Wolf Pact (The Complete Saga)

But Edon’s silence said it all: they already had.

Thank god he had Rafe to help him there—Rafe had been especially strong as a wolf, and as a human he was large, dense with muscle. He flexed his biceps often, preening. “Can’t keep up a body like this without food,” he’d say, and poke Edon in his stomach, or pinch his arm. Edon never said a word, but finally, he snatched a sandwich out of Rafe’s hands one day, and ever since he had been scavenging with them.

“I knew I’d get him eventually,” Rafe confided in Lawson. “He never could stand it when I teased him.”

“Well, keep going,” Lawson said. “He’ll have to talk at some point.”

“Give him time,” Tala said. “He’s been through so much.”

“We all have,” Lawson reminded her. “And there is still so much to do.”

“Be gentle with him,” Tala said, and her eyes showed her own sadness. Lawson had almost forgotten that she and Ahramin were sisters—not just in spirit, not just because they were from the same den, but because they were from the same mother—and that Tala was mourning as well. “She was tough, and she didn’t have much time for someone weak like me, but I loved her. I miss her. I wish she was here with us.”

“We all do,” he said.

“He’ll come around eventually,” Tala said, putting a hand on his arm.

Lawson hoped so. He felt guilty enough leaving Ahramin behind as it was, and with every day Edon passed in silence, he felt worse. But he had to worry about the pack; he didn’t have time to focus on individual concerns.

That afternoon he gathered them together to strategize. “We have to start thinking about the future. We can’t keep living like this, stealing and scrounging and never sure where we’re going to sleep.”

There was silence, then a surprising response, from a scratchy, low voice that resembled a familiar growl. “We can’t stay in any one place too long,” Edon said. “We have to keep moving, before the hounds catch our scent. We don’t know how long the Gates will hold them back.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Lawson nodded, relieved to have his brother speaking at last.

“We need to learn more about this world,” Malcolm said, ever the sensible one. “I’m the only one who knows how to read. And none of us can write. We need to find a place that’s safe for us. This isn’t it.” He waved his hand around the park they’d camped in, a bleak stretch of asphalt covered in dingy wooden benches where they’d eventually sleep.

“Where should we go?” Rafe asked, looking to Lawson for answers.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” boomed a voice from behind them. How could Lawson have missed someone sitting on one of the park benches? He could have sworn no one was there. But sure enough, when he turned around, a man was sitting there, an older gentleman with about three-quarters of a smile on his face. He was small and round, dressed in fine clothes that had seen finer days—a brown corduroy jacket and neat slacks, but Lawson could tell they were old and worn, the collar was frayed, and the hems of his coat were threadbare.

“You must be the wolves. Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. “I’m Arthur Beauchamp.”

“I’m a warlock,” he explained, in response to their alarmed looks. “Actually, I’m a Norse god, doomed to mid-world, but why complicate things? That’s another story.”

“Is that how you know us? Is that how you recognized who—what—we are?” Lawson asked.

Arthur cocked his head to one side. He exuded a shabby geniality that was difficult to dislike. “Yes, and no, I suppose. Warlocks aren’t allowed to use their powers. Those of us who choose to live in the open must pretend to be mortal. I’ve been in hiding for some time now, so I suppose I’m not…strict…about keeping a rein on my magical activities. But I’ve been looking for you for a very long time. A friend asked me to do her the favor of finding you. She said that one day I would come upon a pack of young wolves, and they would need my help.”

“We need some kind of help, all right,” Edon muttered.

Lawson supposed it was a good thing that Edon was speaking, but why did he have to choose now, and with that tone?

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Arthur said, not at all perturbed. “Come, we have much to discuss, and you can’t stay here.”

Lawson looked around at the other wolves. It was easier to read their faces in their human forms. Malcolm was scared, Rafe was skeptical, and Edon was indifferent. It was Tala’s face that made the decision for him: there was an openness to the possibility that Arthur really was there to help, that he could be trusted, and Lawson trusted that.

“Okay,” he said.

Arthur packed all of them into his beat-up van, introduced them to fast-food takeout, then drove for several hours until they reached his apartment in the city. “This is an older part of Cleveland, a bit forgotten—like me,” he said. It was a cramped one-bedroom with one bathroom, and he apologized for the size, but Lawson assured him they’d be fine—they were used to the tight quarters of the den, after all.

“I’d use magic to make it bigger, but that would be conspicuous,” Arthur told them. “What small amount of magic I’ve used to increase the space is all for storage.” He opened what appeared to be a closet door and turned on the light.

Lawson could barely see in, but apparently Malcolm had gotten an eyeful right away. “Whoa,” he said, and then ran into the room with a whoop.

Arthur wasn’t kidding about using magic, Lawson realized when he saw that the closet expanded on the inside to the size of a small library, with long mahogany tables and enormous bookshelves. “I thought this was more important than extra bedrooms,” Arthur said. “We have much work to do, all of us.”

“What kind of work?” Rafe asked suspiciously.