After Jolie's departure, Elsbietka hunted her, prowling the city each night with a pack of Wolves. Unlike wolves of true nature, Wolves of the moon are preternatural, creatures of shadow. They hunt silently, with ruthless devotion to their pursuit. If you ever are walking at night and they pass you in their pursuit, it is precisely the silence you will hear. The whole world shrinks away from them, hoping not to be noticed, and all grows still. Perhaps a sound or two escapes -- a rustle in the grass, the snapping of a twig, a creaking of branches in some sapling or bush as they brush past. Nothing more. The shadows around you will seem to flicker, not between light and dark, but between dark and darker, very subtly, so that you might have difficulty distinguishing it from some trick of the eyes. Then like a sighing of the wind they will pass, leaving nothing behind them but a cold knot of instinctual fear in your heavily beating heart. If, that is, they paid no attention to you and your heart still beats. Their very ruthlessness, however, may perhaps be your salvation, for when they seek a prey they do not turn aside unnecessarily for anything else. Just stay quiet and small, and hope that you are too unimportant for the attention of the Wild Hunt.
However ruthlessly Elsbietka hunted, however, Jolie evaded capture, as did Cotton and Charlotte. Each trail followed was already cold, each clue a thread that had already been carefully snapped, every safe house uncovered already abandoned. The hunts were not exactly fruitless. Here and there a lesser Wolf fell prey to Elsbietka, lagging behind for whatever reason, and Jolie's little rebellious band was eroded by one member. The Wolves Elsbietka did capture were shown no mercy, for while Elsbietka was gifted with intelligence, and strength of will, and even a sort of natural good humor, she had nothing of forgiveness or mercy in her. Like all the chief Primes of Aegidius, she was an old Wolf, but she was much older than Jolie or Cotton or Charlotte, all of whom became Wolves in the modern era. She knew more savage times, had done more savage things, and the cold, moonlit wolfishness inside her had worked its way very deeply into her heart. The captured Wolves were tortured for every lead and clue they could provide, and then beyond, until finally killed by Elsbietka herself, not in mercy, but simply so that they would no longer be a matter of concern. Giles had known exactly what he was doing in setting her rather than Seneca on the trail; her efficiency was extraordinary. Had it been led by a Wolf less cunning and prepared than Jolie, she would have destroyed the rebellion in a week.
Seneca was gone for several weeks, taking a number of Wolves with him, as he attempted both to remind the European packs of the Will of Aegidius and to discover anything that could be discovered about the new Siberian regime.
As for Giles himself, he shut himself up so that while Seneca was away hardly anyone even saw him. Elsbietka did. Returning in the early morning hours from her hunts she would often find him sitting on the balcony, deep in thought, watching the waning moon or staring into the shadows. She would make her reports, and he would nod, sometimes warning her to be careful, and then dismiss her, going back to his meditation on the moon or on the shadows.
So it went. It all changed quite drastically, however, when Seneca returned from his trip.
"The Europeans are holding," he said cheerfully. The cheerfulness seemed accentuated by his brightly colored vest and an extraordinarily bright yellow bowtie, which he somehow managed to wear as debonairly as he wore all his ties. "I had to put a few people in their proper places, but not much more; the worst troublemakers will no longer be a problem at all, and the rest will remember which Scion of Lykaios they should obey for at least a little while. The Siberians seem not to be interfering directly; I think they are cleaning up their own house before moving outward. But Elsbietka's first guess seems to have been right. All indications are that it is Krasnoyarsk doing the consolidating."
"If they are just going to consolidate," Elsbietka replied, "why did they tip their hand so early?"
Seneca shrugged. "You know how these things are. It's unlikely that all the Wolves are happy with the deposing of Vsesalevitch."
Giles, who had been gazing at the ceiling, brought his dark eyes down to bear on them both. "They will strike here first. The time to take over the European packs has passed. Nothing much can be gained from them at this point. They intended from the first either to move directly against me, or else to lure us onto their own turf."
"That seems risky," said Seneca.
"It was a likely course all along," said Giles, "but it is good to get confirmation. A war of Wolves is most efficiently fought as a war of assassination."
All three were quiet a moment. Then Seneca said, "How is the situation with Jolie coming along?"
"Not well," said Elsbietka, looking away. "I have been unable even to get close."
"I didn't expect you to," said Giles."It is fine. Jolie will always be a step ahead" -- at this Elsbietka set her jaw, but if Giles noticed it he did not show it -- "but the important thing now is to keep her moving until she makes the crucial mistake. It will be soon, I think." And at that he dismissed them both.
It was very late that night when Seneca called the mansion and got Marcos alone in the kitchen. "Tell Giles that he will want to see this himself." And he gave an address.
