bran. “I like your theory, Mercedes. It isn't perfect, but it feels like you're on the right trail.”

“He wouldn't have to worry about the loyalties of humans,” I said, thinking out loud.

“Who?”

“Adam says that one of the wolves who attacked his house was someone he knew, a wolf who shared his rebirth.”

“David Christiansen.”

“Yes.” It didn't surprise me that the Marrok would know who I was talking about. Bran managed to give the impression that he knew every werewolf anywhere personally. Maybe he did.

“David works with humans,” Bran said slowly. “But not with other werewolves. I wouldn't have thought he would ever be a part of a plot that included rape—Changes like that experienced by your Alan MacKenzie Frazier. Still it is something to consider. I'll call Charles and see what he makes of it.”

“He's still in Chicago?”

“Yes. You were right; it was Leo. Apparently his salary wasn't enough to support the kind of living he wanted to enjoy.” Bran's voice sounded neutral. “He didn't know the wolf he sold the young victims like your Alan MacKenzie Frazier to—there were six of them altogether. He didn't know what they wanted the young ones for, either. Stupid of him. The Alpha's second is the one who set up the deal, but Charles is having difficulty getting any more information out of the second because he has left town. It may take us a while to find him. The rest of the pack seems to have been unaware of what was going on, but we are breaking them up anyway.”

“Bran? If you hear from Samuel or Adam, will you tell them to call me?”

“I'll do that,” he said gently and hung up.

I was in no mood for working on the Beetle after talking to Bran, so I closed up shop and went home. Bran had thought my ideas had merit, which was all well and good, except it did not answer the tightness in my belly that told me I should have gotten a call by now. My nose had told me that Adam hadn't found Jesse at the empty house in West Richland, but it didn't tell me where they'd gone afterward.

I paused again on my porch at the smell of death that still lingered there. I decided Elizaveta Arkadyevna was punishing me for not telling her what was going on. I'd have to clean the porch myself or be reminded of Mac's death every time I walked in my house for the next few months.

I opened the door, still thinking of Mac, and realized what else my senses had been trying to tell me a moment too late. All I had time to do was drop my chin so that the man who'd been standing behind the door didn't get the
chokehold he'd gone after, but his arm was still tight around my head and neck.

I twisted around sharply in his grip until I faced him, then threw everything I had into a short, sharp punch into the nerve center on the outside of the big muscle of his thigh. He swore, his grip loosened, and I pulled free and started fighting in earnest.

My style of karate, Shi Sei Kai Kan, was designed for soldiers who would be encountering multiple opponents—which was good because there were three men in my living room. One of them was a werewolf—in human form. I didn't have time to think, only react. I got in some good hits, but it rapidly became apparent that these men had studied violence a lot longer than I.

About the time I realized the only reason I was still up and fighting was because they were being very careful not to hurt me, the werewolf hit me once, hard, square in my diaphragm, then, while I was gasping for air, tossed me on the floor and pinned me there.

“Broke my f—”

“Ladies present,” chided the man who held me in an implacable grip that was as gentle as a mother holding her babe. His voice had the same soft drawl that sometimes touched Adam's voice. “No swearing.”

“Broke my
freaking
nose then,” said the first voice dryly, if somewhat muffled—presumably by the broken nose.

“It'll heal.” He ignored my attempts to wriggle out of his hold. “Anyone else hurt?”

“She bit John-Julian,” said the first man again.

“Love nip, sir. I'm fine.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. It never occurred to me that she'd have training. I wasn't ready.”

“It's water under the bridge now. Learn from it, boy,” my captor said. Then he leaned down and, in a voice of power that vibrated down my spine, said, “Let us chat a little, hmm? The idea is not to hurt you. If you hadn't struggled, you wouldn't even have the bruises you do now. We
could have hurt you much worse if we had wanted to.” I knew he was right—but it didn't make him my best friend.

“What do you want?” I asked in as reasonable a tone as I could manage, flattened, as I was, on the floor beneath a strange werewolf.

“That's my girl,” he approved, while I stared at the floor between my couch and end table, about two feet from my left hand, where Zee's dagger must have fallen when I went to sleep last night.

