White Fangs Read online

  A gust of icy wind disturbed Jack from his reverie. Sabine had told him that their sojourn in San Francisco had been a success, and there was little that Jack could say against that. The wolves had survived their change without murdering anyone, and by eating beef and chicken thrown into their separate compartments in the old fishing shack by an attentive Sabine. But Jack's sense that they were heading toward something so much worse than werewolves loose in San Francisco allowed little chance to celebrate. Beyond Seattle, the world was wilder. And at the center of the wilderness of Jack's memories awaited Lesya.

  Jack, Sabine, and the crew waited at the railing as the ship docked. Nobody spoke. Small talk was not something that the wolves indulged in, even Louis. The severity of their prior existence had pared life down to the basics.

  As the Kraken nudged the dock and boarding ramps were lowered down, men and women hustled along the dock, and soon enough the ship's horn announced disembarkation.

  "I don't see anyone waiting to board," Sabine said. "Maybe we'll have the ship to ourselves!"

  "There are some remaining aboard," Jack reminded her. "A few hardy souls."

  He leaned on the railing, enjoying watching the dock hands working below. The deck was alive with men moving crates and goods off the ship and passengers shuffling about, awaiting their turn to disembark. Others had come on deck just for the sight of civilization that the Seattle skyline provided — their last such view for quite some time, as they continued on their northward journey. Soon the first of the passengers started down the short ramp, and a couple of them staggered a little as they stepped onto solid land, finding their land legs again.

  "I'm heading back to our cabin," Louis said. "I'm getting as much sleep as I can in a proper bed before we — "

  "Ghost," Sabine whispered.

  Jack's blood ran cold. It was as if she had reached into his dream and resurrected it. He saw her growing pale and grabbed her arms, fearing some sudden illness. Her eyelids fluttered, and she brought her hand up to her mouth and bit it.

  "Sabine!" Jack said. "What is it?"

  "I'm . . . I'm here, Jack," she said, suddenly leaning into him.

  Beyond her, he caught sight of the rest of their strange pack. The four werewolves stood frozen, like animals caught in a sudden flash of light, ready to bolt at any moment. It was the first time he had ever seen Louis and the others afraid, and he wondered fleetingly what other than brutality he was taking away from them by trying to re-teach them humanity.

  In their paralysis, all four of them — Louis, Maurilio, Vukovich, and the Reverend — were staring off to Jack's right, down over the ship's railing. Jack turned and looked down at the dock, to see what had so shocked them all.

  Standing still amongst the bustle, like a rock in the center of a white-water stream, a tall figure regarded him. Jack's first thought was to wonder how it was that Sabine had not felt his presence, but of course he was on dry land, and she wouldn't have been able to sense him there.

  This was no dream.

  Ghost had found them.

  Chapter Two - Unwelcome

  "No," Jack said.

  "Impossible," Louis breathed. Somehow his speaking broke the other wolves' paralysis. Vukovich and Maurilio each took a step back, and the Reverend's grip on the railing tightened, fingers turning white.

  "Impossible, yes," Jack agreed, oddly pleased that he was not the only one seeing this. "And yet there he is." A part of him noted that he was accepting this much easier than he should. Perhaps seeing Ghost was chasing away his dreams, and rooting him back in reality at last.

  "What do we do?" Vukovich asked.

  "We wait," Jack said. Because Ghost was already moving, walking steadily up the boarding plank, even as crewmen carried crates down the parallel ramp and the last of the departing passengers filed off of the ship. The sailors and remaining passengers on board barely took any notice of him, but Jack and his companions could see nothing else, as if their world had shrunk to this one inexplicable moment. Their former captain's massive, muscular form was clad in trousers, a faded shirt and a light jacket, and he wore a thick growth of beard. He carried no baggage, only strolled up the plank as if he were merely a visitor, his gaze never leaving Jack's face.

  No, Jack realized with a chill. Not my face.

  Ghost was staring at Sabine.

