Wild Keepers Page 2

  Allie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. That had to change. She couldn’t keep living in such a timid way. She wasn’t a small town girl anymore. She was a graduate scientist with a new job, who lived in the city. She must start acting that way.

  She grabbed her new coat and put it on. It was heavy, and still smelled of the store where she had bought it – the best department store in Worwood. All their clothes smelled the same, now that she thought of it. They must use some kind of air freshener that permeated the fabric.

  She looked at the new shoes where she had thrown them. No. She wasn’t putting them back on. She retrieved her trusty old boots, grabbed her bag, and without looking back, stepped out into the frigid night air.

  ***

  The night had turned very cold. She turned up the collar on the coat and put her hands into her pockets. She would have to get herself some gloves and a hat.

  She could see the lights from the Chinese restaurant glittering in the distance. It was about three blocks away. It was on the corner, the last in a row of shops. She thought that she had seen a liquor store, and a drug store next to it. Perhaps a small supermarket, which would undoubtedly be overpriced.

  She glanced around, a bit nervously. There was no one out on the streets. She could hear the soft thud of her boots on the pavement. And this street was so dark, now that she thought about it. It only had two streetlamps shedding wan pools of light onto the ground below.

  One foot in front of the other, she told herself, crossly. She was angry to find that her heart had started to beat a bit faster. How old are you? she thought, fiercely. You are a grown woman in your twenties. Old enough to walk a street by yourself. Not a little girl who needs her parents’ hands to lead the way. And it isn’t even that far. Just three short blocks.

  The lights from the Chinese restaurant were flickering on and off. A string of multi-coloured fairy lights, leading the way. What would she order once she had made it there? Fried rice or some dumplings perhaps?

  The houses looked forlorn, their curtains drawn. A row of tumbledown Victorian cottages that had seen better days interspersed with blocks of flats, built in the seventies. A district that had perhaps once been fashionable, and indeed could be again, if the renovators decided to move in. Reclaim it. Make it trendy and cutting edge. But then, the rents would soar, and she wouldn’t be able to afford it. She could barely afford it now.

  She had been shocked when she had first started making inquiries on the prices to lease in this city. For what she was paying now, she could probably afford a two-story brick monstrosity in a leafy area of Worwood. It was going to be a struggle, but she couldn’t see that she had any choice. Maybe one day she could afford to live in the leafy suburbs like Dr. Morgan did, or one of the new communities that Janelle had told her she lived in. But not yet.

  She sighed, seeing her breath fog as it left her body. Once upon a time, she had envisioned that she might move into one of those two-story brick houses in Worwood. She had envisioned that she might be Mrs. Peter Cosgrove. And that they would start their family in that home. But it had all turned to ashes around her, and this is what she had now.

  She didn’t care, she thought. The relationship with Pete had been wrong for years. They had been childhood sweethearts; they had gone to the prom together. But he had stayed entrapped in the town, while she had spread her wings, going to college. They had simply drifted apart. He hadn’t liked the time she had to devote to her studies while he was free on weekends. And then, she had heard whispers that he was dating someone else.

  She had ended it. It had been tough, but necessary. And now she was glad. It had led her here, to a fantastic opportunity. A new life in a new place. Maybe she was just meant to be alone. Devoted to her work. An independent career woman. She could handle that.

  If she could learn to handle walking on these city streets first. Baby steps, she told herself. You have to crawl before you can run.

  Was that the sound of footsteps behind her?

  She turned her head, glancing back down the street behind her. But she couldn’t see anyone. She must have imagined it. She quickened her pace. Why did it seem to be taking forever to get to this restaurant?

  Suddenly, she was knocked sideways. It was a man, and he was clawing at her, desperately trying to grab her bag. Her mind seemed to freeze; it was as if it was happening in slow motion. She could see his crazed eyes as he wrestled with it. And then, he grabbed the straps and started sprinting away.

  The blood drained from her head, quite suddenly, and she felt as if she might collapse.

  He was almost to the corner, where the Chinese restaurant was. But suddenly, he was on the ground. She sat up straighter, her eyes widening in shock.

  A large dog, with a wild black furry coat, had knocked him down. It lunged at him, snarling into his face. The man screamed, trying desperately to get away. He found his feet, and kept running, the bag abandoned on the ground.

  Allie knew she needed to get up. Now. But her feet simply wouldn’t obey her mind. She could only watch, helplessly, as the dog turned around, sniffing the air. And then it saw her.

  She backed up, preparing for the attack. Oh God, was it going to try to rip her throat out?

  She watched with astonished eyes as it picked up her bag between its teeth and padded toward her. It placed the bag at her feet and then turned and ran away into the night.

  Suddenly, her instincts returned. She grabbed the bag and sprinted back to her flat, her lungs feeling as if they were about to burst. With shaking hands, she inserted the key into the lock, and pushed against the door, slamming it behind her.

  And then she collapsed, against the shut door. Slowly, she sank to the floor. Her heart was thudding so violently she thought that it was about to rip out of her chest.

  It had all happened so quickly, she could barely thread it together in her mind. The man. The dog. And then, the animal retrieving her bag for her and laying it at her feet. Almost as if it had known that it belonged to her. No, that was wrong. It had known. Why else would it have done it?

