Chapter 20

Matriarchs and the Ties That Bind Them

Lance grew up near the three corners of Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi as the world entered its first Great War. His people weren't the nation's slaves anymore, not since his daddy was a boy, but neither were they considered humans. Its and odd thing to grow up hearing people talk about you as if you were no more than a working animal on a farm, and then later treat you worse than their prized beasts out of spite. In that time, power and responsibility outside of Lance's own home would have been a fantasy to read from a book, if he had been able to read then. That was when a telegram came letting his family know that his daddy had been killed in the war, pushing his mama to suddenly decide that reading was critical to life. His mama talked a preacher out of a ratty old bible and insisted he learn. Took switches to him when he resisted, and then again when he would refuse to help his brothers and sisters and cousins learn it too. "You get smart from books," she would tell him, "ain't no way the smart goes from the book to your head if you don't read it. And no child of mine is going to be less than I am or their daddy was." Once all the children knew God's words, other books would show up, and his mama would demand her children read to her every night. He wasn't the best at it, that was his sister, but when he got older and the Army came knocking again, he knew enough to make him worth more than an extra body to take a bullet or three.

But a black man in the time of war is still a black man, educated or not. The world hadn't changed so much that Lance would expect any better from the foreign places he was sent to as a young man, than the small two stop sign town he had experienced as a child. But if you had taken that young man entering the world's second Great War, he would have preened like a cock in a henhouse to have the power and responsibility Lance had in this, his current moment. An entire pack doing as he said, the Alpha of another pack taking his suggestions with respect, his own Alpha depending on him to keep the house and territory safe. There was truth in it, a part of him deep inside puffing up, hoping his mama was looking down from heaven and smiling, proud of how far her boy had come.

But the reality was Lance would rather be back in the P.O.W. camp where he found his Change, even willing to take the cold German winter with it. The pack was following his lead, but only just. Panic had seized the whole lot of them when their Alpha lost his mind right as lunch was being served; the younger wolves couldn't help but to be forced to wolf-skin under David's rage. If he listened to Belle's account, then his rage was only the fuel to someone else in that room had calling out the hunt in the pack; distressing news on its own. The wolf called Killian had flipped his own damned wig, making the basement a veritable deathtrap for anyone trying to obey the instincts those wolves were calling out to, or for anyone trying to go down try to calm them. Belle managed to keep the Alpha and the Changeling locked in their own cell, neither in much control of their wolves. Somehow, she had maneuvered Killian into the adjacent cell, throwing the lock into place before he caught on to her. A feat even the Fae women couldn't figure out. Keeping him there, however, was proving difficult.

Damned Houdini that one.

They found him in Emma's room after his first escape –picking up random things throughout the room, scenting for lord knows what– adamant in his refusal to leave the space. It had taken the Siren to lure him out; the resulting fury Killian showed after seeing her was enough to drop Lance to his knees under the pressure of a more dominant wolf. But they managed to lock him up once more. David, still in his wolf-skin, had lunged at the bars between their cells. Killian –still up on two legs and not even in the throes of his initial change– responded in kind. Clearly there was a debate as to who was responsible for Emma's disappearance. The second time Killian busted out, they found him hovering over a very limp August –the injuries were minor, but enough to confine August to his bedroom with a nurse inside. The third time Killian was out, they caught up to him as he was breaking through August's door –August and the nurse are now residing in one of the tower rooms, the door leading up the tower steps heavily guarded. It was after that incident when David tried to force Killian into his wolf-skin, and what led Lance into believing his Alpha was slowly coming out of his madness and down to reality. (Killian in wolf was terrifying honestly, but there was a growing need to take that man's thumbs away.) David's attempts, however, were leading to more fighting through the bars, and causing the insanity to continue. Moving either set before they had fully calmed down would be disastrous, but keeping them together wasn't proving to be a better option either.

Between Hell and High Water was where Lance was.

