Unconventionally Wolf, Julie Steimle [red scrolls of magic .TXT] 📗

more.”

The guard looked confused, clearly not as aware who the Seven were.

So Rick cut in, “Hey, he’s talking about my best friend Andrew Cartwright and his gang. They’re good people.”

The guard nodded, reassured.

Carl also nodded, thinking on that. It wasn’t clear how much he knew about the Holy Seven, the SRA, or any of it. It may have been that he only knew as much as: one, there were people who were friends with the Deacons; two, there were those that did not know them really; and three, there were those that wanted them dead. And Tommy was one of first group.

“So…” Rick turned to lead them along. “We have to stop by various booths and sign things. Tommy, if you could just walk with me as sort of an indication to the hunters not to mess with me while not being too obvious to everyone else that is what you are doing…”

“That sounds nuts.” Tommy laughed. “But I get it. Two friends walking through, but a wink and a nod to any hunters having the wrong idea. I know what I signed up for.”

“Thanks.” Rick relaxed immediately.

As they walked along, Tommy eyed Rick and asked, “How come you didn’t ask your buddy, Andy, to this?”

“Abey?” Chuckling, Rick shook his head, using his nickname for his best friend who had once gone by his two initials A.B. as a kid, just as he used to go by Howie. “Pre-med and dead to anything but study?” Rick shook his head more. “Noooo. I mean I am ditching class to be here.”

“You are?” Tommy looked surprised and a little dismayed.

Rick nodded, glancing at a booth about fracking.

“And you are not worried?” Tommy asked, keeping up with Rick’s quick stride. He was going past a number of booths, not quite at breakneck speed, but pretty fast. It wasn’t a perusing walk.

Rick coughed a laugh. “Uh… Yes. Worried. But Dad insisted and said he was sending someone to take notes for me.”

Tommy nodded, probably thinking ‘That’s convenient’. “I see.”

They looked more, though Rick was trying to find that booth for NYU’s ecological club. It was connected with a couple of booths for animal rescue, or so the file had said. Professor Jackson was supposed to be there waiting for him. Problem was, Rick didn’t exactly know what he or they looked like.

But then he saw it in the distance. NYU definitely had a few booths lined up together. It was like an NYU corner with green and white signs under purple college flags—though one actually had pictures of wildlife. A number of college students there were selling eco-friendly merchandise for fundraising along with an internet signup for contributions. Rick noticed one man who seemed like he could be a professor, though to him he looked like Sidney Poitier on a holiday. He had that dignified African physique and short hair, and he wore a faded tee shirt with a rhinoceros on it, over Bermuda shorts. That man spotted him and (though with surprise) he grinned.

Rick came directly to his booth. “Hello. Are you Professor Jackson?”

The man nodded and stuck out his hand. “Welcome Mr. Deacon.”

Rick shook it, taking in the smell of the man’s aftershave. As he did, he noticed several of the college students gather behind their professor, watching them with a combination of curiosity, cringing, and pleasure. Rick wasn’t too happy about the cringing, but then they were cringing at his work-of-art suit—especially since he was younger than they all were… except for one. There was a brown haired girl there who looked like a freshman. She caught his eye for some reason as she seemed oddly familiar. Her bushy brown hair was neatly braded back from her fair face with light freckles from being in the sun. She had that sporty look about her which Rick found attractive. She was also wearing an unforgettable Meat is Murder shirt and a hemp bracelet. Familiar, but for some reason Rick could not place her. Usually his memory for faces was good. Thing was, the look in her eyes also said she knew him. 

“We were expecting your father, though,” Prof. Jackson said, chuckling.

Rick nodded sheepishly. “I know. This was a last minute change. Believe me, I didn’t expect it either.”

Nodding, the professor then introduced him to his students. “These are our graduate school candidates.” He even included that frosh gal. “And these are our doctorate students. Each of them needs permission to use Deacon-owned land for their research. If you could just look at their proposals and sign them, or pass them on to your father to sign, I would much appreciate it.”

Nodding, Rick stepped over to the booth then looked around for a space to do this. He found a chair. Looking to Prof. Jackson then Carl, he said, “Mind if I sit?”

Carl nodded. “It’s ok.”

Prof. Jackson chuckled. “By all means.”

Rick sat down and said, “Ok… Who wants to go first?”

“Is your signature alone alright?” Prof. Jackson asked, peering at Rick who indeed looked too young to be signing permission on behalf of a company. “I mean, considering…”

“It’s alright. Dad… uh. My father believes we would come to the same conclusions in this case.” Rick then looked to the nearest grad student. “Have at it. What’s your project?”

He was facing a man of probably twenty-four, with bushy sun-bleached blonde hair and brown eyes which gave Rick the mild impression of surfer—only it was obvious he wasn’t one. The man was a little flustered that he was waiting on approval from an eighteen-year-old, but it was really happening. The grad student handed Rick his proposal and the permission form he wanted Rick to sign. “I need access to your family’s, uh, wildlife reserves. I am doing a film project on the effects on the drop of bee populations within wildlands.”

“Bee populations?” Rick stared at the proposal.

“I intend to research the effects of chemtrails—”

“Bogus,” a classmate coughed.