  It was as Ghost crossed the deck toward them that Jack realized what he, Sabine, and the wolves had become — they were a team. A crew. A pack. None of them turned and ran, though he was sure each among them would have valid reason to do so. Sabine shivered slightly where Jack rested one comforting hand on her shoulder. The Reverend had let go of the railing at last, and stood beside men who until recently had been his enemies. Though fear hung heavy in the cool morning air and the day's new sun, they faced the beast together. Nearby, two men laughed heartily over some shared joke, one of them puffing a noxious cigar, an arm around a young woman who might have been his wife or daughter. Jack wanted to scream at them to run, to cry out that the devil had come aboard, and didn't they know him when they laid eyes upon him?

  "Good morning," Ghost said, his gaze flitting briefly from man to man. It rested slightly longer on Jack, the corner of Ghost's lip rising in the semblance of a smile. Then he settled on Sabine again. His eyes were cool and fluid, giving nothing away.

  The sound of metal on leather made Jack glance left, where he saw that Louis had drawn his knife, and now held it down beside his leg, at the ready. He was a small man, but stocky and strong, and deadly in a fight.

  Ghost stiffened slightly, his expression almost pained. He glanced around at the crewmen busy with their unloading and the handful of passengers still on deck. "Really?" he asked softly. "Among all these people? Would you have me change, and expose us all?"

  "Louis," Jack said warily. "I don't think you need the blade."

  "If not now, then later," Louis replied, his voice a low growled promise.

  "Maybe not," Ghost said, as if he — this brutal survivor — had somehow become the voice of reason. "Perhaps tooth and blade can remain sheathed."

  "No," Vukovich said, baring teeth that were growing sharper. "Now." He stepped forward, and Jack caught a whiff of the beast within.

  Ghost smiled. That was what made Jack act. Not fear of being caught, or the chaos and horror that might ensue for all of them should a fight erupt here and now. It was Ghost's outright confidence that he would win that made Jack kick out his foot and trip Vukovich.

  The Russian werewolf went down, snarling in fury, but as he tried to rise Maurilio knelt quickly beside him, muttering a plea for caution. A sailor at the top of the gangplank looked their way. Jack smiled and raised his hand, and the man looked away.

  Could Ghost have killed them all? Jack did not think so. As ferocious a fighter as Ghost might be, Jack felt sure that he and the four werewolves, and Sabine with her magic, could defeat him, and that this time there would be no mercy. But how many would die in order to achieve that? Ghost could have snuck aboard, bided his time, and tried to kill them one at a time if vengeance was his purpose. Instead, he had approached them openly, and though his usual arrogance remained, Jack sensed no immediate menace from him.

  So what did he want?

  "Vukovich," Jack said, glancing around at the sailors who were already making preparations to depart. The cigar-smoking man and his young wife had gone. "Let's hear what he has to say."

  "And get drawn in again," Vukovich said, his voice tired and resigned. Clearly Ghost's presence had taken Vukovich back to the darkest days aboard the Larsen and the hideous things he and the other members of Ghost's pack had done as a part of his crew. Ghost had handpicked each man for his crew and then infected them with the curse of the werewolf. He had turned them into monsters, and for that they had all hated and feared him, and they had served him.

  They had thought Ghost lost to the mists of memory, stranded on that island, yet here he was again. Jack knew they would all need time to recover from t
his shock.

  But they will! he thought. We will. Because everything has changed.

  "This isn't your crew anymore, Ghost," he announced.

  "Oh, I can see that," Ghost said, staring at Jack. "Captain at last, eh, boy?"

  "The captain . . ." Jack looked past Ghost at the raised wheelhouse. "I suspect he's up there with his mate, busy plotting the course to Skagway."

  Ghost's gaze flickered across them all again. Vukovich had stood, and though cowed, he glared back.

  "This crew needs no captain," Louis said.

  "That's what you all think," Ghost said. "That's what . . ." He threw up his hands, head tilted, smiling. "But where are my manners? Sabine, it is wonderful to see you again. And looking so . . . radiant."

  "I cannot lie and say the same."

  Ghost shrugged. "What adventures we had, eh? What stories we can tell. Together, this evening! I have a large cabin booked, big enough for us all. Six o'clock?"

