The Patriarch paced along the wall of the abandoned warehouse and repeatedly punched his fist into his open hand. Roger stood off to the side, his head down and his eyes fixed on a point in the floor. He had never seen his pack leader so angry.
The Patriarch stopped in front of Roger and took two deep breaths, then said, “Tell me once more what you found. And this time tell me what you believe happened.”
Roger shuddered and nodded once. “The city police found Bertrand mauled to death this morning. One of our servants on the police force contacted me to tell me of the killing and allowed me to examine the body.” Roger looked directly at his master. “No human is strong enough to have torn him into pieces in that manner. Nor would he have allowed a pack of dogs to close with him and attack him. He was slain by at least one werewolf. I believe two of them were involved.”
The Patriarch put his hands on his hips and looked away for a moment, then faced Roger again. “Were you able to identify his attackers?”
“I am not certain – this is only my opinion.”
“I have asked you for your opinion, Roger. I value it. Tell me who you believe attacked Bertrand.”
“I – I believe it was two of Arthur’s pack.”
“But you are unsure?”
“There were many other scents overlaying theirs, my lord, not all of them human. Many humans handled his body before I was allowed to examine it. And the city morgue is filled with death and disinfectants. I was not able to make certain.”
The Patriarch sighed. “Did you catch any identifiable scents, some spoor to which you might attach a name?”
Roger paused, then shifted nervously. “My lord, I believe that Jane was involved. And I am even less certain that about the second scent, but it may have been the Turned One called Theresa.”
“The one with Arthur’s pack?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Are you sure enough for a Tribunal?”
Roger shook his head slowly. “No, my lord, I am not. It is possible that both Jane and the other simply found poor Bertrand and examined him briefly. I do not think it likely, but I cannot say that it did not happen in that way.”
The pack leader nodded slowly and turned away from Roger. He clasped his massive hands behind his back and asked, “And what was Bertrand doing near an elementary school at that hour of the morning?”
“I – my lord, I have not spoken to him for several days. I do not know.”
“Once again, Roger, I ask you for your opinion. As I have said, I value it.”
Roger hesitated, then shuddered. “My lord – it is possible he was there to feed.”
The pack leader sighed. “You believe he did this despite my orders to everyone not to take any children? Despite my explanation that doing so would bring undue public attention to our activities?”
“My lord, this is only my opinion—”
“And one which I appreciate and respect. I believe your assumptions about Bertrand are correct.” The Patriarch spun on his toes and faced Roger again. “I will issue new orders. And they will be obeyed! If not, I will personally execute anyone who contravenes my will. Is this understood?”
“Y-yes, my lord!”
“Good. Tell this to all. No one is to go hunting alone. Hunt in pairs and do not take any women or children. All kills must be made at least eight miles from our headquarters, whether that is here or somewhere else. All will remain here during mid-day. And there will be no more drunken midnight parties at Jackson Square.”
“I will relay your instructions, my lord.”
“Good. Oh, Roger, one more thing before you go.”
“My lord?”
“Bertrand’s body. Was it merely broken or had something fed on him?”
“Er – I believe the police report mentioned a feral dog which fled as the officers approached. There was some – some small evidence of feeding, but nothing to indicate that a werewolf had tasted him.”
The Patriarch nodded. “Thank you. You may go now.”
Roger turned and hurried out to relay his lord’s commands. Whoever was harassing them had interfered with at least two night feedings in the past week, and now one of their number was dead. It was a serious blow to both the power of the pack and to the Patriarch’s prestige, and, by extension, Roger’s position in the pack as his closest lieutenant. A threat to the leader’s position was a threat to Roger’s very life.
Unless, of course, he began forming alliances with other pack members in case something truly terrible happened to the Patriarch.
He would have to be very careful and move very slowly, especially at first. And he would have to appear to be loyal while building a power base which would enable him to survive should a coup take place within the pack. He also reminded himself that the Patriarch’s concern had not been aimed toward Bertrand’s death, or even toward avenging his murder, but toward the safety of the pack in general. Individuals were not important to the Patriarch, except where the pack leader’s position and power were concerned. It was the way of the wild wolf, but not necessarily the way of Rougarou. Bertrand’s murder would have an impact on the pack beyond the loss of one individual. The situation was becoming both a threat to them all and an opportunity for an ambitious wolf.
