Wolf for Hire

Chapter Thirty Six

With Eugene's gun back in my mouth, I slid my hand back into another pocket space—one of Eugene's so-called wells.

"Hey, here's a question," I said, side-eyeing Eugene. "How the hell has no one noticed you doing all your little magic tricks? You've seriously never gotten caught on camera?"

Eugene raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I haven't?"

That gave me pause. "Wait. So you have been caught on camera?"

"Let me ask you this," he said, shifting slightly. "Say you came across a video of someone summoning a… let's say something flashy, like a fireball. What would you think?"

"That it was either good video editing or a cool party trick."

"Exactly." He leaned back against the side of the Bronco. "Most people wouldn't believe it. Especially not with how advanced video-editing tools have gotten."

"Okay, but plenty of people would believe it. Isn't that risky? Doesn't that, I don't know, put a target on your back?"

"And if they did believe it, what then?" he asked.

"Wouldn't someone try to expose you?"

He shrugged. "How? Take a video and send it to the news? I'm sure it'd be on the front page by morning."

I narrowed my eyes. "No, I mean post it online. Like Facebook or TikTok. Facebook's got, like, three billion users. TikTok's got a billion more. That's a lot of eyes."

"And?"

"And you'll be seen."

"And?"

I threw up a hand. "Isn't that a bad thing?"

He gave me a look. "Consider the following: Facebook alone generates about four petabytes of data every day. That's almost fifty times the contents of the Library of Congress. Generated every day. And TikTok? Over twenty million videos uploaded daily."

"Want to do the math, oh Ms. Accountant?" he added dryly.

"Wait. How'd you—"

"Nevermore told me."

"Goddamnit, Nevermore."

"What?" Nevermore said innocently. "It was a harmless little factoid."

"Okay," Eugene picked back up. "So, the average length of a TikTok video is about thirty seconds, which equates to almost seven thousand hours of content generated every hour."

I blinked. "...okay?"

"So who the hell has enough time, or the attention span, to separate all the real videos from the fake or staged?"

Eugene let that sink in a bit before continuing.

"Now, I can tell you for a fact that TikTok, Facebook, YouTube, and all the other media sites are rife with real footage of real magic, supernatural phenomena, and the like. And, even knowing that, you'd be hard-pressed to figure out the real from the rest.

"Hell, most of the fake videos look more realistic than the actual ones.

"You see, the trick is to let the truth obfuscate itself. There's no need to hide it. There was a short period of time when cameras and recorders were both sufficiently ubiquitous and trusted enough to be an actual problem for the world of magic at large. But that time has passed. Even if you manage to get yourself too much attention, all you have to do is lay low for a week, tops. And people will move on and forget."

I turned to look at Nevermore. "Nevermore, is he being real or just full of shit?"

Nevermore gave the bird equivalent of a shrug. "You do recall that I've been away for the better part of fifteen years. And I'm absolutely astounded by how much technology has changed in that time. And yet, we've never been back to the moon. At least not officially. Humans do the darnedest things with technology. Daresay our detective is currently the only expert we have on magic in the 21st century."

I turned back to Eugene. "Okay, but what about security cameras? You did trespass, and there's surely footage of you somewhere to prove it."

"Same problem," Eugene remarked with a shrug. "Too much footage, and not enough people watching it. Besides, most surveillance systems are privately owned and only reviewed if property gets damaged or stolen. It's really just about insurance. Even if someone did see me, they'd still have to go through the hassle of pressing charges."

He smiled faintly. "Besides, I often cast some magic for the cameras anyway. Makes the whole thing look staged. And even if it ever got reported, and taken seriously, it'd just end up on the desk of the people I already report to."

"And you wouldn't get in trouble?" I asked, disbelieving.

"That's the beauty of filling out the right paperwork," Eugene said. "Being licensed makes a huge hell of a difference. And if I'm not a headache to the higher ups, they're not a headache to me."