  "Ghost —" Jack began, but the big pirate was already turning away.

  "Good!" Ghost said. "I'll order wine and fresh meat, and we can catch up on events. But now . . ." He yawned expansively. "If you'll forgive me, I've had a tiring journey. A long train ride overland." He glanced back and smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. "And before that, a swim."

  He strolled away across deck, seemingly without a care in the world.

  Sabine was breathing hard. Jack slipped an arm around her waist. She did not resist, but neither did she lean into him. She was watching Ghost, and Jack could not read her expression at all.

  "Well," Louis said, exhaling noisily. "Well."

  "We should have killed him right then," Vukovich said.

  "You had a chance before, and you let him go," the Reverend said thoughtfully. For a man who had once been a part of Death Nilsson's crew, and a werewolf, he was unusually philosophical. "Monster he may be, but at the moment he does not seem like a monster bent on revenge."

  "You can't imagine how deep vengeance runs in him," Maurilio observed, leaning against the railing now, looking off in the direction Ghost had gone. "All he thought about for years was revenge against his brother, Death. Nothing else mattered to him. Everything he did was to hone himself toward that moment. And none of us knew. He fooled us all. He's devious as a snake, single-minded as a shark."

  "I don't know," Sabine said. She looked around at Jack. "Didn't you feel it, Jack?"

  "Feel what?"

  "Change."

  Jack shook his head. Surprise, fear, and that maddening level of grudging respect that Ghost always commanded from him, yes. He had felt all those. But change? "I don't think he's a man capable of that."

  "We shall see this evening," Sabine said.

  "You mean . . . ?" Louis asked.

  "Of course," she said. "We should take him up on his invitation. He's ordering meat, after all."

  Still numbed with shock, they stood together on deck for a while, watching coal and other goods being loaded on board. They discussed the risks of going to Ghost's cabin, and agreed that Louis would find out which one was his in advance. They would take turns keeping watch — in pairs — to ensure that no trap was being set.

  On some level Jack knew there was not. Ghost would not be so underhanded, because that would indicate weakness, and a fear that he could be defeated if challenged directly. But Jack had seen that the werewolf captain had no such fear. Ghost possessed supreme confidence, and if he had boarded this ship to fight them, the battle would already be over. Blood would have been spilled, bodies would litter the deck. Even now, Jack was hesitant to predict the result.

  For the rest of that morning, he and Sabine remained on deck, relishing the sunlight. Questions troubled him, not least how Ghost had known where they would be. At noon the Kraken set sail again, and Jack was trapped once more aboard a ship with the woman he loved and the other man who so obviously loved her.

  They had been sailing toward wilderness, but Jack was realizing that the wild was already with them.

  The day wore on, and close to six o'clock Jack called a gathering in his cabin. It was cramped, and a deep, musky scent came off the men. It was a strange aspect of their condition; that they smelled like the wolf even when hidden in the guise of a man. This evening the odor was stronger than normal; the animal halves of their natures clung to them like their shadows, intimate and close, even when they could not be seen.

  "We need to agree on something," Jack said, glancing around from face to face. Louis's ordinarily amiable smile was nowhere to be seen. With his dark skin, he seemed much like a sinister shadow himself. The thin, skittish Maurilio seemed unable to stand still. Vukovich stayed by the cabin door, as if he thought he might need to flee at any moment. Only the Reverend seemed at ease, the tall, grizzled man leaning against the wall like a gunfighter. After the time he'd spent with Death Nilsson, he'd grown used to the specter of imminent violence.

  Jack searched their eyes. "If Ghost does anything threatening, we fall on him. If he even hints at violence, we attack."

  "Yes," Maurilio said quickly.

  Louis and Vukovich nodded. The Reverend offered no comment, but Jack could see agreement in his eyes. Still new to the group, he was cautious about discussing violence against the former leader of his new pack. Jack respected him for that; it was survival instinct.

  "Sabine?" Jack asked. She had seemed distracted, as if she were waiting for something to happen.

