CHAPTER 14
“Let me go now, boy, and I promise I won’t do any permanent damage,” Phillip said. Except it wasn’t the same Phillip, not as Jonas knew him. It was a six-foot-tall tower of muscle and bone, covered in brown fur, with two-inch black claws, inch-long black fangs, and bright yellow eyes. Drool dripped from the creature’s mouth and pooled on the ground. He was trapped, and Jonas was trapped with him.
Jonas felt his throat tighten. He wanted to run, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. A weight in his right hand made him look down. It was his father’s coin, resting in the palm of his hand. No one is stronger than me in my own dreams, he thought, remembering his father’s words.
Jonas looked up at the enraged beast before him. “No,” he said.
Phillip snarled and charged, a seething mountain of pain and fury, but Jonas merely waved his hand and the werewolf slammed into the stone wall to the right, then the left. Then Jonas turned and hurled Phillip against the metal portcullis, pinning him there. The werewolf howled and thrashed, but couldn’t break free of Jonas’ invisible grip.
“My family will come for you! They’ll rip the flesh from your—”
“I’m a kid!” Jonas said, his voice thundering in the enclosed space. “I shouldn’t have to deal with this! You’re supposed to be the calm one, dealing with things so I don’t have to. You’re supposed to keep me safe! Now, where’s Bert?” His words came out amplified, as if he had a bank of speakers behind him. Phillip whined and went still.
“I don’t know.”
Jonas was so surprised that he lost his grip on Phillip, and the werewolf fell to the floor, catching himself on his hands and feet. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know, Jonas. He didn’t come home after our fight. I thought he just went to blow off some steam, but he never came back. Now you’re telling me there’s a pack of hunters in the city and—” The muscles on Phillip’s body rippled, and his lips peeled back, baring his fangs, “—I swear, if they’ve harmed my son, I’ll rip the skin from their—”
“Phillip!” Jonas said.
The werewolf closed his eyes and shuddered, taking deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, they were flat brown. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Full moon on Sunday. I need to find my son.”
Jonas opened the outer gates and pushed himself and Phillip out.
♟
They were back in front of the school. Only a few seconds had passed, but Phillip’s collar was stained with sweat.
“I’ll dig through Edwards’ mind, see if he knows anything about Bert,” Jonas said. “Are we good?”
Phillip was still breathing hard through flared nostrils, fists clenched at his sides, but he seemed to be back in control. “Humph. You’re your mother’s son, all right. But yeah, kid. We’re good. And if he does know something—”
“I know, I know. Crack his bones and suck out the marrow, right?”
Phillip cocked his head, then laughed a deep, booming laugh that drew looks from some of the other kids leaving school. But there was no mirth in his eyes when he answered, “Yeah, Jonas, something like that.”
♟
They watched the school from the end of the block until, a half-hour later, Edwards finally emerged. Jonas reached out and searched for any knowledge of Bert. Edwards stopped and looked around, but Jonas and Phillip were already walking around the corner.
“Anything?” Phillip asked.
Jonas only had time to skim the surface, but he was sure of one thing: Edwards was at the school to watch him, not for anything to do with werewolves. “Nothing, sorry.” Jonas paused, then added, “It’s only been one day, Phillip. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
Phillip grunted. “It’s not Bert I’m worried about. It’s a full moon, kid, and he doesn’t have as much control as he thinks.”
Jonas thought of what Phillip had looked like, transformed, and how he’d acted. The mayhem something like that, out of control, could cause in New York — especially in a crowded space, or on a subway — made him shiver.
Another thought occurred to him. “Phillip? Do all werewolves look like you?”
“What do you mean? You’ve seen the difference between me and Bert, and we’re related.”
“I mean when you’ve, you know… changed. Brown body, black claws, yellow eyes… that sort of thing.”
“Well, yes, for the most part. Yellow eyes, fur can be brown, black, or even gray if we’re old. Different blood lines can have slight variations.”
“What about Kieran?” Jonas asked.
Phillip stopped in his tracks. “He’s never been out during a full moon, and he’s too young to force the transformation himself. Why?” The werewolf eyed Jonas suspiciously.
Jonas was quickly learning to be tactful when dealing with a werewolf’s family. “When we were training — that is, while I was in his head — his eyes flashed blue, and I could swear he had white fur.”
