The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

“I’m getting the picture,” said Reuben.

“You realize what might happen?” Jim asked. “If I were to go home? You realize what these monsters might do to anybody they found in the way if they came looking for me?”

“I realize,” said Reuben.

“And I can’t get a cop car to sit outside the house!”

Reuben nodded. “I’m getting the whole picture, as I said.”

“I warned Mom. I told her to hire a private security guard. I don’t know whether she listened to me or not.”

“I’m getting it, all right.”

“They’re crazy, suicidal, Blankenship and this bunch. They’re as dangerous as rabid dogs.”

“So it seems,” said Reuben under his breath.

Once more Jim gestured for attention with his finger.

“I Google-mapped the place,” said Jim. “There’s no vehicle access, not in front and not in back. The perfume trucks have to stop in the street. There’s a tiny backyard.”

Reuben nodded. “I understand.”

“I’m glad you do,” said Jim with a bitter smile. “But how can you do it, how can you get him without bringing the whole world out to hunt for the Man Wolf again?”

“Easily,” said Reuben. “But you leave that to me.”

“I don’t see how—?”

“Leave it to me,” said Reuben again, a little more firmly, yet quietly. “You don’t have to think about any of it a moment longer. I have others to help me think about it. Go in there and take a shower. I’ll order us some dinner. By the time you get out the food will be here, and we’ll have figured it out to the last detail.”

Jim sat there quietly reflecting for a moment and then he nodded. His eyes were like glass with their tears, flashing in the light. He looked at Reuben and he smiled bitterly, his mouth quivering just for an instant, and then he rose and left the room.

Reuben went to the windows.

The rain was coming down a little heavier now, but the view of the park below and the great pale mass of Grace Cathedral opposite was impressive as always, though something about the neo-Gothic façade of the church deeply disturbed Reuben and caused a pain in his heart. It stirred memories in him unexpectedly, not memories of this church so much as so many others that were like it, churches in which he’d prayed all over the world. A deep sense of grief was taking hold of him. He swallowed it down as he’d swallowed the change that had so wanted to break loose.

When Felix answered the phone, Reuben discovered for a split second that he couldn’t talk. That pain deepened and then he heard his own voice, low, and unnatural to him, slowly unfolding the whole story to Felix, his eyes fixed firmly on the distant towers of the cathedral, so reminiscent of Reims, Noyon, Nantes.

“I was thinking I’d get you a couple of suites here,” said Reuben, “that is, if you’re willing …”

“You let me book them,” said Felix. “And of course we are willing. Don’t you realize this is Twelfth Night? This is the Carnival season now until Lent. It will be our Twelfth Night feast.”

“But secrecy, the question of secrecy.”

“Dear boy, there are ten of us,” said Felix. “And Phil and Laura have never tasted human flesh. There won’t be a morsel left.”

Reuben smiled in spite of himself, in spite of the pain in his heart, in spite of the great dark outline of the cathedral against the western sky. It was dusk now, and quite suddenly, unexpectedly, the decorative lights of the huge cathedral were switched on, gloriously illuminating the entire façade. It was startling, the ghost of the church now solid and wondrously alive with its twin towers and softly glowing rose window.

“Are you there?” asked Felix.

“Yes, I’m here,” said Reuben. “And that’s what I was thinking,” said Reuben. “Eat every last bite and lick the plates clean.”

Silence.

The room was dark. He ought to turn on a few lights, he thought. But he didn’t move. Distantly, he could hear a terrible sound, the sound of his brother Jim weeping.

The door of the bedroom was open.

There came the scent of innocence, the scent of innocent suffering.

He moved soundlessly to the door.

Jim, dressed in the soft white hotel terry-cloth robe, knelt beside the bed, his head bowed, his hands clasped in prayer, his shoulders shaking with his sobs.

Reuben moved away, and back to the window and the comforting sight of the beautifully illuminated cathedral.

28

IT WAS PLANNED in advance. They dressed in black sweatshirts and sweatpants, carrying the black ski masks in their pockets. Easy enough to slip out of the three vehicles and approach the Victorian house through the back alleys. Margon reminded the younger ones before it began: “You’re stronger in human form now than you ever were; climbing fences, breaking down doors, you’ll find that easy even before the change.” Who knew what the getaway might entail?

Frank, the ever impressive Frank, with his movie star looks and voice, was chosen to knock on the front door and charm his way in. Hurling aside a confused and protesting lackey, he’d gone straight to open the back door, and the wolves were inside within seconds.

Phil had morphed as soon as the others began morphing, emerging a powerful brown Man Wolf as eager to kill as Laura. The place reeked of evil. The stench had soaked into the very beams and boards. The horrified lackeys raved, snarled like animals themselves, the hatred lusciously seductive and finally irresistible.

Margon gave Laura and Phil each a desperate protesting victim—to dispatch on their own. A third inhabitant, a sleeper on the second floor, leapt from his bed with knife in hand. He slashed over and over at Stuart, who embraced him before crushing his skull.

Merciful kills these, swift. But the feasting had been slow, scrumptious. The flesh had been so warm, so salty, so delicious, with a playful jockeying for the choicest “cuts.” Reuben’s body felt like an engine, his paws and temples throbbing, his tongue lapping, of its own accord it seemed, at gushing blood.

There were only four in all, and the first three were devoured almost completely, with bloody garments and shoes pushed into garbage sacks while the unsuspecting leader paced and ranted and sang along with his deafening music in the attic above.

Up the stairs they went to take the kingpin all together. “Man Wolves! And so many of you!” he screamed in frenzied delight.

He begged, pleaded, tried to buy his life. He raved about what he might do for this world if only they’d spare him. Out of a hole in the wall he produced bundles and bundles of cash. “Take it!” he cried. “And there’s more where that came from. Listen, I know you defend the innocent. I know who you are. I am innocent. You are looking at innocence! You are listening to innocence. We can work together, you and me! I’m no enemy of the innocent!” It was Phil who tore out his throat.