Wolves and the River of Stone (6 page)

“Good morning, Damian.” The voice reminded me of the soft echoes of a wood flute.

I looked up and my heart skipped a beat as Foster’s distant cousin Nixie walked into the room. “I, uh, thought you had to head back to the sea or something, no?”

She ran her hands through the wavy cascade of nearly-white hair that fell to her waist. “It’s not the same anymore. It’s much more difficult to call sailors and pirates into the rocks with all this ... technology about. And without shipwrecks ...” she shrugged. “I was only thinking there may be more trouble to be had on land.” Her smile broadened as I fought to keep my gaze on her face, and not the outrageously sheer nightgown she was wearing. In an obvious effort to help, she leaned forward on the display cabinet with her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

“Oh,” I said.

Cara coughed as she landed beside the laptop and I tore my gaze away from Nixie’s pale flesh. “Girl, put something decent on,” she said.

Nixie pouted and her sheer nightgown grew more opaque until it verged on modest. Barely.

“Well, boy, I hope you don’t
mind,”
Cara said as she rolled her eyes, “but Nixie is going to stay with us for a while.”

“In the shop?” I asked. “Oh, the cot.”

Cara nodded.

I glanced at Nixie, and before I could think it through, I said, “You want to grab dinner sometime?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Nixie said as a smile curled her lips.

“Nudd save us,” Cara said under her breath. “Safe to say he’s fine with you staying here, girl.”

“You have customers coming,” Nixie said. “I need to change.” She smiled and slipped through the saloon-style doors. I thought I heard the back door open and drop closed, but I wasn’t sure why Nixie would have been going outside.

The bell on the front door jingled as I finished hanging the candles on the rack by their wicks. I turned to find Carter walking in and waved before three morose looking men followed him. They were all bigger than Carter, dressed in Saint Louis Rams sweatpants and plain gray sweatshirts. The first was a black man built like a brick wall. He smiled and nodded to me once. The man behind him was a pasty blond youth who just glared at me. I noticed the third man was Native American, but my attention trailed back to the blond youth as he cracked his neck without breaking eye contact.

I raised my eyebrows as Carter sat a plate of crispy rice squares on the counter behind me.

“From the wife,” he said as he brushed a crumb off his sweatshirt.

“Thanks.” The pleasantries didn’t go much further before the pasty one broke the mood.

“You’re the piece of shit who dared trespass in the Alpha’s home.”

“Trespass?” I said. I glanced to my left as the cu siths came tearing into the front room, barking like rabid wolves. My heart sank when they stopped running and started backing away slowly. What the hell had Carter brought into my shop?

The pasty man blurred from across the aisle and suddenly had his hands twisted up in my shirt. His breath was rank. I could see a smattering of acne across his pale right cheek and the throbbing veins in his neck and head as I slowly raised my eyes to his. “Shit,” I muttered as I saw the sunburst gray iris within the black ring of his eye.

The werewolf opened his mouth to speak again, but Carter was on him before he could issue so much as a grunt. Carter tore the other wolf’s hands away from my shirt and punched him hard enough in the face to floor him.

“Alan, hold him down,” Carter said.

The black mountain moved forward and placed one foot on the downed wolf. He was casual about it. “Got him,” he said once it was obvious the kid was pinned.

I finally got a good look at the third man. He had the calm façade of a Native American elder, much like that of an Illiniwek elder I’d once met, one of Zola’s old, old friends I’d been introduced to years ago. The man in my shop crossed his arms over his chest and nodded once, his motions slow and precise.

I nodded back and turned to Carter. I pointed at the werewolf beneath Alan’s foot. “Did you try to bring the biggest jackass in the pack?”

Carter laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “No, Damian, I brought the friendliest wolves in the pack.”

“Great,” I said as I looked at the rage in the trapped wolf’s face. “That’s phenomenal.” I gestured back to the counter. “At least you came bearing crispy rice squares. Otherwise I might be annoyed.”

