Werewolf Nights (The Pack Trilogy Book 2) (9 page)

“His name is Art, and he’s a doctor. A big-time doctor. He’s invented something that makes Mickey really happy, and that’s never a good thing.”

“Wait a minute,” Petra said. “Who the hell is this Mickey, anyway?”

“Alpha of Alphas,” Elinor said. “He’s never seen by anyone, but I hear he’s tall and thin. But he’s on a major power trip, that much we all know. He considers himself the Alpha of all werewolves.”

“Uh, where the hell does this young pup get off? Doesn’t he know that position is already taken?” Petra asked.

“Raya is only a pretender, he says,” Elinor explained. “Nobody made him Alpha of Alphas, or so Mickey claims.”

“Where the hell was this Mickey when Raya brought all the wolves together 700 years ago? Oh! That’s right. He wouldn’t even have been born for another four hundred and fifty years,” Petra said in disgust.

“I know. You’re preaching to the choir here.” She abruptly laughed. “Almost forgot one more of Mickey’s amazing facts you’re just going to love. There’s a word that can never be spoken in Mickey’s presence. Once, you’re beaten. Twice? You’re dead.”

Petra’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s not what I think it is?”

“Yup. ‘Raya.’ He hears that name, he goes ballistic, or so I’ve heard.”

“No wonder he’s going after Heureuse like he is. I need to speak to these people, especially this Art,” Petra decided. “I’m going to pay you guys a visit. Now, how can I do that and still stay off the grid?”

***

“… now we have a few days,” Raya concluded as he finished passing the news to the other two men.

“You trust this Elinor?” Itchiko asked.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? No, I don’t. I don’t even know her. I think it best that you and I stick to the plan of execution, be ready and then if need be hang around here until Tuesday, see what we see. If nothing else, we can investigate that case of bourbon that has my name on it!”

Chen grinned. “Oh, there are a couple of things of interest here. You won’t be bored.”

***

Beyond a doubt this was off the grid, Petra thought as she pulled up to a tiny hotel in Camden, New Jersey. It had seen better days, but now the sign was missing the “m” so it read ‘Camden otel.’ Well, good thing she wasn’t here for a vacation.

She’d unpacked and was stretched out and about to nap when there was a light knock on the door. She opened it, and Elinor flew into her arms. She was still a petite woman with dark blond hair frizzing in every direction, but now she had a child with her and she had the same hair! They looked adorable together. Petra could hardly stop staring at Elinor and Shelley, her daughter.

“See, Mom? I’m right. I’m not gonna cut it,” Shelley said and stuck her small chin out.

“I don’t care if you grow a beard as long as you’re OK,” Elinor said and hugged her tightly.

The women couldn’t say much with the child there, but Petra knew that Elinor’s intent had been to introduce her, make sure she knew what the girl looked like in case things went badly wrong. It touched Petra’s heart deeply to see the love between the two.

***

For several days, Petra met the ‘Friendlies,’ as she named the small group of Rat defectors. She was glad of the extra time as she had official pack friends run the Friendlies’ names to find out all they could about each one.

She’d been unable to meet Art, as he was extremely busy and very well protected by the Rats. He had two bodyguards who constantly shadowed him, Elinor told Petra.

“We have to get him away from them somehow,” Petra said, pacing across the small, none-too-clean hotel room that Elinor had found.

“The only time he’s really alone is when he shits or sleeps,” Elinor said with a shake of her head.

Suddenly Petra stopped pacing and grinned. “That makes it easy, then!”

Elinor’s mouth dropped. “How do you figure?”

“You did say he eats out most nights, and at the same place. I’ll just go hang out in the men’s room!”

Elinor laughed. “There are so many ways that could go wrong, but I’d pay good money to see Art’s face when he opens a stall door and there you are!”

“If he just takes a leak at a urinal, we’re screwed,” Petra said.

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Elinor said with a wink. “You’re not the only wily one around here. Art drinks enough hot chocolate to power Wonka’s chocolate factory. A small dose of X-lax, and he won’t be peeing anywhere.”

“You have definite possibilities,” Petra praised her.

***

“Seen my tie?” Raya asked Itchiko as they were dressing to go to one of the spots Chen had raved about.

“No, you think I’m your – shit. Turn up the TV,” Itchiko said, sitting on the end of one of the beds to watch.

Minutes later, both men were seated and Raya’s head was in his hands. He was, for once, speechless. The news report had shown packed hospitals in New Orleans, with patients on gurneys down the hall. The “flu” was making tens of thousands very ill, he’d heard.

And not just in New Orleans. There were outbreaks in major U.S. cities including New York and L.A.

With the television muted once more, both men sat in silence.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy…”

“This may sound insane…”

They’d both spoken at the same time.

Itchiko motioned for Raya to go on.

“Well, we’re thinking along the same lines, that’s for sure. It’s far too much of a coincidence that this flu, or whatever it is, breaks out in New Orleans at the same time that the Rats touch down on American soil,” Raya said.

“I couldn’t agree more. I don’t know what they’ve done, but I have a feeling deep in my stomach that they’re responsible for this illness,” Itchiko said, his golden skin gone a faint green.

“Why, though? Why in hell would they do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, and that’s bad. If we can figure out the why, we could maybe figure out the what and a cure.”

Raya nodded, picked up his phone and dialed Petra.

It rang, and kept ringing until it hit her voicemail. He left a terse message for her to call him immediately. Wasn’t like her to not take his call for any reason.

***

Petra’s phone was on mute. She saw it flash, saw that it was Raya. Couldn’t respond, of course.

