But the miracle was incomplete. The wolf came back to them, but not the man. Connor glanced over at his brother. The massive white creature was stretched out on the ground beside him as if relaxed, but the vivid blue eyes flicked from person to person. Alert. Ready, Connor knew, to disappear. Everyone else knew too. Connor noticed that each member of the Pack, family and friend alike, would glance over at James and then quickly turn away, not knowing what to do or say. Fearing to break some unknown spell, fearing that the white wolf would leave them even sooner than he usually did.
It’s hard on James but it’s hard on all of us too. Your older brother has lost his balance, his ability to be comfortable in both worlds.
Jessie Watson’s voice was warm and strong in Connor’s mind. He knew the Pack leader was focusing her speech so only he could hear it. He did the same.
I don’t know how to help him.
You’re doing all you can. James is doing all he can, too. He’s chosen to stay here, for one thing. He wanders but always returns. He still feels a connection to this land that your family claimed and settled, a bond to something that symbolizes roots. And he responds to you, Connor. Cares for you as a brother, not just a Pack-mate, even guards you. Haven’t you sensed him on some level when you’ve been working late at the clinic?
Connor looked across the fire, saw it brush golden highlights over Jessie’s dark skin. There was always something regal about her, a sense of power. She was a small woman, downright tiny when standing next to her husband Bill. Yet she possessed a formidable blend of courage and wisdom, as well as more exotic gifts. Including magic. He didn’t doubt her, but the news came as a surprise.
James has been at the clinic?
Many times. Perhaps you haven’t noticed his physical presence because thoughts of James are
always
in your mind. Take a walk tomorrow and use your Changeling senses to check the stand of trees behind the building. Scent the air, the ground. Watch for hairs in the hay bales in the compound, prints along the fences in the corrals. He watches over you, Connor. He watches over the others too.
Well, then he should be fired—he didn’t make sure everyone was dressed tonight.
Connor tried to lighten the subject, a little uncomfortable with the notion that the older brother he worried so much about was guarding him. He turned his attention to where his younger brother Devlin was mercilessly teasing his twin Culley about missing shoes and socks. Anything—clothing, objects, tools—that touched a Changeling’s body as it shifted to wolf was automatically suspended in a another dimension until human form was resumed. What or where that dimension was exactly, Connor didn’t know, only that the current theory favored the existence of many more dimensions than the four that Einstein declared. That was Devlin’s passion, exploring the physics associated with Changeling life. Culley, however, couldn’t care less. Always in a hurry, he often Changed without checking to make sure he was fully clothed.
It wasn’t a problem unless they had to shift back to human form unexpectedly. Explaining why their youngest brother was barefoot in the middle of the night could be tricky. Culley had no jacket either, only a light T-shirt, but a Changeling’s ambient body temperature was much higher than that of a human. Connor shook his head, nearly smiled.
That boy would be comfortable if he was buck-naked in a snowstorm.
Then he saw Culley steal a wistful glance at the white wolf and the heavyheartedness returned full-force.
They think he avoids them, Jessie. And he does, he steers clear of everyone.
Except me, Connor thought.
And he doesn’t exactly hang around much with me either.
They were just a year apart in age, and they’d been inseparable when they were growing up. Even when Evelyn entered James’s life, they’d remained close. Close before everything went to hell.
I miss him, Jessie. It drives me crazy, wishing I could help him.
You
are
helping him. You’re there for him. How many months was it before James even attempted to communicate? Yet he speaks to you now in your mind. How many years before he would venture near the Pack? Yet he often runs with us now, ran with us tonight. Progress is slow and subtle, very hard to see when it’s happening—but James has been opening the door a little at a time. He doesn’t know it, but he is ready to be healed. And because of this, the healer will come.
What healer? Who?
I don’t know. I haven’t seen that. I just know that the Universe reaches out to us when we make an effort, when we show we are ready. James is ready. The healer will come.
She broke the connection then, turning her attention to something Bill was saying.
Connor looked down to find the white wolf gone.
Good Christ, I didn’t sense a thing.
James was like a damn ghost at times. His brother might be talking—well, technically, using mind speech—a little more, but if he was making any real progress, Connor couldn’t see it. He couldn’t imagine who or what could possibly heal his brother’s shattered soul. Still, Jessie’s words gave him a little actual hope. He let himself feel it this time, savor it. Hope that James could find his way back to his human self, hope that he would find a reason to want to come back. And stay.
