VIII - Cloud on the Horizon
"Oh, we have several works on that subject in here," said the librarian. She was so helpful, Wolf thought, finding him stacks and stacks of books, documents, maps, papers, and a few strange plastic slips she called fish. Obviously they weren't fish at all, but if she wanted to call them that, he didn't have a problem with it. She even showed him how to read all the microscopic information that was printed on the "fishes". It was great!
"Wolf . . ." said Virginia hesitantly. Her voice reminded him of what she'd said just before the librarian had come in with more reference material. His lovely wife was due for her doctor's appointment, and, much as he didn't want to leave the wonderful and enormous library, he didn't want to miss the appointment either. Last time, the doctor had used some fancy technological instrument that let even Virginia hear the cub's heartbeat. He'd been able to tell from her reaction that she really hadn't completely believed there was a cub growing inside her until that moment. He didn't want to miss this month's appointment, no sirree.
A few long strides brought him up to the librarian, who had plunged ahead of him down a hallway. Quickly, he explained about how, even though he was still extremely interested in anything related to Wilhelm Grimm, they had to leave for the appointment. Well, of course, she understood immediately, and he promised her he'd come back right afterwards, although Virginia had changed that to a "in a couple of days". As soon as she'd said it, he remembered they were due back in the Fourth Kingdom for the weekly progress report the next day, and that Virginia wanted to leave that evening.
He turned around and smiled at her. She smiled back. Cripes, she was so beautiful, he thought. And what had he been thinking about, with that thought he'd had about her not quite believing the cub existed until she'd heard its heartbeat? He himself still couldn't quite believe he was actually married to her; that she was really in love with him, really carrying his cub, even though he could hear both their heartbeats without assistance, even though he could plainly see the fullness of her womb now, even while she was dressed.
Oh, my. Why did he have to go and think such a thing, he wondered? But it was too late; he'd thought it now, and of course it made him think immediately of how succulent she looked while she was undressed. Not that she didn't look perfectly succulent now, of course, but . . . Oh, he did need to go outside. Why did they keep it so hot in the library, he wanted to know?
It was snowing when they finally left. Not very hard, just a gentle sifting that served to refresh the dirty slushpiles left over from the last snowfall. The sky was heavily overcast and it looked much later than it actually was, however. Twinkling lights - mostly white, but some multicolored - shone in many of the shop windows, giving the great city even more of an otherworldly appearance than it already had. They were for a holiday, Virginia had told him, and he'd thought it was the midwinter feast, but she'd said no, it was a religious holiday, and gone on to try and explain some things that he really didn't understand. Most of it sounded exactly like the midwinter feast to him; only the reason for celebrating was different.
She'd hailed them a cab. They walked to and from the library sometimes - Wolf enjoyed it a lot; he sure got to see more than he did from the cab window - but he'd already made them later than they should have been by spending such a long time in the library's archives. Virginia had taken him on the subway once, and that was enough. He'd sweated it out and they'd gotten where they were going - by now he'd forgotten where - but he never wanted to go through that experience again. Not that anything terrible had happened to them on the subway, but there was just something about the underground transit that made his hackles rise. It somehow had both the threatening presence of a voracious predator and the atmosphere of a prison. He didn't see how so many people could simply ignore that feeling, but thousands of them did, including Virginia. She'd noticed how uncomfortable it made him, though, and had never taken him on it again, although if she had wanted to, he would have ridden it regardless.
The cab stopped for a light just before the park and he looked out the window at the Plaza Hotel. He smiled. If he squinted at it, he could almost see the outlines of a royal castle of his own world. Something about the lines of the architecture was reminiscent of that, whether the elements used in the design, the proportions, or something else. And no matter what the holiday was being celebrated, presents were involved. It had taken some time, but he thought he'd come up with a nice surprise for Virginia. He hoped she liked it.
Tom Oberon stared thoughtfully out the 29th floor window at the dark area of the park below before finally twisting the brushed aluminum blinds in his office shut. The silence of his surroundings permeated him. It was late; he should go home, he thought. Everyone else had.
But that wouldn't make the silence go away.
It had been a year now since his wife, Julie, had died. Well, almost a year, he acknowledged. But a few more days, what's the difference? He'd supposed he'd gotten over it as much as he ever would: He could function at work now, his clientele had come back - hell, he even enjoyed what he did again. But that was only while he was actually working. Going home was the worst, even more than waking up alone. At least when he awoke, he could hurry and fill the emptiness in his life with his work. Going home, he could only wait for the workday to start again, so he liked to put it off for as long as possible.
He looked absently down at the file still sitting on his desk. Virginia Lewis Wolf, the last patient he'd seen today. There was a bit of a minor mystery to her - not much, it was true, but enough to give him an excuse to sit back down and ponder it, although a year ago he would probably never have bothered. He uncovered a little notepad and started making a bulleted list:
∙Account paid by Robert Murray (with full knowledge of family)
∙Patient extremely reticent about discussing her own pregnancy
∙Odd behavior of husband in park at first meeting
The last comment was probably not worth mentioning, as it had only been Tom's fleeting impression that Mr. Simon Wolf had somehow morphed into a werewolf. He'd thought he'd been hallucinating at first, until he'd heard four skinheads claim, on a news report later that day, that they'd been chased by a werewolf in the park. Of course, no one had believed them, but Tom had been startled when he'd heard it. And he knew that because of it he'd probably given far more attention to Wolf than he usually did to his patients' husbands.
But he was digressing from the topic he'd decided to study: his patient, Virginia, not her husband. He picked up a pen to scratch the comment about Wolf from the list, but stopped. No, better leave that, he decided, though he couldn't have said why. Still, he made a point of forcing himself to analyze the other comments.
