“You have a gun?” Tyler said, leaning forward.
“With silver ammo, even,” Ben said.
My husband the werewolf kept silver bullets in his glove box. I didn’t question it.
I asked Tyler, “You think he’s headed back to Vanderman. Can he really get past Fort Carson security, into the building? He can’t really break Vanderman out, can he?”
“We broke out easy enough. We waited until they were moving us into the building. Then we knocked them over and ran. As a wolf, he can get onto the base easy. He’ll be fast and camouflaged, and Fort Carson is huge. A lot of it is open plains. He’ll have to be human to break into the building, though. He’d need his hands.”
“Could he do that? Sneak onto the base, sleep off his wolf, then break into the building? Isn’t that a little goal-oriented for a werewolf?” I said.
“We trained to remember our targets. Even if we didn’t remember anything else, we remembered the mission.”
I remembered a story. One of Paul Flemming’s informants had been an old man, a German soldier and a veteran of World War II. He’d also been a werewolf, and he told me about being trained by the SS to carry messages across enemy lines. People would stand out, but wolves were part of the landscape. Obviously, there were techniques for training werewolves. I wondered how many secret histories there were, how many wars included units of werewolves fighting for one side or the other. Roman centurions, Norse berserkers, Mongol raiders, Persian infantry . . . It sounded all too plausible. Werewolves were too ideal for the job not to use as soldiers.
The thought sent a chill over me, raising gooseflesh. I shivered and turned up the heater.
“What’s the matter?” Ben said gently. Maybe he could smell my unease.
“Implications,” I said, then shook my head. “Never mind. Won’t there be guards? Won’t they be able to stop him?” I looked back at Tyler.
“Not if they’re not firing silver,” Tyler said. “I think only Stafford’s guys have silver. They’d have to do too much explaining if they started issuing silver ammo to the regular MPs.”
“FUBAR. Isn’t that what you guys call this sort of thing?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler said, chuckling.
This could be a public relations nightmare. Werewolves had stayed hidden from public sight, behind folklore, for a very long time. We’d stayed secret by policing ourselves. Then people like me started blowing the whistle. The old system was falling apart. Police started getting involved, and one bad incident hitting the news would ensure that everyone saw werewolves as monsters rather than people. So what now?
We reached a freeway. I-70, it should have been. A string of red taillights flowed like a river before us, distorted by the snow and wet. Rush hour. Bad weather.
My phone rang—”The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” played. I dived for the floor and grabbed for the phone. The music set my nerves on edge—it couldn’t be good. The dash clock said 7 A.M. Too early for normal people.
“What is it?”
Cormac sounded as urgent as I’d ever heard him. He didn’t even sound like Cormac. “I think this is it.”
“What, this is . . . oh. Franklin.”
“This blizzard isn’t natural,” he said. He sounded like he was in a car, speeding somewhere through traffic.
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“I’ve got an idea, but I’m still working on that part,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you and Ben are home and ready to get socked in.”
“Um . . .” I said, trying to figure out how to explain this. “I’m afraid we’ve had something come up.” Could I sound any more vague? Like this wouldn’t make him suspicious.
I could almost hear the deep sigh over the line. “What happened?”
“So you know last night was the full moon? Well, the guys from the army came with us, and one of them kind of went rogue—”
“And you’re chasing after him? Good luck with that.” How did he manage to sound so sarcastic without changing his tone of voice?
I grumbled, “Yeah, thanks.”
“You need help?”
“Not yet,” I said. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I’d rather have you figuring out how to stop Franklin. Don’t worry about us, we won’t freeze.”
“You spend enough time worrying about me, I’m going to return the favor. I’ll call you when I have something,” he said, and hung up before I could argue.
I stared at my phone a moment.
“Was that Cormac? Was that about Franklin?” Ben said.
“Yes. He’s says this is because of him.” I gestured to the massive snow.
“Great. Now what do we do?”
“I’m thinking of calling Odysseus Grant.” Grant was the other wizard I knew. He always seemed to have an answer for a magical crisis.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Ben said. “Don’t pull any more people into this if we don’t have to. If you really think Franklin fried your caller in Louisiana with a lightning strike, you could be painting targets on anyone else you call about this.”
He was right. I huffed a sigh and stared out the window. “Cormac says he’ll call back when he’s figured out how to stop him.”
“Then we’ll wait,” Ben said.
I tried not to worry—Cormac could take care of himself.
I-25 was even worse than I-70.
We were well into morning, well after sunrise, not that we could tell with the overcast sky. Everything had a light gray tinge to it rather than a dark gray one. The snow wasn’t letting up. Plows were hard at work—ahead, a couple of safety lights flashed and reflected against the fog. They’d already piled a ridge of snow onto the shoulder of the road.
We moved at a crawl, and I wondered how bad it would have to get before the freeway closed. At this rate, even on foot Walters would get to Fort Carson before us.
“I can’t sit here,” Tyler said. “I have to get out of here. We’re wasting time.” He was gripping the armrest on the door, his hand trembling.
“Keep it together,” I said. “If you head out and turn wolf they’ll just scoop you up along with Walters.”
He breathed low in his throat, making a sound like a growl. I reached back and touched his arm; whatever calm I could find in myself, I sent to him. As pack alpha, that ought to be part of my job, right? I was playing it all by ear, though; I hadn’t had too many role models to draw on. But Tyler’s hand relaxed, and he settled back against the seat, staring out the window.
I turned on the radio and found a news report, which was all about the weather and traffic. Which was good, since I was afraid I was going to start hearing about rogue werewolf attacks. According to the news, the storm wasn’t behaving according to any predictions. While it was snowing across the Front Range, the storm seemed to be centered on Denver—the system had rolled in from the mountains, but didn’t get bad until it had hit the plains. The city was getting more snow than the mountains had. The freeways were being closed in some places—but we seemed to have gotten past those spots just in time. If we got stuck, I wouldn’t be able to argue with Tyler about setting out on foot.
My phone rang and I answered. It was my mother, with her usual great timing.
“Hi, Kitty. I’m just checking to see if you’re okay. I know you went out with your friends last night, and I wanted to make sure you got home all right through all this snow.”
My mother knew I was a werewolf. I wasn’t sure she entirely understood what that meant. She knew I went with the pack to shape-shift on full-moon nights. Trying her best to be supportive, she called it “going out with my friends.” I couldn’t complain, but it led to some awkward conversations.
“Um . . . I’m not really at home right now, Mom. Something came up.” I winced. It was the conversation with Cormac all over again. And who ever thought my mother and Cormac would have something in common?