Marcos hung up the phone, turned, and was startled to find Giles leaning beside him with his elbow on the counter, as if he had been there for ages. "It's a dark night tonight, Marcos. Was that Bitka or Sen?"
"Seneca," said Marcos. "He said you would want to see this in person."
Giles sighed. "I was hoping it would be Bitka. It is a very dark night indeed. Make the car ready."
They both met up with Seneca outside a warehouse tucked away in a sort of large industrial park. A few of Seneca's Wolves kept watch on the entrances. "How badly will I not like this?" Giles asked.
"There is nothing about it to like," said Seneca, his face grim, as he threw open a door. The three stepped inside to see a warehouse floor littered with bodies.
"Fifteen," said Seneca, his face still grim. Marcos's face had taken on a similar expression.
Only Giles seemed unfazed; his pale, boyish face seemed as calm as ever it had as he strolled out among the bodies, his hands in his pockets. "Some of these were useful Wolves, " he said after a moment. "It is almost a pity to have lost them."
"It is worse," said Seneca, pointing to a body in the corner. Giles walked over, with Seneca and Marcos right behind him.
Giles looked down at the body a moment, then sighed, and crouched down beside. "Bitka," he said, "I told you not to underestimate her." He looked her over carefully, taking her hand and looking underneath the fingernails. "Very definitely Jolie's work, but Bitka caused some damage in return."
"And no heart," said Seneca, his voice and face still grim.
"Yes," said Giles. "It makes sense. These aren't the old days, when anyone could peel off with just any Wolves; to oppose the Will of Aegidius one needs Primes. And the easiest way for a Wolf to become Prime is to eat the heart of a Prime." He shook his head. "Jolie-cherie, that is cheating; they are supposed to do the killing themselves. Otherwise you get incompetent Primes."
"Eric has no doubt joined the ranks," Seneca said.
For the first time, Giles's expression changed, becoming very hard and cold. "If she killed Bitka simply so that Pretty Puppy could pretend at being important, she will learn to regret it in every cell of her body." The expression relaxed back into his usual calm. "But it would make more sense to share it out. She caught the most powerful Prime she had any chance of catching. She wouldn't waste such a rare opportunity."
He looked at the body again, closed his eyes, and sighed. "It is almost a pity. She never had the full scope of potential that Jolie had, but she was in every way a creature of strong mind and forceful will. Her kind is only found once every few centuries. She joined me shortly after Vsesalevich and I hunted down the last few Scions of Lykaios. We rolled back the savagery, started a new age, enforced the Will of Aegidius. And in all those centuries, she only tried to betray me and rebel against the Will of Aegidius twice. Such a combination of loyalty and competence is nearly unique. Almost a pity."
He rose suddenly. "Marcos, you are in charge here; clean it all up." Marcos nodded and turned away.
"We cannot let this go unanswered," said Seneca.
"You are quite right," said Giles, thinking. Then: "Fifth and Broadmoor."
"What?"
"It is a safehouse Jolie thinks I do not know about."
Seneca stared at him. "You knew this all along and said nothing?"
Giles shrugged. "The point was never for Elsbietka to catch Jolie, but to harry her. And if only Bitka had taken more precautions all would have been well. But, as you say, now there needs to be an answer. It is unlikely that you will find Jolie there; but you will certainly find something."
Seneca did not look happy, but said, "I will look into it immediately."
"Good," said Giles. "I will walk about a bit until Marcos has finished making arrangements."
It was almost dawn when Seneca, back at the mansion, found Giles gazing thoughtfully at the painting of St. Albert.
"We did not find Jolie," said Seneca. "But I think we've learned enough to pin down Cotton."
Giles nodded without turning his head. Then he suddenly said, "Lykaios saved my life, you know."
"Excuse me?" Seneca said, startled at the change of subject.
"During my journey I became ill. I would certainly not have lasted very long. But then came the Bite. Perhaps part of his joke; take the bookish, sick youth and throw him in and watch the other Wolves tear him apart. He always underestimated me. But I survived, and became an assassin, and then later became Prime when I killed the Red Varulv of Shula, whom even Lykaios feared." He was quiet a moment. "They both became recognized as saints," he said nodding at both of the paintings of the two Dominicans. "I doubt I would have; too little done in too short a life. And nothing of the sort can be guaranteed, anyway. But Lykaios stole even the possibility of it."
He was quiet again and Seneca, who did not know what to say in response to this, took this as an implicit command to leave. But as he reached the door, Giles said, "Seneca." It was quiet, but the force of it carried.
Seneca turned to find Giles's dark eyes shining coldly at him like some dark and frosty night. "Yes?"
"Jolie I wish to question. And, as much as I hate to say it, Pretty Puppy as well. And Charlotte. But Cotton has not been useful to me for some time, and there is nothing of importance he can say to me."
Seneca nodded. "I understand," he said, and left.
