Season of the Wolf Pt. 02

Holding the stitch in my side I jog back the way I came. Angela, or at least the Angela I knew, isn't a plotter or a schemer. Perhaps, she had nothing to do with what happened to Grace. That'd be a long shot though. There are too many questions for me to even contemplate filling in the missing blanks and guess at answers. I can' put together the whys or what they truly mean.

I'm back at the hotel and standing at the threshold to Grace's room. My feet are coated with sand and my skin tacky with drying sweat. I have little composure left to gather to show a better face to Grace than the shocked expression I know I'm wearing. I've carried so much guilt and regret over the things that have been done and can never be undone. Perhaps, I've spent the last quarter of a century being nothing more than a pawn in a bigger plot that is just now unfolding.

I've mourned a woman I thought was dead. I've put flowers on the grave of a stranger thinking it was Angela I was taking the time to remember. I've regretted my part in Josiah's death and endured the guilt of killing him no matter how worthy the reason was. I've searched for Grace and reveled in the joy of finally bringing her home. I can't help but think everything I've suffered, everything Grace suffered, was for nothing. The one person in the world that should have protected her, her mother, was merely manipulating Grace behind the scenes for reasons I can't even begin to fathom.

I can't face Grace like this. I have to get it together for her sake. If I can't handle the truth how am I going to help her get through it? I drag my hands through my hair and tug at the ends. The sharp sting on my scalp helps me to center myself. I've been such a fool. Nathaniel was a fool. We've both been played. And Grace will suffer for our lack of foresight. I've never really understood why the Prophet climbed atop that boulder and called to the Goddess for vengeance, but I do now. I'd like to climb on that rock and call in a favor or two myself, smote and spite, and wreak hellfire on everyone who has ever lied to Grace.

The best thing to do would be to run. Simply put off this little mother and daughter reunion and let her come to Grace. After all, I assume Angela still remembers the way home. A wolf never forgets. I open the door and decide that might be the best course of action to take. One look at Grace, fully dressed and her jaw squared in determination tells me I'm too late. Whatever has been put into play cannot be stopped short of kidnapping her. Grace holds her cell phone in her hand and I know without having to ask what the plan is.

I know she doesn't understand yet. Soon enough, she will. I decide I have to tell her, but I just want a minute of semi-normalcy and to revel in this newly found place of awkward and tremulous calm between the two of us. I gather her up into my arms and hold her tightly. I don't know what to say, so I whisper, "I'm sorry, Grace, so sorry." I apologize before I've said a word to apologize for.

Chapter 15

I awoke to find the bed empty and Han gone. I didn't worry about it. I know Han and I knew he hadn't gone far. I made my complementary morning coffee in the dinky two cup coffee maker provided by the hotel and went about the business of accomplishing the task of getting fully awake for the day.

Christine was true to her word and a text was waiting for me on my phone. She was able to arrange a meeting, today at noon. Christine may be dingy but she isn't dumb. She knows me well enough to realize I'm not about to sneak off or travel to some clandestine remote location without Han. Wisely, she invited him to tag along. I'd planned that anyway, but it was a smart move on her part to offer. She chose a public place to meet, neutral ground and in plain sight. It's far too obvious that she knows where I'm straying because she has chosen the coffee shop on the corner for our little rendezvous.

I'm meeting the other half of my long lost family today and I'm nervous and have no small measure of apprehension about how things will go down. Wolves are territorial and aggressive by nature and I wonder if this will be a pleasant meet and greet or end up in a fight. Han has an arsenal in the basement of that quaint little Victorian manner back home. I'm curious if he brought any weaponry with him. The pack is well stocked with firearms and bullets if Armageddon should breakout in the middle of rural Indiana. But, this is L.A. and if any battles are to be fought today. I think they'll be fought with words rather than bruit force. And just in case I'm wrong. My wolf is her own brand of lethal.

I'm lounging around in my undies and a thin t-shirt swilling bad coffee and rearranging my speech, what I'll say to Han, in my head. He won't be happy that I went behind his back. But, someone had to get the ball rolling. If he had his way we'd be back in Indiana and on pack lands by now. I don't plan to go anywhere until I get to the bottom of the truth.

