He fumbled with the phone, squinted to see and swore at the signal bars. Only one out of three. Nevertheless, the web came up on command and he readied an e-mail to
OtherWorld News
. It would be the best damn front-page photo in the paper's thirty-three year history.
And his last. He knew he was dying, but at least he'd finally be fucking famous. This once-in-a-lifetime photo might even get him nominated for a Pulitzerâposthumously of course. He grinned as he clumsily tapped out his message on the keypad with fingers he could no longer feel.
The cell phone went dark just as he was about to press
send
.
“No, no baby, don't do this to me.” Helfren scrabbled at the keypad but the screen remained dark. “No, no,
nooo
,” he moaned. As he clutched the phone to his chest, frustrated tears joined the blood on his face. He was well and truly fucked. Visions of his name living on faded even as his breathing slowed but his mind continued to race. There would be no legacy, no final discovery to rock the scientific world and immortalize him. Sure, someone might find the damn phone when they found his body, but who would bother to charge it up, look at what was on it? It wasn't like there'd be cops looking for cluesâhe'd be all too obviously dead of an animal attack. Case closed.
Shit.
Helfren couldn't feel his body, couldn't feel the cold anymore. Couldn't see much of anything either. He was going to die alone under a dark porch like a damn rat.
I brought it on myself.
The thought came out of nowhere, but it rang true and a few more tears leaked out. He might have been a great reporter but he hadn't exactly been a stellar human being. It hadn't always been that way, but somewhere along the line his ethics had disappeared. The story became everything. And he'd
done
just about everything to get his stories. Assumed identities, stolen artifacts and evidence, paid off authorities. Befriended others in his field only to rip off their leads and their contacts. Hell, he wasn't James fucking Bond, he was just a jerk and an asshole.
What a crappy legacy. I wish . . .
His world went dark and still.
Â
“Okay, you have to tell me what happens to your clothes. Every werewolf movie I've ever seen has the guy's clothing in shreds, but I
saw
you. Your clothes were not only still on, but in perfect condition when you turned from wolf to human. So what's the secret?” Zoey nestled her back against Connor, basking in his heat. She felt totally relaxed, thoroughly adored. And certain that the satisfied grin on her face was never going to come off.
Connor brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips one by one. “That's a good question. I'm not sure how well I can explain itâDevlin's the quantum physics expert in the family. He says the clothes go into some little pocket or compartment in another dimension.”
“What, like a parallel universe or something?”
He laughed. “This isn't science fiction, honey.”
“Spoken like someone who is just
way
too used to being a werewolf!” She rubbed her forehead, thinking. “I know that according to Einstein, there are actually four dimensions, not three. Some scientists are now saying there are more, maybe even ten. I suppose there'd be room in one of those for an interdimensional clothes closet for werewolves.”
“You're going to get along great with my brother. And it's
Changeling
, not werewolf.”
“Semantics. So you send your stuff off to this other dimension, and then what?”
“You don't send them. The clothes automatically go there when you become the wolf. But they don't come back on their own. That's where the skill comes inâyou have to
learn
to bring your clothes back with you when you Change.”
“Bet you could lose a lot of clothes practicing. So is it difficult to learn?”
“No.” He ran a gentle hand along the side of her face, trailed fingers down her throat. “It's not a step-by-step procedure like programming the TiVoâwhich I still rely on Culley to do, by the way. It's more a case of getting the right
feeling
, of pulling your clothes to you with your mind. You get pretty good at it after a while, enough that all the things in your pockets come along too, whatever you had with you, whatever was touching you or your clothing. Books, tools, ID, and so forth.” Connor laughed suddenly.
“What's funny?”
“Devlin took that to new heights once. Our mother wanted her piano moved upstairs, so Devlin figured if he was holding on to it while he Changed, then he could just run upstairs as a wolf and then Change back. Voilà , the piano would be moved.”
Zoey rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Connor, there's no way that would work. It's not fair for you to try to put stuff like that over on me just because I'm new to all this.”
“Actually, it worked just fine. He Changed and the piano reappeared. But he hadn't anticipated how much energy it would draw from him. He was so exhausted, he was bedridden for more than a week. According to my folks, Devlin would have been far better off to have stayed in human form and single-handedly carried the piano upstairs.”
She just shook her head, her mind boggling.“I still think you're pulling my leg. It all sounds like magic.”
“Maybe that's what magic really is. Using natural principles, even ones we don't understand, to accomplish things.”
“Now it sounds dangerous,” she snorted.
“Not really. People do it all the time. Do you understand how your truck works? Yet you're not afraid to drive it. And then there are computers. Most of us haven't a clue how they work either, but we use them. Or we try to,” he said with a laugh. “The bottom line is, I don't know how my clothes disappear and reappear, I only know that they do. And lucky thing too, because I'd hate to turn up bare-assed naked in the middle of the woods some night.”
“What if you were holding someone's hand? Or accidentally brushed against someone when you Changed?”
“First of all, no one ever Changes close enough to a human to hurt or endanger them. It's a cardinal rule. It's drilled into all of us as children.”
“But what if another werewolf touched you? Would it hurt them?”
“Remember when you touched me right after I Changed? Multiply that to the power of a hundred or so if you'd touched me
while
I Changed.” Connor chuckled and lay back with his hands behind his head. “My oldest brother James and I got into a helluva fight when we were kids. Weâ”
“Wait a minute. James? There's more of you?”