Killian's third attempt at escape and undisclosed intentions was also what finally drove Robin and his pack to haul ass out of Brookside territory. Mostly Lance believed it was to avoid the contention between the two turkeys down in the brig, but on Lance's request, Robin agreed to at least comb the woods for any trace of Emma. A matter of honor or some nonsense. No… not nonsense, his mama would box his ears if she heard him say that. It wasn't that Lance didn't get it, he understood honor more than most; it was trying to wrangle two packs and their human mates that had him slightly distracted and willing to wave off any talk about honor. Bottom line, honor or no honor, the more non-crazy wolves out helping the better. Although Lance still felt better to have some of his own people out on the ground, so he sent out Anna, her mate Kris, and the new transfer Mulan to try and track anything they could on Emma. Hopefully these efforts made would work to calm down the wolves down below. Anna's last report in told him nothing was found yet, he was planning on keeping that little tidbit to himself as long as he could.

He had just managed a deep breath after a lengthy conversation with Anna –over a report that could have been given in less than ten words (motor mouth that one was)– when the two Fae women popped up out of nowhere to offer their help. Lance might not be an old wolf, but he knew better than to accept gifts from Fairies, no matter how beneficial they might be in the short term. He was opening his mouth to refuse when the damned women popped back out to nowhere before he had made a sound. He wasn't holding his breath on their help turning up anything, but if they were making the effort, payment would be expected regardless of turnout. His old unit would be laughing from Heaven, but he was planning on hiding behind Snow if those two ever came back looking for him to pay up.

Lance then made the effort to notify Emma's kin from New York; and they should be expected before the day was gone. (Heavenly joy, another Alpha with strong tie to the woman.) Though they might be harder to wrangle given the emotional stakes, they would be a genuine help. Both with established ties to the girl, and her scent burned into their memories. They would know of any tricks Emma would pull to escape or send word, and maybe give enough hope to the rest. Everything should be fine, so long as the lower ranks held out didn't worry over the state of their current Alpha. Dissention was not on Lance's list of things he could handle right now. He was mentally trying to place Ruby and Graham in the Pack House –they would need a bed or two, somewhere where they would be comfortable– when the idea of Granny coming along came to mind. That was a wolf he'd hide behind the Fae women to avoid. Nice lady, scary lady. Lance was praying to God and his mama that Granny had been left out of the loop. There wasn't a tragedy on God's earth that called for that woman to stir from her den.

His younger self could puff and preen; he was handling two packs, two Alpha's, another inbound, The Captain, a massive search party, Fae gifts and promises, and a potential Granny. He had the respect and responsibility, the power and authority… over the biggest FUBAR'd SNAFU he'd ever seen. (And he had been in the US Army) But Lance with all his experience now just wanted a couple steaks and a nap.

Emma came to very slowly. Senses turning on one at a time, her body barely shifting as she asked it to get up over and over again. Her legs felt sore and her head was spinning with each effort to move; she didn't remember drinking that much. She didn't remember drinking at all at the party. Though warmly cocooned in her bed, the bed was stiffer than when she fell asleep, and the pillows were missing the touch of sandalwood and lavender. She brushed aside the differences hoping to get back to the oblivion sleep gave her. Whatever her brain was trying to point out didn't matter while she was in bed and not quite ready to face the wolves. Or Killian. But her brain was persistent, waking up what systems it could. And the more her brain turned on, the more reality seeped into her. A sea of wolves, Killian's smile, a misguided man, Killian's jealousy, the comfort of a strong male that had zero sexual interest in her, Killian's arms, a home to call hers simply because she showed up. The smile that came was a reaction she was too tired to fight, and she indulged it while she could. She dozed in the moment, letting visuals of his smile and his need for touch bounce around in a childish fantasy she'd never get to see through. As good a man as he was turning out to be, if being his meant being a 1950's housewife, Emma wasn't interested. No matter how good of a kisser he was, or how bright his eyes became when he was teasing and trying to get a reaction from her. It was thinking of him that finally got her body responsive to her head –ignoring the implications of that entirely of course, because Emma wasn't willing to indulge that much of Killian in her head while she was still in bed. Her eyes were crusted over, feeling swollen and abused, and not at all happy that her fingers were rubbing away the scratchy bits of sleep clinging to them. When she managed to crack one open, the room was still dark, and abnormally cold. The window was high and narrow on the wall, looking far too industrial and not even close to the large windows of the room Snow had picked out for her. Briefly, Emma slunk back under the blankets in embarrassment, assuming the worst of having fallen asleep in someone else's room.

