Seneca wasted no time. Charlotte and her Wolves were, of course, in hiding with Jolie, and of the other Primes who had sat at the table in the Aegidian Building that day, Elsbietka and Cotton were dead, and Seneca was leading the pro-Aegidius faction. The others had certainly been playing both sides, hoping for Giles to make some mistake, but, well aware of the dangers of direct rebellion against the Wolf King, had not committed themselves to Jolie's rebellion, either. This equivocation was brought to a forceful end, however, when Seneca sent Marcos with the Wild Hunt against them. Alexander surrendered, throwing in his lot with the Wolves at his door. Simon resisted and was torn apart, his Wolves co-opted; Sarah fled.
"Shall we hunt her out?" Marcos asked.
"No," said Seneca. "She is of little consequence right now, and there will be time enough later. We must bring all our force against Jolie."
And this they did, with blitzing speed. Safehouse after safehouse was raided and closed down in rapid succession, all in one night. Wolves in Jolie's faction began to be caught in attempting to desert and flee; they were killed. And in hardly any time at all word came that Jolie, having given up any idea of eliminating Seneca or Giles, was gathering the remnants of her forces in one last attempt to flee. Seneca sent word to Giles: "We may have her pinned down." Then the Wolf-King, who had remained aloof from all else, came in person.
The last safehouse was a well-built old house, preserved for some obscure reason by a historical society; it was large without being particularly showy and in comparison to other houses in the area it did not stand out in any way. Tucked away on a small estate surrounded by a tall stone wall, one could almost miss it from the street, since the street was almost more of a lane lined with trees and hedges, and the estate was situated at a peculiar angle to this lane so that it presented nothing obvious to the street except for an iron gate of singularly uninteresting make. It certainly did not seem to be a lair of monsters.
It is also true, however, that from the street with the iron gate you would not have had any indication that forces were gathering to crush those within. That street was deserted, as were several streets over. The speed of the Wild Hunt is furious, like movement in a gale or a nightmare; on all sides it gathered quietly, unobtrusively, blocks away and out of sight. But perhaps not unsensed?
"There is certainly a large group of Wolves there," said Seneca. "Even I can feel them. Jolie is likely to be there."
Giles tilted his head, as if listening to some distant sound. "Jolie is definitely there," he said. He turned to Seneca. "I am pleased that you can sense them, but if you can sense them, there is a possibility that she can sense us. You can waste no time."
Seneca signalled the Wolves to begin moving in, and turned to follow, but stopped when Giles, who had tilted his head again, suddenly said, "Sen!"
"Yes?"
"They are certainly underground, and I imagine that Jolie has not been so foolish as to lock herself in a cellar. Look for tunnels."
Seneca nodded and was gone, leaving Giles standing alone, gazing quietly up at the burning stars. It was a dark night and the moon was new, so, despite the light from the city, the heavens seemed to be a vast congregation of tiny silver and gold fires. At first there was no sound, but as the wind began to pick up, the branches of the trees began to wave, great boughs creaking and little branches chittering, so excitedly that the shushing leaves began to join in.
"True," Giles said. He was no longer staring up at the sky, but out into the distance.
"No," he then said. "I have already told you. She is useful." There was a pause, and then he put his hand to his mouth as if considering something. Then he shook his head. "No, that is not the way. Everything must be done according to order -- pondus, numerum, et mensuram, to a nicety. You have your end. Leave the means to me." Then came a long sentence in a language I do not know, sternly spoken. Then he smiled and said, "Then we are in agreement." And he, too, was gone.
For such a prize as Jolie the Wild Hunt had left off all subtlety and stealth. The iron gate had been torn from its hinges, the door of the house ripped out and tossed aside, every window broken open, every room turned over. The prey, however, was not discovered. It took only a few seconds, however, to find the descending stairs behind the sliding panel off the pantry, on the other side of the wall from the ascending ones. At the bottom, however, they found themselves stymied by a door. It was not like any other door, but more like the door to a safe, solid steel, very thick, unbudgeable. Busting the wall on each side of it only discovered more steel. Seneca sent Wolves around to try to bust a hole through somewhere, but although they made a great ruckus tearing up the floor, they seemed to have no luck. It was at this point that Giles arrived.
"Stand aside," he said, descending the stairs. "And be quiet."
He closed his eyes and set his fingertips lightly on the door. A moment went by, then another, and then he murmured quietly -- only Seneca was near enough to hear him -- "Yes, the very same, as you are the very same." And at that he opened his eyes and hit the door hard with his palm.
There was a great metallic tearing sound as the door fell inward. Giles and Seneca stepped into the room as the Wolves streamed in behind them. This was no cellar, but simply a little annex room of steel and thick concrete, with four tunnels heading off in various directions. Giles tilted his head as if listening. Then he pointed to one of the tunnels, and said to Seneca, "You will need most of your forces through there, but a good minority went through there." He pointed to another tunnel. Then to another. "Don't bother with that one. And the last one is for me alone. Don't forget that I want Charlotte and Eric alive." And, without waiting for any response, he was in Wolf form, moving swiftly down the last tunnel.
The Jolie-wolf had a head start, and she moved swiftly, but somehow it was not swiftly enough. It came through the darkness, clear and ruthlessly cold, a single inexorable command: "Be human." You have yourself no doubt experienced, or can imagine, how a comment spoken out of the darkness seems to come from every side and pierce you sharply, especially when you are tense or stressed. So here. But there was more to it. When you are dreaming and suddenly forced awake, one reality sweeps away another. The dream may cling, may resist, in an attempt to endure, but the waking world simply pushes it aside like curtain. Perhaps, too, it sometimes happens that within a dream, one dream shoves another aside, so that a mild dream becomes a nightmare, or a nightmare becomes suddenly peaceful. What happened at the command was much like this. It was not merely a command to be obeyed, it was a reality of its own, sweeping aside the reality of Jolie-as-Wolf as completely and cleanly as one dream might sweep aside another, or the waking world might sweep aside the world of dreams. It was not merely a command to be obeyed: it was a command that could not be disobeyed.
So it was that Jolie found herself lying on the ground, inexorably, inevitably human, as Giles, in human form, stepped out of the shadows into what, incomprehensibly, given that they were underground, seemed to be full moonlight. So it was that her light eyes looked defiantly up into his dark ones. What she was thinking, I do not know. Perhaps she was thinking about how swiftly it had all fallen, like a house of cards. Perhaps she was puzzling over how he had caught up with her. Perhaps she was wondering what it would be like to die. I do not know. What I do know is that the Wolf-King, smiling cheerfully, and standing over her with all the nonchalance of a friend meeting a friend in the park, spoke:
"Jolie, I am glad to see you again. We have much to talk about, you and I."