Douglas Harrison heard the song of wolves in the distance and shivered as he sat by his father’s bedside. The old man had been dreaming again, and thrashed the blankets and sheets into a twisted wad. He took his father’s hand from where it clawed the air, clasped it, and remembered how that hand had once seemed so large, so powerful. The fingers were always cold now, the tough calluses covered with the velvet-soft skin of age. His dad’s grip was still strong, but not nearly as strong as it once was. The old man licked dry lips and whispered fiercely, “It’s here, son. We didn’t kill it. It’s still here, walking among us. I
know
it’s here. Get your gun, Dougie, we gotta get it, gotta finish it off.”
A chill zipped down Douglas’s spine, tingled like ice-cold electricity. He tried to keep his voice calm, level. “We took care of that bear, Dad. Made a big rug out of it, remember?”
“You know what I mean, boy.” His father’s eyes fastened on him, angry and a little wild. His voice was hoarse but rapidly gained in volume. “The werewolf, the white one. The one you didn’t shoot when I told you to shoot. You stood there and bawled like a damn baby until I had to drag you out of there.”
Oh God, not that again. Douglas was thankful that none of the caregivers who came to their home believed his father’s stories, but he found himself checking behind him just the same to see if anyone was listening. “Dad, I—”
“I told you. I
told
you we had to finish him. He’s alive, and he’ll be tracking us, hunting us both unless we hunt him down first. Get my .338 out of the truck, boy, the one I use for bear.”
It took an hour this time to get his father settled. When he left the room, Douglas felt wrung out and apprehensive, even though he knew that the old man was unlikely to remember any of this in the morning. Wisps of an Alzheimer’s fog had settled over Roderick Harrison’s mind in recent years. More and more, the past mingled with the present. Including a part of the past his son would much rather forget.
It had to be the full moon. His father was always worse during the full moon. Last month during this lunar phase, Roderick had been found halfway down the lane in his pajamas, carrying a broom like a rifle, determined to destroy the creature that filled his dreams.
Douglas had gathered up all the hunting rifles after that incident and sent them over to the ranch manager’s house for safekeeping. A decision about a nursing home needed to be made soon—but he didn’t feel like making it right now. He couldn’t picture his father in such a place, away from the ranch he had ruled with such fervor. Knew too that in his dad’s lucid moments he would feel betrayed by his son.
A small voice within mocked him.
What about that long ago betrayal by your father? What about that night your dear old dad took his young son along to help him commit murder? Face it, Dougie-boy, you don’t want to put your father in a nursing home because you’re too afraid someone might start listening to his stories, that somebody might
believe.
. . .
Douglas tucked his father in and decided against going back to bed himself. Instead, he headed downstairs to the bar for a drink. Maybe several drinks. As many as it would take to make that small inner voice shut up.
Chapter Two
D
espite the fact that it was still April, despite the early morning hour and Jillian’s fervent wishes to the contrary, it was already hot and humid in the city of Guelph, Ontario. She got on a crowded Greyhound, praying that its air conditioning could handle the unseasonable heat wave that had plagued eastern Canada all month.
Dr. Macleod had wired enough money for a first-class plane ticket and some extra besides, but the cash she saved by choosing the bus had paid off the rest of her rent, the balance on her phone bill, plus her tab at the little corner grocery store. No loose ends, she thought with some satisfaction. Nothing left behind, either. Everything she owned was in a battered knapsack and three large boxes held shut with duct tape. Fifty-seven hours and twenty-one minutes later, she arrived at the little northern town of Dunvegan, Alberta, with only the knapsack, a pounding headache, and a determination to strangle, then sue, every bus line employee she could find.
The clerks at the small terminal—which apparently doubled as a dry cleaning establishment—never knew their danger. They were spared the moment Jillian stepped down off the bus. She caught only a glimpse of a white-haired woman in a citrus-green suit before she was swept into a bone-crunching hug.