It fills me with no small measure of relief to know that I've got Han in my corner. What I know about pack politics wouldn't fit into a thimble. Han's had almost two hundred years of practice in dealing with wolves on the prowl. I don't politic. I have a nose for bullshit and I'll leave the posturing and campaign speeches to him. I just want the facts.

I get dressed and steel my determination. There isn't anything that Han can say to sway me. This meeting is going to happen. Today. I just wish deep down I had the confidence I'm trying to fake on the exterior. Under my new policy of the truth and nothing but the truth, I dress in jeans and a t-shirt. There's no need to put on airs or false pretenses besides, I don't have anything fancier to wear and shopping for something is not in my plans.

Han couldn't pull off a suit and tie if his life depended on it. Even when I thought he was simply Hanson Galloway Attorney at Law, which he is. He didn't exactly dress like a lawyer. Han's tastes are as easy going and casual as mine. Faded jeans and t-shirts washed soft, worn work boots, and flannel button downs are more his style.

I'm contemplating him as he bursts into the hotel room and gathers me up in his arms. He is apologizing and planting kisses across my cheeks. Han's skin is ashen and there's no hiding the fact that he's had a great shock. I try to wiggle out of his tight hold and can't manage it. I have no idea what has him so upset. I mumble words of support and comfort and stroke the small of his back while I wait for him to calm or squeeze the life out of me. He eventually relaxes though his face still bears a pained, fearful expression.

Han touches me. Stroking my hair, rubbing my fingers, keeping contact with me and its for my comfort that he does so but his. "Han, what is it?" He won't look me in the eye. His focus is fixed on the tacky carpet. He shakes his head and takes deep breaths. I'm patient and do what I can. Mainly, just let him maintain his hold on me and wait for him to speak.

The musk of his wolf tinges the air of the tiny hotel room. I know he has shifted and can see the smudges of dirt on his chest. I brush bits of sand out of his hair and watch them fall onto the bed. Han has been holding my hand. His grip tightens and he licks his dry lips. Something has him trembling and afraid. I've never seen Han truly afraid before and it terrifies me. "Han, tell me what's wrong," I prod gently.

"I don't know how," he replies.

I wonder if something has happened in Indiana. If one of the pack is sick or dead or if Coyote has managed to finally blow himself to kingdom come with that damn homebrew still as Han always predicted he would. Maybe, the house burned down or the fields the pack depends on for their livelihood have been destroyed in a fire. My gut twists with worry with imaginings over all the things that could go wrong. "Han, please, just say it. I can take it."

"I hope so," he mumbles. Han stares at our interlaced fingers and then looks up to hold my eye. "Angela, your mother...you have to believe me when I tell you Nathaniel had no idea. I had no idea. I thought she was buried in her grave...I don't know how or why...I need to believe that Nathaniel was telling the truth. The person he buried in the cemetery...it wasn't your mother."

"Han," I say in a voice laced with hesitancy. "What do you mean the woman Nathaniel buried wasn't my mother? How do you know?"

"Because, I saw her...I saw her on the beach and she's as alive as you and me."

"You think she's been here all this time. You think she's been here and never once bothered to make contact with me. You think she's known exactly where I've been all these years."

"Yes."

"Why? Why would she do that? I mean...maybe you made a mistake." I'm grabbing at straws and we both know it. This isn't a case of mistaken identity. A wolf is too stealthy too smart to be spotted unless he wants to be seen. "What kind of a mother lets someone else raise her child? She knew what would happen to me someday. She knew my grandfather would never stop searching for me. Why would she go through all this trouble to keep hidden and to keep me hidden when it was just a matter of time before he or someone else found me?"

"I don't know."

I blink back tears of anger over all the things I could have had. The family I could have had and didn't. I want to hate Angela and use my refusal to call her my mother as a dagger and a defense against my pain. I can't afford the weakness of a little girl's unrealized dreams to cloud my judgment. It hits me that Christine knew all this time and said nothing. She makes a much better target for my rage than the woman I've never met. I know exactly how to push Christine's buttons and get her to talk and I will.