“—on various bee populations, including those in the wild,” the guy said, ignoring his heckler.

Rick gazed at him. He never really thought about bees much. His aversion to honey sort of made him avoid such topics. But pollination was a different issue. “Hm. That’s interesting.”

“Is it?” Prof. Jackson said, his face also saying he thought that research was bogus.

“You know what?” Rick said to the grad student. “Let me read this permission form first to find out what exactly you are asking from us. Then we’ll see.”

He then pored over the document. They watched, each one looking amazed that Rick actually cared to give them a fair shake. There wasn’t really anything in it that he objected to. This man just needed permission to use camping equipment on the land, to go off trails, and to photograph anything at all. He also put down a list of wildlife reserves where he intended to go. Rick cringed at one. He pointed to it. “Uh. Our Colorado reserve would not be a good one to go to right now.”

“And why not?” the grad student asked.

“If I can scratch this one off, I will sign it,” Rick said.

“Ok,” the grad student nodded to himself, yet persisted. “But why can’t I go to that reserve?”

Drawing in a breath, barely peeking at Carl, Rick explained, “Currently that reserve is having issues with lone wolves going through it, disrupting the local pack there. And some local ranchers have taken it upon themselves to cross into the reserve and shoot at them.” Nodding sincerely, Rick explained, “I doubt you intend to go out into nature in bright orange, which would keep yourself from getting shot. But even if you do, I’d hate to see you die in the crossfire.”

That grad student leaned back and nodded. “Ok. Scratch Colorado.”

“Shouldn’t you be protecting the wolves?” the young brown-haired coed cut in tersely.

Rick smiled at her, pleased that someone cared about the wolves. “We are. But there is a lawsuit right now going on concerning that Colorado reserve, and some of the locals have called in hunters. I would consider them mercenaries, actually. I think the local pack can handle the stray wolves on their own. But there are nuts out there going after them while our rangers' backs are turned.”

“But don’t you think you could be doing more?” she snapped.

Agitated, he looked around and laughed. “What do you think I am? Superman? God? I am just a guy.”

She flustered, paling.

“What they are doing is already illegal,” he explained. “And I have no control over the wills of others. We are trying to catch them, but in the end some people just get away.” He then looked back at the document, his face feeling hot. “So… scratch Colorado, and we are good?”

The grad student nodded though he stared at the girl who had also colored at her cheeks, averting her eyes.

Rick then gestured to Carl to come forward as he said to the grad student, “Can I get your name and contact information so we can supply you with identification tags and permission cards?”

Nodding, the grad student grinned. “Thomas Gibson.”

Peeking to Tommy Whitefeather who was maintaining watch on the passing crowds while pretending to read the school’s brochures, Rick chuckled, signing his permission form. “Wow. Do you know how many Thomases I know? That must be a popular name right now.” He then handed the form back to Thomas Gibson. “Good luck. And let us know your results. Honestly, I’d like to know if those chemtrails really are causing damage or if it is just a conspiracy theory.”

“It’s a conspiracy theory,” that bogus-coughing grad cut in.

“And what’s your name?” Rick asked him, his eyes raking over the man’s hemp choker, nose ring, bold Go-Green tee shirt, and his shaggy Zach Efron High School Musical hair. He smelled like spearmint gum.

That grad student held out his permission form and proposal. “Xander Hughes.”

Rick took the permission form and read over it. Without looking up, he said, “Ok, Xander, what is it that you are asking?”

Grinning at Rick a bit like a showman, Xander went into a spiel which would have done a car salesman proud. Like Mr. Gibson before him, he wanted to use Deacon land for a videography, though this was about the nature of re-greening the planet and how towns and businesses connected to wildlands affected the wildlife, specifically focusing on CO2 levels and their damage on the ecosystem.

Rick closed one eye and peered at him. “You do realize that plants require CO2 for photosynthesis, right?”

Xander stared at him. “What? No. CO2 is a pollutant.”

“Each of us, while breathing, exhales CO2,” Rick said, peering at him. “What am I supposed to do? Hold my breath?”

They stared at him. The entire booth-full.

Carl maintained a straight face while his bodyguards chuckled. Even Tommy Whitefeather laughed.

“Uh, this is private,” one of them said to Tommy with a dirty look.

“Oh,” Rick held up his hand, barely rising from his seat. “He’s with me.”

They stared more. Several of them readjusted their expressions toward Tommy to a little more business-like.

Smiling, Rick pointed to a page in the permission form. “You can study whatever you want, but here…” he shook his head at the form. “It looks like you are asking to use cabins and camping areas which we rent out. I don’t mind that as long as you choose the smallest spot and don’t bring on anybody extra for a party. Our campgrounds lose business that way.”

“You can afford it,” Xander flippantly said.

Rick lifted a sharp eye to him, handing back his permission form, unsigned. “But the workers at those campgrounds can’t.”

“You can take a pay cut for something as small as this,” Xander replied, pushing the form back.

Smirking at him, Rick stared, looking like he wanted to drop the document. “I’m not even paid. I’m here on behalf of my father, missing classes I might add, to make sure the business is cared for properly.”

“But you benefit,” Xander said a little too smugly, as if he thought he was more virtuous than Rick simply because he wasn’t super rich. “All you have to do