Ah, well, Roger had never really liked Bertrand very much anyway.
*****
Clark and Lois walked to the corner of Chartres and St. Louis and stepped directly into Inspector Gautreaux’ classic Ford Thunderbird, with Lois in the passenger seat and Clark in the back. They both scanned the area as Robert drove north on St. Louis toward Rampart.
“We are free of listeners now, so anything you might wish to tell me would be more than welcome news.”
Lois sighed. “I don’t think anything we tell you is going to be welcome news.”
“Nevertheless, it is information needed for the upcoming battle. Please tell me all that you have learned since you arrived in our fair city.”
Lois hesitated. She and Clark had briefly argued about how much information to give the inspector. She wanted to tell him everything, including her suspicion about her werewolf infection, but Clark didn’t. He seemed to think that they could handle that aspect of the case on their own, and she admitted that he had a point. They’d faced druids, voodoo priests, ghosts, aliens from multiple worlds, death sentences, Kryptonite, the Prankster, Luthor – more times than either of them wanted to think about – and they’d always come out on top.
But this was different. This time her very essence, the things that made her Lois Lane, the qualities about her which she knew Clark treasured the most, were at risk. The possibility that she might lose him because she became someone else – something else – was too frightening to contemplate. They needed all the information they could get, and they had to share everything they had in order to get it.
But maybe not right away.
So she started off slow. “We had a nice time the first night. We listened to a great little four-piece band at the French Quarter Pizzeria, and then we met a pack of werewolves.”
The policeman didn’t flinch or freeze. Nor did he laugh. He made the right turn onto Basin Street and followed the curve alongside Louis Armstrong Park. After a long moment, he said, “Which pack did you meet?”
“They were led by a guy calling himself Arthur, as in King Arthur of the Round Table. You know, sixth century England? There was a woman they called Guinevere, and a young man who insisted his name was Gawain. They wanted to know why I was in the city.”
Robert nodded. “So they already knew who you were?”
“Yes. I don’t know how they found out, though. They didn’t tell me that.”
Robert sighed. “They have contacts in the police department. I would not be surprised if they already knew about our meeting this morning.”
Clark leaned forward. “Do you think that young man across the street was from Arthur’s group?”
“I do not know for certain, but I suspect not. Arthur rarely employs normal humans for such tasks. Were I forced to make a cash wager, I would quote high odds that he was one of the Patriarch’s human servants.”
Lois’ head snapped toward him and she huffed in frustration. “I still don’t get that. I’ve had two different people tell me this that this – this murderer has humans who work for him of their own free will. Who would do something like that?”
Robert glanced at her as he turned east onto the I-10 access road. “There were many who held pistols to the necks of civilians and shot them over graves they had just dug themselves after the Nazis invaded Russia, Madame. Hitler and Goebbels did not visit those atrocities on those people all by themselves. And the Soviet state slew many millions of its own people, simply because too many people feared the things Stalin had proven that he might do to them.”
She shuddered. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for reminding me how evil humans can be.”
“I am at your service, Madame.”
“Yeah, about that, just call me Lois, okay? You say ‘Madame’ and I look around for an older woman walking down a line of pretty young girls and pointing out their features for the slimy men who want to rent them for a couple of hours.”
Robert chuckled. “Very well, Lois. May I redirect our conversation and ask you who guided you to the other werewolves?”
“She called herself Jane. I don’t know if that’s her real name or if it’s a play on Jane Doe or what. She introduced herself to me as Ishmael at first.”
Robert frowned. “Ishmael, as in the book of Genesis?”
“No, Ishmael as in Melville’s Moby Dick. She seems to be into dark humor.”
“I see. Monsieur Kent – or may I address you as Clark?”
“Clark is fine.”
“Thank you. Clark, did you meet any of these people?”
“I met everyone Lois mentioned except Gawain. I think he was watching the front door. And we also met an interesting man named Alphonse Thibodeaux and a rather standoffish woman named Theresa Wilding. In fact, she was the only one besides Alphonse who gave us a last name.”
