Jane – or whatever her name was – stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned warehouse and gently pushed Lois to the door, then knocked in a pattern Lois didn’t recognize. “I assume we’re here,” said Lois.
“Yes,” Jane replied. “And now you’ll see what you need to see.” The young woman looked directly into Lois’ eyes. “I promise you, I won’t let them hurt you. I tell you this as under the yew. Will you believe me?”
“Under the yew? What does that mean?”
“For us, the yew tree is sacred, and any vow spoken under the yew is a binding oath. Violating it doesn’t mean shame or a slap on the wrist or even a shunning. It means death.”
“That’s – intense.” Lois frowned. “It’s a little late in the game to ask me to trust you. I really don’t have any choice but to play along with whatever game you’re running.”
Jane dropped her gaze as if caught with her hand – or paw, in this case – in the cookie jar. Then the opportunity for conversation ended as the door opened inward and a short young man leaned out.
“It’s about time you got back—” he broke off his comment and stared at Lois.
“This is Lois Lane, a reporter from the Daily Planet in Metropolis,” said Jane. “Ms. Lane, this little cutie answers to Gawain.” Jane ruffled his hair. “I like to call him Queequeg.”
“Cut it out, Jane!”
Lois lifted an eyebrow. “You’re Ishmael, he’s Queequeg, and I supposed this building is the Pequod?”
Jane’s eyes seemed to see something far away. “I hope not. Moby Dick sank that ship and all the small boats it launched, remember? And only Ishmael lived to tell the tale.”
“Does that mean that you think there’s something threatening you here? Or are you talking about some other time and place?”
Jane tilted her head to one side and almost smiled. “My, but you are perceptive, aren’t you? Everything we’ve heard about you appears to be true.”
The young man opened the door wider and stepped back out of the way. “Can we at least have this conversation inside? It’s not safe out tonight.”
Jane gestured for Lois to step inside. As she did, Gawain stiffened. “Jane! She’s bleeding! You can’t take her to Arthur like that!”
“What? Where am I bleeding?”
Jane stopped and closed the door, then sniffed the air near Lois. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. I guess I ran your arm into that wall a little too hard.”
Lois reflexively reached for her purse, then remembered that she’d left it on the table at the café. “I don’t have anything to clean myself up. Now what?”
Jane frowned, then turned to the young man. “You go tell Artie we’re here and that Ms. Lane has an open scrape on her arm and they’d better behave themselves.”
“What? I can’t leave my post! And I sure can’t tell them what to do!”
“You can deliver a message.” Jane took him by the shoulders and shoved him along the hallway. “I’ll watch the door until you get back. Now get going.”
Jane watched the youth leave, then turned to a smaller door and opened it. Inside, Lois could see a toilet and a sink, neither of which was anywhere near new. But they were clean, which surprised her, and she noted the shelves beyond the toilet which held folded hand towels and soap.
Jane motioned to Lois to come closer. “Let’s see if we can clean that up a bit.”
Lois looked around at the hall. “I hope you have some antibiotic ointment.”
Jane grinned. “Sorry. We don’t need it. But the soap will help, and I have a roll of gauze that should cover it.” The taller woman turned on the water, then added, “You won’t get blood poisoning between now and the time you get back to your hotel room.”
Lois hesitated for a moment, then stuck out her arm and allowed Jane to clean it. The young woman worked quickly and efficiently, and Lois took the time to examine her more closely.
She stood several inches taller than Lois and had wider shoulders and hips. But the young woman didn’t appear at all fat. Her jeans and t-shirt covered a trim frame, and the open long-sleeved shirt she wore over the t-shirt gave her an air of sloppiness that Lois had decided was just a cover, a way to divert attention from herself. Her tennis shoes were worn but sturdy, and she’d moved with both grace and restrained power on the short journey to the warehouse.
Jane finished wrapping the gauze around Lois’ forearm as Gawain came stalking back. He stopped in front of Jane with balled fists at his sides. “You lied to me.”
Jane pressed down the last piece of tape on the gauze and began putting away the first-aid supplies. “Sorry, no.”