God, I hope I didn't shack up with August…

Bolting upright, her memories flooded her head. Killian not at her door that morning, the conversation with August echoing in her head, words that hurt; the need to run burning her from her bones out until she finally gave into it, heading into the woods alone. She looked back to the window, if it was dark again, that meant she slept away the day –hopefully just the afternoon– it had been just before lunchtime when she had taken off. But this wasn't the grand setting of the Brookside Manor, nor was it the warm welcome of Killian's farmhouse.

Emma didn't know this place.

Her head fell to her hands, fingers rubbing her temples as she fought off the need to cry. She was with Walsh, every instinct and gut feeling screamed this to her. She swallowed and choked down everything in her heart, those things would only get in the way right now. She reached inside herself, dragging up old habits she had hoped to never touch again; things that made it possible to survive every new place she was thrust into. And the first thing she learned in the system –both foster and prison– was to learn every nook and cranny of your space; this was just a new space to learn…

Just a new space Emma.

What little Emma could see, the room was tiny and Spartan, but still a built structure. She had slept the day away in someone else's home, not a quickly pieced together room of metal sheeting or a trailer of some sort. She looked out the window again, hoping for anything outside that might help her place where she was, even something as basic as electric lines. But it was clouded and dirty, she could barely make out the thumbnail moon coming up in the sky –or maybe it was already going down, she had no way to tell. She let her eyes rest away from its light, even as little as it was; she needed her eyes adjusting to the dark. A nightstand on each side of the bed, and not a very large bed either. Something that looked like stacked plastic pullout drawers from Walmart sat to the wall on her left, close to the door. A metal pole stood floor to ceiling at the base of the bed, and Emma noted the thick heavy chain creeping up and under the blankets. Whipping them back, she tracked the chain to a padded leather cuff around her bare ankle.

Fuck me…

It hadn't escaped Emma that her clothes had been changed. She was just ignoring it, ignoring the general child-like style of the clothing, and the idea who might have been the one to physically undress her. She could only push her sanity so far. So Emma tried to focus her brain and remember the points between running from Brookside and here. There were the woods, the weird tree… and that woman. But the rest was blank. It didn't really matter where she was anymore, but who she was here with. Whoever the woman was, she was obviously working for Walsh and had brought Emma to him. Emma glanced around the room once more, anxiety building deep in her stomach. Far right corner sported a porcelain toilet next to a matching standing sink, without the benefit of walls for privacy.

Joy… its prison all over again.

A knock at the door jump-started her heart, and she ducked back under the covers to fake sleep. But she had fallen back down facing the door, and as it cracked open to show the blinding light from the hallway beyond, Emma fumbled; squinting and squishing her face against it. Emma knew she was already busted in a rookie mistake, giving up on pretending in probably the quickest time of her life, and giving in to blinking her eyes, adjusting to the new assault on them. It was the petite woman from the woods was standing there, still wearing that Victorian age gown, holding a tray of food. A beaming smile split her face in a practiced way that looked wrong; all muscle memory, no actual projected happiness.

"Oh good, you're awake. I had thought you might be hungry, so I made you something to eat. Nothing elaborate, just some Coq au Vin next to toasted garlic bread. The weather is turning cold, so I figured something warm and hearty would do you well. I used up the last of the wine making this for you, so I hope you don't mind the water to drink, though after the time you had, it might be the better choice. We have to keep you healthy." She placed the tray down on the nightstand next to Emma's bed, sitting herself in a chair Emma hadn't noticed earlier.

