In the Werewolf's Den Page 6

  "I've got to head into town,” she told him. “Need anything from the north side of the pale?"

  His forehead creased for a moment, then cleared. “I don't think so. The guys have an incredible talent for turning up just about anything."

  This was a talent that she should technically report to her fellow warders. Danielle wouldn't bother, though. No warder would follow up on crimes against impaired. And she'd look like a rookie, not halfway ready for hunter work, if she reported every petty theft she ran across.

  "Right. Don't know how long I'll be then. “Don't mess up.” She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out. That awareness wasn't a surprise. Warder training made you aware of anyone looking at you—it could save your life. Still, Carl's gaze was hardly the stuff of threat—at least not threat in a violent sense. She knew his frankly male appraisal was disrespectful, an implicit statement that a normal might be interested in a Were. She couldn't decide whether she really minded.

  Dallas's Warder District Office was the top half of the old Dallas Federal Building. Surrounded by acres of parking lots recalling the days when Dallas had been a commuter town filled with gas-guzzling cars, the building made up a non-distinctive part of the Dallas skyline.

  How long had it been, she wondered, since Dallas, or any big city, had added another skyscraper? The return of magic had brought construction to a stop across America—maybe everywhere in the world. Not that anyone had much contact with the rest of the world any more. The return had destroyed whatever tourism industry was left after the bio-wars, so Danielle, like everyone else in the country below the senior diplomatic level, had only a vague idea what went on beyond the nation's borders.

  She turned in her knives, her automatic (silver bullets and all), and her electronic pulser at the gate, keeping only the choke leash, which was truly part of her uniform.

  A couple of security guards seemed interested in striking up a conversation, but abruptly went silent when they found she lived in the zone. Although there was no evidence to support the contagion theory, there wasn't much evidence to support any other theory of magic infection, either. So plenty of people, including most warders, figured that the less time spent with the impaired, the better. Another reason why herders, of all the warders, got the least respect.

  With the delay at the gates, she'd had to hurry down the corridors to get to Joe Smealy's office on time but it turned out it wouldn't have mattered. She had to wait an hour outside his office, contemplating all of the trouble she was in if Warder Headquarters had found out about her role in the riots or in bending regulations to let Carl hire his assistants.

  Joe Smealy finally opened his door and ushered her in. Joe hadn't aged at all since the day she'd met him—the day she'd discovered her mother's dead body. The then cop had taken a parental interest in the young orphan girl, encouraged her dreams of becoming a warder, and persuaded her to adopt the rigorous academy route rather than simply join as a patrol officer. More than anyone else, he was her mentor, the man she looked up to. When she was tempted to stray—tempted, for example, by a sexy werewolf—she relied on Joe's example to keep her straight.

  Joe was living proof that medical science continued to progress. Danielle had done her research. She knew that he was a good fifty years old. But he could have passed for his late thirties.

  He gripped her hand firmly and slapped her on the back, then led her to a small table.

  Relief. He probably wouldn't greet her like this if he was going to ream her out.

  "Sorry I didn't have more time when you arrived in Dallas,” he said. “Visitors from D.C., if you can believe it."

  She nodded. “Yes, sir."

  "But I wanted to welcome you to the region. I put in a special request for you, you know."

  She made herself thank him although she almost wanted to spit. So Joe's request was why she had ended up a herder. Some friend.

  "Hey, I know you had your heart set on being a hunter,” he said, his warder talents letting him picture her thoughts. “And that's going to happen as soon as I can work the angles. But Washington insisted on letting that werewolf go and,” he laughed shortly, “well, you know herders."

  She shrugged. “It isn't exactly a prestige job.” Had he really said she was going to be a hunter?

  He nodded seriously. “Damned right. Because nobody with balls, nobody with ambition, will volunteer to be tied down to a group of impaired. We all want to go where the action is, to fight crime and protect the people."

  "Right."