Why would Murray pay for her prenatal care? he asked himself. The usual reason, that Murray himself, or someone in his family, had fathered Virginia's child didn't seem to apply. For one thing, Wolf was far too excited about the baby for that to be true, nor was there anything in Virginia's manner that would suggest she was withholding information from her husband. But, he thought, if the Murrays have nothing specifically to do with her being pregnant, then they must at least owe her - or Wolf - something. Tom knew the Murrays. They weren't philanthropists. In fact they were quite the opposite. Must be something really big, then, he mused. Especially since, so far as he could tell, not only were they paying his fee, they were also footing the bill (and it was a large one, to judge by the Wolfs' address) for Virginia's and Wolf's living expenses.
The big professional question for Tom, however, was: Was Virginia's reluctance (well, more than reluctance - refusal, really) to talk about her own pregnancy directly a result of whatever had happened with the Murrays, or was it something else - something he, as her doctor, should know about? Usually he preferred the quiet patients to the ones who chattered on endlessly, questioning him on such "medical" subjects as how many guests they could safely invite to a dinner party while they were expecting, and so forth, but Virginia was in a class by herself. Normally the quiet ones could be drawn out, but he knew instinctively that if he pushed too hard, Virginia would simply stop seeing him. So he'd decided - wisely, he thought - that she'd be better off getting blind prenatal care than no prenatal care at all. He also knew that all things being equal - that is, if her pregnancy was truly uneventful, as most were, that it would make no difference. The trouble was, he could see events cropping up on the horizon.
They weren't major events in terms of Virginia's safety. If anything, she was probably one of the healthiest patients he had. No, what concerned him now was that he suspected her timing was all wrong, and he couldn't directly ask her about it without frightening her away.
According to his records, she was sixteen weeks pregnant, but by his measurements, she was more like twenty. Ninety-five percent of the time, when this happened, it just meant the patient was mistaken about the time of conception. But in a hundred percent of those cases, he could ask his patient questions. Not so with Virginia, and his attempt to trick some information out of her had been feeble at best, as well as ill-timed: He'd (jokingly, he thought) asked her if she felt the baby moving yet. The question had alarmed her - though she had valiantly tried to avoid answering - and he realized she'd thought he'd meant that something might be wrong if she'd felt nothing. So he'd had to reassure her and make something up about some mothers thinking they felt something that early. And all that and he still had no real information: Virginia was a first-time mother and few of them recognized the sensation even if they felt it at twenty weeks. What he really needed to do in cases like this was an ultrasound, but he somehow knew that even the suggestion would scare her away permanently.
What he couldn't figure out was why. Over and over again he'd tried to come up with something, some reason for her secretiveness. The easiest explanation was that she wanted Wolf to believe the child was his when in fact it wasn't. But Tom didn't believe it. She wasn't keeping her secrets from Wolf, she was keeping them from him. In fact, on more than one occasion, she'd tried to shush her husband up, as if the information he was offering would give her away. Not that it had worked; Wolf had blissfully ignored her and gone on discussing - what was it the last time? - how he'd wanted to make sure she was getting enough protein. Oversolicitous, yes, but certainly harmless. Wasn't it?
A small corner of his mind whispered werewolf baby, but he pushed the thought away as he had whenever he'd thought it before. That's ridiculous! he insisted to himself, but immediately that same corner of his mind countered with, but what about what you saw?
You see yourself, he admitted. Your love for Julie in Wolf's for Virginia – what you'd like to have had the power to do to her attackers . . . He looked down at the notepad and saw that he'd doodled a little stick-figure werewolf. It was holding a heart that said 'Julie.' He tore it up and threw it away. Maybe come morning his thoughts would be clearer.
He came out of the medical building near an entrance to the park, as he usually did. Unlike usual, however, he decided suddenly to cut through the park on his way home. Most of the time he took a cab, but it really wasn't too far and he was in no hurry. And the park still had his wife's blood on its hands; it was no coincidence that the path he took led past the scene of her death.
Streetlights flooded the walkway, though the nearby trees remained lost in darkness. He strolled easily, neither hurrying nor hesitating, watching the breath explode from his mouth into the cold each time he exhaled. Rock salt, poured on the walk to melt the snow and ice, crunched under his feet softly. All else was quiet.
Soft laughter broke into his reverie: a female voice, followed closely by a male's. Though he couldn't yet see them, they seemed to be getting closer.
The next burst of gaiety was abruptly cut off by the dull thunk of a snowball's impact. Several more snowballs quickly followed, then he heard a voice say, "Wolf, quit it!" followed by a giggle.
Even without the clue of her husband's name, he recognized her as his patient, Virginia.
He found himself trudging through knee-high drifts of snow to hide in the darkness of the cover of trees, scolding himself all the way when he realized what he was doing.
You're spying on them you know that? he demanded of himself. What exactly do you expect to see? They're just having a snowball fight. But then he countered, In Central Park, after dark, and off a main path? though he knew the argument was hopeless. After all, where was he right now? It was, however, too late to simply pass them casually without having them wonder what he was getting up to in the shadows. They'd come into view, both wearing long overcoats and mufflers, both hatless. Tom watched as Wolf pelted his wife with a couple more snowballs, then fell for an old trick: Virginia pretended to be hurt and Wolf immediately came up to comfort her – and just as quickly got a snowball thrust down the collar of his coat. He yelped, then scooped up his laughing wife into his arms. Tom felt voyeuristic, and the feeling was not made better by Virginia's next words, "Come on, Wolf, we have to get back," she said, "And doesn't a nice warm bed sound more comfortable than in the snow?"
