The Wolf in His Arms (The Runes Trilogy) Page 18

  “So we’ll all be locked up on the next full moon,” Lucy said cheerily. “Good thing we have Maxwell and Haley.”

  Alec nodded resolutely. He waved to the papers scattered over the table. “Let’s get to work. If we all translate a different page, we can make some real headway.”

  * * * *

  With dinner in the oven, and a semblance of pulling herself together, Ilene sat at her computer to wait for Jason to come home. She wondered how she would tell him that he could not go over to see his children tonight without hurting him. The lies seemed to line up like dominoes, waiting for a finger. Perhaps the truth—all of it—is the only hope, she thought. Her mind in a flurry of thoughts, she noticed her camera next to her computer and remembered the photos she had taken in the cemetery.

  Ilene uploaded and flipped through her images of the headstones and trees, of the lonesome cemetery gates. Her face twisted with conflicting emotions—at the joy she had always felt while taking pictures; at the torment of feeling joy amid the sadness that defined her life. She closed her eyes, fighting the gloom that embraced her. She concentrated on the photos again, thinking she would take her 35 mm camera next time. It had been so long since she had used the darkroom.

  She flipped to her photo of the mausoleum. She opened a search engine and typed in Homo homini lupus est. “Man is a wolf to his fellow man,” she said aloud. A slow shiver trailed down her body. She typed in Rathborne.

  A series of historic articles appeared in the browser, dating to the 1920s. She scanned the headlines: Largest massacre in American history; The Wolf of Detroit; Millionaire philanthropist monster. She clicked on an article; tears formed in her eyes as she read:

  Gruesome Find at Rathborne Mansion

  Police discovered numerous bodies in various stages of decomposition in secret tunnels under the Rathborne estate on the city’s north side. Investigators received a call from a traumatized broker who made the discovery after the sudden death of millionaire philanthropist Samuel Rathborne. The deceased’s son, Samuel Rathborne II, is at university at Oxford and was not available for comment.

  “The nature of the crime prohibits discussion at this time,” stated Chief of Police Marlin Mays. The name of the broker has not been released and no further details were available at the time of press.

  Ilene leaned back in her seat, digesting the information in the article. The man was a serial murderer, she thought. She closed the article and clicked on another link. The article was dated two months later:

  Rathborne Mausoleum Vandalized

  Watchmen hired for fear of burial desecration

  Last night, an unknown vandal etched the words “Monsters for a Monster” into the steps of Samuel Rathborne’s mausoleum at Garden of Rest Cemetery.

  Rathborne, a prominent local businessman and philanthropist, died of injuries sustained in a car crash on March 3. Following Rathborne’s death, a real estate agent notified police after discovering numerous bodies in the basement of the estate. Police have identified numerous missing persons, including 13-year-old Heidi Andersen, whose disappearance inspired a city-wide search. Many bodies remain unidentified.

  Rathborne’s mausoleum has been vandalized numerous times since the bodies were discovered. Due to the numerous bodies found under his estate, Rathborne has been dubbed The Wolf of Detroit.

  Heirs of the Rathborne estate have hired night watchmen after the most recent defacing. Police are investigating the vandalism.

  The black and white photo accompanying the story showed the words etched deep into the stone steps. Ilene closed the article and typed in “Wolf of Detroit.” She clicked a blog link and read the entry:

  The Wolf of Detroit is the moniker the press assigned posthumously to Samuel Rathborne after an officer commented, “The bodies looked chewed by a wolf.” Rathborne was believed to have slaughtered more than 30 men, women, and children in hidden caves under his mansion in Detroit. The case became a national sensation at the time of the discovery in 1923. Prior to his death, Rathborne was a noted industrialist, an early millionaire, and a beloved philanthropist, who donated to the arts, built libraries, and funded a school for wayward youth, known as the Rathborne Academy.

  Authorities never identified many of the bodies found in the chambers under his estate. Among the bodies identified was that of 13-year-old Heidi Andersen, who had gone missing while walking home after work.

