Capitulum Duodecimum

Since the moon had been waning for some time, it was a dark night. A long, black limousine stopped at a lamplit street corner, and out of it stepped Charlotte and a rough-looking man. She looked around and saw another limousine slowly coming down the street, then nodded to the car she had stepped out of, which then drove off. When the second limousine pulled up, she got in and sat across from the ruddy-faced, beady-eyed Cotton.

"Are you sure you weren't followed?" he asked.

"Of course," she said contemptuously.

"One can never be too sure. And the Fifth Street safehouse was raided. You know that?"

"Of course," she said again, with the same note of contempt.

Cotton waited expectantly for her to say something else, but when she did not, he burst out, "Well, what is Jolie doing about this?"

"Does she need to do anything about it?"

"As long as He is breathing down our necks--my neck!--she had better be."

Charlotte looked idly at her fingernails as if they were a more interesting subject than Cotton's complaints. "She handled Elsbietka, didn't she?"

"Yes," said Cotton coldly. "After I had lost half a dozen Wolves. And all that did was shift our problem from Elsbietka to Seneca."

"And if we take Seneca out of the picture, he will just be replaced by Marcos, or Aveline, or someone else. So what would you have Jolie do?"

"There is only one thing to do," said Cotton, who was getting even more red-faced than usual. "What we set out to do in the first place."

Charlotte regarded him at length, her expression filled with as much contempt as her voice had been. Finally she spoke, "Jolie and I have been wondering when you will finally step up and do something yourself. We've made most of the arrangements to elude pursuit, we took care of Elsbietka, we seem to be expected to take Him out, and what have you done?"

"I've put all my Wolves at your disposal. I've bankrolled everything she's asked without question...."

"Yes, and did you think that we were somehow employees of yours, hired to carry out a revolution on your behalf, while you hunkered down to collect the benefits at the end?"

Cotton's expression went from angry to actively hostile, and he looked at Charlotte's bodyguard in the seat beside her as if measuring how much trouble the Wolf would be if Cotton reached over and strangled her. But he said, "What does our would-be Wolf-Queen want?"

"Not to be Wolf-Queen," Charlotte said. "But she is thinking that since you are expecting her to take care of Aegidius on her own, the least you could do is work harder to keep Seneca, Marcos, and all the others from interfering with that."

"Seneca, Marcos, and all the others? She doesn't ask much, does she?"

"If you wish, she'll take them and you can take Him," Charlotte said sweetly. "I think we would also find that a satisfactory arrangement. I certainly would prefer it; I saw what happened to Alain and Hugh. I'd rather risk your mind than my own. But Jolie is willing to make Him our special project, if only you will keep the others off for long enough that we can make some headway."

Cotton was silent for a moment as he looked out the window. "Very well," he said. "But I do not have the resources to do it for long."

"We know," said Charlotte maliciously. "But it will not take more than a couple of weeks. He will be in for a surprise or two, if Jolie can only get room to breathe."

The limousine returned to the corner at which it had picked her up; she looked down the street to see her own car waiting about a block away, and stepped out. The limousine pulled away, and as it did so she waited for her car to pull up. When it did not, she and her bodyguard exchanged frowning glances and cautiously approached it. The engine was running, but the car was empty and the doors were locked. There was a rustle behind them.

As Cotton's limousine pulled away, he was swearing under his breath. "Jolie will have to be taken care of before long," said Cotton.

His driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. "Do you want me to put someone on it now, or do you want to wait?"

"Wait," said Cotton. "If she really can do something about the Wolf-King, it will be better to have him out of the way first; and if Giles or Seneca puts an end to her, we can step up with clean hands." Then, suddenly: "What the hell is happening?"

A car had turned in front of the limousine and stopped at a stop sign, where it refused to move, while a car from the cross street had turned in to block the other lane. The driver threw the limousine into reverse, but the way behind had already been blocked. Cotton swore, and swore again when Seneca stepped out of one of the cars behind them.