“You told me Arthur sent you out to find her!”
Jane looked at him like Lois used to look at Jimmy Olsen and said, “No, I said that Arthur wanted to talk to her.”
“You let me believe you were just going to find out if she was here in the city!”
Jane shook her head. “I was just taking the initiative, Henry.”
“Stop that!” the boy cried. “My name is Gawain!”
“Okay, fine, your name is Gawain. I suppose Artie wants to see us now?”
Henry, aka Queequeg, aka Gawain, gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “One of these days, Jane, you’re going to go too far. And I hope I’m there to watch the fur fly.”
Lois couldn’t tell if the two of them were close friends who were kidding each other, if they truly hated each other, or if it was something in between, but she wasn’t unhappy when Jane took her uninjured arm and guided her down the hallway and away from the anxious and irritated young man.
When they were well out of earshot of the door, Jane said, “Let me fill you in on what’s going to happen. You’re going to meet Arthur, the self-styled ruler of our band. He’ll probably have Gwen beside him. Don’t antagonize her. She’s not in a good place right now.”
Lois nodded, wondering what Jane meant. “Don’t tick off Gwen. Got it. What else?”
“There’ll be several more there, but unless you start a fight with one of them – and I think you’re way too smart to do that – the ones you’ll have to pay attention to are Arthur and Gwen. They’ll decide what happens next.”
Lois stopped short. “What do you mean? What are they going to decide?”
Jane rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry, that sounded way more melodramatic than it should have. They won’t hurt you. I promised I wouldn’t let them hurt you and I meant it. They’re scared right now and they think you’re here to hunt them down.”
“What? Hunt them down? Blast it, Jane, I’m a reporter, not a big-game hunter! What do you—”
“Shh! Keep your voice low and don’t get excited. It stirs up the youngsters.” Jane tugged on Lois’ arm again. “Come on. We can’t stay here.”
“Wait a minute! You said they were scared? Of me? I’m no threat to them!”
“Assuming that’s true, they don’t know that. Your reputation as an investigator precedes you, and that makes you way more dangerous to us than you might think.”
Lois closed her mouth and followed Jane closely. After about a dozen steps, the hallway opened onto a foyer with stairs climbing upwards and double French doors on the far wall. Jane opened the doors and stepped through, then wiggled her fingers at Lois to follow.
Lois glanced around and saw a two-story room stuffed with books, some of which looked very old at first glance. It was, or had been at one time, a library for a wealthy person or family. Two roll-top desks were pushed back-to-back in the middle of the room, and there were three – no, four overstuffed chairs arranged to face the pair of desks. Each chair was backed by a faded print on the wall. Even with all that furniture, the room was large enough to hold a stand-up meeting of the entire Planet day shift reporting team.
Two of the chairs were occupied.
The intensity in the room was at odds with the apparently relaxed attitude of the five people who either rose from the chairs or turned to face Lois and Jane as the latter closed the doors behind them. Lois looked around and saw no hint of welcome in their faces.
I’m in real trouble here, thought Lois.
After a long moment, the tallest man in the group stepped closer and looked her over as if deciding whether or not to offer a bid at auction. The woman with shoulders wider than Jane’s crossed her arms and glared at Lois as if issuing a challenge.
Jane finally broke the silence. “Artie, Gwen, this is Lois Lane. You wanted to talk to her, right?”
Another man, one who reminded Lois of a younger and even oilier Claude, said, “Thank you, Jane. You may go now.”
Then Jane crossed her arms and slid closer to Lois. “No way, Lance. This woman is under my protection. I gave her my word that she’d be safe.”
Lance snorted. “How droll! Our little Jane is playing guardian to a human!”
The tall man came back into Lois’ line of vision. “Is this true, Jane? Have you offered her your protection?”
“That’s what I said, Artie. My word as under the yew. No one touches her.”
“Of course,” Lance said, “that assumes that you survive this session.”
Both Arthur and the unnamed woman with big shoulders spun as if on gimbals and leaned toward Lance. The woman snapped, “If Jane has offered this woman her protection, Lancelot, then we shall honor it!”