  Public outrage led to numerous desecrations of Rathborne’s mausoleum in Garden of Rest Cemetery. Rathborne’s son, Samuel Rathborne II, hired guards for his father’s tomb after a vandal etched the words “Monster for a Monster” into the steps. The younger Rathborne never returned to Detroit after being deposed for the investigation into the murders.

  The Rathborne Estate was burned during Hell Night after decades of disrepair.

  Ilene clicked through the numerous images scanned from old newspaper articles accompanying the blog post. The black and white photos bore the tale in gruesome detail: bodies piled, rotted. Another close-up photo displayed the rendered flesh of one body draping onto the body beneath. Yet another photo captured a long cement corridor with a bare light bulb. Claw marks gouged the walls. Seeing the story come to life in aged, black and white newsprint chilled her.

  She next flipped through images of the buildings that Rathborne funded. His name had once covered the city.

  Ilene closed the browser and turned away from the computer. She remembered, vaguely, the tale told in the school yard like an urban legend. The name given to the murderer—The Wolf of Detroit—had been spoken like the maniac with a hook for a hand—yet it was true. Ilene suddenly couldn’t catch her breath. The images from the tombs under the estate mingled in her mind with Adam’s torn body, and she knew, somehow, they were related. Ilene’s hands shook violently, and she tried to take deep breaths, tried to stop the panic attack that was overcoming her.

  Her mind continued to race, the images mingling, repeating, merging in a horrible, suffocating montage. Ilene stood and stumbled to the bathroom. She fell to her knees at the toilet and fought the urge to vomit. She reached for a washcloth folded on the shelf. She leaned over the tub and wet it and then patted her forehead with it. The story clung to her, like the chill on her damp skin, because she felt that it was somehow related to the current danger.

  I have to learn more about The Wolf, she told herself in a calmer voice. You can do this.

  * * * *

  “Am I translating this right?” Alec asked, startling Jared and Lucy. His brow furrowed in concentration as he looked at the page.

  Jared leaned over and checked the translation. “Looks right to me.”

  “What are Tutelars?”

  Jared shook his head. He turned to face Lucy. “Doesn’t that mean guardian?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said, laying her pencil down.

  “From what I gather, Tutelars are like the opposite of werewolves,” Alec continued.

  “How do you mean?” Jared asked.

  Alec read: “The Tutelars are the guardians of humanity, wolves who walk in human skins, impervious to the bite of the Lycans, who are humans punished to walk in wolf skin.” Alec looked from Jared to Lucy. “That’s all I have translated so far.”

  “Keep working on that,” Lucy said. “I almost have this page called Project Conflagration done.”

  “And I’m almost done with a page entitled Shamanic Doctrine,” Jared added. “There’s a lot of information on herbal effects.”

  “Any ‘cures’?” Lucy asked, working her fingers like quotes.

  “I’m still working on it.”

  They each turned back to their papers, working in silence. Alec jotted feverishly, checking and rechecking each rune to avoid mishap.

  Jared was slowed, realizing his mind was wandering from his own work to the mysteries on Alec’s and Lucy’s pages. He chided hi distraction, due to the importance of a cure, and refocused on the work before him.

  Lucy pushed the beating wings of hope for a cure d
own as she translated the arduous page in front of her. The page included schematics, coordinates, and other numbers that seemed meaningless even in translation. Lucy scratched her head, looking at the numbers. Are some of these altitude and longitude? She wondered. She made a note to check into it later.

  Sin City

  “I’ve never traveled this much in my entire life,” Maxwell griped to Haley as they climbed into the rental car at McCarran International Airport. He fought with traffic as he navigated his way onto Swenson Street, heading toward downtown Las Vegas.

  “And with no time for sightseeing,” Haley agreed. “We barely had time for a coffee in Portland.”

  “And no time for gambling here,” he lamented without taking his eyes off the road. He listened for the GPS to tell him if he made any mistakes, and relaxed a little. The traffic was nothing compared to Chicago.

