Her Perilous Wolf, Julie Steimle [howl and other poems TXT] 📗

true,” Mr. Toms said, sitting on the table’s edge nearby. Michael’s father had been watching their work since they had started it, coming and going each day for peeks to see what the pair was up to. He was impressed Vincent and his son had gotten on well, and he had been ordering in food for them so they could continue uninterrupted. He had also given Vincent a room in a more secure hotel with a pair of bodyguards, just in case. “You gave us the impetus to do this. You’ve got your eyes wide open, and you see the need. That means there is a market.”

“A tiny one,” Vincent muttered. He could not imagine very many people needing this sort of information. Only the few like him and his cousin.

But Mr. Toms grinned more. He had been genuinely pleased with the turn of events. His eyes seemed to shine with prospective future business arrangements.

Michael, however, was too much of a perfectionist. He really was a sort of prince in this kingdom. In fact, in the beginning when they had started assembling the handbook, Michael openly wrote up a contract between him and Vincent, protecting all legal issues concerning that particular project. In short, the contract said, that he would only do business with Vincent Williams if he ever did any business with Mr. Bruchenhaus’s company.

Basically, Michael liked him.

For that matter, so did Tommy Whitefeather. During the extended stretches Michael had to attend SRA meetings and training events in those two weeks, Tommy took Vincent around town. Since Tommy was a long established professional in the field, he was not required to participate. That, and he had a genetic advantage as a spirit warrior which no one in the SRA ever dared question. The license was just a formality.

Currently, Tommy was out—called on duty to take care of a rumored reappearance of a group known as the ‘Unseelie Gang’. Michael explained when Tommy had hurried off that these folk in this gang were ‘halfers’—which meant they were half-human, half something else (which could be either demon, elf, or something weirder). The name itself showed they wanted connection to the Unseelie Court. As such, the SRA believed Tommy had the right to scout them out and deal with the punks before any of them would.

But the idea of half humans had shocked Vincent, especially since such a thing would be a genetic impossibility. But Michael had explained it this way: first off Tommy would not exist if that were so. He was of mostly human genes yet also elf descent. Secondly, most supernatural beings are in essence human, so they were compatible for procreation. It was just that their super-nature made them ‘more or less’ human—kind of like having an extra gift or being born with six fingers. Vincent was not quite sure magic gifts and having six fingers were comparable, but he let it go.

“OK, how about this image,” Michael said, once more drawing back Vincent’s attention to the present.

Vincent peered over his shoulder, taking in an archaic etching of a goblin. “I don’t know. I mean, it looks cool, but do they really look like that?”

Chuckling, Michael nodded. “They sometimes do. Remember, there are all sorts of goblins. It is a general term, not specific. This isn’t Lord of the Rings.”

That brought a laugh out of Vincent. Michael said that a lot. ‘This isn’t Lord of the Rings’… as if the novel series was the definitive authority on supernatural creatures. Those books were works of fiction. Yet somehow he had the feeling Michael was a super fan, so he did not object in case he’d offend.

Vincent’s cellphone chimed.

Shivering, as that chime was used exclusively for Audry, Vincent picked it up and pressed ‘talk’. “Hello?”

<< Vincent? >> It was not Audry’s voice. It was his Aunt Clover’s.

Michael looked over, listening.

“Yeah?” Vincent’s heart sped up.

<< I’m just calling because Audry asked me to. She came home from Africa earlier than she had planned. Vicky picked her up from the airport for us. >> His aunt’s voice sounded somewhat strangled, like she had been crying.

“Is she ok?” He clenched the phone, feeling the eyes of Mr. Toms and Michael watching him.

<< She’s sick—or rather, she says she’s recovering. We took her to the doctor, and he wants her under quarantine or surveillance or something. >>

“Recovering? From what?”

<< Yellow fever. >>

Michael quickly rose from his seat, anxiously listening in.

<< She’s been babbling about strange things—not when she’s awake. We’ve put her to bed and given her lots of water. We had called for another doctor, but when he examined her, he said she was fine. But she was saying such strange things in her sleep. Like… like she saw a dark angel who saved her life. But she called her Eve. I don’t know an Eve. Does she have a friend named Eve in Africa? Or was she thinking Bible stuff? I mean, I’ve never seen her like this. When she’s awake, she’s mum, and it difficult to get more than a few words out of her—except about taking care of the dog she brought back from Africa. She brought a dog back from Africa! A dog! And she was wearing some kind of voodoo amulet when she came home. We made her take it off, but she just put it on the dog. It was like she has lost all connection to reality. >>

“Eve?” Michael looked hopeful.

It clicked in Vincent’s brain. His aunt assumed she meant something like ‘Adam and Eve’. But he recalled the story about Michael’s friend Eve McAllister being in the Congo. How close was the Congo to Kenya and Tanzania?

<< Vincent? >>

“Yeah?”

<< She’s been asking for you. She says she wants to talk to you. Where are you? Your sister Vicky said you went to California. >>

Nodding, he sighed. “Yeah, I’m in San Diego working on a business deal.”

<< Can you come back and help us out? We’re really worried about her. Audry’s saying funny things. She’s been talking a lot in her sleep about her wolf. We’ve also heard her muttering in her sleep about going to see Rick Deacon—that it’s not so bad that he’s a wolf. I mean, she’s confused in the head. You’ve got to come back home. >>

Michael put a heavy arm around Vincent’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear, “I’ll go with you. I need to meet her anyway.”