Phillip’s jaw dropped, then he chuckled. “That explains a lot. I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t repeat that to anyone.”
“Okay, but why?”
“Kieran’s just… he’s very special, Jonas. More than I even realized myself.” He licked his lips, then added, “You really should try to be his friend, Jonas. I think his brothers have already burned that bridge, and they may soon regret it.”
“I’m sorry, Phillip, I’m tired. I mean, I’ll do it because you asked, and I won’t tell anyone. But two weeks ago, I didn’t know werewolves existed. What’s so special about white fur?”
“I thought he’d outgrow the eyes, that they’d turn gold, like mine. But if he’s got them and the white fur — if, mind you, because it could just be the dreams of a boy who was picked on too often. But if he does, Jonas… he’s a winter wolf.” Phillip said the words reverentially, like he was talking about something magical or holy. “God help my boys if Kieran holds a grudge.”
♟
Jonas was still riding the high of facing down both Edwards and Phillip when he walked into school the next day. He felt strong, like he was finally in control of his life again after a year of struggling to stay afloat. Other people seemed to notice, too. They moved out of his way on the sidewalk and in the hallways at school. Girls stared at him. One of the younger teachers even looked at him thoughtfully as she walked into the classroom, then shook her head and took roll.
At lunch, he walked up to Amelia’s table and it’s payload of hostile teenage girls, and smiled. “Excuse me, would you mind if I talk to Amelia for a few minutes… alone?” He put a little willpower behind the words, and the hostility at the table melted. The girls who, moments before, would have very much minded, didn’t seem to have any objections. Amelia stared wide-eyed as her friends picked up their trays and moved to another table, leaving her with Jonas. One of them even winked at him, then blushed and hurried off.
“Hi,” he said.
“Umm… hi,” Amelia answered. She was staring at him like she’d never seen him before. “You’re… you’ve done something to your hair. It looks nice.”
Jonas frowned. He’d dried it with a towel after showering, as usual, and combed it with his fingers. Then he realized what was happening. It’s the glamour. The strain from the past few days must have switched it on for him, however that worked.
“I’m glad you like it. Are we doing anything together this Sunday?”
Amelia licked her lips, blushed, then looked down at her tray. “I guess we could do that. I mean, don’t you have plans? With Eve?”
Jonas clenched his jaw but resisted the urge to push thoughts to her. He already felt like he was cheating a little, now that his glamour was working. “I’m not going out with Eve, she’s just a friend from… counseling. Remember? My mom sent me to talk to people after the break-in?”
“The break-in… right,” Amelia said, pushing her plate away. “And I guess you’re not going out with her because her skin’s too perfect and she dresses a little too n
icely and—” She bit her bottom lip to stop herself.
“You could just trust me,” Jonas said.
Amelia gave him a skeptical look. “You’re a guy, you think with your—”
“So, I’ll see you Sunday?”
She sighed. “Yes. Maybe. Probably.” She smiled.
Jonas could hear her pulse beating faster and suddenly felt thirsty. “Gotta go,” he said. I really need to get one of those mini-fridges, he thought, and make sure I have a pouch or two before going out with Amelia.
♟
By the time he got home, he was parched. It was too early to wake his mother, so he waited, not doing anything in particular. Mostly, he just stared at the cable-box’s clock, until his phone vibrated. It was a text from Amelia. He spent the better part of an hour reconnecting with her and making plans for Sunday’s outing.
Around 5 p.m., he knocked on his mother’s door. “Mom, are you up?” When she didn’t answer or come to the door, he knocked again, opened it, and said, “Mom, are you—”
The room was neat, exactly as it had been before, except for a five-foot-long wooden box at the foot of the bed. It was full of Styrofoam. His mother sat on the bed, fully clothed. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head hung down, allowing her long, straight black hair to drape down over her legs. She twitched and whimpered every so often.
“Mom?” Jonas said, gently touching her shoulder, and felt himself get drawn in.
♟
London, May 8, 1945. Alice heard the news over the radio, and the clamor from the streets below. Germany had finally surrendered, and the people celebrated with laughter and tears. Men and women, no longer having to gaze fearfully at the sky, emptied liberated bottles of alcohol and danced.