"Well, you could lay on my coat," her husband offered, then laughed at her hesitation. "I was kidding," he told her. "Let's go. Where is it again?"
"Right here somewhere," she replied, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her nose. "There, between those two trees." She pointed.
Tom's mouth dropped open at the sight. A vague, flickering, bluish light shone from the otherwise dark area. He wondered whose lantern shown from within the copse of trees, and what sort of meeting Virginia and Wolf were headed for – having decided in that moment to follow them and investigate. But he was unprepared for what happened next: They both stepped up to the light and vanished into it. A moment later it winked out.
Tom blinked and squinted, stepping back out onto the path. Surely they had just entered a small grove of trees and whoever had the lantern had simply turned it off, he thought. But he had to investigate, just to make sure; just to satisfy his own overloaded imagination that nothing supernatural had taken place. But he couldn't do it tonight. If they were in the trees, they'd surely see him coming. So he went home and spent what was left of the evening trying to conjure up more reasons for their strange behavior. In the morning, he went back, confounded to discover that the snow beyond the place where he'd seen the light was untrampled. Two sets of footprints, one large and one small, led to nowhere; they simply stopped. Tom stared at them in disbelief. From the corner of his eye, something winked at him in the morning sun. With an effort of will, he tore his gaze from the impossible footprints and looked down at something round and gold, a coin. He picked it up. On one side was imprinted the profile of a monarch surrounded by the words "Wendell, Third Reign of the House of White"; the other bore a scripted 'w' backed by two crossed swords and set with a crown in the center and the legend, "Fourth Kingdom". Old toothmarks sunk into its surface proved it was the real thing; no joke was being played here, unless the jokester was extremely rich. Tom hefted it a moment, thoughtfully, then put it in his pocket and walked away.
Virginia wasn't sure what exactly woke her; she wasn't quite inclined to get up yet - snuggling against Wolf felt too good. Their room in the palace was somewhat drafty and cold on winter mornings, despite a servant's having already built the fire.
Maybe that's what woke me, she thought, but then wondered why Wolf hadn't heard it. He still seemed sound asleep next to her, his arms wound around her (why his arm didn't go to sleep in that position she didn't know), one hand resting on the swelling in her belly.
She twisted restlessly, needing to change position, but he went on sleeping, his impossibly long eyelashes lying peacefully against his cheek.
How come men are the only ones who get naturally long, thick eyelashes like that? she wondered idly, curious then if the baby would inherit those from him.Only if it's a boy, she decided.
But that line of thought brought her back to her last doctor's visit, two days ago. Not that she hadn't thought about it in the meantime.
She couldn't help it; every time she went to Dr. Oberon, she was terrified - terrified he would somehow detect that her baby wasn't entirely human. She didn't know what would happen if he did, but she was sure it wouldn't be good. Various scenarios had occurred to her and most of them ended with them all locked away somewhere as laboratory specimens – or worse, Wolf and the baby were locked away and Virginia, having been discarded after the birth, couldn't get near either of them. That really frightened her, even though she knew rationally that it wasn't likely to happen. They could always make a run for the mirror if they had to; it wasn't like gynecologists kept security guards around just in case their patients needed to be locked up. She'd just seen too many grade B science fiction movies on the late show – and of course been abandoned by her own mother. She wondered if she'd ever completely get over that fear – of being left alone.
Predictable science fiction plot notwithstanding, she'd still be a lot more comfortable and relaxed if she didn't have to see Dr. Oberon every month – not that there was anything wrong with the man, he was very nice. Virginia had just, after having thought about it for awhile, decided that seeing him was rather useless. After all, she reasoned, suppose she got sick, or suffered from one of the problems pregnant women could get? (She had no idea what they might be and didn't want to – Wolf was the one who had read the books the doctor had given to her about pregnancy and childbirth.) But what could be done about it if her baby weren't even human anyway, or at least what could be done without them finding out the truth?
Wolf himself didn't seem to help. Despite her pleading every time they went to the doctor, he talked like only Wolf could about what seemed like every tiny detail of her pregnancy – and even stuff she didn't think had anything to do with being pregnant. She always spent the entire time petrified that he'd say something to give away what he was, even though she had to acknowledge he was right when he'd told her that he'd had lots of practice at hiding his nature from the world, so it wasn't likely to just slip out.
She looked down at his face again, this time catching the slight hint of a smile about his lips. On closer examination, she noticed the glint of green peeking out from under those lashes.
"You're awake!" she exclaimed, but he still feigned not to hear her. She squirmed and stuck her fingers in his ribs. He jerked away and laughed, his eyes finally opening completely.
"I was listening to the cub, it's awake too," he informed her.
"I thought you said you could only hear it during full moon," she countered.
"It's more noticeable then," he acknowledged, "But since I know what I'm looking for, I can hear it sometimes now too." His smile told her he was still listening to it.
Virginia couldn't feel anything, not even something she could pretend was the baby moving, like maybe her stomach growling or gas. It somehow didn't seem quite fair; after all, she was the one carrying it. She was the one who had to have her body all stretched and bloated out of shape.
But that thought only brought her back to thinking about Wolf's motives again: Not that she thought he didn't love her, but she couldn't help wondering if it was a lover he saw when he looked at her or simply the mother of his child. Sure, they'd made love last night, but she'd reached the point now where they really had to get creative to do it, and of course that made her feel even more like a small whale. Maybe, she thought, maybe he's only doing it at all just to try to please me. After all, I can hardly be called sexy looking like this.