The food smelled amazing causing Emma's stomach to growl in reminded hunger. Even if it was still the same day, the last thing she had was only a bagel and coffee. Still, she hesitated. It might smell fantastic and even taste delicious, but this woman was working for Walsh, lord knows what else was in there. (You just had to run, didn't you?) Staring at it, waiting for it to grow its own legs really, Emma sat back up, running her fingers through her hair to calm it down to something manageable. She adjusted her twisted top and fixed the covers to conceal everything from the bust down, sitting straight backed as she turned her blank face to the woman; going as far as blinking slowly instead of speaking. Emma didn't know what reaction she would get for her display of calm defiance, but any reaction would give her a basic idea of her future treatment while staying here at Club Psycho Dog-Boy. Instead of the typical and expected disdain or anger, Emma was met with laughter as the woman rose from her chair to perch next to Emma on the bed.

"Oh! You are a smart one! That's good, very good. Most girls just take the food right away, gluttony overriding their common sense. Not that I entirely blame them, we keep you girls asleep for long enough where the need for food is strong; I've even pumped the stomachs of a few that had recently eaten. But goodness knows what I may have put in it while I was cooking, or after! I'm so happy he found you," The woman reached out a hand and pet Emma's hair, "I have grown so tired of the simpering and crying of weak girls."

Emma forced herself to remain blank in her face and still in her body as the woman touched her. "How long was I out?"

"Asleep you mean? Just a few hours my dear girl. You've only lost the afternoon and early evening. A nap is always benefiting to a lady when she's had a trying day."

Emma took it as good news. Killian and the others had to know she was missing by now, and would be out seeking her. She nodded to the food, if the woman was being open with her answers, might as well keep asking for them. "Did you do something to it? Poison? Spell?"

The hand froze in the air, "Spell? My dear girl, just what do you think I am?"

Emma felt her face break into something feeling mildly sarcastic, "Lady, I've seen some real strange shit recently. You could be a Zombie Easter Bunny from Mars for all the hell I know. By this point, I don't expect anyone to be normal."

The woman pulled her hand away, a frown settling on her features, giving the opposite effect from earlier. Her face wasn't used to this pose, but it matched her eyes and personality more. Her whole demeanor switched to a more prim and proper posture, snobbish and condescending. "I see." She murmured, "While I don't care for your crass language, nor your flippant attitude, I can assure you the food is untainted. By any means whatsoever."

Emma nodded again, accepting the woman's truth. "And you? Just who –or what– are you?"

The false smile returned. "Why… I'm your new Grandmother."

Back and forth he walked, up and down the hallway outside her door. Humming a song about a golden ticket and wringing his hands as Grandmother introduced herself to his girl. It was only proper that Emma should meet the woman that had brought her home. Of course, he wanted to be the one to introduce them to each other, but Grandmother hadn't liked that idea (she never likes that idea), declaring that females needed time away from the men folk to get properly acquainted. Even went as far as enchanting the door to keep him from the temptation of bursting in and watching. He tested the door of course, needing to know his limits. (Which apparently was three feet away from the door before the enchantment started making his skin burn.) Obey he would, but Walsh didn't agree with Grandmother. Emma needed him right now, needed him to make the bad habits disappear so her mind could be at ease. He needed to make her better, to bring her back to the place all girls want to be. She had already needed so much work before The Captain had wormed his way in; goodness knows what ill tempers she had picked up in her time with him. Walsh shrugged away what she had been doing with The Captain, it didn't matter; he would work hard to make her his sweet girl again, his Golden Girl. He expected her to fight it at first; they all did in the beginning. He understood how hard it could be to let go of your life when you only knew one way to live it. He never blamed the world for not knowing in the first place, not when there was no one to show them what better was like. Especially the females, their path had been lost for so long now and only getting worse as time ticked on. Of course, once he showed them the proper way –how they could be the best versions of themselves– and they still chose to fight him… well… cleaning out the weeds from the flowers was only the right thing to do. Emma wouldn't be like that, she'd be the best of all the girls he helped. And then she would help other girls be better too.