"So, no," he added, folding his arms—tired of keeping them raised and likely figuring that I would have shot him by now if I actually had the intention—"I'm not too worried about someone catching me using magic."

I couldn't decide if he was brilliant... or just insanely naive. Maybe both.

Column A, column B.

"Then what's stopping anyone, or anything, with magic committing crime and just getting away with it?"

Eugene looked at Nevermore, and then they both looked at me.

It was then I realized how stupid the question was.

"You do realize that's... quite literally my job," Eugene said. "That's why I'm here. It's—"

"Okay, I get it," I interrupted. "So you're saying if I was caught on camera, would I be fine?"

He tilted his head. "Did you commit any crimes that would make someone go back through the footage?"

"Uhh, let's, for the sake of discussion, say I did."

Eugene gave me a flat look.

"What? Can't I ask a hypothetical question? I'm just curious."

"Right. Sure," he said with a sigh. "Let's say you—a werewolf—were caught on camera committing a crime. Unless there was a way to identify you from the footage, there'd be no way to press charges. At least, in a normal court of law. But normal laws wouldn't apply to you anymore, because normal laws only apply to normal humans. And, from a legal standpoint, werewolves, vampires, ghouls—any supernatural entity created from a person—are no longer considered human."

"That seems a little harsh," I muttered.

"Look at it this way," Nevermore cut in. "Can't have a vampire collecting Social Security, the resurrected undead receiving a life insurance payout, or a body-snatcher claiming habeas corpus."

"Most laws—and financial tools like retirement—assume a person is mortal, has a finite lifespan, and doesn't need to eat other people to survive. Or can shapeshift, for that matter," Eugene added.

I let out a slow breath. So I was in the clear? Kinda?

The magical police wouldn't come after me because I stole people's dinner.

Would they?

"They would, because, here's the thing, Allison," Eugene said. "While most people might ignore or miss weird things caught on camera, there are organizations—like the DOA—that exist to deal with supernatural threats. My job, as a contracted Diviner, is to locate, identify, and report such threats. Once they're found, a level of threat is assigned, and depending on the severity, a team is dispatched to detain or destroy the threat... as discreetly as possible."

"But I'm not a threat," I argued.

"And that's not for you to decide. Frankly, it's not for me to decide either," Eugene said, his tone tightening. "Part of the contract that I agreed to, which lets me work across state lines, is that I must report any potential threats that fall under the DOA's jurisdiction.

"And wouldn't you know it, but that happens to include werewolves."

"He makes a fair point," Nevermore said. "Whether you meant to or not, you've put our detective in a complicated position."

I narrowed my eyes. "And how do you know so much about this process?"

"Because Ellenore also contracted with DOA and other such organizations."

I blinked. "Really? And what did she do?"

"She was usually on the Inquisitorial Board."

Eugene visibly cringed. "You didn't mention that."

"Okay... what does that mean?" I asked.

"In short, if a captured entity is human enough to be reasoned with," Eugene said reluctantly, "they're given a trial, of sorts. A chance to avoid extermination or banishment through service. The Inquisitorial Board decides those cases."

"Because why destroy what you can employ," Nevermore added.

Then he perked up. "Oh, that rhymed."

Oh, great. Even with magic, I couldn't escape the courts.

I rubbed my temple. "Okay, look, I don't think you get it. I just want to live a normal life. One that doesn't involve..." I waved a hand at Eugene, "whatever this is. I don't want to hurt you, didn't mean to hurt you—but I'll be damned if I let you take this away from me."

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I turned to Nevermore. "So can't we—I don't know—force Eugene to make another magic promise or something to keep his mouth shut?"

Nevermore turned to Eugene. "See? I told you she'd end up suggesting it."

"What the hell are you talking about now?" I groaned, the sound becoming a deep rumble in my chest. I sat back, taking a break from my hunt for Elmo.

This was starting to get to me.

Like, really get to me.

My brain had already been flash-fried by the nonstop chaos that had started ever since the moon began to wax, and it had only compounded day after day.