Lance seemed to be disconcerted by the display in front of him. “Of course, my dear Guinevere,” he said as he backed up with his hands open and held out from his sides. “I assure you, I meant no offence.”
Lois frowned. She had Gawain, Arthur, Lancelot, and now Guinevere. Were these people role-playing using characters from Camelot? Were they just using the names or were they playing the characters true to the legends? And if so, were they really sane?
Then another question occurred to her. The scene she’d just witnessed reminded her of a nature documentary she’d seen some years ago on pack behavior among wolves. Sometimes, the show’s narrator had said, a younger male would challenge the alpha male for dominance. Unless the alpha responded firmly and the challenger backed down, they’d end up fighting.
And if the challenger did back down, he’d often challenge the alpha again, later on. To Lois, it looked as if it wouldn’t be long before Lance challenged Arthur once again.
No one else spoke for a moment, then Arthur turned to Lois. “I can see how this episode tonight might have upset you, Miss Lane. Please do not be alarmed. We will honor Jane’s guarantee of protection without reservation or exception.”
Guinevere stepped forward. “Would you like to sit down? I assume that you are thirsty. We have some very nice wine, or perhaps you’d prefer something non-alcoholic?”
Lois hesitated, then said, “Thanks. But what I’d really like to do right now is find the ladies’ room.”
A wave of soft laughter floated through the room, and a significant measure of tension dissipated. Jane tapped Lois on the shoulder. “I’ll take you. Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”
They slipped out of the French doors and turned down a hall beside the staircase. Lois replayed the moment in her mind and realized that all of the people in the room had laughed except for Lancelot.
Lois would keep an eye on him, for all the good it would do her.
*****
Clark touched down lightly on the roof and frowned. Now that he’d found Lois, how could he get her out of the house without compromising his secret identity? He knew that Lois knew that he’d never allow her to come to harm, secret or no secret, but they had often discussed such a predicament, and they had agreed that he wouldn’t reveal himself to be Superman unless she was in immediate danger and he had no other reasonable choice.
Now he wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed that the tall woman who’d escorted Lois into the house had guaranteed her safety, and that the man who seemed to be in charge had agreed to honor the guarantee, but just how binding was that promise?
As Lois and Jane left the room, one of the men turned and began speaking in classical French. <I do not approve of this course of action, Arthur,> he said. <This will only lead to difficulty for us all.>
An imperious blonde woman snapped back in the same language, <Have a care, Lancelot! Arthur rules this house. You are here on his sufferance – which sufferance may be revoked at any moment.>
<My dear Guinevere, I would never allow myself to suffer Arthur’s displeasure. My only thought is for the safety of this house and those within.>
Guinevere’s lips parted and she actually growled at Lancelot. Arthur stepped forward and touched her elbow. <Thank you for your support, my love, but Lancelot must be allowed to speak freely. His point of view must be respected, if only to make us consider alternatives.>
Lancelot smiled smugly. Guinevere straightened and gritted her teeth for a moment, then said, <Arthur, you know he wants your position. He wants to rule this house.>
Arthur smiled. <Of course I know. I also know that he wants you, my dear, and that there is a part of you which would welcome such a joining.>
She spun so quickly Clark thought he’d blanked out for a few microseconds. <Arthur! Surely you don’t believe that I would—>
<No, no, of course not. I am only observing and commenting. Had you and he actually coupled, one or both of you would bear the scars for quite some time. You might even have been crippled by the experience.> He smiled thinly. <Or Lancelot might now be crippled. One cannot be certain.>
The woman stared at Arthur long enough for Clark to think that she might attack him, but she twirled away and stalked to the far side of the room where another woman leaned in and whispered something Clark couldn’t catch. Arthur watched her go, then ambled to the other side of the room and poured a glass of liquid from an unmarked bottle.
Lancelot moved cautiously towards Arthur, but stopped about two steps away. <It seems that not all is well in the royal suite, my liege lord.>
<Do not force me to make an example of you, Lancelot. Shall I prepare for you a drink?>
Clark shook his head and wondered if these people lived on the edge of open conflict all the time or if the current situation – whatever it was – had shifted the group dynamic.