I saw the Native American’s face twitch as he fought a smile. The other two looked none too happy.

“Well, what’d you need? You want a drink or anything?” I said as I turned to walk behind the register and get closer to my demon staff. Foster, Cara, and Aideen were camped out on the display case with swords drawn. They were still small, but I knew how fast they could morph and eviscerate the wolves.

“No, thank you,” Carter said. His eyes were locked on the fairies as I made my way around the counter. He looked like he was wound up tight, and if he snapped, the whole situation was going to hell real quick.

“Crispy rice squares?” Foster said.

“Don’t even think about it.” I jabbed an index finger at him and said, “I don’t need a psychotic blur in here right now.”

I heard a deep laugh and looked up to find the last wolf walking up to the register with an easy stride. “I see you have befriended the protectors of the Piasa Bird.” His voice held almost no trace of accent and his smile was warm.

“The who of the what?” I asked.

He gestured at each of the fairies. “The Fae warriors. I am honored, friends.”

“Dominus Lupus,” Cara said as she sheathed her swords across her back and bowed deeply to the werewolf.

He held out his hand and I watched in disbelief as Aideen sheathed her own blades and fluttered over to him. “It has been many moons since I have seen such warriors,” he said, staring at Aideen as she also bowed deeply. “To keep such company, the necromancer cannot be evil. Carter, my friend, I believe your judgment has been proven keen once more.”

Carter’s shoulders relaxed and he rolled back onto his heels.

I glanced at the werewolf on the floor. He was now bright red and trying to squirm away from Alan. “I’m Damian,” I said as I extended my hand to the Native American wolf.

“Hugh,” he said as he extended his own hand. Aideen fluttered back to the counter as he moved. I raised an eyebrow and he smiled broadly. “It is short for Hohnihohkaiyohos.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, debating on whether or not I should try to pronounce his name. Etiquette won. “Ah, Hugh it is.” I nodded to him and glanced back at Carter.

“Yes, you’ve met Hugh, Jimmy is on the floor, and, as I said before, this is Alan,” Carter said.

Alan nodded in a curt motion and pulled his foot off Jimmy. “Sorry about Jimmy,” he said as he stepped over Jimmy and shook my hand. “Not the most forward thinking of us.”

Jimmy dragged himself to his feet and dusted off his sweatpants as he grumbled. “This place is a dump.”

I let it slide. I’m a perfectly reasonable person. After all, it would be impolite to cut him into pieces and feed him to the cu siths. Wouldn’t it?

“I don’t like Jimmy,” Foster said.

I screwed up my face and coughed in an effort to hide my laughter. Hugh just sighed as Alan and Carter laughed outright.

The bell jingled again and I watched Nixie slink through the door. Despite the four werewolves in the room, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Some disengaged part of my brain wondered why she’d come through the front door, but I didn’t put much thought into it. Her hair trailed to her hips, which were swaying suggestively below a small waist. She ran her fingertips down her throat and played with the aquamarine pendant hanging at the peak of her cleavage. Nixie smiled at me as she raised her left hand and quickly traced Hugh’s jaw. My own jaw slackened at what she said next.

“Hello, Hohnihohkaiyohos.”

Hugh pushed her hand away and nodded once. “Water witch.”

Nixie’s laugh was musical as she made her way around the counter. “My, but you have some guests, Damian. I need to speak with you again, but for now I’ll wait in the back.”

I smiled like an idiot. “That’s fine. I’ll be there in a minute.” I watched her ass as it swayed into the back room again and I sighed as she vanished through the doorway. I turned back to the wolves and found them all staring at me.
“What?”
I snapped.

“She’s beautiful,” Jimmy whispered.

Hugh pointed at the back room and I heard a tiny crack of anger in his voice. “Do you have
any
idea what
that
is
?”

“
She
is Foster’s cousin to some removed degree, she is a water witch, an undine, and her name is Nixie.”

