chapter Two
"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."1
"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.
"As young Malcolm said, you need to learn to live in this world," Arthur replied. "And you need to learn about the world you came from. The wolves have a long history, and I'm not sure how much of it you know."
"We know some," Lawson admitted. The masters were reluctant to teach the wolves much about their past, but stories were handed down. They knew that wolves had lived in mid-world once and had served a special purpose. Lawson told Arthur what they knew about the Guard and the passages. "Does that sound right?" he asked.
The old man nodded. "You've got the basics down. But there's a lot more to the story than just what's happened to the wolves, and there's a lot more at stake now that the dark fallen - those 'masters' of yours - are making trouble. We Norsemen don't interfere with the lost children of the Almighty, it's part of our restriction. But you are not similarly bound by our covenant, which is possibly why I was asked to help you. Now let's all go into the library and get started. First things first, nothing happens without literacy."
It felt to Lawson as if they spent every moment of the next month in the library. They must have slept at some point, bodies piled on top of each other as when they'd been puppies in the den, but whenever they were awake, they were in the library, studying.
He was glad they picked it up quickly; even Arthur was surprised. "Now we'll have more time to spend on the more interesting things," the warlock said, and introduced them to history books, both those written from the human perspective and those containing the alternative "true" history of the world. "For those of us more enlightened," Arthur put it, but Lawson knew he meant for those who had a connection to the world of magic.
Lawson was fascinated by how much misinformation had made its way through the various dens where the wolves lived in the underworld, interspersed with the things that were true. He knew, for instance, that after the War of Heaven, the Fallen had been cursed to live in mid-world as vampires, made to drink human blood to survive, reincarnating every cycle, and that the wolves had a tangled history with them that led to Romulus's betrayal and the punishment of the wolves at Lucifer's hand. The vampires - Blue Bloods, led by the archangel Michael - were wealthy and untouchable, Arthur explained, and from what Lawson heard about them, he thought that he and his pack had probably stolen wallets and purses from several Blue Bloods that first week.
But the vampires had problems of their own; the Dark Prince had returned in a different form, one the Blue Bloods had not suspected, launching an attack on the covens in Rio and New York. Lucifer had been thwarted for now, but Michael had disappeared, and the Silver Bloods - known to the wolves as their masters - were still causing havoc in this world. The vampires were going into hiding, but the Next Great War was coming, whether they were prepared or not, Arthur warned, and the wolves had a part to play in it.
"What do you know about chronologs?" Lawson asked Arthur.
"The chronologs were destroyed during the Crisis in Rome, I believe," Arthur said. "Why do you ask?"
"Because Romulus found one," Lawson said. "He wears it around his neck. He doesn't yet know how to use it. We heard the masters saying they think it's broken."
Arthur looked grim. "This is dark news you bring, young wolf. If Romulus finds an entrance to the passages ..."
Lawson nodded, hoping more than ever that Marrok had been successful in his part of the operation.
The books couldn't teach them everything they needed to know, so television filled the gaps. They watched and learned how to dress like normal teenagers or close enough that no one would suspect they were anything else. At seventeen, Edon was the oldest; Tala and Lawson were both sixteen, Rafe fifteen, and Malcolm twelve, their ages corresponding to a human life cycle. They had to learn how to be independent one day; they couldn't live with Arthur forever, as hospitable as he was. Lawson knew Edon was right - it was safer if they moved every so often, to keep the hounds off their scent. Arthur couldn't keep them safe; he couldn't even use his magic without fear of reprisal from his betters.
Finally, it was time to move on. Lawson gathered them around, told them the plan. They were leaving the next day with Arthur's blessing; they had to keep moving, lest the hounds catch their scent.
"There's just one thing I want to do before then," Tala said to him. "Can you help me?" she asked with a shy smile, a smile that was starting to mesmerize him.
"Of course," Lawson said. He had grown to like her even more in the time they had stayed with the warlock. Tala was unfazed by their new surroundings. She was excited by everything: colors, music, the sight of a yellow butterfly on the green grass. Arthur had taught them the seasons, and it was currently spring. They had never heard of such a thing in the underworld. Lawson was glad she could find happiness. All Lawson saw when he looked around were shadows. The hellhounds would come for them, he was sure. It was just a matter of when. They had to prepare.
Tala whispered in his ear. "Meet me in the bathroom in fifteen minutes."
Lawson squeezed into the tiny space to see clumps of brown hair on the floor and Tala leaning over the sink. "What are you doing?" he asked, horrified. He hadn't realized how much he liked her long hair until he saw that she'd cut it all off. She was leaning over with her head under the faucet, and the water running off it was a violent purple.
"I'm dyeing it," she said. "I have to make sure to rinse it all off. Can you make sure it's off my neck?"
He did as she asked. He rinsed her hair, made sure that the water ran clear, that all the color was gone. When he touched her skin, he felt a shiver run through him. Pleasure, he thought.
She straightened up and wrapped a towel around her neck. "Thanks." Then he watched as she took a blow-dryer and teased her newly short hair into a spiky style. It was pink, he saw now, not that angry violet. It looked amazing.
"You can go now," she said. She caught his eye in the mirror. "But you don't have to." She was wearing a thin camisole that showed off her clavicles, and a pair of boxer shorts. It was not the first time he'd noticed her body - slim and boyish - the gentle curve of her chest, her small waist, but it was the first time he'd felt a sudden, intense desire to pull her toward him. The look she gave him was frank, confident, sure of his attraction, and it was making his face hot. She wanted him too; he could tell.
He stepped close to her, placed his hands firmly on her hips, and drew her toward him, a wolf with his mate. Their mouths were so close he felt her breath and wanted to feel her lips. Then came a sharp knock on the door.
"What are you doing in there?" Malcolm whined. "Some of us need to use the toilet."
Lawson coughed, his cheeks burning. "Hold on, I'm coming out."
"Me too," Tala said. She brushed his hands with hers. The implication and the disappointment were clear.
Next time.