  “Whatever.” She sighed. “At least everything we own now fits in a bag.”

  Maxwell shook his head in frustration. “We’re kinda homeless, aren’t we?”

  “It hasn’t crossed your mind that were depending on the kindness of strangers?”

  “Take the drama down a notch, Scarlet,” Maxwell mocked, his eyes cutting to her from the road and then back. “They trust us enough to let us investigate.”

  “True. And, I scored major points discovering that Jared was still alive,” Haley needled.

  “How many times must I say that you were right?”

  “I’ll let you know when you reach it.”

  “Anywho,” Maxwell dragged out, “I think it’s going to be weird seeing him alive for the first time.”

  “Is he going to be a zombie?” Haley asked, her eyes wide.

  “No,” Maxwell shrilled. “He’s—well, I don’t think so.”

  “Brains...” Haley mocked.

  “You know better than to behave this way back in Detroit.”

  “Yes, Papa Bear.”

  The conversation lulled as they navigated through the streets. As they neared their destination, Haley said, “So, we’re just planning to try to talk to them after one of their shows, right?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I wish we were better at this.”

  “I thought we handled Portland pretty well.”

  “Truth.”

  Maxwell found parking, and they walked up to the venue where the Dazzling Demeters headlined. As they approached the booth to purchase tickets, they saw the billboard featuring the act with a giant CANCELED sign slapped over it. “This can’t be happening again,” Maxwell moaned. “I am so tired of being the universe’s favorite punching bag.”

  “Dial the drama down a notch, will ya?” Haley returned his quip as she approached the ticket booth. She knocked on the glass to get the attention of the attendant inside. “What’s up with the show being canceled?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed, glancing up from a magazine. “I just sell tickets. If the shows canceled, I don’t sell tickets.”

  And I thought I had a bad attitude, Haley thought. “I want to talk to the manager.”

  The young woman gave Haley a whatever eye roll but called over an intercom to the manager’s office. “It’ll be a minute.”

  A heavy-set man with smarmy, slick-backed hair burst through the theater doors a few minutes later. Can I help you, Miss?” The man’s tone suggested he would be anything but helpful, and Haley quickly realized where the ticket girl learned her customer service skills.

  “I sure hope so. We came all the way to Vegas to see this show.” She jabbed her finger at the sign promoting the Dazzling Demeters.

  “Yeah, well, it’s canceled.”

  “I see that. What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on is the show’s canceled until further notice.” He turned to walk back inside.

  “Wait!” Maxwell called, stepping forward. “Helena’s my aunt, and I wanted to surprise her by showing up at a show.”

  “You’re aunt my ass,” the guy scoffed, and Maxwell knew he was pushing his luck for the lie to work twice. The man scrutinized Maxwell. “Oh, wait, kid, I see the resemblance to Nadia. You have her eyes.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Well, then maybe you can tell me where the hell they are,” the man scolded.

  “What?”

  “The show’s canceled because they vanished. You didn’t know?” The manager’s face softened. “Somebody attacked them or at least broke into their place. No one’s seen them.” The manager became suspicious again. “How did you not know that?”

  “I was trying to mend a family feud,” Maxwell said. “My mom and my aunt haven’t spoken in years. I was trying to patch things up.” Maxwell’s eyes grew watery with tears. “I don’t even know where they live.”

  “I’ll give you their address, but it won’t do you any good.” The man scribbled the address down and handed it to Maxwell. “Sorry I told you the way I did, and sorry about the family feud.”

  Walking back to the car, Haley needled, “The old she’s-my-aunt-trick works again. I think you might be a sociopath.”

  “What? I’m just quick on my feet.”

  “You were able to fake tears.”

  “Shut up before I have to fake being your friend.”

  “Whatever. Next time you cry, I’m so not believing you.”

  * * * *

  When they arrived at the address, the street showed no sign of the attack. The apartment number indicated the second floor, so they entered the building. At the bottom of the stairwell, Haley pointed out claw marks in the plaster. At the top of the stairs, the boarded up doorway to the apartment greeted them. “Looks familiar,” Haley announced with a shudder as she recalled their apartment door. “Well, Sherlock, any suggestions how we get in?” Haley asked.

