Howling Bonds

18

I opened my phone and picked out a few videos. Some of them were left behind when I tracked Nell and his group, thanks to my work with Andrew. I provided them with intel on other werewolves and helped the SC upgrade its new high-tech systems. However, I made a copy that let me improve some of the cyber-hunter fleet. Although they lacked power, they were helpful for tracking, delaying, and framing individuals, which started a feud between Andrew and Nell. That way, if trouble showed up, I wouldn’t be in the line of fire. Well, at least until Emilia got involved. Then things would get complicated.

I remembered Emilia, whom I’d encountered in Tacoma’s gaming studio. Glamorous, skeptical of life, polished to the point of almost losing hope by tedious toil and endless drudgery, burying her head in the sand every day but never getting a promotion. She was a spot-on Harry Quinn. Nell and my teenage years crashed into me at the sight of Destiny Girl’s face. The Pack was celebrating the worst day I’d ever known. Stamping rhythms, singing Seven Tongues, toasting as the fires blazed and smoldering the entire night through.

Kingship hung heavy in those woods, like a veil. It held a determined might as firm as any palace, but its grip on us was just as fleeting.

Faye dumped this s**t on me—pain, failure, and self-hatred. But that was just part of the job. If hunters were still after me, I could reach Black Pearl status by taking over this Japanese spot. But no, I had to wait for Kobe Bryant to start the Lakers up before Emilia and Nell left my head, then pressed a few buttons on my phone.

Several werewolves—Lika, Josie and Nessus—fitted with miniature robots in their ears and wearing electronic hunter systems, started tending to the scene by removing the ink, disposing of the bodies, and even the people they were imitating. They took Elixir, which I upgraded, and the painful hours of work left no impression on their real minds, and they still enjoyed modern life after work. Thanks to the progress of all the members of Kleon and Fevre Claw, it did not eliminate the side effects of Elixir, but sped up my research and made me an ace cyber wizard.

I took a break and started skulking, savoring the new content that Faye cranked out on the Web. His launch had seemed shaky, and me being there must have been hard-to-miss and a reminder of how easily he’d pawned his burdens onto me before he hit it big. But afterward, there were fools who praised him and lined up to buy his digital currency.

Inside my head, the bots grew louder and more intrusive. To shut their noise off, I got myself a sweeper bot that would suck up werewolf hair, spit out Nell-Barres’ corpse, then get stuck and go quiet. But technology was accessible to everyone now.

I passed the time trolling forums and telling hell jokes about Faye. The media moguls who wanted to productize his name must love him, and those poor suckers who bought into it just can’t help themselves. They traded on their own value, became service content and products to each other, feeling they were superior somehow, collecting corpses in the field of moral dilemmas right alongside me.

After taking care of everything, I walked out of the sushi bar when dawn broke. On my way back to the hotel, I had a shower and changed into my formal gray suit. As an accent, I put on a turquoise tie.

“Faye Rahman, it’s six-thirty and time to get the f**k out of work,” I said. The clock pointed to half-past six and a cracking punch sounded in the hotel elevator. Sweet oblivion lay ahead.

CHAPTER 9

NELL

“N

ell, come over here and check this out!” I heard Faye’s voice echo down the highway. The sun was scorching, and the fields looked parched. Miles upon miles of withered stalks and dry grass extended into the infinite horizon. The sky was hard and barren, with not a single cloud visible.

They had bled the world dry, and only human shadows slunk along the asphalt road like stray dogs.

In the sunshine, the painted black highway railings were gleaming with oil. There were no cars on the road; no birds chirped, and bugs lay lifeless in the withered grass. Where there should have been cows and sheep, barns, barbed wire fences and little green-roofed houses, and the heat waves billowed.

I kept strolling, scanning for Faye, who was about sixteen or seventeen years old at that time, with those striking gray-green eyes and the cutest cocky smirk. Everywhere he went, he commanded attention. He strode ahead of me, on the other side of the railing, so intent and self-assured. Faye Rahman did whatever he wanted to get his way back then.

Not knowing what he would show me, I looked ahead down the road. All was silent save for the windmill spinning on the horizon and crows pecking at road signs.

The red fire station still lingered, its screen door housing a multitude of mosquitoes. The school had vanished, replaced by workers with dark skin, smoking and pushing carts full of debris in the bright sun. When they saw me approach, they stared for a moment, exchanged pleasantries in half-comprehendible English, and shouted in anger.

“Do you even remember what these trees used to be? Well, I upgraded them with those scraps.” Faye grinned as he stood beneath the grand tree, as its branches glimmered with metal and glass. Clangs of hardware echoed in the air, sending a brass-colored hue that resembled some kind of primitive weapon, like war. “This is gonna be an epic werewolf set and I can’t wait to see the looks on those folks’ faces!”

As I gazed upon the mysterious luminescence, white smoke emitting from the highest point of the sacred tree, it reminded me of the reaction towers of an abandoned factory.