"Han, take a shower and get dressed. I think it's time for a little family get together, don't you?" He knows as well as I do that this meeting is unavoidable. I stash my battered emotions behind my resolve to get to the truth whatever it is and he does the same. While Han is in the shower I contemplate what kind of woman my mother is and pray I'm nothing like her. I rub my stomach and feel the softening and promise that no matter what I learn today I'll never abandon my child as she did me.

I compartmentalize and remind myself that I don't need her as a mother. After all, I have a mother whether she gave birth to me or not. Suzanne Klein was my mom. This woman we're about to meet means nothing to me and I don't owe her anything.

Han dresses and his expression is as grim as my mood. We walk slowly to the coffee shop and inhale the scent of roasting beans and sweet vanilla cream. But, there's a tinge to the air and there's no mistaking what it is. My mother is here and she's waiting for us.

Chapter 16

Christine is eager as a puppy wagging its tail as we enter the coffee shop. She wants all forgiven and is willing to do anything to earn a state of grace. I ignore her. I don't have time to be angry with her now.

My breath hitches in my throat as I run my eyes over the woman sitting next to her. She looks like me. Han assures me that I take after my father's side of the family. But, seeing her now in the flesh I tend to disagree. She appears slightly older than me. Her true age is impossible to guess. If she were human, she'd be dust in her grave by now. But, her skin is taut and smooth, slightly bronzed with hints of high cheekbones not quite as pronounced as my own.

She is about my build, dainty and petite, though I'm a bit narrower in the hip and leaner over all. Her dusty brown hair, almost the same shade as Han's, is pulled back into a barrette and draped long over her right shoulder. Her eyes are paler than mine and lack my almond shape. The irises are bluish, not brown like mine. They flash in recognition, as she spots Han. Though she is paying complete attention to him. I know she sees me. She smiles. The smile is wide and welcoming. Friendly, as if they're old friends too long parted and suddenly reunited. I think she's genuinely glad to see him.

When her gaze travels from him to me, her entire face lights up with the brilliance of a million incandescent bulbs. It truly is a dazzling display. She is on her feet and across the café, opening her arms for an embrace. I step back. I don't want this lying bitch touching me and Han tends to agree as he moves into her path to intercept. If she's bothered by the gesture, she doesn't show it. The woman pours on the charm, keeping up the smile and the open posture. It's difficult not to be taken in by her. She is just that charismatic. She gestures to the two empty seats at the table, forgoing the introductions. Wise choice, because I truly have nothing to say to this woman on any kind of a level that might be mistaken for pleasantry.

There are four seats and four paper cups of coffee on the table. She has gone through the trouble of ordering a plate of muffins and it sits in the center of the table untouched. Christine holds her cup in her palms and refuses to look up at meet me in the eye. I've already decided there's no way I can call this woman who abandoned me mom. Angela sips daintily at her cup and waits for Han and I to do likewise or to select a muffin off the tray. It isn't that I think she has poisoned our drinks or anything like that. But, I recognize a power play when I see one and so does Han. The alpha of the pack divvies out the food to the rest. And this is her way of putting herself in a position of authority over us. Too bad. Han and I aren't pack and we won't accept anything from her hand.

I don't want coffee or muffins or anything else from this woman except for answers. I can't play nice. As I can tell from Christine's pleading expression she wants me to. We face off, eying and sizing one another up. I'm not the first to break eye contact and look away. With a sigh she reaches for a muffin and picks at the crumbly top. "Fine," she says. "I guess I'll start the conversation. But, remember, you're the one who wanted to meet. I suppose you have a few questions for me."

"No, just one," I say. "Why?"

She lifts her brow at my question and licks crumbs off her fingertips. "I swear, I'm sitting here talking to Nathaniel instead of my own blooded daughter. The two of you never met, but you're a lot like him. I'm your mother. I was looking out for you."

"By isolating her from her family!" Han interjects. Luckily the café is empty and other than us there's only the girl working behind the counter in the shop.