“Was there anyone else?”
Clark hesitated, so Lois answered, “Yes. A man with a seductive smile and a superior attitude who called himself Lancelot. I don’t think that he and Arthur get along very well.”
Robert nodded. “That is my impression also. But it is my strong belief that this group is not responsible for the two murders which brought you here.”
“They claimed that they don’t kill humans,” Clark said. “I think I believe them. Of course, that means that the one they called the Patriarch is probably to blame.” He stopped, but before either Robert or Lois could speak, he continued. “And I met two of the Patriarch’s group, too. Their names were Roger and Andre.”
This time Robert reacted. He jerked the steering wheel and Lois thought they were going to drift to the shoulder before he corrected himself and settled down to drive again. “You met both Roger and Andre? Together?”
“Yes.”
“And you not only survived the encounter but you are uninjured? C'est difficile à croire, mon ami.”
“He said he’s not sure he believes me, Lois.”
“Yeah, I got that. Tell him why he should.”
Clark hesitated. “Are you sure about that?”
“If you don’t, he’ll have a harder time believing anything else we tell him.”
Robert gave Lois a concerned glance. “You have more to tell?”
Clark sighed. “Yes. Clark Kent is safe. I’m really Superman.”
Robert blinked several times, then looked at the dashboard and pressed the accelerator pedal to recover the speed they’d lost as he’d processed the new information. “I apologize. I was not aware that – that the great and powerful Superman was also an undercover operative.”
Despite the situation, Lois giggled. “The ‘great and powerful Superman,’ huh? You make him sound like the man behind the curtain nobody should pay attention to.”
“Yes, I suppose it – wait. Ah, mas oui, of course. If no one pays attention to you, if no one believes you to be a threat, then you will be better able to protect Lois. You are a veritable – or perhaps I should say, a living – purloined letter, Monsieur Superman.”
“That’s me, hiding in plain sight where you least expect to see me.”
“Tell me, did you reveal yourself to any of the werewolves?”
“To Arthur’s pack, yes, but not to Roger or Andre. They were both unconscious when I left them.”
Robert nodded. Then he smiled. Then he chuckled deep in his chest. Then he laughed out loud and slapped the steering wheel three times with one hand. “Oh, that is such a joke on them! Their mighty lord and master, the Patriarch, will not believe that a single human bested them, at least not at first, and then he will seek you out as if you were a rival! He will refuse to believe that any intelligent being, either werewolf or human, would refuse to exercise such power to exalt himself!”
“I guess most Naturals are pretty egotistical and self-centered.”
“Indeed, most are, Lois. There are a few who do not prey on humans, but usually they are either driven from their packs or slain outright.”
“I guess Jane is more unusual than I thought.”
Robert lost his humor. “You know that she is a Natural? And that the rest of Arthur’s pack are all Turned Ones?”
Lois held up her left hand and showed him the scab. “Yes. I’m quite aware of their relative statuses.”
Robert nodded and licked his lips, then pulled off the Interstate at Elysian Fields. As he turned under the highway to retrace his path, he said, “I feel that I must ask you a question, Lois, but I wish for you to know that I intend no offence. Do you – have you noticed anything – different about yourself lately?”
Here it was, the big question. She couldn’t very well backtrack now, even with Clark sitting in the back seat all stiff and frustrated and wide-eyed. “Yes. I’ve been infected with whatever it is that turns humans into werewolves.”
“I see. May I risk another question?”
“Ask me anything you want.”
“Very well. Have you – have you completed your first transformation yet?”
Clark hissed and shifted in the back seat. “Calm down, Superman!” Lois snapped. “We have to be honest with Robert if we expect him to be honest with us.” To the inspector, she said, “No, I haven’t transformed. I think that being close to Superman inhibits the changes my body is trying to make. And before you ask, neither of us has any idea why that might be so.”