Walsh was on the path away from the door when it opened and Grandmother exited Emma's room. Her face was grim, but then it always was. Her hands held the tray of food she had taken in, the plate had been eaten from. It was a good sign, Emma already trusting them enough to take care of her. Grandmother didn't look at him as she passed, continuing on to the kitchen. Like the good boy he was, he followed Grandmother without needing to be told. The dishes were piled in the sink, waiting for his hands to make them clean again. Grandmother remained quiet as he made them both their nightly drinks of a Suffering Bastard, speaking only as he placed the carefully sliced orange slice gently on the skin of the liquid.

"She's very clever, smarter than I would have guessed, but she isn't the princess you made her out to be."

Walsh fidgeted a fraction, unsure what to do with Grandmother's disapproval. "It's likely the bad influence she's been around for so long. Living with that whore in New York and now The Captain… she came to me to help her fix that."

Grandmother's eyebrows rose. "She came to you? Oh dear, I must have been hallucinating that I was the one to find her, carry her here, and keep her secure in that room."

Walsh lowered his head and craned his neck. "Of course Grandmother, I meant no disrespect. I only meant that she was drawn to me from the start because she wants to be better. And I want to make her that, just like how you made me better."

Grandmother gifted him with a smile. "Of course she did. But for now, she needs her rest my darling boy. All good pets need time to get used to their new surroundings. If you want to keep this one, you'll have to go slower than you usually do. Only interact with her to feed to or to get her something she needs. And when you start training, I would suggest that you help her with those manners of hers first, then of course housetraining. Can't have her making a mess everywhere and thinking its ok to be dirty. Of course, should she do well, reward her. Show her the good boy I know you are, and I promise you she'll try harder to be better if she knows what comes with it. If all you do is punish the bad parts, then you get a scared pet. Scared pets turn on their masters. We don't want that do we?"

Walsh felt anticipation thrum through him. "No Grandmother."

Grandmother hummed. "The enchantment will end by sunrise. Don't want you disturbing her tonight, but make sure you give her breakfast come morning. I'll be gone before you wake in the morning to go attend some personal business, and I'll return in two weeks' time to check on her progress. I expect her to have manners by then sweetheart."

He nodded. "Of course Grandmother."

"Good. Now if that's all settled, it's time for you to get going with your chores. Can't expect your pet to be clean when you aren't following the same rules. And then you have to help your dear Grandmother get ready for bed."

His voice breathy when he answered her again, "Yes Grandmother."

Walsh tried very hard not to rush through his nightly chores; he would only have to do them all over again after he finished his punishment. He didn't want to make Grandmother do her bedtime routine alone. She wasn't so young anymore and needed so much help in her bath and getting dressed in her bedclothes. Some nights she let him into the bed with her, needing to be pet and stroked in special ways to help relax; finding sleep when you take care of so much isn't easy. He'd never tell her, but he liked those nights the most. When she needed him for so much, and hopefully she'd need him like that again tonight since she did so much to bring his sweet girl home.

Graham arrived in a wave of power Granny felt all the way up in her sanctuary. The Alpha hadn't been this incensed since Emma's first attack, so it only made sense to believe something had gone wrong with the girl again. Ruby's eventual arrival to say they were traveling to Brookside for a while only confirmed Granny's suspicions. Emma's distress had been a constant beat in her old skin, even at this distance. She had nearly locked herself in her safe room to keep her wolf from hunting the poor girl out when it spiked early this morning. But Emma was with Killian and in the overbearing environment of Brookside; Emma's distress seemed like a normal reaction, and as such, Granny ignored it as best she could. The guilt over those decisions would come later, when Emma came home; her wolf would accept nothing less than Emma's survival. Though keeping her wolf under control in these conditions wasn't ideal, and the easy answer would to simply sit back and let the young pups have their adventures, Granny wasn't going to leave everything to chance.