Getting evicted from my apartment, only to take the job at Sandy's out of desperation. Getting shot at by a monkey and then letting the wolf escape into her first night in the woods, solidifying her bond with the other dogs that now drove her to seek out Boden.

And just today alone, I'd been forced to give testimony at a church because of two birds who could use command words, was nearly squeezed to death by a giant ball python, got my car repossessed, and, in a mad dash to get home, took a ride from Judge Childs that resulted in her driving it into a ditch. Each one of these events sufficient enough from me to call it a day and just quit.

And all that was before the moon had even risen.

My brain wasn't just fried. It had been re-fried and toasted until it was barely more than a crunchy raisin. It was little wonder that every decision I now made came out so half-baked.

But sure, let's see what more the night had in store.

Because why the fuck not?

"It's part of the subcontractor clause," Eugene said. If he could hear my slow rolling mental breakdown, he gave no sign. "As a contracted specialist, I'm able to form a temporary pact with another person or entity in order to fulfill my assigned contract... with some stipulations."

"Yeah, no. That sounds dubious as hell," I replied.

"Not at all," Nevermore said lightly. "It's basically a two-sided magic promise. But more formalized."

I glared over at Eugene. "And how do I know he won't twist his words again?"

"Because unlike a basic promise, pacts are intention-bound," Nevermore said. "Intent supersedes spoken language. Most practitioners don't even bother with standard magical oaths anymore for that reason."

I turned to Nevermore. "Then why use them at all?"

Eugene looked me dead in the eye. "To fool the magically ignorant."

Well, gold star for honesty.

"Hey, you specifically asked for it," Eugene added.

"I still don't see why I should help him complete his contract," I said, crossing my arms.

"And for what—so he doesn't tell on me? Because he might know someone who can investigate my tattoo? Seems to me I'm the one getting the short end of the stick."

"Whereas, from my standpoint," said Eugene, "I'm the one doing you a favor."

I snorted. "Really? I'd say I'm the one doing the favors. I'm basically covering your ass."

"Has it not occurred to you," he countered, leaning forward slightly, "that whoever Kirkland is working for—or this so-called puppeteer behind these thralls—might come after you? You do realize they're nearby? Close enough to control the thrall and the dogs they afflict. That they probably heard your howl and picked up on the compulsion you placed within it?"

I stiffened but didn't respond. Eugene pressed on.

"If they're what I think they are, then they already know about you. Where you are and what you look like. Probably a few other things too, like your smell and the path you took to get here. And they'll either treat you as a threat, as unwanted competition—or, worse—a potential asset. Especially if they realize you can be subjected to their flavor of enthrallment."

I remembered the sensation I'd felt earlier—the way something unseen had been watching me while I fought those three thralls. It hadn't been distant, either. It had felt... close. Focused. Like it had been studying me.

Could they find me again? Track me the same way I'd tracked Eugene across half of Charleston?

The idea settled heavy in my chest. If I could follow a scent, what was stopping them from doing the same? They had the dogs to do it. What if they followed it all the way back to Sandy's? Back to the dogs. To the house. To all the animals I was supposed to be looking after. Protecting.

The thought of Maggie being turned into a thrall.

My gut twisted.

I didn't like the answer.

And I didn't like that I had to ask these questions at all.

How the hell did I get myself into this mess?

"I think you can see why I couldn't just let you wander off without a way to keep tabs on you. Especially when you clearly don't know even basic magical defenses."

"Oh really?" I said, cocking an eyebrow. "And here I have your gun and you have a broken nose. I think I'm defending myself just fine."

"I meant your inability to modulate your telepathy or how to guard yourself from magical effects," he said, his tone sharp. "Right now you're basically a beacon for anyone with a lick of magical sense.

"See, I'm not worried about you getting injured—werewolves, and shapeshifters in general, are notoriously hard to kill." He met my eyes. "I'm worried about someone taking advantage of your magical naiveté—"

"Like you did," I cut in.

"And turning you into a weapon," he finished. "These perpetrators have already broken several magical and mundane laws. There's no reason to think they won't double down."

