Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

"What did you call for, Dakota?" Philip asked sharply.

"I need to find Wulf," I said, and I heard him hiss. "I've lost my contact, and he's not answering the number we have on him-"

"Can you give me that number?" Philip said.

"I need to find him," I said. "Do you know where he sleeps?"

"Yes, but he's skipped, Dakota," Philip said. "We already tried to pick him up-"

"You tried to pick him up?" That was more of an accusation than a question.

"Dakota!" Philip said. "A werewolf looking for a tattoo turns up right where we expect to find a tattoo killer that strikes on the full moon. Mysterious forces are plotting against him. His tattooist is attacked-twice! His handler ends up dead, savaged as if by an animal. Sounds exactly like a 'person of interest' in the full vagueness of that awful phrase. Of course we tried to pick him up. Please, if you give me his number-"

"He saved my life," I said. "Or at least, helped save me from someone other than himself. He's not your guy."

"Dakota," Philip said. "This is me we're talking about here. You really think I'd accuse him without damn good proof?" I didn't immediately respond, and he said: "Dakota?"

Finally I said, "No."

"All right then," Philip said. "Give me his number and I'll try to-"

"Give me his last known location and I'll try to find him," I countered.

Philip paused. "You need to stay out of this," he said. "Stay away from Wulf-"

"It was you" I snapped, "that told me I should do his tattoo-"

"That was before Spleen ended up dead," Philip barked back. "Before someone else tried to shoot you at the Masquerade! It isn't safe-"

"It's not safe for him," I said. "The full moon is one day away. I have to help him-"

"He's an old wolf," Philip said. "I researched that suit of his. The style's at least thirty years out of date. He survives the full moon twelve times a year. He knows how to do it again. If you really want to help him, you'll lie low until the moon is on the wane and we've nailed this killer, or at least driven him off. Shack up with Saffron if you have to-"

"She's gone," I said, "To Africa."

"Bloody hell," he said. "Bloody fucking hell. I was counting on her! Hell of a time to- damnit, look, call Rand, get into protective custody-"

"Fuck that," I said.

"Dakota!" Philip said. "You've had four attacks on you recently-"

"Four?" I said. "Only two, and the one by Transomnia isn't related-"

"Dakota," he said. "Presidents and gangsters have multiple assassins gunning for them, but even they don't get four attacks a week this side of Pakistan. Transomnia, the Masquerade shooter, Spleen and that business with Wulf, they're all connected to you-"

"Business with Wulf?" I said.

"At the hospital," Philip said. "Whoever ratted him to the hospital staff didn't say Wulf was 'bothering them'-they said, Call the police, that maniac tried to gut me with a knife!"

"Holy crap," I said. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"The interviewing officer didn't tell me," Philip said. "I just found their exact words going over the transcripts. Whoever said that didn't want him run off-they wanted him arrested, maybe even shot and killed. That's a premeditated attack in my book."

"Jeez," I said. But I didn't want to admit he was right. I was a skeptic. I didn't believe in all that conspiracy crap. "But, still.. . are you sure you're not being too paranoid-"

"With one dead, two hospitalized, and one man terrorized into going on the run?" Philip said. "You can never be too paranoid with that kind of shit piling up in just six days. Never."

I just sat there, stunned. I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was a conspiracy nut, but he was a very genuine man in black with his own shiny black helicopter, and the body count was stacking up. His words left me feeling I was sinking into murky water, getting deeper all the time, able to see nothing but churning ripples left by unseen sharks.

"Dakota, we're going to land soon," Philip said, as gently as he could over the whine. "I'll be busy, but… I can start the wheels turning, see if we can track Wulf down."

"Okay," I said.

"Will you please give me his number, then?" Philip said.

"Philip," I said, then stopped. "I can't. I can't betray his trust. Not even for you. It's hard to explain what trust means to us down here."

"Look, Dakota," Philip said. "All right. Wulf is a suspect, and I need to question him. I freely admit it. But just question him-that's it. I have no intention of running the first guy I've collared to the DA, not with eyewitnesses denying his involvement and mysterious figures trying to manipulate the police. And if he is innocent, then he is in danger. He needs to be cleared, he needs protection, and most of all, he needs your tattoo. To do all that, we need to find him. Could you imagine, just for a minute, just for one minute, that I'm not trying to notch up a collar here, but that I want to find him because I have his best interests at heart?"

I wavered, then broke down. "All right, Philip," I said. "678-"

"Wait," he said, "let me get a fucking pen-"

"If you hurt him," I said, "or disappear him, you're a dead man."

"Dakota, I meant it. At this point I just want to talk to him, offer him police protection if he will accept it-and either way, tell him to get a good lawyer."

"Police do that?"

"We do what we have to," Philip said. I gave him the number, and then he said: "Look, I'm gone, but if you need us-you have my number, and Rand's. And if it's an emergency, call 'Black Mayday, Black Mayday' on any police channel. Say you are an important asset in a DEI case, and someone in Atlanta will pick it up and respond as soon as they can."

"Take care," I forced myself to say. I was still angry, though I couldn't really say why.

"You too," Philip said. "I… well, be safe, Dakota."

And then he hung up.

I stood there staring at the phone glumly. I was angry at Philip for targeting Wulf, but deep down I knew I couldn't blame him. In his place I'd have been forced to do the same thing, no matter how I felt about Wulf.

And I realized that maybe there was more at work than just the issue of trust between Edgeworlders. I did feel something about Wulf, more than just appreciation that he'd saved my ass. Seeing the man struggling with his wolf made me empathize, made me connect to him. Made me wonder what he'd be like if there weren't so many bumps and bruises in his past. He made me care. But so did Philip, the scary man-in-black with the devilish goatee who in one moment seemed as ruthless as Wulf was wounded, and in the next seemed to be bending rules just because I asked him to.

I was very confused.

And then someone whispered in my ear, "Having trouble with your ^oooyfriend?"

"Aaa!" I cried, half leaping out of my chair and whirling around. Cinnamon sat on the reverse-facing train seat that backed up to mine, leaning her head over the joint headrest until she'd practically rested it on my shoulder-and I hadn't noticed. "How the hell did you-"

"You're like the world's easiest person to track," she said, sniffing curiously, flicking her big ears at me. "At least this time you hopped on a train, so I gots a good run. Chasing you round on that little bike is so boring."

She rolled over, propping her arms lazily on the seat, blinkingwhich gave her a good look at my hair and face. She hissed and recoiled.

"Thought I smelled a beating. Who banged ya up?" she snarled. "Who did ya? Was it that little shit they booted out, Trans? Fuck! I'll kill 'im!"

"Leave him alone," I warned. "He's a real psycho-"

"I don't care how nuts he is," she said in a sing song, "I just wanna see his guts-"

"Cinnamon!" I said. "Did you listen in?"