He tuned in again to hear Lancelot’s reply. <Not necessary, thank you. Neither the example nor the drink.>
Arthur lifted his glass as if examining it. <Do you not trust me?>
Lancelot smiled thinly. <Would you freely accept a beverage from my hand?>
Arthur sipped at his drink. <Probably not. But then I am not a sneaky, underhanded murderer of innocent old women.>
The smaller man’s eyes narrowed and his smile vanished. <I did not kill that woman at the levee, Arthur. I had nothing to do with it. I do not know who did it, although I suspect it was the Patriarch.>
<The Patriarch is not in New Orleans.>
<I believe that he is.>
<None of us have seen him. Have you?>
<No. But—>
<Have you any hard evidence of his presence?>
<A dismembered body on the levee. That is his style, his signature method of killing for revenge.>
<It could be a – how is it said here – the cat which copies another?>
Lancelot switched back to colloquial English. “Copycat. Yeah, it could be a copycat killer, but I don’t think so. Do you know who investigated that killing?”
“The county coroner was on the scene that morning,” replied Arthur, also in English. “He’s competent but a bit shallow.”
“The detective was Robert Gautreaux.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I thought that would get your attention. He was on the scene with the competent but shallow coroner, who went to our friend Robert’s house for a long lunch that day. Then Robert made some calls, one of which was long distance to Metropolis. And do you know who lives in Metropolis?”
“That’s enough—”
“Another old friend, Perry White, who just happens to be the employer of our lovely guest tonight. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Arthur smashed his glass onto the bar where it shattered loudly. The other people in the room snapped their attention in his direction, and Guinevere slowly walked across the room toward him.
“Arthur? What’s wrong? What happened?”
Before Arthur could respond, Jane opened the door and led Lois back into the room. Jane looked toward Arthur and stopped in her tracks. Lois stepped around her and glanced around.
Clark dug his hands into the thick shingles under his feet and began pulling up enough of them for him to enter. It was time for him to make some kind of appearance – maybe a truly dynamic impression –
A sudden hiss made him stop.
Then he relaxed a little. It was only a cat, creeping along the roof silently, as only cats can do.
A smile touched his lips as the solution to his quandary bloomed in his mind. That was how he needed to appear – suddenly and silently, as if on cat’s feet.
*****
Lois all but felt the difference in pressure in the room. Something had happened during the time she’d been in the bathroom, and it wasn’t good. Guinevere lowered her head, then lifted it slightly and glared at Lois from just under her eyebrows. The woman’s hands flexed twice as if she were stretching her claws.
Arthur stood beside a bar, his eyes fixed on the shattered remains of a broken glass.
Lancelot stood near Arthur but farther away from Lois’ position, with something like a smile playing on his face.
Jane lifted her hand. “I don’t know what just happened, but I have given my word. I will not allow harm to come to Lois Lane tonight.”
“Neither will I.”
Every head snapped around to stare at Clark, who leaned against the door frame in the far wall of the room. His face wore a half-smile and his hair was ruffled.
And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
Lancelot took a quick step in his direction, but Clark lifted his index finger and waggled it at the smaller man.
“Uh-uh, pal. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“No?” snarled Lance. “And why not?”
Clark shrugged. “Well, I guess you should ask Andre and Roger that question.”
Every jaw but Lois’ dropped open. Jane recovered first and demanded, “How do you know those names?”
“They tried to stop me in an alley a little while ago.” Clark gave him a bland smile. “I think they’re probably awake by now, though.”
Guinevere put her hands on her hips. “Do you mean to tell us that you defeated both of them? A human, alone and unaided?”
<I did not start the fight,> Clark replied in flawless French, <but they gave me no choice.>
<Liar!> shouted Lancelot. <You could not best the two of them at once!>
“You want some, loudmouth?” Clark said in English. “Come at me and see what happens.”
Lois heard Arthur inhale, but before the man could speak, Lancelot had launched himself at Clark.