  "There are a couple of things, though.” Joe's voice sharpened.

  "Sir?"

  "The unscheduled riots last week are unfortunate. They aren't to be repeated."

  She didn't ask what she was supposed to do about normals who crossed over the line looking for trouble. Yes, sir was the only possible answer—and she gave it.

  "All right.” He nodded crisply. “We won't discuss that any further."

  Thank goodness. She had a sneaking suspicion that he did know she was involved somehow and was giving her the only warning she was likely to get.

  "Back to your current job. Dr. Harriman is important.” He lowered his voice. “Washington thinks that he might be able to come up with a cure to the return of magic. Not just an inoculation, but a full-fledged turn-the-disease-around cure."

  Bad news. If Washington thought Carl was important, that meant that she'd be herding for a long time.

  "That's what he claims,” she admitted.

  "But what do you think?"

  "Harriman is smart,” she said. “And he's committed."

  Joe nodded. “Don't let him fool you, though, Danielle. Whatever else he is, he's impaired. They don't think the same as people, don't have the same loyalties."

  He stood, closed his office door, and sat closer to Danielle, lowering his voice as if afraid of being overheard. “Don't get me wrong, I've got plenty of capable herders here in Dallas. But I've been watching Harriman. He's smarter than any of them. A few weeks and he would co-opt them. I need someone in place who can see through the story he spins and,” his breath was hot in her face, “I need someone who won't hesitate to terminate him if that's needed for the people's safety."

  Her face flushed at the compliment, but she knew she hadn't earned it. She knew Carl was smart, but she'd thought about it in terms of being a scientist. She hadn't really thought about how his intelligence meant he could manipulate people around him. Even trained people like Warders. Even suspicious people—like her. She'd tried to be careful, but Danielle was honest enough to face reality. At some level, Carl had gotten through to her. He had manipulated her. She'd been way too careless and if it hadn't been for Joe's warning, she wouldn't even know it.

  She promised herself that she wouldn't let up her vigilance: that she'd live up to Joe's confidence in her.

  "I understand, sir,” she told him.

  "I'm still Joe,” he urged her. He rang his admin and called for coffee, then got down to business.

  "Headquarters is always willing to try some scheme that's guaranteed to end the return forever. Of course, they make darned sure some remote district office is stuck holding the bag with any failure. And guess what? It's been ten years and we still have the impaired. Every single plan has failed. They just don't seem to get it that we're stretched thin out here. We need you hunting, not babysitting a tame werewolf.

  "I'd like to do what I'm trained for,” she admitted.

  "The Academy trained you for anything. What I figure is, if they're going to let an impaired do research, at least we'd give him a herder that he couldn't shake off. Can you imagine what would happen if he was untended? Hell, he might just decide that the magic plague hadn't gone far enough. I'm no scientist, but I'm willing to bet that it would be easier to infect the rest of us than it would be to cure those already impaired."

  Joe was right. Danielle nodded grimly. She'd needed this warning.

  "I won't let you down, Joe."

  "I kn
ow.” He paused, then rushed ahead. “I'd like to get you out of herding and into something worthwhile right away, but Washington insists on this project and you're my best hope to keep it from blowing up.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned forward across the table. “Once the job is over, then we'll get to work on your career.” He chuckled. “Hell, with your grades from the Academy, I won't be surprised to wake up one morning and find out I'm working for you."

  Danielle shook her head. She didn't see that happening.

  His smile faded. “But first, we've got to get through this mess. If you see any danger, it would be your job to blow the whistle and bring it to a premature end. Any danger at all."

  "Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind."

  The weight that had settled on her chest when Joe had told her that Carl was a Washington directive lifted. She had her ticket out. At any time, she could simply call Joe, tell him there was a danger, and she'd be wearing her informal dress Hunter uniform to the next Warder cocktail party. Cool.

  "Yes, sir."