"You ready for the big day?" Wolf purred into her ear, interrupting her mental rambling.
"What?" she asked, then, remembering, "Oh. The midwinter feast."
He smiled.
"I'll bet Wendell has a wonderful breakfast planned."
"Probably," she agreed.
It was, in fact, an enormous breakfast, served buffet style in the ballroom, which had been festooned with greenery and red ribbons for the occasion. Virginia blinked when she saw it. The smell of the freshly cut spruce, the colors, the food, and the large stack of presents piled on and up the grand staircase made her look around for a Christmas tree, but of course there was none. No wonder he thought all the Christmas decorations in New York were for the midwinter feast, she thought.
"Oooh, look at the presents, Virginia," Wolf exclaimed, though not until he had finished piling a large stack of bacon on his plate.
"Yeah, there sure are a lot of them," she agreed.
"No, no," he said. "I mean look at the presents."
Well, one thing about Wolf, he wasn't subtle. Not about things like this anyway, she thought wryly.
"Okay, Wolf, I'll look," she agreed. "Just let me get something to eat first."
She glanced over the buffet, groaning with such breakfast delicacies as smoked salmon, kippers, crusty bread and moldy cheeses, and selected a pear. Wolf frowned.
"Oh, Virginia, you need to eat more than that," he said.
She glared at him.
"Wolf," she said severely. It was enough.
"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "It's just that I want to be sure you eat enough. I don't want you to start getting sick again."
"We've had this conversation before," she pointed out. "You can't control everything I eat."
"I know," he replied in a tiny voice. He sounded so pitiful that she relented.
"I was going to come back for more anyway," she told him, and deliberately changed the subject, "What is it you wanted to show me?"
"Oh!" he bounced over to the grand staircase. "Look at these!"
She went along with it, her eyes scanning the tags until she finally spied her own name written in Wolf's florid hand.
The box was enormous. She stared at it a moment, then looked up at Wolf curiously. He was staring back at her gleefully.
"Bet you can't guess what it is," he taunted.
I'll bet I can't either, she thought, and asked, "Is this what you said you got me in New York?"
He nodded, still grinning from ear to ear.
How'd he get it through the mirror? she wanted to know. And when?
"Go ahead, guess," he insisted.
"Oh, I can't," she said.
"Pleeeeeeeeeeezzzzze," he pleaded.
She sighed.
"Okay, let me think a minute."
She thought. It couldn't be clothes or jewelry, the box was too big. She had no idea at all what would come in a box that size. In fact, she hadn't gotten a present that big since . . . Oh.
It wasn't really for her after all, she thought. It was for the baby. The only things that came in boxes that size were for children. Probably a cradle or a baby swing (she hoped it wasn't a bike or something, but she really didn't think Wolf would get that far ahead of the baby's development).
"Well?" he asked hopefully.
"I really don't know," she lied, trying to hide her disappointment.
"Oh, come on," he continued to cajole her.
She knew he wouldn't give up.
"Okay, um . . . an elephant?"
"Nope!"
"I don't know then."
"Guess again."
She sighed again.
"No, Wolf. I want to wait and be surprised."
"Oh," he said, somewhat mollified. "Well you'll never guess anyway."
"Then there's no point in trying," she declared. "Now let's go eat breakfast."
That never failed to distract him, she knew. The trouble was, nowadays he seemed more interested in her diet than his own.
The evening still looked like the Christmas special to Virginia. After the feast, which had involved 26 courses and taken seven hours, everyone gathered in the ballroom, now lit with thousands of candles, and sang songs. Only, none of the songs were ones she recognized, not even Jingle Bells, so she just listened while everyone else sang. Wolf, of course, sang loudly and exuberantly, but he had a pretty good voice, she thought.
Wendell made an effort to join in and look convincingly jolly, even though Rupert had had to go back to his own hold for the holiday. All the lords were required to be in attendance at home for the midwinter feast, where they were expected to take provisions to the needy in their districts, so Wendell had not, nor would he ever, expect Rupert to stay on at the palace during the festivities. Similarly, Wolf had not expected his Aunt Millie to return with his sister Dierdre's baby due any moment. She still hadn't given birth; they knew that much at least, since Wendell had gifted Millie with a magic missive to send back to them as a birth announcement, and it hadn't yet appeared.
Samantha the Necromancer had stayed on, however, as had Princess Gwendolyn. In fact, the sight of the fairy Ice Princess sitting quite close to Wendell made Virginia more than a little curious. She'd never managed to discover - not that she'd tried terribly hard - exactly what the friction was between her and Rupert. Virginia, at least, had assumed there was friction there because of the comment both Rupert and Wendell had made upon her arrival and by Rupert's diffident behavior towards Gwendolyn. But whatever it was, Wendell obviously knew about it and apparently didn't care, because he had never seemed less than natural talking to her, including now.
The music came to a stop. Wendell stood up.
"All right," he announced. "Now it's time for what you've all been waiting for -- at least for what Wolf's been waiting for -- since dinner ended."
Everyone laughed. He beckoned to a servant, who came forward carrying a red velvet bag. They'd all had to draw numbers before the feast and Virginia knew that now Wendell was going to select who won the right to give away the first gift.
Wendell unfolded the paper he'd chosen and looked up.
"Seven," he said knowingly.
Wolf howled and everyone else groaned. He'd told everyone his number was seven so often they all had it memorized. Grasping Virginia by the wrist, he nearly dragged her to the present-filled stairway, where he fixed her with an eager and expectant stare.