Not when she was crouched on the toilet in the men’s room of an upscale restaurant, waiting for a recently laxatived werewolf to have to take a dump. A sudden burst of hilarity washed over her, and she had to stifle the laughter that threatened to explode.

Then the door to the men’s room opened, and she lost the urge to laugh. Showtime.

Footsteps clicked across the tile floor to the adjoining stall. She heard that door open, then “Out of order? Tonight of all nights!” Then the steps came closer to her stall and the door was yanked open.

The older man’s mouth dropped at the sight of Petra, as she put a finger to her lips and drew him the rest of the way in by pulling his tie.

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispered, “but get the hell out of here. I need to go and right now.”

“So go. Nothing I haven’t seen before and I have nowhere else to go,” Petra said as the doctor was all but ripping his pants off, moaning in pain. “This is an emergency or I’d not be here.” She stepped aside as he dove for the toilet, sat, let out an explosive fart that nearly rattled the walls, and then had noisy, reeking diarrhea.

Petra struggled to keep a straight face, but all she could think about was what she’d say to him. “Fancy meeting you like this?” or “You do take me to the most interesting places!”

That last one did it, and she bent over roaring in silent laughter. She was afraid to look at the doctor, for fear he’d be completely enraged. He had the right.

He emitted a chain of farts, and she kept her head ducked as the laughter built to almost unbearable heights. Finally, she dared to look up. The man’s own face was bright red with suppressed mirth of his own! He even had tears rolling down his face as his shoulders shook with silent howls of laughter.

Their eyes met, and they might have regained a semblance of control, but for the good doctor’s stomach. One more explosive chain of farts and diarrhea hit, and both hastily looked away from the other.

The bathroom door swung open. “Doc. You all right?” came a deep voice.

“Yes, yes. Case of the shits, I’ll be right out,” he called.

“You ain’t kidding. Smells like something died in here,” the man said and smacked the door closed.

Silence reigned. Petra kept her eyes on the floor.

“Petra Lupeinescu, if memory serves?” the doctor inquired.

“Yes, and I’m so sorry to meet you like this,” she said, keeping her eyes politely averted.

“”One does wonder what caused you to blow in like this tonight,” he said.

All Petra heard was “Blow in like this” and she turned flaming red with renewed efforts to strangle back a howl of laughter. A single small squeak escaped her.

“Now what is – “ he stopped, evidently realizing what he’d said. Petra heard just the slightest gasp as he tried valiantly to stifle his own laughter; that small noise nearly was both their undoing.

An enormous whoop of laughter escaped her, she instantly turned it into a coughing fit. Several more frantic gasps came from the doctor. Finally, all was still; both of them and the doctor’s intestines. Petra passed him the satellite phone she’d brought for him, explaining that it was completely anonymous. He could contact her whenever he pleased.

She started to say something else, but clamped her mouth shut.

“What? What did you want to say?” the man asked.

She sighed.

“I don’t have the right to ask, but what did you invent for these assholes?”

The question had a remarkable effect. The man turned ghostly pale and he tottered on the toilet, his body waving from side to side as though he was going to faint. Petra leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders firmly.

“None of that! They’ll find out for sure.” He drew in a deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be… that is, I invented something totally different than… oh hell.”

“Just tell me, Doc. It’s OK.”

“It isn’t OK at all, and it never will be.” His face suddenly looked ancient, every wrinkle standing out, large dark bags under his eyes. “I’m a molecular biologist.” At her blank stare he added, “I study and work on DNA.

“I was working for the CDC. This Ebola outbreak, I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

She nodded, feeling vaguely sick and not knowing why.

“I made a significant finding, that people are pre-disposed to Ebola in their very DNA. I was in the process of narrowing down the exact genes that are affected, that is the genes which can be tagged as showing a predisposition to Ebola, and I took a break. Went out to dinner.”

“Oh no,” Petra breathed.

“You’d think I’d have learned, wouldn’t you? But no. And yes, I was at this very restaurant. But they waited until I left, you see. I got in my car – I don’t drive – and I didn’t notice until we were on the freeway that the driver wasn’t my usual one and we were going north instead of south.”

“Long story short, I was married twenty-six years ago. We have two children. Mike’s twelve and Sandy is eighteen now… my ex lives here with her new husband, two new kids. They said if I didn’t do what they wanted they’d see to it that Mike and Sandy both got Ebola. Petra, I couldn’t… I can’t…” tears ran unchecked down his face.

“Art, I’m so sorry. How awful.” Then it hit home, and she was horrified beyond belief. “Please don’t tell me that you invented an easy way to spread Ebola around.”

“Lord no, but I saw the news today like you probably did and it’s clear why you’d think that, but no. What I invented – what they forced me to create – was a targeted DNA missile. It went after one person, Petra. One.”

“What news?”

“An outbreak in New Orleans. Thousands sick, the hospitals over-run.” He shuddered.

“But why would you think you caused it, Art?” This wasn’t making any sense. If he’d created a disease or something that attacked a person or creature with one specific DNA helix, how could multiple people be ill?

“Because Mickey forced us to test it. We let it loose into the wild. On a bayou just outside of New Orleans, Petra.”

His face was now a study in misery and he couldn’t meet her eyes. Suddenly she was back in the bayou running from Whatever-It-was, the terror that was behind her when Raya had joined her. She remembered the many dead things it had left in its wake.

Whatever-It-Was now had a name, at least.

A DNA missile.

Chapter Thirteen

Petra had really chosen a dump
, Raya thought as he approached her hotel at nearly 2AM. Joseph had given him one of his unique ‘lifts’ to New Jersey, and the pair had rented a car.