  He grasped her biceps and squeezed. “I hope you've kept your training up, Agent Goodman. Because if you decide to cancel the project, I'm ordering that you also terminate Harriman immediately. And be careful. Harriman may only be a Were, but he was a third-degree black belt before his impairment. And now he's got wolf reflexes to go with his skill. Don't underestimate your opponent, Goodman."

  Her momentary elation evaporated like a mirage. She could have her dream job, but only by killing the man she'd learned to like and admire. Still, Danielle was a warder. She'd do her duty.

  "I've been continuing with my training, sir,” she ansWered honestly. “And I have no concerns about my ability to take Harriman and any mob he assembles."

  Joe pulled a red bandana from his pocked, wiped his sweating forehead, and peered at her. “Assembling a mob. Is that what Harriman is doing?"

  "He's hired some lab assistants and gofers,” she said. “He wouldn't call it a mob, but you know the law."

  The law made it illegal for more than four impaired to gather together in one place. It was a law that made absolutely no sense in the zone, but that provided warders legal justification for any activity they deemed necessary. Not that the courts had bothered to question the warders legal abilities since the Supreme Court handed down the People vs. Delaware Impaired decision.

  Joe nodded. “It's a mob when we need it to be. Good work, Danielle. I knew I could count on you."

  She nodded, torn between her pride at Joe's confidence in her and the empty certainty that killing Carl would be the most difficult thing she would do in her life.

  * * * *

  Danielle returned to Carl's compound filled with a grim determination to keep Carl in line—and to make sure she wasn't forced into terminating him. She expanded her bugging to the entire lab complex, spent late nights reviewing every questionable computer file, and battled down any temptation to see Carl as a man rather than as an impaired.

  Then she worked on integrating herself more closely into his activities. Like helping with security.

  A few days after her meeting with Joe, an outlaw gang's attempt to extort one of Carl's lab assistants created an opportunity to do just that.

  She and Mike tried to keep Carl out of it, but he insisted on going along when they told him they were going to spike a shakedown on Dean, a lab tech.

  It ended up with Mike, Danielle, Carl, the two dwarves, and a troll all trying to look inconspicuous on a narrow zone street.

  "Perfect. We can see his apartment from here.” Mike the Vampire plopped down on at a little cafe-style table outside a small bar.

  Danielle joined Mike, Carl, and the dwarves at the table, but kept her eyes busy looking for Dean. Snori, the troll whom Carl had hired that morning, stood across the street, blocking the intersection like a statue.

  The waitress, a little fairy-like creature with non-functional wings that flapped at hummingbird speeds and merely stirred the moist Dallas air around them, made sure she stayed a good six feet away when she took their orders.

  She squealed when Mike ordered a Bloody Mary.

  The two dwarves wanted coffee, but settled for beer when Mike shot them a glare.

  "You don't want to see dwarves hyper on coffee,” he explained to Danielle.

  Danielle nodded and asked for bottled water from across the zone line.

  That got more attention than everything else put together, including the vampire.

  The waitress fled, not even waiting to take Carl's order, and returned with the beer, the Bloody Mary, and a gnome. She dumped off the drinks and left.

  The gnome tapped a small club against his palm. “No magics in normal shops, no normals in mine."

  "She's with me,” Mike said.

  "Yeah? Well, then maybe you're not welcome here either. I had a nice place in Lewisville before they passed the zone laws. Know what they did? Had the health inspectors out every day for a month. I ended up with no customers. Had to shut down. Wasn't doing anything illegal. Just pure nastiness."

  Carl sighed. “We're trying to change that, sir. I understand your anger. But retaliating just makes things worse. Besides, Danielle is different. She's one of the few who can see how silly these distinctions are. She's one of the normal who will treat you like a human rather than some sort of inferior."

  Danielle kept her mouth shut. Carl was right. She had been heading down that road before Joe had given her the warning and brought her back to the warder path. A warder protects the humans from the magical. That is the whole of the job.