She tried to play along and act excited, since she knew everyone was in such a festive mood, but her heart wasn't really in it. She didn't need positive proof that Wolf only saw a mother when he looked at her now and was really afraid she might start crying when she opened the box.
Oh, what the hell, she finally decided. Maybe they'll think they're tears of joy. Except their ignorance of how she really felt would probably only make it worse.
She pulled on the ribbon and it fell away. Slowly she lifted the lid and peeked in. The box was empty.
She shot a curious glance at Wolf while she heard her father ask, "What is it, honey?"
"It's empty," she said, her voice small and full of confusion.
"Oh, no . . . no it's not," her husband insisted. "Here." He dived headfirst into the box to get something, emerging with a small slip of paper, which he handed reverently to her.
She took it, though her eyes never left the look of happy self-satisfaction on his face until she felt it in her hand. Then she looked down and read:
My dearest sweet Virginia,
I love you so much no gift seems enough for me to get for you. But I found out there was a special New Year's celebration at the Plaza Hotel, so I've reserved us a room there for it. I wanted our first New Year's together to be extra romantic, especially since it's the last one before we become parents. I hope you feel the same.
Your loving husband,
Wolf
She looked up at him and then down at the paper again.
"Do you like it?" she heard him ask earnestly.
"I love it, Wolf," she replied, her voice choked with tears.
Virginia's grandmother watched the exchange with an attitude of arch irony. In her opinion, Wolf's gift was no proper present. A man of means should get his wife jewelry, not a night in a hotel, no matter how swank. That Virginia seemed so pleased by the token only showed how low the girl's expectations had sunk. Not that much could be done to alter the situation since she'd gotten herself pregnant, but it didn't mean that Simon couldn't be educated. And, seeing his hand resting familiarly on Virginia's swelling belly, she thought that his education might do well to start with that: It just didn't do to show that kind of affection in public; it was vulgar. Not to mention it drew unneeded attention to just how big her granddaughter was getting. Surely that couldn't be natural. She knew that Virginia's appetite had increased quite a bit. The girl was going to be sorry after the child was born and she was left with all that extra baggage to get rid of.
A part of Helen whispered to her that this place was different, that Simon was different and that it might have some effect on how Virginia carried the baby, but she pushed that voice angrily aside, focusing instead on Simon's status, or rather, his lack thereof: Different, yes, she thought, He's different, all right. He's a member of an oppressed minority. And while King Wendell might have granted them that pardon, it's not likely to have any more immediate effect than the civil rights legislation had for the blacks in 1964. Oh, Virginia, how could you have let yourself get mixed up with him? A short order cook - at least a white short order cook - would have been a better catch. Even your father was a better catch.
She noticed suddenly that one of the king's courtiers was watching her and realized that her expression was probably anything but attractive. Deliberately, she relaxed her facial muscles and took a deep breath. What was the matter with her anyway, she wondered? Why did she have to be so sour, especially at Christmastime? (She couldn't think of the holiday as anything except Christmas.) Simon might be a minority, but he was a national hero and a friend of the king. She ought to focus on that, not on how her granddaughter could have done better. After all, it was too late to do anything about it now, so why dwell on it? Careful, Helen, you're going to start in again. Think of something else!
Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was to wonder exactly what was so different about Simon's kind. She'd been rather successful at ignoring that topic before, telling herself that there probably was no real difference; that it was like that incomprehensible racial thing in Bosnia, where people who had no connection to the place couldn't tell the difference between the two sides. No, wait, she thought. Wasn't that a religious difference? Oh, who knows. It's just ridiculously stupid, like this probably is. The main thing is that Simon doesn't look any different than anyone else.
He does seem rather hairy, the voice in her given to argument observed.
Well, so are a lot of men. In fact there are plenty of men in the world a lot hairier than Simon.
Which world? The old world or this one? This is a magic world. Elves and fairies live here, you've seen them.
Yes, of course, but Simon obviously isn't an elf or a fairy.
No, he's a half-wolf, came the reply. What exactly does that mean?
She caught her breath; the mental image that came to her was similar to that of a satyr: Could her grandson-in-law have a wolf's body from the waist down? Was that what it meant? Unable to resist, she eyed him critically, though at the moment it was rather hard as he was wearing a frock coat. Come to think of it, he always seemed to be wearing some kind of long coat. She wondered if that meant anything, but decided her fears were probably groundless since she could see his feet - well, his shoes - perfectly well, and they appeared to be normal human feet, not paws.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of her son-in-law, accompanied by that annoying woman with the cat. She sighed wearily as she prepared herself to be civil to them.
"Merry Yule to you, Helen," he offered. She could hear in his voice that he'd rather she wasn't around, but since she felt the same about him, she wasn't offended.
"I doubt that's the proper salutation for the occasion," she felt obligated to point out.
"Oh, well," he said jovially, "You know what? I don't care."
She tried flashing him a freezing smile, preparing to move away quickly, but he ignored it. Not that she shouldn't have been surprised – he'd never known what any of her high society body language meant. Or, she reflected, he hadn't cared about that either.
"Wendell and I have kind of gone together to get you a little something," he began, looking over his wassail mug for the king.
"That'sKingWendell," she snapped, "You should address him by his proper title."
Helen had no idea what suddenly made her say such a thing. After all, why did she care if Tony got himself into trouble with the king? She tried to ignore it, as her son-in-law did, though for different reasons, but the smirk on his lady friend's face grated on her.
Tony finally caught the king's eye and hauled him over.
"Ah, yes," he remarked. "We can't forget Virginia's grandmother, now can we?"
He made a curt gesture to a servant, who marched up carrying a sealed letter on a silver tray.