She and Victor listened through heavily curtained windows, then left the flat as soon as the sun set. She put her arm through his and they strolled through the streets, soaking in the undisguised emotions that filled the city. The joy of having survived, the grief of missing friends and family, and the open contempt for those who now hid behind locked doors, fearful of retribution.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Victor?” she said.
He nodded, absently. He’d always been a gentle soul, and the war had been hard on him. Alice even acknowledged to herself that she’d been shocked by the scale of the conflict, and the systematic, almost industrialized slaughter of non-combatants.
“Have you heard from Marcus?” she asked.
“No. He’s not talking to anyone, not since we pulled him out of that crypt in Austria. He’d been sleeping for thirty years, Alice. It’s going to take him some time to come to grips with what the world he helped build has become.”
They continued to walk quietly, in the midst of the celebration, basking in the glow of incandescent streetlights.
“Can you believe Marcus still moans about oil lamps?” Alice said.
“Can you believe my wife still moans about gas lamps?” Victor said, chuckling.
“The light was softer,” Alice pouted.
Victor patted her hand, something she would never have tolerated from anyone but him. “We’re all looking for home, Alice. You, Marcus… even me.”
Alice felt a pang of alarm. It reminded her of their first year together. It’d been horrible, taking all of her strength and cunning to keep her fledgling, future husband alive.
Suddenly, some troops in brown and tan uniforms, wearing cocked garrison caps, spilled out of a tavern, laughing riotously and speaking in American accents. Alice felt an old longing, an aching deep in her chest. She gripped Victor’s arm and said, “I want to go home, Victor.”
He frowned, looking puzzled. “To Hungary?”
“No, to America. To New York.”
Victor patted her hand again. “We will, my love. There’s still a lot of—”
“I don’t care, Victor. They can hang for all I care. All of them.”
Victor stopped walking and looked at her with concern. “We have a duty to—”
“Four centuries, Victor. I’ve protected these people for four hundred years. For what? So they could slaughter each other? And the Russians aren’t any better. You mark my words, they’ll be at it again in a decade. No, I want to go home now… we can leave tonight.”
Victor flinched, like he’d been cut, and she felt a trace of guilt rise up before smothering it. She was tired. She would have left already, if not for his damnable self-righteous compulsions.
“The war is over, Victor. You gave me your word,” she added, playing her trump card.
He stared down the street, eyes unfocused. “You’re right. I’ll make the arrangements, and we’ll—” He stopped, staring intently.
Alice turned to see what he was looking at. A boy — almost a man — wearing strange clothing, moved toward them. He shouldn’t have been able to see them through the field she was projecting, same as the rest of the crowd, which flowed around her and Victor without realizing they were there.
She laughed. “He looks just like you, Victor. Is this one of your tricks, to distract me from—?”
Suddenly the boy was next to her. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, shaking it roughly. “Mom! Are you—?”
♟
Faster than Jonas could react, Alice batted his hand away, rose from the bed, and lifted him by the neck with one hand, pinning him to the wall. She slammed his entire barrier at once with a single mental blow. Stunned, he dangled there, his feet several inches from the floor. Her attack had been more powerful than Fangston’s, powerful and focused at the same time. To Jonas, it felt like the walls that he and Sam had so carefully built had cracked like a dropped egg.
“What do you… Jonas?” she said, blinking. She brushed the hair from her face with her free hand and let him go. “Honey, are you alright? What did I—?”
“You were dreaming of Dad, or remembering him. I tried to wake you,” Jonas sputtered, rubbing his neck. She lifted me off the ground like I didn’t weigh a thing, he thought. And as for his mother losing her powers, he now knew it was a lie, he just wasn’t sure why she’d allowed it to spread.
“I was with — I was thinking of your dad, and… you surprised me.” She looked him over, then added, “Your glamour is working.”
“Yeah, it started today. So, your powers — I mean, I thought you’d lost them, but that clearly…” he ran a hand through his hair, not sure how to describe what he’d felt. He glanced at the foot of the bed, and said, “What’s the box for?”
“Did you need something, Jonas?” she said, ignoring his question. Her hair, once again, looked perfectly in place, her expression neutral.
Jonas flinched under the coldness of her gaze. “Yes. I mean, I came in because you said to ask if I needed blood but then you—”
She walked over to the black mini-fridge, took out two pouches, and tossed them to him. “I’ll have one brought for your room. Good night, Jonas.”
“I… you too, Mom.” Eyes prickling, he clutched the two blood packs to his chest and walked out of her room.