She scoffs at Han's rage and silences him with a glare. She would think his comments are unwelcome, maybe even rude. I don't and I appreciate his support. "No. By protecting her from them. Did you ever wonder why after twenty-three years away, Josiah suddenly reappeared? Do you really think he wanted control of the pack? I can assure you, he didn't. Nathaniel was close to finding Grace. We thought the body so creatively shipped back would through him off the trail. It only served to fuel the fire. Josiah did what it took to buy us time until we were ready."

"Ready to return home."

"Exactly. Grace, the pack is dying out. You're a smart girl. I know you've done the math. Han," she says shaking her head sympathetically. "After two hundred years of service to nothing more than a pipe dream I can't fathom what holds you so faithfully to tradition. The past is gone, old friend. Gone and buried in that damned cemetery slowly rotting and turning to dust. Grace, by now you've figured out. The attraction you have for Han and he has for you. It isn't real. Your father and I were trying to save you from that fate."

"You wanted me to have choices."

"And you do, Grace, every choice imaginable. Though I see Han has already beaten me at my own game. Congratulations, by the way, on the baby. However, choices come at a price as you're well aware, Han. We have freedom here, but we've lost the very heart and soul of who we are. We are pack. We are wolf. But, we have no magic to bind us as one. With every decade that passes we lose a little more and a little more of that magic that makes us what we are. The pack, my pack, is weak and much like yours, Han, in danger of extinction."

"The legends are true," Han whispers.

"You see, Grace. Everything I've done has been for you. I helped Han find you. I led Coyote straight to your doorstep. I placed you with pack to hide you from the part you were meant to play. It simply wasn't enough. I had to send you headfirst into the very destiny I was trying to protect you from to save you...to save us. I thought the magic would flow through you. It didn't. I had to allow Han to find you. I needed him to unleash the wolf inside of you and to do that you had to go back to where it all began."

She turns to Han and searches the closed expression on his face. She, this stranger I won't call mother and can't say the name of because it has such a confusing meaning to me. If I call her Angela, that would mean I've totally denied her claim on me. I need her in my corner to get the whole story, the truth, out of her. But, if I call her mom, that means something more. It means I accept her, forgive all the lies, and I acknowledge the truth so evident in our shared features. I can't do that either. For now, I've chosen to address her in vague terms. It's safer that way, at least until I've sorted out my feelings.

Talking to Han and not to me, she says, "That little stunt I pulled on the beach today. It cost me, greatly. Every time we shift it costs us in terms of days and months, maybe years. I've seen pack die of old age and disease. There are so few of us left because we don't have the magic to keep ourselves alive. We must return home and live on the soil of our ancestors. That's our curse and the price we pay for what we are."

I see Han mulling over what she's said. A part of him wants to take her and her pack home and another part of him doesn't trust her any further than I do. He is angry with her. I can see it in the stiffness of his posture. If she notices, she doesn't show it. A muscle in his jaw ticks and he is careful to hold his head up and meet her in the eye. It's a display of his position as master of his pack. A title he earned with blood and pain and death. It makes me wonder how she became master...what she did to become master of her own pack.

I realize I already know what she did to earn her title. She didn't kill my father outright, but she sent him to a certain death. She knew Nathaniel would kill anyone who threatened his pack even if it was his own son. She also knew that even if my father survived the challenge. He wouldn't hold it for long. Han was her backup plan, in case Nathaniel failed. And in killing my father to defend the pack Han perhaps, is a bigger pawn than I am.

If what she says is true and her pack is slowly dying out, I realize Han is her biggest threat. Not only has he fought in the wars of man. He has battled his own kind. He believes in the traditions and holds them as sacred. He sees beyond the exterior of this fragile looking woman and to the threat she truly might represent. While she displayed her power, Han has held his carefully under guard. Not even I know what he is completely capable of.

The three of us stare each other down over untouched cups of coffee and a plate of uneaten muffins. I think long and hard about the pack and do a little mental math and put my finger on the threat Han poses to her. She is my mother, but she's also over a century Han's junior. Covertly taking in her features, I can see what she's so carefully hidden beneath her expertly applied makeup and professional dye job. Han says aging slows to a crawl after the first shift. Han doesn't appear a day over thirty and that's not bad for a man almost two centuries old. She, however, now that I've really gotten a good look at her, couldn't pass for under thirty.