  "If there is trouble, I might be able to distract him," she said. "Now that we're back at sea." She sounded distant and uncertain, and Louis raised an eyebrow. Jack pretended not to notice.

  "Good," he said. "Then let's go and see what Ghost wants of us."

  They went into the depths of the ship to where he had booked himself a large, windowless cabin close to the bow. Louis and the others had kept watch on the cabin, and the door had not opened since morning. Ghost was inside, alone, and had been all day. Whatever his plans, they seemed to involve only him.

  "Are you troubled?" Jack asked Sabine as they walked along metal corridors.

  "Of course."

  "But is there something more on your mind?" He held her hand and she squeezed back.

  "Only the same as all of us," she replied. "Wondering what he wants. How he found us. And what his plans might be."

  "His plans," Jack echoed, and his stomach tightened. "We survived him before, Sabine, and he was a lot stronger then."

  "I'm not so sure," she said, almost talking to herself. "I'm not sure how such strength can ever be judged, or assumed."

  They paused outside the cabin door and Jack raised his fist to knock. The door opened. Ghost blocked the opening, a huge shadow with flickering candles making the edges of his silhouette appear to dance.

  "Right on time," Ghost said. "Dinner is already here." He swung the door wide and swept his hand before them. "Please, come in."

  Jack, Sabine, and the ex-pirates entered the cabin of their nemesis. The air thrummed with expectation, heavy with the promise of violence. In Ghost's politeness Jack sensed the confidence and arrogance that defined the man.

  "I suspect you have questions for me, Mr. London?" Ghost asked as he closed the door behind them.

  "I'm not interested —" Jack began. But Sabine grabbed his arm.

  "Jack."

  And then Jack smelled it on the air — the rich tang of fresh meat, and blood, and the scent of the butcher. A feast of raw meat had been laid out on the small table: steaks, ribs, heavy joints, and delicate slices almost transparent in their thinness. Several small pools of blood lay around the table, and they dripped.

  No no no, Jack thought, but as Sabine's fingers lessened their pressure he saw what she had already registered. This was beef. Not the long pork he had feared. Not human flesh.

  The men were breathing heavily, the animal scent of fur richer than ever. Jack looked at each of them in turn and tried to project calm, and Louis and Maurilio nodded gently. Ghost had doubtless brought him and Sabine into su
ch a setting on purpose.

  "Prime American beef, slaughtered several days ago, hung, and now ready for my old crew to feast upon." Ghost turned the key in the lock. "Better than pelican meat, eh, Jack? Though still not as good as . . ." He shrugged and moved amongst them to the table.

  Picking up a chunk of meat the size of his fist, Ghost brought it to his nose and inhaled, eyes half-closed. "Mmmm. Louis?" He offered the meat, and Louis half-raised his hand before lowering it again.

  "I'll choose my own," the Frenchman said.

  He's striving to be less than he was, Jack thought, watching Ghost. He's as big as ever, but he's trying to project less of his personality. Trying not to fill the room.

  "How did you find us?" Vukovich asked, and when Ghost glanced directly at Jack, Jack's heart sank as he realized the answer.

  Ghost had known that Jack would go home first, to bring his mother the gold he had found in the Yukon Territory. If he had been pursuing them all this time, he would have made San Francisco his first stop. And where would he have sought Jack there, except at his mother's house?

  Jack felt suddenly weak, and sick. But he would not let Ghost see that.

  "Did you kill them?" he asked softly, and the room froze. The Reverend, picking up a chunk of meat, paused with it halfway to his mouth. Maurilio stood by the door, one hand in his pocket grasping the blade Jack knew was concealed there. Sabine was beside Jack, where she had been since he'd rescued her and they had lived through the terrible conflict and slaughter on board Death's ship. Always by his side, and he by hers. Where they both belonged.

  My mother, my sister, my brother-in-law, Jack thought, and he experienced a vivid, awful image of them lying slaughtered across his mother's bare kitchen floor.

  "Of course not, Jack," Ghost said, and his hurt could almost have been genuine. "You'd suspect that of me?"

  "I'd expect it," Jack replied.