Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

Philip worked his magic on the hospital staff again and got them to cough up a wheelchair. Within minutes he was wheeling me out in the crisp October air, wrapped in his overcoat and feeling sunny.

"They say you're going home Tuesday morning," Philip said. "I'm actually surprised they've kept you this long, if you're well enough for a tour of the grounds."

"It's the knee," I said. "I think if it was just the cuts and bruises they would have sent me home already, but the doc's keeping my knee under close observation."

We curved round the grassy hollow in front of Emory Hospital, turning just short of the buzzing traffic on Clifton Road that cut the hospital and school in half. I looked up through the trees, at the sky: through the peeling red and orange leaves, a contrail slipped lazily by, the body of the jet that made it gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Through it all, Philip kept dropping little hints-notes of caution for dealing with Edgeworld clients, innocent-sounding little questions about the tattoos that I'd been working on, and so on. Finally I could stand it no more.

"All right," I said. "You know something. I've felt the question hanging over me for the whole ride: 'So, Miss Frost, knowing I'm hunting a killer that strikes the tattooed on the full moon, when were you planning on telling me you were doing a tattoo for a werewolf?'"

Philip laughed. "Okay. We can start there."

"I met with him just after Rand released me from Atlanta Homicide-"

"That was the urgent tattoo you blew me off for the next day," Philip said.

"One of them, yes," I said. "He wants me to ink a control charm, claims he wants more control over his beast-"

"Making him a perfect target," Philip said.

I hunched over in the chair, feeling defensive. 'Wulf was a hardcore Edgeworlder, but I'd gotten a good vibe off him. He was sweet, in a rough, direct way, and would have been more handsome-though lost some of his wildness-if he cleaned up that scruffy My eyes widened. What I'd taken to be a homeless man, shambling along with a group of students suddenly broke free and began walking towards us with strong, purposeful strides. As he crossed the street, his face turned straight to me and I found myself staring straight into the firm jaw and direct gaze of Wulf.

"Speak of the devil," I said.

"Hmmm?" Philip said. Then he caught sight of Wulf barreling down on us and brought the wheelchair to a halt calmly, without a word. He started to step forward, but I reached up and grabbed his hand.

"It's all right," I said. "This is Wulf. He's a friend-I think."

Wulf stopped straight in front of us. He was bigger and tougher than I remembered, but had considerably cleaned up. His wild mane of brownish-blond hair was swept back, his beard trimmed, his face washed. Even his worn beige suit had been laundered to the point you could tell it had once been finery. It stood out sharply against a torn but clean t-shirt, whose rips exposed hints of the tanned skin and rough fur of his muscular chest. He stood over me, staring, soaking my injuries in, pale yellow eyes growing more and more wolflike with rage until they were practically glowing.

"Damnit, I was too slow!" he said, voice crackling with anger. His eyes flicked briefly up at Philip, then dismissed him and fell back on me. I tore my eyes away from the rips in his shirt, from the glimpse of the fine concentric lines of some long-faded tattoo, and met his gaze. He studied me for a moment, then snarled. "I'm so sorry. I wish I'd ripped his throat out."

"Wulf," I said, throat constricting in fear. "Were you stalkfollowing me?"

His eyes widened. "No," he said, kneeling before me, reaching to touch my hand. "No. When I collected my design from Spleen, he said you wanted me to feel free to contact you-"

"I did," I said, and Wulf flinched a little. "And still do, Wulf."

"Thank you, Dakota. He said he'd just met you at Manuel's, so I. .. uh… ran down there," Wulf said, with a little smile that sounded like he meant that literally. "When I arrived I heard shouting in the parking lot, caught the end of the attack-"

And then his hand met mine, and he looked down in shock to see the bandages.

"Oh, no," he said, jerking back. "Oh, God, no. Please don't tell me-"

"It's all right," I said, as he stared at my hand. "Just cuts and scrapes. I-I'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll still be able to do your tattoo."

Wulf looked up sharply. "Even after all you've been through?"

I drew a breath at the longing and fear mixed with his concern. Up close, he was suddenly more human than he'd been since I met him, all my attention was on the pain in his eyes. Somewhere deep inside, this wolf of a man was a scared, hurt puppy, running from everyone. Ok, maybe a two-hundred-fifteen-pound werewolf was technically not a puppy-but he was hurt, all the same.

"Of course," I said, reaching out to touch his hand. I was still surprised by its warmth, even through the bandages. "Takes more than a sicko to stop me."

"Who was he?" Wulf said. "He was fast-I lost him. Didn't smell like a were-"

"A vampire," I said, and Wulf nodded in recognition. "The other vampires are working with the police to handle it. He's a lot more dangerous than he looks-don't tackle him."

"I don't plan to," Wulf said. "I'd step up to defend you from an attack, but I won't go hunting someone down for revenge. I can't afford to tangle with the police."

He stood abruptly, tense and jumpy, clenching and unclenching his fists, bare feet padding almost silently on the sidewalk.

"I shouldn't even be out here-the moon will be rising shortly." He looked at his watch-and even I could tell it was a nice watch- and cursed. "I can't trust myself to be out among people, this close to the time."

"Dakota tells me the tattoo you want her to ink is a control charm," Philip said, oh so reasonably. "Won't that help?"

Wulf suddenly stopped and stared at him, nostrils flaring, feet planted, indignant and inquisitive all at once. "Might keep me from making trouble," he said, but his eyes had grown more wary-and more yellow, almost to the point of glowing. "But it would do nothing to keep my enemies from making trouble for me."

"Enemies?" I asked. "You have enemies?"

"Everywhere," Wulf said, staring back at the hospital. "Always making problems for me, wherever I go-even here. I washed up before I came, even got this old thing drycleaned, and still they wouldn't let me see you-"

"Sorry," Philip said. "The guards on her floor have a list of names. I'll put you on it."

Wulf s eyes tightened more, glaring at Philip. "I never got to her floor," he said. "Security guards turned me away at the front door. They were ready for me. They had complaints about an obnoxious homeless man fitting my description-"

"How the heck could you know that?" I asked.

"I heard the man behind the front desk talking to the guards as they ushered me out. Never underestimate a werewolf's hearing," Wulf said. "And… I think someone is stirring up more trouble for me."

I had started to put Wulf s picture next to 'paranoid' in the dictionary, but damned if two police officers didn't come out of the hospital entrance, look around, fix on us, and quickly start heading in our direction.

"Harassment for being obnoxious, even for being homeless, is natural," Wulf said, clenching his fists, "but persecution for nothing-that is the work of my enemies."

"O-okay," I said. "Philip, can you call them off-"

"They're not on your detail, and they don't look like they'll listen," Philip said. Abruptly he took off his sunglasses and extended them to Wulf. "Take these."

Wulf s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why would you give me your-"

"Your eyes are starting to show, my friend," Philip said.

Wulf took the glasses slowly, staring at them. They were thick and heavy, with odd bulges and two earpieces. "These are Oakley Thumps," he said.