Mara and Gregor find something untoward.
“What think you, sister?” Lord Gregor asked once they finished their meal. They trotted east, checking their territory of any signs of trouble.
“I have more questions than thoughts, brother, but that explains why our guest fits in so easily among us.” Davis had a quiet presence in man form.
“Indeed. And his excellent reputation for natural-history displays and forest scenes.” Mara heard a hint of humor under his words.
She chuckled a little. “And why he was so interested in the local deer population.”
Gregor’s hackles rose before she could say more. He angled north and sped his steps. She saved her breath for running. A bitter scent of wrong death touched her nose. A human dead in the forest had caught the pack leader’s attention. She paced him as best she could with her shorter legs. He slowed before she fell too far back, and they crept on silent paws toward the stench.
A person lay dead beside the solitary rock. Mara watched the night as Gregor crept closer, circling the deceased. The man had been dead for at least two days, perhaps longer. His neck bent at too-sharp of an angle, and one arm curved where no joint should be. He’d died hard, or had something found the body first and worried it? No wolf or other wild predator scents had reached her nose yet, but the death might cover those.
She listened hard for danger. A small creature rustled among the old leaves, and an owl called far in the distance. The ground felt cool, as it should so early in the spring. Or did it? Mara turned, studying the forest. The clouds parted for a moment, and clear light flooded down, just as the sun would. The trees here did not block the light, so the ground should feel sun-warmed, as the rock behind her did. She scuffed the duff and new growth away. The ground grew colder, a wrong sort of cold. She hunched and sniffed the dirt. “I like this not, brother,” she called, warning the pack leader.
He returned to where she waited. “Neither do I. He died an unclean death, may the Lord have mercy on him. He is a stranger.” He shook all over, hackles still raised. “A bottle, glass, is under one hand. It smells of home-brew.” Gregor turned away from body and stone. “We go. I’ll warn the others, and they can find him tomorrow.”
Mara studied the still form, then turned as well. “He is not dressed as a hiker.”
“No. He is not the sought for missing one.” Gregor shook then began trotting toward the castle. Mara followed at his shoulder. They dared not be caught out, not with unnatural death in the forest.
Lady Linda waited for them that night. Mara stayed back, watching and listening, as Lord Gregor warned her and reassured himself of Linda’s safety. He returned to where Mara waited. “I need to run. I go south.” He hesitated, looking his question.
She bowed and trotted east, answering his silent query. She would be fine on her own, and one of them needed to make certain that nothing pestered the oil wells. They were not far as the wolf loped. The cool, humid night air filled her lungs. It felt good to run. She reached the old oil-camp clearing, where Lord Gregor had first met Lady Linda, during the dark years. Sheep had grazed it recently, as was permitted. She sniffed around, found nothing untoward, and move on. Soon the pungent scent of the well-heads burned her nose, and she sneezed. Linda professed to like the scent, calling it sweet.
What was that? Not a scent but a sense, cold and unnatural, brushed against her. Sancte Michael arcangeli defende nos in proelio. Mara imagined a wall in her mind, even as she pretended not to notice the evil in the air. She skirted the open area with the two well heads and the start of the buried pipe that carried the oil away to the west and north. All appeared as it should, no activists had found the wells to bother them. Deer had grazed the edges of the clearing, and she sniffed, studying their tracks, then turned north and west. The presence faded. Blessed be the Lord who shields us from harm. She trotted, a solitary wolf in the woods, not thinking of anything save the next meal or her den. If the presence sought to track her to her den, it would have a difficult time of it.
She eased in through the castle’s wolf gate just before dawn. Trinidad met her. “The pack leader is here already, safe.” Trinidad paced Mara up the hill to the sheltered corner where her clothing and other things waited. The youngest of the Elect turned her back, warning off the men as Mara lay down on the chilly stone. She closed her eyes as pain flared. Joints twisted, her very bones stabbed her flesh with pain, even her hair hurt her as the shift passed.
Lord, oh Lord, why? Why do we suffer so? Lord Gregor’s faith taught that such things were outside man’s ken, and not to fret over much about them. Paulus and Jan’s church held that it came as a punishment for sin, although both Elect said that they did not entirely hold to that teaching, among others. A priest had said long ago that perhaps a parent had sinned, as some legends held to be true of vampires, and as Adam had done in his pride. All she knew was pain and exhaustion, bone-deep weariness. She drank the water and bottle of hot tea, then put on her clothes.
Trinidad helped her into the castle proper. “Lady Linda passed the word, and Paulus and Basil have gone to find the body and then tell the police. Attila will warn Mr. Davis once we find the body.”
Mara blinked at her, confused. “Why warn— Ah. The dead man is a stranger, and may have died the night Davis came, when he ate with us.” And another stranger would be easy to blame, especially one not Polish. Should she tell Trinidad about Davis? Not unless Lord Gregor saw fit to.
“And I was with him by day as I finished the inside painting, as were others, including village men. He has not been in the forest at night.” Trinidad shook her head. “I don’t like this, but I can’t tell why.”
“Something cold and wrong passed near oil well field Number One. I came back the longest way I could, in case it followed me.” The younger woman shivered and crossed herself. “Tak.”
Trinidad stopped at the door to Mara’s rooms. It was an unspoken rule of the Elect—unless invited or summoned by danger, none entered the den of a fellow Elect. For all that she had suffered only briefly at the hands of a vampire, Trinidad had absorbed that much of being a wolf. Attila had probably reminded her as well. “I will pass word to the others. Food waits in the kitchen, should you need it.”
“Thank you.” Trinidad hurried off and Mara closed the door, then took off her shoes and curled up on the bed. Her joints still ached a little, as if the weather changed. She recited her prayers, then fell asleep.
(C) 2023 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved
Cat Rotator's Quarterly 