  “I wonder if the apartment has a back door?” Maxwell led the way back out to the street to look around. The building was part of a complex that encircled a pool and patio area. Maxwell peered over a gated entrance into the central courtyard, eyeing the crystal blue water, palms, cabana, and lounges. It wasn’t warm enough to swim, so the area was deserted. “I think I can hop this gate.”

  “And?”

  He pointed across the central courtyard. “Each apartment has a balcony and stairs down to the pool. I’ll break in.”

  “Now you’re a pathological liar and a cat burglar.”

  “Don’t get all bourgeois nice-nice on me.”

  Haley considered throwing attitude, but simply replied, “I’ll keep watch here. Do you need a boost?” But as she asked, he placed his hands on the fence and sprung over it to the other side. “How’d you do that?”

  He shook his head. “I just knew that I could.”

  Haley watched him through the bars and then walked to the sidewalk, occasionally looking at her watch, to pretend she was waiting for someone. The sidewalks were clear, and she thought, well, this is Las Vegas after all. Who’s walking?

  Maxwell spied Nadia and Helena’s apartment across the courtyard and walked assertively to its balcony. He had read once that the best way to go unnoticed is to act like you belonged. He hoped it was true. On the balcony, he looked through the sliding glass door into the apartment. The beige carpeting was shredded with claw marks and splattered with blood. One large blood stain darkened the carpeting near the entrance. Toppled, broken furniture and splintered wood lay about the room.

  He tried the door, but it was locked. Maxwell eyed all of the many objects inside, imagining all the powerful scents on them. Just get something with their scent. He looked around for something to pry the door open when he noticed the flip-flop sandals discarded by the door. “My lucky day,” he cheered and snatched the sandals.

  He hopped over the fence and found Haley pacing, looking very guilty. “You’re not nearly as bad ass as you act,” he called to her, making her jump.

  “You do that again, and I’ll have you neutered.”

  “And the wolf jokes begin.”

  “Did you g
et in?”

  “Nope.” He held up the sandals with a self-satisfied grin. “But these ought to do the trick.”

  Haley smiled. “Can I train you to fetch my slippers, too?”

  Investigations

  Marjorie Ruhl scribbled another Latin phrase in a seemingly endless stream of Latin phrases on the chalkboard. Collin looked up at the phrase and copied it onto his notepad, waiting for the translation. The loneliness from his visit with his mother piqued today under the gray, oppressive clouds outside the school window. And, Proctor Ruth’s admission that they listen to and record all phone calls left him ruminating on everything he said. The only thing was the green eyes, Collin thought. He felt a pit of despair growing in his stomach. All he wanted to do was fly under the radar and get out, but now it seemed that Proctor Roth had his eyes on him.

  Collin turned his attention to Mark. Mark no longer sat with him and Tony during lunch; he now sat with some of the guys who had been at the school longer. Collin didn’t even know their names. Mark’s shift had been so sudden—practically overnight. Tony shrugged it off, but Collin could tell that Tony felt betrayed too. The change made him wonder what the administration had done to Mark when he was punished—what had scared him enough to fall in line.

  Mark turned his head and caught Collin staring. Collin nodded softly and added a quick, friendly smile. Mark scowled at him. Collin looked down at his desk. What did I do? He looked at Mark again out of the corner of his eyes. Turn toward me. Collin waited, pretending to focus on the teacher at the front of the room. Mark turned toward him again. Collin turned to take a hard look at Mark.

  Shock rippled across Collin’s face. Though he ducked his head toward his desk, he saw Mark’s features twist with menace. In his peripheral vision, Collin could see Mark nudge the guys sitting next to him.

  Collin felt all their eyes turn toward him.

  All their green eyes.

  And that’s what Collin had noticed: Mark’s dark blue eyes had turned green to match his new friends.