Right now, there were measures to take.

A measure of tea, for starters. A personal mix she had developed over the centuries to sedate her inner animal. It frankly made her a bit dopey all around, but it was something needed for clear thinking. Emma's future required more than just the disposal of one blood-raged Changeling, and that meant some planning was needed. Plotting and planning wasn't a wolf's forte as the wolf seeks to remedy its problems as they happen, and by whatever means necessary. To manipulate others into doing as you needed was more akin to playing with one's meal, and last Granny checked, she wasn't any type of feline. This kind of planning would need some collaboration with people of authority… well… it would need the cooperation of one particular person in authority. Convincing the rest would be easy if she got this one on her side. Ultimately, it meant that Granny tipped in a measure of vodka into her tea, for just a touch of calm nerves and a touch of warmth in the ever-declining temperatures outside. It wasn't cold like her childhood in Novgorodskaja respublika, but habits like hers didn't die with the changing of regimes, countries, or year. Hell, her rotary phone was still a novelty in her mind. The spinning and clicks as she dialed the number she hated even knowing were almost comforting in their rhythm.

Two steady rings and the authoritarian in question picked up. Genuine surprise in the woman's voice alongside the customary irritation. "Well, well. Been a long time Poloma Volkov. Didn't think I'd be hearing from you again this century… it's only been about thirty years."

Granny couldn't fault the woman for her words; if the tables were flipped, Granny couldn't honestly say she would be any more polite –if she went as far as answering in the first place. "Keep going Ruth and I'm not going to be responsible for my actions."

The line held an ominous silence –which wasn't an easy feat among wolves. "That wouldn't be a threat, would it?"

Granny waved her hand in the air, brushing away the posturing they've done for the past 200 years. "You know about the current problem of the psychotic wolf yes? How he's targeted my Emma?"

"Of course. She's safely tucked away at Brookside with my son."

"She was. Graham and my Ruby just bolted from here after a bad morning on Emma's part."

Ruth paused again, which only irritated Granny further. "How do you know Emma was having a bad morning? Did you speak with her?"

"No."

Ruth heaved a sigh, "If you're building a pack Poloma…"

"Please woman, what would I do with one of those? But did you think I wouldn't watch out for the child that stole away my Ruby's heart?" Granny wouldn't ever openly admit how much of her own heart Emma had stolen. Emma didn't deserve that kind of target on her back.

"No… no one doubts your devotion to Ruby." Ruth sighed again on the phone, but without the previous accusation ringing through it. "Fine, any clue what happened to her?"

Granny chuckled. "I'm good, not that good. Between your son, Killian, my Ruby, and Graham, I have no doubt they'll stumble right upon Emma as she's gutting that wolf."

"Then why call me about it?"

"My call isn't about the rescue. It's about after."

"You know our rules Poloma. I was able to convince the others to bend them once for Ruby; it's selfish to ask again so soon after. Not to mention arrogant and plain rude."

"Of course not. But Emma wouldn't choose to become like us at this point in time; she'd never say it out loud, but the conception problem would be a deal breaker. However, the other options of forcing her into marriage… I'm sure we can work out something better."

A/N: For the army terms Lance used:
FUBAR: Acronym for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition: basically means shit hit the fan
SNAFU: Acronym for System's Normal: All Fucked Up: meaning that the fucked up deal is a regular occurrence.

Grandmother's drink, Suffering Bastard, is a bourbon mix drink.

The name I gave Granny translates (via Google Translate: Russian) literally to "Bow Wolf" Cause she's a wolf and she likes that crossbow... gosh I'm clever...

Figured out who Grandmother is yet? Confirmation comes next chapter.