“You made it. You must be exhausted, dear.” The woman stepped back, still holding on to Jillian’s arms, and looked her up and down with hawk-bright eyes. “Name’s Birkie Peterson. I’m officially the receptionist at the clinic and unofficially the glue that holds the place together, and I, for one, am
damn
glad to see you. Been trying to tell the bossman he needs another pair of hands for years now. Welcome to the north.”
“Um. Thanks. Thank you.” Feeling a little off base, Jillian noticed that the woman’s white hair was elegantly styled, her suit tailored and crisp. Tasteful gold jewelry gleamed at her ears and throat. And those shoes, those lovely little slings, looked like real leather. Next to Birkie’s cool and polished exterior, Jillian felt like a rumpled, sweaty mess wrapped in rags. Fashion had never been her top priority, but she was dead certain that a homeless person would possess more style than she did at that moment.
Birkie didn’t seem to notice. If she did, she didn’t think a thing of it. “Let’s get you out of this heat, hon. At least you’ve left the humidity behind you. We’re dry as the proverbial bone here, and I’ve got a cold beer with your name on it, or a cola if you’d rather. Connor would have been here himself, but he got called to a foaling out at Vanderkerke’s not half an hour ago, and they’re two hours north of here in Eureka. We’ll be lucky to see the bossman before tomorrow. How much luggage did you lose?”
“What? Some boxes. How did you know?”
“Honey, hardly anyone comes off that bus with all of their possessions. It’s almost a tradition around here—things tend to get rerouted over to Spirit River or up to Fort St. John. I’ll give them a call, get them to track down your stuff. Should get it back in a couple days at the most. Truck’s this way.”
Jillian let herself be steered by the arm and found that Birkie was as good as her word. There was an ice-filled cooler with an assortment of drinks, but after the lengthy bus trip, it was the beer that appealed to her the most. The air conditioning in the bright red pickup felt delicious. Jillian took her first deep breath since Winnipeg and began to unwind a little. She thought the older woman was a bit of a puzzle, but a friendly and interesting one. With such an impeccable appearance, Birkie might look more at home in the back of a limousine, yet she handled the big truck as if she’d been born behind the wheel. And her earthy humor made the grand tour of the town a memorable experience.
“That’s Kinney’s. If you want a good deal on furniture, you go to them, but you won’t need anything right away. Apartment’s fully furnished, you know. And make sure you see Greg Kinney, not Bob. Bob wouldn’t give his own mother a good deal on the time of day. Besides, he farts something awful.
“That apartment of yours, by the way, is right inside the clinic. Northwest wing, down the hall from the lunchroom. Good location for getting to work on time, not so good for getting a break from your work. You’ll want to watch that.
“Have to go to Macklin’s down the street here if you want any sporting goods. Do you fish? I like to go for trout on the weekends, sometimes get a few perch to fry up. Sergeant Fitzpatrick, now, he likes to fish for sturgeon. I see him on the river quite a bit. When he’s not fishing, he heads the RCMP Detachment in these parts, and if he asks you for a date, say yes. He’s a good man. Connor is too, but he’s taken. Mind you, his younger brothers are still available and all the Macleod men are easy on the eyes.”
Jillian goggled, not certain how to respond to such bluntness.
Birkie peered sideways at her and grinned. “Just letting you know how things are. By the way, Connor’s wife, Zoey, runs the newspaper here. You’ll like her. And she likes you already just because she’ll finally get to see more of her husband now that you’re here to hold the fort. Zoey’s in Vancouver at a publishers conference right now but she’ll be back next week. In fact, she’ll probably contact you for an interview first thing.”
“Whatever for?”
“Not from a small town, are you? New people are
news
around here. Everyone will be wondering who you are and where you’re from and so forth. Probably put your picture right on the front page.”
Alarm must have shown on Jillian’s face because the older woman suddenly burst out laughing and thumped the steering wheel.
“Don’t you worry, Zoey’s very kind. She won’t print a thing you’re not comfortable with, and she doesn’t ask embarrassing questions. If there are any skeletons in your closet that brought you all the way up north, she won’t rattle them.”
“No skeletons here—it’s my empty bank account that rattles. I have student loans to pay.”
Birkie nodded. “Tough to get ahead these days. No one makes a fortune in the veterinary business but you’ll do all right here. Heaven knows there’s no lack of work to do.” She waved to a man with wild gray hair who was just leaving a drugstore. “That’s our lawyer, Herb Salisbury. He’s the only lawyer in town, but a good man and honest. Damned unusual for someone in his profession, it seems.