“We're not here to hurt you,” he told me. “That's the first thing you need to know. The second is that the werewolves who have been watching your house and the Sarge's have been called off—so there's no one to help you. The third is—” He stopped speaking and bent his head to take a deeper breath. “Are you a were? Not a werewolf. You don't smell right for that. I thought it might just be the cat—never had a cat—but it's you that smells like fur and the hunt.”

“Grandpa?”

“It's all right,” the werewolf answered, “she's not going to hurt me. What are you, girl?”

“Does it matter?” I asked. He'd called Adam “Sarge”—as in “Sergeant”?

“No,” he said. He lifted his weight off me and released me. “Not in the slightest.”

I rolled toward the couch, and grabbed the dagger, shaking it free of sheath and belt. One of the intruders started forward, but the werewolf held up a hand and the other man stopped.

I kept moving until I was crouched on the back of the couch, the dagger in my hand and my back to the wall.

The werewolf's skin was so dark the highlights were blue and purple rather than brown. He knelt on the floor where he'd moved as soon as he let me up. He wore loose khaki pants and a light blue shirt. At another gesture, the two men backed up farther, giving me as much room as they could. They were lean and tough-looking and like enough to be twins. Like the werewolf, they were very
dark-skinned. Between skin tone, general build, and that “Grandpa,” I was betting that they were all related.

“You're Adam's army buddy,” I told the werewolf, trying to sound relaxed, like it made me think he might be on my side, like I didn't know that he'd been involved in the debacle at Adam's house. “The one who was Changed with him.”

“Yes'm,” he said. “David Christiansen. These are my men. My grandsons, Connor and John-Julian.” They nodded as he said their names. John-Julian was rubbing his shoulder where I'd gotten a good grip with my teeth, and Connor was holding a wad of tissue to his nose with one hand while the other held my Kleenex box.

“Mercedes Thompson,” I told him. “What do you want?”

David Christiansen sat down on the floor, making himself as vulnerable as a werewolf could get.

“Well, now, ma'am,” he said. “We've gotten ourselves into something of a fix, and we're hoping you can help us out of it. If you know who I am, you probably know I've been a lone wolf by choice since the Change.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I never finished high school, and the military was all I knew. When an old buddy recruited me for a mercenary troop, I was happy to go. Eventually I got tired of taking orders and formed up my own troop.” He smiled at me. “When my grandsons resigned their commissions and joined us, I decided to quit fighting other people's wars for them. We specialize in extracting kidnapped victims, ma'am. Businessmen, Red Cross, missionaries, whatever, we get them out of the hands of the terrorists.”

My legs were getting tired, so I sat down on the back of the couch. “What does this have to do with me?”

“We find ourselves somewhat embarrassed,” the werewolf said.

“We're on the wrong side,” said the man who'd answered to John-Julian.

“Gerry Wallace came to you,” I whispered, as if a loud
noise would destroy my sudden comprehension. It was David's talking about being a lone wolf that had done it. Lone wolves and Dr. Wallace meant Gerry, the Marrok's liaison with packless wolves. “He told you that Bran intended to tell the world about the werewolves.” No wonder Gerry was too busy to spend time with his father.

“That's right, ma'am,” agreed David. He frowned at me. “You aren't a werewolf, I'd swear to it, so how do you know so much about us—” He broke off his speech as a look of sudden comprehension came into his face. “Coyote. You're the girl who turns into a coyote, the one raised by the Marrok.”

“That's me,” I said. “So Gerry talked to you about Bran's decision to bring the werewolves out into the public?”

“Bran is abandoning the wolves to the humans, just like the Gray Lords did their people,” said Connor of the bloody nose. My strangeness evidently took second place to his indignation toward Bran. “He's supposed to protect his people.
Someone
needed to challenge him before he could do it.”

“So you suggested Adam?”

“No, ma'am.” David's voice was mellow, but I bet if he'd been in wolf form, his ears would have been pinned against his skull. “That was Gerry. He wanted me to come talk to him, one old friend to another.”

“Bran is not one of the Gray Lords. He would never abandon his wolves. I suppose it never occurred to you to call Adam on the phone and talk to him—or even Bran, for that matter,” I said.

“We were just back from a mission,” David said. “We had the time. Some things just work better in person.”

“Like kidnapping?” I asked dryly.

“That was unplanned,” Connor said, a touch of heat in his voice.