Robert nodded. “I see. That actually fits in with the research Evelyn was doing on the Turned Ones. She was trying to isolate a rapidly mutating virus which temporarily rewrites the DNA of the human victim into whatever DNA resides in werewolves. That seems to be the thing that allows them to transition, as she called it, into wolf form. Her biggest problem was that she lacked sufficient data and samples from newly infected subjects.” He tapped on the steering wheel with one finger. “Perhaps there is something about Superman which defends against this virus, or even attacks it. If so, Monsieur, you are probably immune to it.”
“I hope so,” replied Clark. “I know you don’t want to see a super-powered werewolf.”
Lois tried to get them back on track. “Let’s stick a pin in that and debate it later, okay? Alphonse said that Naturals can make humans into Turned Ones but Turned Ones can’t make more werewolves by biting people.”
“That appears to be true. It allows the Naturals to have some control of the Turned Ones. The Naturals also sometimes use the Turned Ones as expendable soldiers in their battles against other packs of Naturals. As you might imagine, it makes relations between the groups quite tense.”
“I don’t think that’s what the Patriarch wants in this case.”
“No, it is not. Lois, you must understand that the Patriarch is different from most werewolves. He wants power over werewolves and humans both, but he is willing to work slowly and build for the future instead of just living from meal to meal. He has lived long enough to see others destroyed by their bloodlust and greed, and he is determined to end his days as the de facto ruler of the Gulf Coast, if not the entire south-eastern United States.”
The car was silent for a moment, then Lois said, “At least he’s thinking about the big picture.”
“That just makes him more dangerous,” Clark replied.
“That is true.” Robert sighed as he flipped his turn signal on and changed lanes for the exit he wanted. “But perhaps we can stop him.”
“You’re going to arrest a werewolf?” scoffed Lois.
“No, my new friends. We must destroy him.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
Robert sighed deeply. “There is a legend among the Turned Ones that the Patriarch can assume a form half-way between the human and the wolf. I do not know if it is true, nor do I know if the Naturals know of this. Supposedly this half-animal cannot be easily killed by gunfire, assuming it truly is possible.”
“One of the women in Arthur’s pack mentioned something like that,” Clark offered. “She certainly sounded sincere when she denied it.”
“The Turned Ones find that Hollywood form amusing,” Robert answered. “They do not take it seriously.”
“But you do,” Lois muttered.
“I do. I believe that any werewolf who defeats the Patriarch must be able to transform thus in order to fight him on anything like an equal basis.” Robert slowed and guided his car down the exit ramp. “Perhaps one of Arthur’s pack might be persuaded to hazard this partial change.”
No one spoke for a long moment, then Clark said, “Lois, no.”
“Me? Wait a minute, Superman—”
“Don’t tell me the idea didn’t occur to you. Have you any idea how angry at me your husband would be if you tried a crazy stunt like that? He’d figure out a way to kill me slowly and painfully.”
“Come on! I haven’t even shifted the first time yet! What kind of crazy woman do you think I am, anyway?”
“One who risks her life on a regular basis to fight for truth and justice.”
Robert tried to defuse what sounded like an old argument. “I must agree with the Monsieur Superman. Such a course would hazard many lives, not merely your own. Please do not attempt it.”
Lois threw up her hands. “Hey! You’re arguing with someone who agrees with you, guys! Can we just drop the subject?”
“As long as you drop it too,” replied the disguised hero.
Robert slowed to a stop in front of Jimmy J’s and pretended not to hear Lois’ defensive mutterings. He did not know her well, but he did not completely believe her protestations of non-intent to try to change into that beast form.
And if he knew anything about the male of the species, neither did Superman.
*****
Lancelot leaned against the door frame and tossed a torn sleeve onto the kitchen table in front of Arthur. “Here you are, my liege. Another trophy from the Patriarch’s clan, taken by deadly force as usual.”
Arthur looked past Lancelot. “Where is Jane?”
Lancelot heaved a great sigh. “I regret that I must bring you sad tidings, Arthur.”
Arthur felt himself pale. “You don’t mean – they killed Jane?”
“Killed our Jane? Oh, no, no, not at all. They laid not a paw on her.”
“Then what is the bad news?”
Lancelot moved to one side as if presenting a contest winner. “That is the bad news. Our lovely Jane has returned hale and hearty, no less healthy than when she began this sortie last evening.”