"Here we go," he prattled as he removed the parchment envelope and presented it to her.
She looked down at it, at the little impressed 'w' on the white wax seal. On the other side was written her name: Lady Helen Charles.
She opened it.
Be it known that henceforth, the property of – a legal boundary description, which took up most of the page followed – including all rights and privileges therein, doth belong to the Lady Helen Charles, for her to dispose of as she sees fit. Sworn to this day, Midwinter of the first year of his reign, King Wendell the First of the Fourth Kingdom.
"I picked it out," Tony confided. "Wendell just took care of the legal stuff."
She thought she might be going to cry. Didn't they want her here, she wondered? She'd thought she was welcome at the royal palace.
The other, more rational side of her told her not to be so stupid, that it was only a gift and a good one at that. One's husband should get one jewelry. From anyone else, real estate was quite desirable. But she couldn't seem to move.
The king mistook her hesitation.
"We had assumed you wished to stay in our dimension," he explained. "If that isn't the case . . ?"
She was fortunately saved from needing to answer immediately by a messenger who breathlessly ran into the room.
"Your majesty," he wheezed, obviously impatient and ill-at-ease.
"Please excuse me," Wendell told them smoothly, leading the man away with a smile. But as Helen watched, she saw his expression suddenly shift to grave concern. He glanced up at the clock, then spoke a few more words to the messenger, who nodded and vanished as quickly as he'd come. Wendell returned and apologized for the interruption. But though he carried on as if nothing unusual had taken place, Helen was unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. She glanced up at the clock herself. It read three minutes until midnight.
"Yes," said Wendell. "Almost the hour. They're passing around the toasts now."
As if on cue a liveried servant held a tray of champagne glasses at her elbow. She took one, a part of her mind thinking finally something besides wassail, but was too distracted to really think much more about the drink she now held numbly in her hand. Something was about to happen; probably had already happened. She could feel it.
Stop it, Helen, you're being ridiculous, she ordered herself. You've been in a mood all day; this is just more of it. But the feeling didn't go away, not even when Wendell called everyone's attention to the time and raised his own glass in salute. She looked around the room for some clue to why she felt this way, seeing all the others in a kind of slow motion: Simon was frowning at the two glasses in his hands while her granddaughter, holding none, glared icily at him. No help there. Tony was grinning inanely, talking to that cat-lover Samantha, but not looking at her; his eyes were on the clock. Samantha herself was trying to balance her animal with one hand while holding the glass in the other. The scene refreshed Helen's indignation that Roland had not been able to attend, but did little else. The servants had all retreated to the kitchen. Which brought her back to Wendell, standing partway up the now-cleared stairway.
The clock struck. She held her breath for the count of twelve, expecting she didn't know what, but when it had ended, Wendell simply declared, "To the new year. May it be peaceful and prosperous," and drained his glass. Everyone else did the same, except Virginia -- and Simon. Nothing else happened, though as it always did when she watched New Year's celebrations on TV, the party came abruptly to an end. Wendell formally thanked everyone for coming, then walked over to Simon and Virginia.
"May I have a word with you?" she heard him say, and noticed he appeared as distracted now as she felt.
"Something happened, didn't it?" her granddaughter asked. "It's about what that messenger came to report."
"Yes," he said, "I don't quite know how to tell you this."
"Just say it," Simon suggested.
"Doctor Mellifict . . . has escaped."
"Who's Doctor Mellifict?"
Everyone suddenly went silent and turned to stare at her. Helen felt as if she were intruding on a private conversation.
"He's . . er . . that is to say he was my private physician," said Wendell. "Until he took it upon himself to do away with Virginia's maid."
"Do away with?" she asked, aghast. "You mean he's a murderer?"
"I'm afraid so. We caught him when he attempted to do away with Molly" - the king turned abruptly away and spoke to the nearest attendant - "Please make sure Molly is well guarded."
Helen turned to her granddaughter.
"He has it in for your maids?" she asked.
Virginia hesitated.
"It's Wolf's . . . I mean . . . well . . ."
"What?"
"It's because of me," Simon told her. "Mellifict is a member of a group of people that think all wolfs should be exterminated. He tried to kill Virginia and the baby and Molly tried to stop him. Probably Emma did too."
She couldn't keep herself from staring disapprovingly at her granddaughter. The situation was just so much worse than she'd imagined. Could Virginia have found a husband any lower on the social ladder, she wondered? She was quite tired of these unpleasant surprises and decided the air needed a complete clearing on the entire subject, immediately.
"I am just not clear on this," she announced. "What exactly is it about Simon's kind that is supposedly so undesireable?"
Again they were silent a moment. Finally, the little fairy girl said, "You mean you don't know?"
"Well, of course I don't know, my dear, or I wouldn't have asked," she replied haughtily.
"Well, you see . . ." began Wendell, "half-wolfs supposedly have been responsible for . . ."
"They're lies!" Wolf interrupted. "There are no more really bad half-wolfs than there are bad humans. Well . . . not many more, anyway."
"I'm aware of that," replied Wendell in a placating tone. "Didn't I sign a pardon for all wolfs?"
"Don't think I didn't know you weren't thinking of tearing it up!"
Helen's mind whirled, and she stopped listening to their argument, only vaguely aware of their voices. Simon not human? she thought. What is he, then? And if he's not human, how could Virginia get pregnant?
"Wait," she said. No one seemed to pay her any attention. "I said WAIT!"
Tight-lipped, both men turned to stare at her.
"You're not human?" she asked incredulously. It was hard to believe; he certainly looked human enough to her. A momentary vision of her satyr-like wolf creature flashed through her mind.