Sighing, Vincent said into the phone, “Alright Aunt Clover. I’m coming back. I’m going to bring a friend as well. He might be able to help.”

<< Marvelous. Thank you so much. >>

“How come you have Audry’s phone, though?” he asked.

She sighed. << Doctor’s orders. He wanted her to sleep—and he figured keeping her offline would help. We’ll see you later. >>

“Do you need to fly home?” Mr. Toms asked, his serious

Vincent nodded. “Yeah. My cousin needs me. If she’s home and not back in Idaho working on her PhD, that means she’s really sick. What do you know about yellow fever?”

“It’s deadly,” Michael said, going back to his computer. He closed the files on it, saving what he could first. “As long as you don’t reach the late stages, you can survive it.”

“What about her mention of Eve?” Vincent asked, “You don’t suppose—”

“I do.” Michael nodded in earnest. “We lost track of Eve in the Middle East. But there were rumors she was in Africa. Hanz has been following her—”

“Her fiancé?” Vincent had been informed in more detail about Eve McAllister and her life when they filled out the entry on vimps in the handbook.

Nodding, Michael chuckled. “Yeah. That dude is tenacious.”

He was also a Mormon—one of the reasons Eve had mentioned that church to Michael in the first place. Michael had shown Vincent a picture, and Hanz sure looked it. Clean cut, Nordic stock. Half her family had been converted, though Eve was not allowed. She was a demon after all.

“So, should I call for the jet to be ready?” Mr. Toms asked them.

Vincent blinked, looking to him. “What? Um, we’re not going to buy tickets?”

Shaking his head, Mr. Toms replied, “Of course not. Airports are chaotic. Unsafe. We prefer to fly via private jet.”

“You’re not concerned about your carbon footprint?” Vincent asked with a smirk. They did claim to be a green company after all.

With a laugh, Mr. Toms replied, “I am more concerned about the safety of my son. Besides, he’d have to check all his weapons on a regular airline.”

It was surreal just hearing that. Vincent felt he was sliding deeper into the Twilight Zone.

“Honestly, I have no idea how the other guys do it.” Michael shut off his laptop, letting it close.

Vincent laughed. “Do you carry weapons with you all the time?”

With a brisk nod, Michael grinned. “Of course. You never know what might be around the corner.”

“You’ve got that crystal,” Vincent gestured to it.

Smirking Michael tucked the red crystal into his collar. It had slipped out again. “Sometimes fire is not enough—and it’s messy.”

“In comparison to a sword?” Vincent had been amused to find Michael was never without his sword. The man hid it under his suit coat, which oddly seemed to make it vanish from view entirely.

Grinning wider, Michael chuckled. “No ash.”

But a sword was a bloody weapon. Michael’s prejudice in favor of a sword was a funny thing to watch.

“So, the jet?” Mr. Toms repeated, looking prepared to go.

Michael nodded. “Yes. Thanks, Dad.”

Mr. Toms angled his head and asked, “Do you want a pilot? Or do you intend to do pilot?”

His grin rising again, Michael said, “Do you mind if I fly?”

Mr. Tom’s shrugged, though Vincent could tell he was nervous about it. It made Vincent wonder if Michael had only just gotten his license.

“Let’s take a pilot,” Michael replied finally, chuckling. “We’re crossing the entire country and, I do believe, we want to make this look like a business trip and nothing supernatural related.”

His father smiled with relief.

So did Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention. He had taken a dangerous risk by going to the SRA compound—which he realized now had been quite dumb. Michael definitely thought so, though he also saw it as brave.

They cleared out of the office and took Vincent back to his hotel to pack. Tommy showed up there with his own duffel bag, announcing he was coming as well.

“But won’t the SRA think that is suspicious?” Vincent asked, shoving his pants and the rest of his socks into his suitcase.

Tommy grinned. “Nope. I often accompany Michael to places. I’ve been his mentor in the SRA for years and these days we’re partners.”

“Partners?” That surprised Vincent. “But isn’t he… what did he say? Number eight of the Seven?”

Tommy laughed waving it away. “That’s a whole different animal. All of them live two lives. With me, he’s Michael Toms. With them, he’s Sir Long Shanks.”

Vincent stared, thinking what was with the Seven and their nicknames? Some of them made sense, but most didn’t.

They hurried to the car and loaded up. It was going to be a long trip back home. But he had to get home to Audry ASAP.

*

It had been one hell-of-a week. It had started with meeting Keith Vicar earlier than expected. The man was entirely gung-ho about finding any cure he could get. Dr. McAllister had passed on to Keith Vicar Doug’s contact information, having decided that since both men were mostly normal and under the SRA radar, it was best that Doug deal with the man face-to-face without Troy or him involved.

Keith came to Doug’s house dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, and wrapped in bandages, as if he were a leprosy victim. He was clean all otherwise, with a smile like two pearl strings. He had met Jean and the kids and explained his wounds as an animal attack, cheerily saying he was there to help Doug in his research by being a research subject. Startled to meet such a cheerful yet badly wounded man, it took Jean a moment to