Foster laughed and finally sheathed his own sword. “Damian’s got a thing for her.” He scratched his chin and said, “Actually, she has a thing for him, too. I thought she would have tried to drown him by now.”

“Hey, I never said I had a thing for her.” I narrowed my eyes at the fairy.

“Please,” Foster said as he blew out a short puff of air. “You’ve asked about her five times in the past month.”

“He does have a point, Damian,” Cara said as she leapt from the glass counter and glided to the back room.

“And she has a thing for me?” I said as Foster’s words sank in.

Hugh blinked and lowered his arm. “You, you’re insane, necromancer.” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “The story our Alpha told us is beginning to make sense.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked at Carter.

“I told the pack you’re not here to hunt the wolves,” Carter said with a shrug. “You’re out to stop the men who are.”

“Hunt the wolves?” I said.

Carter’s eyes widened. “Zola didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Carter took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m really the one to tell you this, but werewolves don’t hate necromancers just because they’re necromancers.”

“Then why?” I said. “Family feud?”

Foster snickered and then coughed to cover it up as Aideen slugged him in the arm.

“In days long past,” Carter said, “necromancers raised zombie hordes and sent them after us. They saw
us
as the abominations, never mind the fact they were raising the dead to kill us. A few packs survived the cleansings. Some of the wolves, like Hugh here, destroyed unknowable numbers of zombies and gave birth to some very nasty legends.”

Something clicked in my brain and I said, “Skinwalkers?”

Hugh shook his head and his mouth formed a tight line. “I am no skinwalker.” He almost spat the word onto the wood floor.

Carter nodded and went on without further explanation of Hugh’s disgust. “You see the three of us here today because a necromancer is hunting wolves again. Someone Zola knows.”

I felt my face flush as my hands curled into fists. “Philip.”

“And his cult,” Carter said.

“Why?”

“Fun? Blood? Tradition?” Carter shrugged. “I don’t know, but his group has killed dozens of werewolves in the past year.”

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths before I opened them and met Carter’s gaze. “Yes, my friends, I am here to help kill that wretched piece of shit and anyone dumb enough to follow him.”

“But, he’s just like you!” Jimmy said.

I’d almost forgotten the young werewolf was still there. I stared at him with an expression almost as flat as my voice until he fidgeted. “I am nothing like Philip Pinkerton.”

Hugh glanced at Jimmy. “Yes, I am sure Philip Pinkerton is much too sane to pursue a water witch.”

I heard a tinkling laughter echo through the back room.

He turned his attention back to me as he spoke. “I will trust the necromancer, as our Alpha has requested, until he provides a reason not to trust him.”

“As will I,” Alan said. He kept his eyes locked on Jimmy as he spoke.

Jimmy blew out a breath, but gave in to peer pressure. “Fine, but I still think it’s stupid.” Hugh and Carter both ignored the young wolf.

Hugh crouched down and stared at the display filled with Native American artifacts. “Those arrowheads, are they Paiute?” he said.

I nodded and pulled out the small cotton-lined tray with six of the arrowheads on it.

“May I?” he asked as he reached out.

“Sure.”

He picked up the smallest arrowhead, studied the upright side, and then flipped it between his thumb and forefinger. His index finger ran along the edge and came away bloody. “Incredible,” he whispered. I watched in amazement as the tiny wound closed. It vanished as Hugh rubbed the blood off on his sweatpants. His eyes swept across the row of rune-carved heads. “These are treasures. Truly incredible. Do you know how old they are?”

“Not exactly. I was guessing a couple thousand years since the runes are similar to Nordic runes, but I don’t really know. I can’t find those exact patterns in any of my books.”

Hugh closed his fist around the arrowhead and smiled. “Tens of thousands, Damian. These runes have not been used in tens of thousands of years. They are from long before the time men thought to record their history. I thought they’d all been lost. My ancestors told stories of these weapons. They would never dull, never break, never miss.” He shook his head and handed the arrowhead back to me. “How much must I pay you to acquire these?”