"I'm a half-wolf," he replied, as if that answered the question perfectly. She glanced at the others. The king was still staring at Simon, obviously incensed. In the background, she could see Tony trying not to laugh. Virginia stared icily at him.
"But what does that mean?" she pressed. "What exactly is a half-wolf?"
Her granddaughter turned to her as her son-in-law snickered.
"Wolf -- Simon -- is a werewolf, Grandmother," she said bluntly. "That's what it means."
Helen blinked.
"Oh don't be ridiculous, Virginia," she said automatically. "There's no such thing as a . . ." Her eyes fell on the fairy girl's iridescent blue wings. Mutely, she glanced up at Simon, now unable to envision anything but Lon Chaney transforming into the Wolf Man. Her grandson-in-law stared back at her as if daring her to make a comment.
"How did it happen to you?" she asked.
"What?" Clearly, he hadn't expected her to inquire.
"How did you become a werewolf?"
"He was born one, Grandmother," Virginia informed her. "They're a race of people."
Helen digested this, barely hearing King Wendell proclaim that they had all wasted enough time, and needed to get back to the matter at hand: Doctor Mellifict. But how can there be a race of werewolves? she wondered. They're not fairy-tale creatures, are they? Abruptly the stories of Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Pigs flashed through her mind. But those were just animals that could talk; make-believe. Aren't they? And if werewolves are in the stories what about . . . She suddenly recalled that many of the fairy tales she'd read or had read to her were full of very dark creatures. Creatures that would take your soul if you gave it to them. As Christine had done.
" . . . don't have the slightest idea of where he could have got to," she heard Wendell say.
Without knowing why, she suddenly replied, "Snow White's stepmother."
They stopped talking and looked at her.
"Snow White's stepmother?" asked the king curiously. "How do you know?"
"I just know," she insisted, hoping to be believed. There was no real way she could explain. It just simply was a fact, like gravity. Nor did she wish to reveal the details about the visit she'd received from her daughter - even if they did believe her, the king wasn't likely to receive the news very gladly. She'd learned that, at least, living in the palace. "That's where he's gone."
"But what makes you think so?" pressed Virginia. Thinking about what she'd seen and done in that cellar (only a few months ago?) wasn't something she wanted to do - or repeat.
"Virginia . . ." her grandmother began.
"No," said Wendell. "She's probably right. And even if not, the Swamp Witch is someone we have so far been successful in ignoring, which is never a good idea. She needs to be dealt with. We may have waited too long already."
"How?" Virginia wanted to know. "How do you kill someone who's already dead?"
"Well . . . that difficulty is the main reason she's managed to survive this long," he replied. "That and her location inside the swamp. But I was hoping that now there's a necromancer at the court . . ?" He looked hopefully at Samantha.
"No," she said bluntly. The finality of her statement seemed to shock Tony, who was standing next to her.
"What do you mean, no?" he asked.
"I mean just that," she said reasonably. "I can't get professionally involved in political or personal matters. It's strictly against Guild policy."
"Professionally involved," he said, seizing her words. "How about personally involved? This Mellifict tried to kill my daughter, you know! Not to mention what that old witch did to my wife. I thought you and I were friends."
"I thought so too," she agreed. "And, yes, I am willing to help on a personal level. But that level does not include either magical assistance or arcane advice."
"Oh, well that's just dandy!" he exclaimed. "What good is your help, then?"
"Anthony . . ." said Wendell quietly.
"Sometimes the view of another person can make all the difference," Samantha returned. "I am more than just a repository of spells, you know."
"Yeah, well you'd never know you were that," spat Tony sourly. "I haven't seen you cast a single spell since you've been here. I'm beginning to think you can't."
"Anthony . . ."said Wendell again, louder this time.
"That is not going to work," she said flatly.
"What?" asked Tony.
"What you're doing. Daring me. It won't work."
"I wasn't daring you. I was . . ."
"ANTHONY!"
"WHAT?!" demanded Tony, finally focusing his attention on Wendell.
"Theyaren't allowed to interfere. It was my mistake to ask in the first place," he explained.
"Yeah, well, excuse me, but it sucks anyway! I don't see how we could even get near her. I mean, the swamp alone will kill us."
Virginia saw an opportunity and jumped in with something she had been thinking about on and off for some time.
"Maybe not," she said. "Wolf rescued us, remember? He managed somehow to not be affected."
Unfortunately, her husband's reaction was anything but helpful.
"Umm . . . well . . . uh . . ." he began incoherently, and her hopes sank. Not only that, but she was sure she was going to be treated to yet another dramatic "confession" to something he was sure she wasn't going to like.
"Never mind then," she told him quickly, hoping to forestall the inevitable.
"Oh, Virginia . . ." He was starting to whine. Unexpectedly, Samantha came to her rescue.
"The queen gave you something to protect you from the swamp's effects, didn't she?" she asked.
"Well . . . um . . ."
Obviously so, thought Virginia. Out loud, she said, "It's okay, Wolf. I understand."
"Well, do you still have it?" her father asked.
Realizing that Tony was speaking to him, Wolf replied, "Have what?"
"Whatever it was that Christine gave you," explained Tony, his voice still annoyed. "The magic gizmo that got you through the swamp."
"Huh?"
Mom didn't give him anything? wondered Virginia, confused. Then why is he acting like that? She didn't want to think it was something worse. Or, she reflected, that the curse was back at work on him again.
"There is nothing like you're talking about," Samantha explained. "Amulets can be lost or forgotten too easily. The protection would've been in the form of a spell. But it would have long since worn off."