What happened next happened very quickly. Cotton threw open the door and at the same time, there was no Cotton, only a great wolf-shaped darkness racing out into the night. A slight fraction of a blink after that there was no Seneca, only another wolf-like bit of night, more sleak, chasing after the first. There was no transition, no process; just as in a dream there are no fluid changes, but things become other things at once, so here. And the Wolves, too, were not like shaggy beasts. Standing still, you would have sworn them a trick of the night shadows, a darkness that fooled the eye into thinking a wolf or dog was there; perhaps you have had such an experience while out at night. But the Wolves, unlike those tricks of night, were really there, and this could be seen as they moved: too quick to be animal, they were too living to be shadow. They were darker than the night around them, but with eyes like cold red fire, and they moved smoothly in a quiet blur of darkness.

It could hardly, then, been more than a second after the opening of the door that the Cotton-wolf had dashed acrossed the street into a small alleyway, with the Seneca-wolf right at its heels. Down the alley they went and up the next street. To the right across that street was a large warehouse parking lot surrounded by chain-link, and the Cotton-wolf suddenly swerved and, with a great and impossible leap, was over the fence and rushing across the parking lot. The Seneca-wolf followed immediately, but the leap had gained Cotton a few yards, and as they crossed the parking lot and reached the warehouses and the great piles of crates surrounding them, Seneca began to move more cautiously. This gained Cotton a few feet more. Thus it was that Cotton turned a corner and, when Seneca turned it as well, although just a split second later, he had vanished.

Or had apparently vanished. Seneca continued stalking. Except for a little yellow lamp above an exit door down the way there was no light; everything was blackness and mazey piles of crates and debris looming in the faint light like great towers. Through this labyrinth the Seneca-wolf continued the silent hunt, moving more slowly, with smooth motions like a panther in the jungle, swinging its sleak head this way and that. Somewhere in the darkness Cotton waited, measuring each step of the other as he waited to spring. And spring he did. But whether he had made some prior noise too slight for human ear to hear, or had waited too long, or was not swift enough, the Seneca-wolf was ready for it, and instead of a swift and silent kill for the Cotton-wolf, the two rolled over, knocking over one of the towers of crates with a great crash. Over and over they turned, and when they stopped, Seneca was on top with his jaws locked onto Cotton's throat. The Cotton-wolf struggled, but the grip held. Seneca let go, and in another flicker of time, there were only two ordinary men there, one standing and looking down at the other, who lay on the ground staring upward with a pale, still face. Seneca took a small gun out of his pocket, fired repeatedly into Cotton's chest, and then walked away.

The whole chase had taken only a few minutes.

Seneca rejoined the other Wolves, who had taken down Cotton's driver, and the cars in which they came dispersed. "To the mansion, Marcos," he told his driver; "we have good news to report."

They had hardly gone more than a few blocks, however, when Seneca suddenly said, "Stop the car!"

On the side of the street, all alone, an enigmatic smile on his face, stood Giles Scott.

Seneca opened the door for him. "Lovely evening, Sen," Giles said as he got in.

"You should not be out alone," Seneca replied sharply.

The dark eyes flashed at him with something like sarcastic amusement and then they closed, bringing the thick and almost feminine black lashes to rest against the pale cheeks. "Well?" he said. "

Cotton is no longer a problem," said Seneca.

"Good," Giles replied. "And Charlotte?"

Seneca, who was still looking at Giles with a sort of sharpness in his eye, shook his head slowly. "We think she was meeting him tonight, but we seem to have missed her entirely."

"Ah, well," said Giles quietly, no expression on his face. "We are still ahead."

"And what are you doing all the way out here in the middle of the night?"

"I came to join in the fun," said Giles, his eyes still closed. They opened suddenly with their usual disconcerting gaze, and there was a trace of a smile around his mouth. "It looks like your efficiency has robbed me of any chance to play. But it is still very good news."

The two said nothing again on the way home.

If it was good news for Giles, it was bad news for Jolie, but she learned nothing of it until the sun was rising and Charlotte came stumbling in. The blonde woman was in considerable pain.

"We were ambushed," she said. "Cotton is dead, and I barely escaped with my life."

"You've broken your arm."

"Oh, it was not I who broke it, I assure you," Charlotte replied. "But it is healing already. Jolie, we can't simply let them pick us off one by one. We need something substantial."

Jolie said nothing, lost in thought.

Capitulum Undecimum

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.