Eugene stopped once he noticed how I curled my knees into my chest.

He sighed, perhaps trying to re-evaluate his approach.

Sometimes even werewolves needed to be handled with softer gloves.

"Look, it doesn't matter that you don't want to be a part of this. You howled. You made yourself known. Now, we need to address this—before things escalate.

"This pact your familiar is suggesting? It's a reasonable compromise. By agreeing to work with me to deal with Kirkland, and the puppeteer—a mutual threat to us both—I can keep an eye on you as I'm required to, and you can make sure I keep my mouth shut. And, as a bonus incentive, I can help you investigate your own magical mishap once this is all over."

"This sounds like you're exploiting a loophole," I muttered.

"It does sound like that, doesn't it?" Nevermore said, fluffing his feathers. "But it is legitimate. The Oath of Secrecy—a common stipulation in pacts such as these. Bit of a 'don't ask, don't tell' situation. As long as a contractor gets their job done, the higher-ups don't need—and really don't want—to know how it was done. Gives them plausible deniability if things get... litigious."

I frowned. "What are the other stipulations?"

"Well," Eugene said, "both parties have to be willing. Which means neither of us can be under duress."

I arched an eyebrow. "What am I doing to you this time that you consider so duressful?"

Nevermore cleared his throat. "What he means to say is that you need to give him his gun back."

I looked down at the weapon still in my hand.

Well, I'll be damned. After all the conversational tangents, we'd come full circle.

"You know, this could all be one overly complicated cave allegory, and I'd have no way to tell," I said slowly. "While I have every reason to believe in magic, I have no reason to trust your version of things."

I turned to Nevermore. "That goes for you too. I'd say I only trust you as far as I could throw you, but I'm pretty sure I could literally launch you farther than the crow flies."

My voice dropped. "Hell, I don't even trust myself enough to handle this kind of situation."

"Look, I might've made a cheap play with that promise earlier," Eugene said, "but I did say I wouldn't shoot you. Not a lot of wiggle room in that statement."

I sighed. "Fine."

I set the gun on the ground between us. "Wasn't planning on shooting you anyway. I flipped the safety back on when you weren't looking."

He summoned it with a flick of his fingers, catching it in his left hand and awkwardly maneuvering it back into its holster.

"Might want to consider switching sides," Nevermore remarked.

"Noted," Eugene muttered.

Once I saw the gun clipped back in place, I turned back to the jacket and resumed rummaging through it, feeling around for any stray fuzzy legs.

"So," Nevermore said brightly, "shall I officiate our pact? I think all we need now is to hash out a few specifics, as well as the terms of pact termination."

"I haven't decided yet," I muttered.

Eugene frowned. "What's there to decide?"

"I..." The word stuck in my throat. I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. Then I said, "I need to talk to the wolf. See what she thinks. It doesn't matter what I agree to if she's not on board."

It wasn't a complete lie. The wolf's opinion did matter. But it would be a lie to say I wasn't stalling.

It had already been a long night. And it looked like it was about to get even longer.

As I reached into another pocket, I realized the wolf had grown oddly calm during all this back and forth with Eugene and Nevermore. I wasn't sure why. But maybe I could understand.

She'd gotten everything she wanted tonight—Boden and Coy by her side, the cologned man submitting to favorable terms, the freedom to run wild through the city—mostly unseen, a meal better than she'd ever dreamed of. She'd announced herself to the nocturnal world, made her mark, showed them her strength. Sure, her impromptu entourage had scattered, but they'd seen her. They'd remember her.

All that, and none of it would've been possible without help. Help from me. Her other.

And now, the one who had once been a threat—the cologned man—was becoming something else. An ally? Maybe even, in the wolf's eyes, a packmate.

Sure, she didn't understand the song and dance Eugene and I were engaged in, but she saw it for what it boiled down to: establishing hierarchy, asserting terms. Developing a working relationship that wasn't so antagonistic.