“On that corner is Chez Mavis. It’s a sandwich shop, belongs to Mavis Williams. She’s got a hot bacon salad that’ll put you in heaven right before the cholesterol kills you.
“But you want the
best
food in town, you go to the Finer Diner. Bill and Jessie Watson own that operation. I’ll take you to lunch there in a day or so when you’re settled. Although you can sample plenty of their wares in the lunchroom at the clinic—they keep the staff fridge stocked for us. Probably the only reason Connor hasn’t starved to death with the hours he puts in. Now that you’re around, maybe he won’t work himself to death either.”
Birkie continued to rattle off facts about everything and everyone and Jillian’s frame of mind improved with each block they passed. Dunvegan might be remote, but it looked both friendly and prosperous, not the tiny rundown village she had feared it would be. And there were definitely no igloos or dogsleds anywhere—so much for the northern stereotype. Slowly she relaxed and forgot her headache. Forgot her missing boxes. And nearly forgot her own name when she caught sight of the clinic. The North Star Animal Hospital was a sprawling modern building, and inside it turned out to be as well-equipped as the college labs had been.
Agitated, the white wolf paced the shadows in the trees just behind the clinic. The massive creature didn’t know why he was here, only that he needed to be. He had been here countless times on numberless nights, watching, guarding when Connor stayed late. But his brother wasn’t here. None of the family, none of the Pack, was here. Yet
something
had tugged him away from the hunt, drawn him from the tall forests along the steep coulees, pulled him away from the deep shadows and bright starlight. Even the newly full moon couldn’t compete with this urge. He couldn’t ignore it, didn’t want to resist it. The wolf had felt this sense, this
something
before, followed it before. . . .
Not something but some
one
.
Scents lingered around the outside of the building, on the pavement, in the yard, in the corrals. Hours old, days old, even weeks old. Many animals had been here. Many humans. And Changelings. He could identify every smell—except one.
The massive wolf stopped in his tracks. His nostrils flared, taking in the subtle traces. Human. A woman. It was her scent that lingered here and there in the corrals, in the doorway, in the yard. She was somewhere in the building now. He inhaled deeply, drawing the tiny molecules over the delicate olfactory tissues, seeking information. The scent was fresh, and it was not one that he had ever encountered here. He snorted and inhaled again. There was something vaguely familiar—and important—about this strange woman. But the wolf could not discern what it was and whined softly in frustration.
Not a wolf.
The sudden thought jarred him. Intruded on his senses, confused him. The thought came again, stronger this time.
I am not a wolf.
It felt dangerous, threatening in some way. The white wolf growled low in his throat and crouched as if to leap at an enemy. Suddenly another awareness stirred, deep inside. It reached out to the creature, calmed it. And for the first time in years, took control.
James Macleod blinked. Still in wolf form, he was fully awake as he hadn’t been in a very long time. Aware. Cocooned in the body of a wolf, James didn’t have to think unless he wanted to, could sink down beneath the surface of the animal, enough so that human thoughts and human emotions were dulled, or he could sink even deeper and silence them altogether. So that the raw edges of grief and pain couldn’t slice at him, couldn’t even find him. So that he could breathe, could keep on breathing.
Aware. His human self was no longer submerged beneath the wolf, and after all this time it was strange, almost alien to him. He turned his head slowly, taking in his surroundings with this new and foreign perspective. Dawn was burning a thin bright line along the eastern horizon. It was a color; there was a word for it. Red. The sky was
red
. He pondered that for a moment, had no idea what to feel about it.
I’m not a wolf.
He didn’t know how he felt about that either. But he did know that whatever—
who
ever—had drawn him here, coaxed him back to full awareness, was inside Connor’s clinic. Animal instincts warned James that he was far from the forest with daylight almost upon him. The urge to head for cover was strong. But the man within the wolf wanted to see this woman, learn what she was to him . . . and was surprised at how powerful the desire was.
James wavered for a few moments until a pair of headlights appeared on the road beyond. He slipped smoothly back beneath the animal persona. The wolf shook himself hard, then wheeled away and raced across the open fields to the trees beyond, a white streak in the morning mist.