"And the good witch won't give us any protection," growled Tony.
"Ican't!"
"No, you won't. There's a difference."
"Stop it! STOP IT!" shouted Wendell. "Quit arguing! We need to do something, not complain about what we don't have."
"But the whole point is . . ."
"Anthony, that is enough!"
"Fine." Her father folded his arms and walked away. Virginia rolled her eyes as she watched him sit down sullenly on a red velvet divan.
He still hasn't gotten over acting like a spoiled brat when he doesn't get his way, she thought, though privately she agreed with him. Not using your powers for evil was one thing. Not using them at all was carrying non-interference a little too far. Obviously, however, Samantha was not about to be persuaded, so Virginia didn't bother to try.
"I suppose we should investigate the dungeon," suggested Wendell. "Perhaps Mellifict left something behind in his cell that might give us a place to start."
"Excellent idea," agreed Samantha.
"Yes," agreed Wolf readily. "Virginia needs to go back to New York as quickly as possible."
"What?" She wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. What did going to New York have to do with investigating the doctor's cell, she wondered.
"You need to go back to New York," he assured her. "This witch isbad, Virginia. You can't imagine how bad she is. You won't be safe here."
"She won't be safe in New York, either," piped up her grandmother, saving her the need to argue.
"Christine wasn't safe there."
He looked absolutely crestfallen, so much so that she wanted to hug him. Clearly, he hadn't considered what had happened to her mother.
"Oh, huff puff . . ." he whined miserably.
"I've faced her before, Wolf," she reminded him.
"Oh, but Virginia, you weren't pregnant then."
Expecting him to say something like that, she'd had an almost automatic response prepared. But somehow the hard reality of the spoken words frightened her, in an almost visceral way.
The baby . . .
"He is right," Samantha said with a sigh. "Laura will be looking for a new host. She'll want a woman of power; a child would be ideal for her purposes. And, quite frankly, I doubt she could do better than yours."
"What are you saying?" asked Virginia.
"The gift tends to run in families. It's quite rare, however, for two such families to intermarry. And if you add to that the natural abilities of half-wolfs, it adds up to a rather powerful combination."
"Wait a minute," said Virginia. "You said she'd want a woman of power. My baby is a boy."
Samantha studied her middle with careful consideration.
"No," she said. "You're carrying a girl."
"Wolf said it was a boy," Virginia insisted.
"No, I didn't!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, you did! At the banquet, when you first told me I was pregnant."
He looked confused.
"How would I have known that?" he demanded.
"Idon't know!" she cried. "Something else "wolfies" know?"
"I'm sure it's a girl," Samantha insisted adamantly. "But I'll get another opinion." She turned to the blue fairy, who had been so quiet, Virginia had almost forgotten she was there. "Gwendolyn, your professional opinion?"
Professional opinion? Virginia wondered.
"I'm sorry if you wanted a boy, Virginia," she said, "But it's definitely a girl this time."
"How do you know that?" she nearly screamed. "Does everybody here know more about my baby than I do??!"
"No, no, no," Samantha assured her. "It's just something fairies can tell. They're very good with babies and children."
"What about you?" demanded Virginia, exasperated. "You're not a fairy. Or were you just going with some old wives tale about how I'm "carrying" it?"
"Er . . . no," replied the wizard, suddenly clearly uncomfortable.
Virginia felt Wolf take her hand.
"Virginia . . ." he murmured.
"How, then?" she insisted on knowing.
"She used magic," spat Tony bitterly from across the room. "Didn't you? You can use a spell to see what sex my grandchild is, but you can't help us keep her from getting taken over by that . . . by that . . . that thing!"
"You used a spell on me?" asked Virginia, aghast.
"Virginia . . ." Wolf whined.
He thought the arguments and accusations were never going to end. At least, by four in the morning, they'd all finally managed to move to the dungeon, though everyone seemed to still be at each others' throats. If it were up to him, he would have taken Virginia and disappeared through the mirror long ago. All this hesitation was making him nervous, especially after what Samantha had said about the witch coming after his daughter.
My daughter! he thought. I'm going to have a daughter! He only wished the excitement he felt weren't dampened by knowing how much danger she was in, even before she was born! What was taking Virginia so long to agree to go back to New York? Didn't she sense the danger to their child? And even though her tough old bird of a grandmother'd had a point about New York not being completely safe, it still seemed best to him for them to go back through the mirror. Why was Virginia wasting time arguing with everyone? For that matter, why was everyone arguing? It didn't seem natural.
As soon as he'd thought it, the hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle. Not natural. Oh, this is not good, not good at all. But what could he do? Virginia would never forgive him if he picked her up and carried her through the mirror against her will. But he thought he'd probably have to do just that. They'd pass the cell with the mirror in it before they ever came to Mellifict's. He just had to time it right. He hoped she'd forgive him.
Yes, this is familiar, he thought of the path as they walked along, trying to tune out their conversation. If he listened too hard, he'd just get drawn into it himself, he knew. He'd been a bit upset at Samantha's using her magic to find out about the baby (she might have asked them first) but fortunately had been so concerned about Virginia's reaction that he'd refrained from mentioning it. Just a little farther, he thought.
It was then that he realized what was so familiar. It wasn't the path, though he'd walked these corridors before. It was the scent of the person he could now identify beyond a doubt. He stopped.
The others walked on a bit before Virginia finally turned around.
"Wolf?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"
He waited a moment, hesitant to speak the words, to acknowledge out loud the betrayal. At last, he said simply, "It's Rafe. He's been here. Not very long ago."