“Was it?” murmured David. “I've been wondering. The whole thing came off so badly—with four of Gerry's wolves dead—that I can't help but wonder if it was planned that way.”

“Three of his wolves dead,” I said. “Mac was ours.”

David smiled, more with his eyes than his lips. “Yes, ma'am. Three of his wolves died, then, and one of Adam's.”

“Why would he want to kill his own wolves?” asked Connor.

“We'd have to look at the wolves who died.” David looked thoughtful. “I wonder if they were dominant wolves. I didn't know any of them well—except for Kara.
She
wouldn't have liked taking orders from Gerry for long. The boy, Mac, betrayed him by going to Adam for help.”

“You make Gerry sound like a psychopath,” said John-Julian. “He didn't strike me as crazy.”

“He's a werewolf,” David told him. “We're a little more conscious of the chain of command than humans. If he wants to stay in control, he'd have to get rid of the wolves who were more dominant—and, eventually, the wolves who betrayed the pack.”

I looked at David. “I don't know Gerry well, but if I were to guess, I'd say you were dominant to him, too.”

David grimaced. “I have my people. I don't want Gerry's, he knows that better than anyone. He's watched me for years.”

“So he felt safe calling you in,” I said tentatively. “Knowing you wouldn't challenge his leadership.”

“Gerry told Grandpa that Adam didn't want to challenge Bran, but he might listen to an old friend,” said John-Julian mildly. “He offered to fly us out here to talk, so we agreed. It didn't take long before we realized matters were a little different than presented.”

“I'd made inquiries.” David took over the narrative. “I called friends and found out that Bran really does intend to tell the Alphas at the December meeting that he is going to take us public. So we came here to talk to Adam. I didn't think it would do much good. Adam likes the Marrok too much to challenge him.”

“But matters weren't quite as they were presented,” said Connor. “Gerry never told us he was assembling an army of mercenaries and werewolves.”

“An army?” I said.

“A small army. Two or three of the lone wolves like Kara, who couldn't find a pack of their own,” John-Julian explained. “And a small group of mercenaries, loners he apparently offered to turn into werewolves.”

“I should have put a stop to it when the damn fool armed a bunch of frightened idiots with tranquilizer guns.” David shook his head. “Maybe if I'd realized Gerry'd come up with something that could hurt a werewolf . . . Anyway, from that moment on it was a classic SNAFU.”

“Adam said they shot Mac when he opened the door,” I said.

“Gerry'd gotten them so worked up about how dangerous Adam was that before they even checked to see who it was, they shot him.” John-Julian's voice held only mild regret—and I had a feeling that was mostly for the stupidity of the shooting rather than Mac's death.

“Did you know Mac?” I asked, looking down at Zee's dagger because I didn't want them all to know how angry I was. But, of course, the werewolf knew.

“No, they didn't,” David said. “We flew in last Monday afternoon.” He gave me an assessing look. “We were there when one of Gerry's mercenaries, a human, came in thoroughly spooked.”

“The man said someone killed his partner,” said John-Julian looking at me, too. “A demon.”

“No demons.” I shrugged. “It doesn't take a demon to kill an untrained, newbie werewolf who was too stupid to live.”

I swallowed my anger—it wasn't their fault they didn't know Mac. I looked at them and hesitated. Maybe they should.

My inclination was to trust them. Part of it was that their story rang true—though I didn't know them well enough to tell for sure. Part of it was remembering Adam's voice as he talked about David Christiansen.

“Let me tell you about Mac, the boy who died on my porch,” I said, then told them about his Change, the Chicago Alpha who sold him to Gerry, and the drug experiments.

“All we saw were the tranq guns,” said John-Julian, slowly. “But two shots killed the young wolf—and they shot Adam with five before he was doped enough they could bind him.”

“Our metabolisms are put out of commission by the silver while this DMSO carries the drug more quickly into our blood system?” asked David. “Does that mean someone could just substitute something else for the Ketamine?”

“I'm not a doctor,” I told him. “It sounded like something like that would work, though.”

“Maybe that's what it sounded like to Gerry, too, and he was testing it out,” said David. “With a real pack, it wouldn't have worked, but with this mix of lone wolf deviants and new wolves born of mercenaries who also have to work alone—there's no one who would feel it necessary to protect the prisoners.”