Special thanks go out to Emily Brady, whom I commissioned to draw the illustrations for the story, and to Emily Brady and Charlotte L. who provided editorial input for the story, and William Bellamy V who has worked with me for over a decade in designing the world and some of the characters found in this story.
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Wolf PACT: Stalking the Wolf
by Robert A. Howard
Prologue
Franklin Park, Boston, Massachusetts
September 19, 2011
Richard appeared from nowhere, light playing about him as he appeared in the night, hinting at the vague shape of wings that weren’t there. He would deny them if she mentioned them. He said he’d walked away from that path long ago, though Angel could sense the anger and pain and overwhelming pride behind that vast wound, despite his being Other, and alien to her talents.
He towered over her by over a foot, and Angel found herself looking up at his pale face, searching for a clue as to what he was thinking. He stared back down at her without expression. Still, Angel could catch glimpses; moments of emotion, the occasional thought. She knew why he was here. And she knew that while he’d try to convince her to change her mind, he’d not act. At least, not directly. Not this time.
“You shouldn’t be here, Angel. Not now; you’ve over a hundred years to wait before you left. You should come with me. I’ll get you back to your proper time. Eventually,” he said, his voice a soft baritone that barely carried in the darkness. He seemed cloaked with pale light from the waning moon; the darkness almost abhorred him. Even his pale shadow appeared silvery, casting the night away from him.
“You’re glowing,” she said, chiding. Richard glanced down at himself and snorted. Darkness crept back around him though it still refused to touch him. She rolled her eyes and looked into the park. “I’ve been bouncing through space and time for the past three thousand years trying to get home. All I have to do is wait. What’s a hundred years after all that? Besides, it’s not like you ever brought me home. Despite your promises,” she added, her last words distinct and hard.
Richard had the decency to look embarrassed as his gaze followed hers. “It wasn’t the right time. I can’t change how things happen. Nor should you. Are you really going to cause a paradox? And for what, some girl who died millennia ago?”
Angel glared up at Richard. “Her name is Jenny, and she’s not dead yet. She doesn’t deserve to die, not like that. And she doesn’t have to. I know what I’m doing. There won’t be a paradox. Her body will be found, that fucker will remember torturing her…” Angel paused, looking down at the ground as she whispered “and I’ll think she’s dead.” Angel smiled, though it didn’t touch her eyes as she looked back up at Richard. “Well, my younger self will.”
He continued to stare out into the park and after a moment Angel felt the need to continue talking. She knew what Richard was doing; by remaining silent, he was forcing her to fill that silence. She’d end up saying more than if he’d asked what she was going to do. But it was better for him to know the truth. While she believed he wouldn’t act against her… it was better to be safe. “I’ve grown a clone of Jenny,” she said; “It’ll die in her place. No one will know the difference. Your precious causality will be preserved.”
One of Richard’s eyebrows twitched upward at her sarcasm. “You’ll keep her from her family? Deny them the truth? It’s better that she just die, than to live a lie,” Richard said, turning back toward her. He gazed dispassionately down at her, and Angel felt a crick in her neck as she met his gaze.
“Her dad beats her for being gay,” Angel said; she clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white as she looked down at her hands. “Her mother doesn’t even talk to her any longer. You know they blamed me for her death. Hell, we were talking about running away together. She won’t care.” Angel opened her hand and sighed, the tension draining from her body. It was almost time. “Don’t interfere, Richard. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She stalked off along one of the footpaths, heading toward Overlook Ruins. She’d gone there with Jenny that… this night. Jenny had fought with her parents again, and Angel… she paused for a moment. She could sense her younger self, could feel Jenny and her anger and grief. And if she tried very hard she could catch a glimmer of thought from Jenny’s killer. She paused, taking deep breaths while she sought her center. She had to be careful. Richard was partly right; Jenny’s killer had to go free, no matter how much it rankled.
It did. After over three thousand years she still bore the scar on her throat, a thin white line that was barely visible. She’d been attacked and cast aside; she hadn’t been the target. Not that time. She had just been in the way. And there’d been no way she could have saved Jenny. Not then. Her talents were just emerging and had been intermittent until this night, when desperate need and a good samaritan had kept her from dying.
Angel had to admit she was curious as to the identity of her savior. He’d left soon after the paramedics arrived; the police report didn’t mention anything about the person who saved her life. She suspected he (or she) had been one of the Unregistered as her throat had been half-healed by the time she’d been admitted to Shattack Hospital.
Not that there were that many Unregistered paranormals back in ’11; only a relative handful of Emergents had evaded the federal dragnet rounding up paranormals after the Christmas Plague in ’96, or the subsequent registration and training of paranormals after the Congress pushed through the Federal Tracking and Training program. But there had been a bit of distrust with the government, especially after President Gore dragged them into war and occupation of Iraq in retribution for the bioterror attack after Clinton’s assassination.
The attack happened so fast Angel almost missed it; Even after all this time, after learning so much, she could barely sense the killer. Richard was more open to her talents, even with his hybrid thoughts that could barely be considered human, no matter what the appearance of his physical shell. From her younger self, Angel felt surprise… panic… a sudden realization of pain and of fear as she started bleeding to death. Jenny’s own thoughts seemed trapped in amber; a moment of horror from seeing the blood spurt from her friend’s throat… and helplessness as she was dragged away.
Everything was prepared; the clone was hidden near where Jenny had been found. But Angel paused, watching her younger self bleeding to death, her hand clutched impotently at her throat trying to hold her life’s blood in even as consciousness faded. Something was wrong.
Angel cast her awareness out. There was no one nearby. No one had noticed the attack. There was no good samaritan rushing to her younger self’s aid. She couldn’t even sense Richard… Are you really going to cause a paradox? he’d asked. And suddenly she realized why Richard hadn’t pulled her away. Why she had been allowed to be here to begin with… and how her throat had been half-healed when she’d been found.
“Richard… please,” she whispered. But he was gone. Angel stepped out of the woods, running to the side of her younger self. Blood was pooling around her head, and her younger self’s hand had dropped away from her throat, letting blood bubble out. Angel closed her eyes and ran telekinetic fingertips through the wound; the jugular veins had been severed, along with the superior thyroid artery.
Tears scalded her eyes and ran down her cheeks as Angel struggled to save her younger self’s life. She had no time for anything fancy; one mistake, and she’d lose her. “I’m sorry, Jenny,” she whispered and closed her eyes to focus on the life she could save.
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As I was on the road when this specific Freefall comic updated it’s slightly dated, but I figure it’s still well within its freshness warranty and worth commenting on, especially as it pokes fun at two genres at the same time. There are few people out there who’ve not encountered “sparkling vampires” thanks to the Twilight series of books (which I find slightly annoying as I’ve used “Twilight” as the surname for some of my characters for over ten years now). The arguments back and forth on the veracity of Meyer’s imagining of vampires has become old hat by now; more subtle is the dig on the growing interest in fascist Germany and Hitler that seems endemic to certain mindsets. It also hints at something interesting: by grouping Vlad the Impaler and Hitler together, cartoonist Mark Stanley suggests that in time, some of the worse humans in history will be relegated to mythical status… and then corrupted into a form alien to what was the truth.
