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He licked his lips. “Okay,” he called out. “You made your point. Call your pets off.”
A pause, one that felt very long, standing there in the wolves’ sights. Then, a tall blond man in jeans, a furred jacket and leather boots stepped out of the trees and stood between the great beasts.
“They’re not pets. They’re guards.” Michael stared at Tucker: “And what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to Athelinda.”
“Why?”
“I need her help.”
“Hasn’t she helped you enough?”
Tucker swallowed. “Another kid is dead. I think Athelinda knows something.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Right now, it would be easier to kill you. It’s tempting.” He moved closer. “Kill you, let the townsfolk come, see who comes out on top.”
“Is that why you attacked the church? To provoke them into a battle?”
Michael spat on the ground. “Maybe it’s what we need. Maybe we’re tired of living in fear. Our existence a favor granted by humans.”
“Listen to me, Michael,” Tucker said, more urgently. “Whoever is doing this doesn’t care about the Colony. They let Aaron and his kin die. They would happily see you all culled so they can carry on killing. Help me, and we can save Deadhart and the Colony.”
“Maybe I don’t want to save Deadhart. Or any humans.”
“Really? You’re half-human yourself. Don’t you crave what our world offers? Isn’t that why you hang out at the Lame Horse and pick up human companions?” Tucker paused. “You know, I could have you arrested for soliciting.” He glanced at the wolves. “Or we could just let sleeping dogs lie.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“Bargaining.”
Michael remained silent, considering. His long blond hair gleamed, skin alabaster in the moonlight. Michael had his mother’s beauty and callous cruelty. But Tucker didn’t believe he had her killer instinct. At least, he hoped not.
Finally, Michael turned to the wolves and said something rapidly in Vampyric. Tucker picked out a little: Ou gaest (“You go.”) As one, the pack turned and melted back into the woods.
He glanced back at Tucker. “Follow me. Athelinda’s expecting you. She smelt your stench a mile away.”
He walked forward and stepped on to the bridge, jumping lightly over several rotting sleepers. Tucker hesitated. The bridge seemed to sway slightly in the wind. Snow had coated the rotten wood, making it slimy and even more treacherous.
Michael waited, halfway across. “You scared, Tucker?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
He smiled. “You’re half-turned. You fall and crack your skull, you’ll mend…probably.”
Tucker gritted his teeth and stepped out on to the bridge.
57
Barbara felt restless. She had made calls to Talkeetna and Anchorage. She had checked the weather reports—and it looked like the storm should have passed by tomorrow morning. She had even made a call to Decker.
“You think Nathan Bell is our killer?” he asked.
“I really don’t know, sir.”
She heard him tut. “Seems like there’s a shitload you don’t know right now. I could paper my house and have plenty spare to wipe my butt on with what you don’t know.”
“Pleasing as that image is, sir, there’s a lot here that doesn’t make sense.”