And before anyone else could intervene, Clark had the man face-down on the hardwood floor, his right hand wrenched up between his shoulder blades.
“Try to change and I’ll snap this arm,” Clark bit out.
Lance stopped struggling and tapped the floor three times with his free hand. When Clark didn’t release him, he said, “I thought you would – ow! – you would understand that gesture. I submit!”
Clark looked at Arthur. “Are you in charge here?”
Arthur crossed his arms and smiled. “I often delude myself that I am, yes.”
“Is he going to jump me again if I let him go?”
Arthur caught Lance’s eyes with his and stared for a long moment. Then he said, “No, he is through fighting for now. Aren’t you, Lancelot?”
“Yes! I’m through fighting! Now please release me!”
Clark let go of his opponent’s wrist and stepped away. Lancelot slowly crawled to his feet as he flexed his arm and massaged his shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
Guinevere opened her hands and stepped closer to Clark, then inhaled deeply through her nose. After a long moment, she tilted her head to one side and said, “I do not recognize him, Arthur, but I suspect he is far more than he appears to be.”
Clark grinned. “Give the lady a cigar.”
“I do not smoke, monsieur.”
“Then allow me to clarify myself. For the next few days, the part of Clark Kent—” he spun into a maelstrom of red and blue before stopping with his cape swirling around his legs “—will be played by Superman.”
Lois realized she was gaping at him and closed her mouth with an audible snap. She’d give him a piece of her mind later on for revealing his secret identity to these whackos.
Then she realized – he hadn’t. All he’d said was that Superman was disguising himself as Clark Kent for the next few days. It was an inspired move, too, one sure to give them an automatic defense against these werewolves.
And—
The doubts in her mind were gone, she realized. The evidence was in. She was convinced. These people really were werewolves.
“Okay, people,” Lois called out, “or whatever you call yourselves, listen up. Superman and I came here to investigate some rumors about werewolves in New Orleans. My husband is in a safe place where you can’t get to him. If anyone has any ideas about hurting me, you’ll have to go through Superman to do it. And I don’t recommend that course of action.”
Arthur turned to her and crossed his arms. “Very well, Ms. Lane, I accept your statements at face value for the moment, especially since I have no recourse. What is it that you wish to discover?”
“Who killed Evelyn Carstairs?”
“We do not know, Ms. Lane. Lancelot suspects that the Patriarch is responsible, but I do not believe that he is even in the city.”
Lois frowned. “Who’s the Patriarch? You say that like it’s a special title of some kind.”
A fourth member of the group, a broad-shouldered older man, stepped forward. “The Patriarch, he be leader of the Naturals. They don’ like us much at all. Think we in their way.”
Superman shook his head. “We don’t know who or what you’re talking about, sir. Can you give us more detail?”
The man smiled thinly and nodded. “I am Alphonse Thibodeaux, pronounced tee-bo-do, like in the Hank Williams song, and I was born here in N’Awlins in eighteen-sixty-nine.”
“That’s enough!” snapped Arthur.
Thibodeaux’s soft Cajun accent turned thick and hard. “It ain’t near enough if you want these folk to help us! If you don’t tell them I will!”
The two men glared at each other for several long breaths. Lois glanced at Superman, who was watching the tableau before him without moving anything but his eyes. She glanced at Jane, who had pulled her lips back and clenched one fist – one which looked quite a bit hairier than it had a few minutes before. And Lancelot had stopped smiling. In fact, he looked almost alarmed, but by what, Lois couldn’t tell.
Finally Arthur exhaled sharply and straightened. “Very well, Alphonse. You may relate your tale, but know that if it rebounds to our harm, you will pay the price.”
“I been payin’ my own way for a long time now, Arthur.” The older man turned to face Lois. “Young lady, I will tell you my tale. Hope you don’t scare easy.”
Lois glanced around the room, then offered Alphonse a wan smile. “I don’t – at least, I didn’t think I did before I came here tonight.”
Thibodeaux chuckled. “That be a right smart answer. You just listen up, girl-child, and hear what I gonna told you.”