Contracts, laws, magical nuance—those weren't things she grasped. But I could. At least, she trusted that I could. Trusted me. This other guiding her. Teaching her.

The wolf knew she couldn't handle this threat alone. That, if we were going to find this puppeteer, we needed help. And, if what the cologned man said was true, it wouldn't be safe for her to return home until the puppeteer was dealt with. To lead another competitor to her home, her forest? That just wouldn't do.

But finding this threat would be tricky and complicated in this forest of lights, stone, and metal. Tricky for her, at least. But after that? Once they found the puppeteer, and the one called Kirkland—then things would be simple. Then the hunt could begin.

Until then, she was content to let her other take the wheel while she kept watch from the shadows.

But I don't want to deal with this, I thought. I just want to go home.

I didn't say it aloud. Tried not to think it too loud. But I couldn't lie to her.

I began searching the jacket again, a methodical task I could return to, checking the sleeves for more pocket spaces. Focused my mind on something simple. Ideally, I'd prefer engaging in a routine that wasn't related to magic, but sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Meanwhile, Eugene and Nevermore had pulled slightly aside, to use the hood of the Bronco like a meeting table. Eugene to one side, Nevemore perched on a wiper, a legal pad resting on the hood between them. A pen hovered and scribbled across the page of its own accord—Eugene's magic, presumably. He held his injured hand close to his chest while his other hand held a pack of frozen blueberries, held gingerly against the swollen wrist.

Where'd he keep getting these things?

That hadn't been from the jacket.

The pen continued writing, to the rhythm of Nevermore's legalese.

"Clause one: no mauling or molesting each other," Nevermore said, clicking his beak. "It pains me that this has to be explicitly stated, but better to not let this escalate any further. Clause two: transport, shelter, magical first aid."

"Fine," Eugene muttered.

"Clause three: The subcontractor may use familiars for support roles, as long as their actions don't hinder mission objectives or result in the familiar's harm. Clause four: The subcontractor will provide tracking, scent analysis, and physical response as needed throughout the investigation."

Eugene paused, looked like he wanted to argue something, but let Nevermore continue. The pen continuing to scribble away."

A few more words drifted my way: something about neutral arbitration, disclosure timelines, and a blood-seal for emergencies. But I tuned it out.

Whatever magical paperwork they were conjuring up, I was of no use.

Let the wizard and the raven hash it out. I had enough on my plate.

"Where the hell is he?" I muttered angrily after several minutes and several pockets later.

"Check the inseam pocket along the back," Eugene said over his shoulder. "It's easy to miss. Designed it that way."

I slid my hands down the interior lining, feeling a thin seam that separated with a tug—revealing a massive, hidden pocket. One that pretty much ran down the center from the jacket collar to the hemline.

I blinked. "What the hell? This is huge. Why do you even have this?"

"It's sort of a sleeping bag," Eugene replied. "When I'm on the road—Hey! don't stick yourself in there! You need a bath."

He'd turned in time to see me sticking my head into the pocket. I'd figured it would be too big to search by hand, and was curious to see what an inter-dimensional sleeping space looked like. What little light filtered in through the opening wasn't much, but just enough for me to see the faint texture of soft and grey, mothball-scented fabric. Seemed Eugene had in fact lined it with an actual sleeping bag.

But if this was the inside of the bag... what was on the outside?

Elmo, I called out mentally, twisting my head around to see if there was any red amongst grey.

At first there was no response. Then there was a light pressure on the back of my neck as something climbed its way atop my head.

Normal people didn't feel relieved to have a plate-sized tarantula with inch-and-a-half-long fangs anywhere near their face. But lycanthropy had come with a healthy dose of lunacy.

As deranged as it may seem, relief washed through me—seemed my arachnophobia had been replaced by Stockholm Syndrome. One mental disorder swapped for another.

I also discovered that I could apparently wag my tail.

All this because the amount of disbelief I'd had to suspend to get this far was tantamount to psychosis. Reality was whatever I wanted it to be.

I was Allison in Wonderland.