Jane elbowed Lancelot in the chest as she walked past him. “Smartass. See if I let you walk in first next time.” She stopped beside the table and grinned at Arthur. “Your idea worked like a charm, Artie. We came out of the sewer drain and picked off five of the Patriarch’s human groupies before dawn.”
Arthur nodded. “I presume you made certain of their identities before you dispatched them?”
“Of course,” answered Lancelot. “With Jane in her wolf form and I in my human, they were disoriented by our assault and became easy prey.”
“And before you ask, yes, Lance and I did it quickly. No torture, no long, drawn-out shredding of limbs or intestines, no agonizing while bleeding out. I doubt the whole thing took more than fifteen seconds. And none of our targets even got off a scream.”
Arthur nodded and relaxed slightly. Two Turned Ones could defeat a single Natural under most circumstances, especially if the Natural were taken by surprise, but the Patriarch’s new tactic of pairing up members of his pack made anything other than a massed attack too risky. Arthur’s band didn’t have the numbers or the tactical advantage for such a strike. But taking out their human servants was as easy as scaring turtles off a log, and would sow fear and mistrust among the rest of the enemy pack’s willing turncoats.
“Where did you find them?”
Lancelot sat down and lifted one foot to the table in an exaggerated pose. “We followed them to a night club on Bourbon Street, one of those dark places with loud music and girls for rent. Our five targets settled for one freelance girl each and set out on a path in the direction of the Patriarch’s lair.”
“We think they were going to be food for the pack,” added Jane.
Lancelot grinned and lifted one index finger. “Before you ask, Arthur, the men were making salacious suggestions to the young ladies, who were, I must admit, giving back as good as they got. And we did not injure a single one of the lovely ladies.”
Arthur’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What?” He rose from his seat. “You revealed yourselves to those women?”
Jane shook her head. “Not really. We took down the men in a hurry, but neither of us changed shape in front of them. The girls were too shocked to make much noise, and just before we left, Lance called me to him and told them – in a very good Boris Karloff voice – ‘Not a word to the police, ladies. Else the demon hound of Hell shall pursue you to the end of your brief and terrified days.’ I gave them a really effective Hound of the Baskervilles snarl, then we turned and ran off into the crowd on Bourbon Street.” Jane opened the refrigerator and took out a soft drink can, then licked her fingers and opened it with a single claw. “Given the vomit noise behind us and the stink of fear and urine coming from those women, I doubt the Patriarch himself could identify us.”
Arthur shook his head. “I continue to marvel at your audacity, Jane. That is something I would expect from Lancelot, but not from you.”
“Adapt and survive, Arthur,” Lancelot put in. “Now we wait and see how our opponent chooses to meet this latest challenge to his power. Jane, my love, would you hand me a soft drink, please?”
“Get it yourself, Boris.” Then she swept out of the kitchen and headed toward the common area.
Lancelot grinned at Arthur and switched to French. <She is truly a firebrand, our Jane. I would be honored to mate with her.>
<If you were to attempt it, such an act might be your last. Jane is not ours to do with as we wish. She is a free agent.>
<Yes, I know.> Lancelot rose to fetch his own soda, opening it with the provided tab on top of the can instead of a claw. <And that continues to be a source of puzzlement to me. Why did she join us to begin with? And why has she stayed so long? She is not the type to seek out danger, nor does she hunt humans. That in and of itself sets her apart from every other Natural I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Nor does she seek to lead our pack.>
He leaned forward on his elbows. <Please do not misunderstand me, Arthur. I’m most grateful that she is on our side and not that of our enemies. But this is a conundrum I cannot solve on my own.>
Arthur picked up the bloody sleeve and sniffed it. <Unfortunate choice of deodorant. No wonder he had to purchase his women.> The sleeve fell to the table. <As to Jane’s ultimate motivation, Lancelot, I cannot enlighten you because she has never shared it with me. I know only that when she has concluded her self-assigned mission, whatever it may be, she will leave us.>
Lancelot switched back to English. “In that case, I hope I’m around to see it.”
I hope we’re all around to see it, thought Arthur.