“I guess I forgot to tell you. There's six altogether. You've already met Culley and Devlin, and you'll meet Kenzie when she gets back. Carly lives in Wyoming right now.”
She waited a beat, then two, but Connor offered nothing more. The laughter in his eyes had been replaced with a faraway look, however. “Is James still living?” she asked carefully.
“Yes.” He blew out a breath. “And no. James lost his wife some years ago. Grief makes people do things, whatever they have to do I suppose, in order to survive the pain. He turned into a wolf and as far as I know, has never Changed back.”
“As far as you know. You mean, you don't know where he is?”
Connor shook his head. “Nobody does. He's been spotted once in a while near here, like he's checking up on us or something, and then he's gone again.”
“I'm sorry. That must be pretty rough on you, on the whole family.”
“Yeah. I miss him all the time.”
Zoey slipped her hand into Connor's. “Finish the story you started. About when you and James were kids.”
“It's not a very long story. We were fighting again, something we did a lot because he was a year older and figured he should get to tell me what to do. We were pretty much the same size, but I was losing as usual. Finally, when he was holding me down and punching me, I Changed. James got a shock much bigger than you did, enough to throw him clear across the room and stun him. He wasn't injured but he had a headache for a week.”
“So Changelings fight dirty, do they?”
He laughed a little then. “I've heard it said that if something's important enough to fight about, then there's nothing unfair about using whatever you have to in order to win.”
“I'll just remember that.”
Connor leaned over and lightly swatted her butt. “Lucky for you, I have a code of honor. Let's get going. I've got animals to feed, and I'd like to get it done before it rains. Then maybe we can find something to eat for ourselves. I'm starving.”
She pulled her clothes on and headed into the bathroom to adjust her makeup, brush her hair. When she emerged, Connor was sitting motionless on the edge of the bed, staring at the cell phone in his hand.
“Is it the clinic? Do you have a call to go to?”
He turned to her and she was shocked to see his eyes filled with fury and grief. “No. It was Jessie, calling from the farm. Seems Bernie's been there ahead of us.” He took a deep breath as if it were difficult to push out the words. “Jim Neely's dead.”
Â
The laneway was jammed with vehicles. Three police cruisers, an ambulance, a fire truck, the coroner's van, the pickups of several curious neighbors and a Fish and Wildlife jeep. Connor parked his truck along the road. When he got out, however, he leaned back against the vehicle for support, blinking as if trying to clear his vision.
“Are you all right? What is it?” asked Zoey, taking his hand.
“Death. Good Christ, it's everywhere. I can feel it, smell it, taste it.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “They're all dead, Jim and all the animals too. Everything. Every damn living thing that was here.” He shook himself and straightened, but it was as if he was lifting an incredible weight on his shoulders. His eyes hardened until he looked at her. “I shouldn't have brought you here. I don't want you to have to see this. Or feel it either. Your psychic senses are already showing you this shit, aren't they?”
There was no denying that she'd felt the discordant energies coming from the farm long before the truck stopped. Now she was picking up flashes of images in her mind of what had happened here, things that turned her insides to water. But she wasn't about to give in. Not this time. “I can see it, yes. But I'm staying.”
“The Pack is here. Let me call Culley or Devlin to take you home. They'll stay with you, watch over you until I can get back.”
She shook her head, resolute. “You said we're a team, remember? Wherever you're going, I'm going too, so get used to it, Connor Macleod.”
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded and took her hand. Together, they walked up the long, long drive beneath the somber sky.
Sergeant Fitzpatrick met them near the house. Other officers were keeping the little knot of neighbors back. “I'm sorry, Connor.”
“Not as sorry as I am.” Jessie appeared at the vet's elbow, with Bill behind her. “Devlin figured out there was a danger, and I brought the Pack on the double.” Her face looked stricken. “We weren't in time.”
“Bernie's going to pay, Jess.” Connor's voice was steel. Zoey shivered at the force of the emotions radiating from him. The hot fury had returned to balance the icy current of grief deep within. Even more intense was the guilt that ripped at himâguilt for having drawn such danger to the old man. Jessie had said that even a Changeling would have had little chance against what Bernard Gervais had become. A human would have no chance at all. And Neely had been very much human. Of course Connor would blame himself for his death. But she couldn't tell him it wasn't his fault, not yet. His heart wouldn't be able to hear it.
“Bernie's going to die,” said Jess. “And it still won't be enough to balance this.”
Fitz put his hands up. “Stop right there. Do
not
say things like that,” he ordered. “Not now, not here, do you understand?”
“You're addressing the Pack leader,” reminded Bill, and although his voice was quiet, Zoey could see the tensing of his muscles. Jessie herself looked irritated.
The sergeant glanced around, then lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. “Look, Lowen's here and he says Jim Neely died from an animal attack, just like Al Menzie. But I've got officers all over the place here,
human
officers. You can't walk around mentioning Bernie's name in connection with Neely's death unless you want even more werewolf rumors flying around this town.
“I've got guys asking questions already because we've found dead animals piled in the bushes, stacked in the barn. Deliberately thrown in the pond. What wolf does that? On top of that, there's almost no blood left in or around the human body.” He yanked off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, then jammed the hat back on. “And you sure as hell
cannot
be talking about someone having to
pay
. This is a small town and, believe me, someone will hear it and that someone will remember you said it. And in the human world, a court will treat those words as an uttered threat if Bernie winds up dead or missing. So I've got plenty of reasons for telling youâeven you, Jessieâto keep a lid on it.”