♟
Jonas didn’t see his mother again for two days. When he tried checking her room, the door was locked. Something — probably her chest of drawers — was also jammed behind it. He stayed up Wednesday night to see if she’d leave for work, but she never did. Jonas pictured her, curled up on her bed, escaping to an imaginary world in which his father was alive, and he hadn’t been born yet.
He sat in the silent apartment, unable to cry or yell or think of anything that would fix the situation. He wasn’t upset that she’d rather live in a world without him, he was terrified she’d become completely disconnected and go out to see if the sun was real again, leaving him an orphan on top of everything else.
♟
Thursday, instead of going home, he went to the Agency and rode the elevator down to the administrative floor, picturing the veneered table with five legs. It was early afternoon, and Fangston’s office was locked, but the Director’s secretary was there. <
br />
“Hi, Jonas. I’m Linda,” she said, smiling. “We met once before, and I was also at your dad’s funeral. Is there something I can help you with? The Director is probably still sleeping, and won’t be in for a few more hours.”
“Umm, actually, I just need to see a box of stuff my father left for me. Do you know where I could find it?”
Linda’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, Jonas. I’m not sure that would be a good idea. Mr. Fangston is pretty particular about your father’s things, but if you could just wait—”
“That’s okay, Linda. I completely understand. It’s just that I’m having a really tough time since my dad… well…” he paused, milking the moment. “I just wanted to look.”
Linda bit her lip, and tapped the end of her pen on her desk.
“You just want to look, not take anything, right?”
“Right,” Jonas said.
She gave Jonas a conspiratorial look. “Not a word to Mr. Fangston, okay?”
“I promise,” Jonas said, “you don’t know how much this means to me.”
“It’s alright, Jonas. I have a son too.” Bingo, Jonas thought, although her being a mother surprised him; she didn’t look a day over twenty. “Just sit at my desk,” she said, “If the phone rings, don’t answer it. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She walked out and Jonas sat down, like he’d been told. Her computer was locked, her desk devoid of anything particularly interesting. There were some old leather-bound books that were probably ledgers of some sort, although, once when he glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn they were shimmering a little. He picked one up and tried to read it, but the letters looked like gibberish and seemed to dart away from his gaze. It made his head hurt. Then he noticed that if he squinted, and looked at the page slightly off center, one word seemed to jump out. “Ah-pree-ay,” he said, sounding it out.
The book snapped shut loudly, making a sound like a gunshot and startling him so badly that he almost fell out of the chair.
“Well, aren’t you an interesting kid?” Linda said, from the doorway. She was carrying his father’s box.
“I’m sorry,” Jonas said, “I don’t know what happened. I was trying to read it, and –”
Linda gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s okay Jonas, you were lucky all it did was scare you a little. The Agency is full of dangerous objects.”
Jonas blushed and quickly put the book back on the shelf. “I don’t — I mean, the book just looked different, that’s all. Is that my dad’s stuff?” he said, hoping to change the subject as quickly as possible.
She nodded and set the box on her desk. “It doesn’t leave this room, okay? I’m going to go get a coffee from the lounge, and then I’ll be back.” Then she patted him on the shoulder and walked out.
As soon as she was gone, Jonas opened the box and lifted everything out, setting the Bible on the desk and wrapping the smaller items in his father’s leather jacket. The small, circular recess in the bottom of the box was still there. He tried pushing on it and picked at it with his fingernails, but it didn’t budge. Thinking of the elevator, he tried probing the box with his mind. There was definitely something there, but he couldn’t activate the mechanism. He tried using some of his father’s old coins in the spot, but they weren’t the right size. Besides, that would have been too obvious, Fangston would have tried that already. Then Jonas remembered the Director asking him about his father’s lucky coin.
On a whim, Jonas pulled a quarter from his pocket. It fit perfectly in the spot, but nothing happened. Fangston thinks Dad’s coin opens the box, he thought, but Dad’s coin wasn’t real. Then he thought about Viviane, about the way people looked at him at school, and all the things he’d thought weren’t real two weeks ago. He thought about his mother, locked in her room with her imaginary husband. Since when does real matter? Looking down at the quarter, he focused on it until it looked like his father’s lucky coin. Then he placed it in the indentation.
There was a click, and the bottom of the box popped open.