  "I don't serve normals,” the gnome repeated as if Carl had said nothing. “And I don't serve normal drinks. You think I'm going to go to the barriers and haggle for bottled water when we get perfectly good water here?"

  Carl reached into his wallet, probably looking for a cash means of resolving this argument but Mike held up a hand. “The dwarves and I will sit and enjoy our drinks. The human and the Were will simply keep us company. Is that a problem?"

  Mike never raised his voice, never changed his tone, but that last question carried a load of menace that would have sent most normals into convulsions of fear.

  The gnome was no coward, but neither was he a fool. “The zone is still a free country,” he observed. “Not like the outside. Sit where you like. Finish your drinks. Then go somewhere else.” He stomped back into his bar.

  "He won't be back,” Mike told Carl. “And we definitely won't see that waitress again. Just leave three dollars on the table."

  "But—"

  "Three dollars is plenty. In the zone, your money goes a long way."

  They sat silently for a while, watching the alleyway entrances to the courtyard where they sat, and where Dean would soon be returning from his day in Carl's lab.

  Danielle wouldn't have thought it possible, but both Mike and Carl blended into the background looking completely at home, completely nondescript, and completely harmless. The two dwarves didn't look harmless, but everyone knew that dwarves will leave you alone if you leave them alone—and if you didn't mess with anything they lay a property claim to.

  Which left her standing out like a giant in a normal kindergarten.

  Tough. Running interference with impaired gangs was exactly what she needed to be doing.

  She slouched in her chair, but Carl laughed at her.

  "You look about as natural as a catfish trying to dance."

  "So, what should I do?"

  "Look bored and disdainful. Like you're a rich normal looking for kinky pleasures. You can't help standing out in the crowd so let them see what you want them to see, not someone who's obviously faking it."

  "But I'm not some pervert looking for kinky pleasure. I wouldn't know how to begin acting like one."

  "You've got the bored and disdainful down. That should do it."

  As compliments went, she could have done without that one. Still, she pulled out her compact, powdered her nose, adjusted her lipstick, and thought she did a dec
ent job at the disdain. Boredom was easy. She'd barely passed her stakeout exams at the Academy.

  Carl's research assistant, Dean, squirreled through the near alley a good hour later. The little imp wore a short-sleeved white shirt with a clip-on tie that had lost one of his clips. His face dripped with sweat and he clutched his plastic briefcase like a lifesaver. To Danielle's surprise, the imp's glasses-covered eyes glanced over her and moved on without a hint of recognition. Either he was so afraid he wasn't seeing straight, or her disguise was better than she'd thought.

  Dean was halfway across the courtyard when the doors of three nearby shops opened and an assortment of elves, Were, and trolls surrounded the imp.

  "I guess you missed your rendezvous point, Mr. Dean,” one of the elves observed. “Perhaps you forgot that we had a meeting scheduled. But you didn't forget to bring us the research report, did you?” The tall elf wore black jeans and a western-styled shirt covered, despite the heat, by a long coat. Her warder training practically shouted out the warning. Strangely, the elf's face was serene, calm, and beautiful.

  She could barely see Dean but she couldn't miss the stark fear that filled his eyes. Even more fear than when she'd caught him rifling Carl's files that morning.

  "I, uh, thought I saw someone at the rendezvous,” the imp explained. “Naturally I knew you would track me down."

  "But?"

  "But I did get the papers, Mr. Arenesol,” Dean said. The imp could have won an Oscar if the impaired were eligible. They weren't, of course. “It wasn't easy,” the imp explained, possibly gilding the lily. “But I was able to make a copy when the others were at lunch. They'll never notice it was touched. Exactly as you ordered."

  The elf reached for the briefcase the imp clutched under his arm. “Good. So you never told anyone about our meeting?"

  "Of course not.” Dean let go with a sign of reluctance.

  "Excellent.” The elf laughed, an almost silent exhalation, then tossed the case to one of the Were.