  Her eyes flickered, as she remembered the details. It had been such a wild-looking dog; very large. Not the usual little poodles and Pomeranians that she had seen being walked on leashes around here. This dog was huge; it looked bizarre on these city streets. As if it was out of its usual environment. She could see it running through woodlands or over mountains.

  It had looked like a wolf, she thought, suddenly. But she knew that was impossible. What on earth would a wild wolf be doing on the mean city streets of Covenester? How would it even have gotten here? She didn’t think that people were allowed to keep wolves as pets.

  She must be mistaken. It was probably just a very large dog. But still, she couldn’t shake the image of those fangs and wild yellow eyes boring down into her own as the animal had placed her bag gently at her feet.

  Chapter Two

  He collapsed against an alley wall, shuddering and convulsing. That overwhelming feeling like he was about to be sick. It was always this way, during the turning.

  Sweat poured down his neck, and he turned away, dry retching against the cold cobblestones of the ground beneath him. Yes, he was almost there. He could feel his arms and legs again. His human body, returning to him. Pins and needles ran down his spine, and he arched his back, sharply. The blood was returning to his limbs, and with it came the knowledge of what he had just done.

  It hadn’t been intentional. He had just been walking the streets, aimlessly. At a bit of a loose end. He had seen the Chinese restaurant and debated whether he felt hungry. He hadn’t tried that one, before. It was a bit out of his usual neighbourhood, and he hadn’t realised he had walked quite so far.

  He had been coming out of the alleyway when he had seen it happening.

  A woman, walking alone. He had noted, idly, how attractive she was. Long, straight blonde hair. Tall and slim. She was wearing a long black coat, which she had wrapped around herself, shivering against
the cold.

  And then the man coming up behind her. At first, he had thought that he was going to pass her by, but some instinct made him stop, just to check. The man had knocked the woman sharply to the ground, clawing to get her bag off her. And then he had started sprinting down the street, leaving the woman on the ground, shaken and hurt.

  The anger at what the lowlife had done to this woman overwhelmed him. It entered his blood with a roar. And suddenly it had happened, without his permission. He had felt himself start to snarl. His sense of smell sharpened. He could smell the food being prepared in the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant, as if it were just in front of him. His ears started to hurt from all the sounds that suddenly assaulted them. Car horns. The screech of brakes. Sirens wailing into the city night air. They hurt his ears so badly he almost started to whimper.

  It had happened. The shifting. He was no longer his human self; he had turned into the wolf. The beast.

  He could never remember what it was like being the wolf. It was as if he had been knocked out, and would suddenly wake up, as if from a coma. Hurting and sick. His mind a vast whirlpool of nothingness. He would always have to stitch back together what had happened, piece by piece.

  He got to his feet, slowly, glancing left and right down the alleyway. Had anyone seen him, changing back? But the alley was deserted. The only sight was overflowing trash cans and graffiti plastered onto the walls. With shaking hands, he retrieved his shredded clothes, putting them on quickly.

  Suddenly, he heard a sound. A yowl. But it was only a thin cat, scrambling out of a can. It turned large, fearful green eyes upon him. He could see the fur on its back standing on end. Then it disappeared, up over a wall, and into someone’s back garden.

  He was alone. The magnitude of what he had done, the risk that he had taken, hit him with the force of a brick. It had been stupid, unforgivably stupid. Anyone could have seen him, and there were already enough rumours swirling around the city of wolves roaming the streets.

  Then he remembered the woman. Was she alright? He walked slowly back towards the end of the alley, peering out. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  She was gone. She must have managed to get to her feet and run home. Obviously she hadn’t been badly hurt, or she’d still be lying on the pavement. She had a lucky escape—this time.

  He knew that not everyone was so lucky. The streets of the inner districts of Covenester had been getting worse. He had thought that this area, right on the edge of the worst neighbourhoods, would be a little safer. But it appeared he was wrong.

  He and the others knew how bad it was. The reports in the papers were full of it. Of how it was dangerous to walk the city streets at all anymore. The reports were constantly calling on the police to form task forces and increase their numbers. The people needed to feel safe again, the reports said. What was the city council doing about it?

  He shook his head, grimly. Nothing. They weren’t doing a thing, and he knew why. They were as helpless in the face of this onslaught as a baby mouse in front of a python. There was more at work here than a handful of random gangs and thugs, petty criminals and low lives. It was coordinated, and it was deliberate.

  He walked swiftly back down the alley, in the opposite direction. Whoever the woman was, she was safe now. That was all that mattered. Someone should tell her that it wasn’t okay to walk these streets alone in the dark, and it didn’t matter if you were a man or a woman.

  He paused, briefly, remembering the vision of her. Her graceful figure, and the way she had tossed her long hair over her shoulders as she had walked. She had seemed a little sad, but perhaps she was just preoccupied. Trying to get as quickly as possible to the shops, in the dark.

  He crossed over Tremouth Street, heading back towards Fairburns Parade. The traffic increased, seeming to blind him with their headlights. He felt a sharp pain, in the back of his head, and the nausea he had been fighting since he had turned back suddenly came over him again. It was often like this, directly afterwards. As if he were still under the spell of the wolf and on sensory overload.

  It was getting worse as he got closer to where he lived. He could see knots of people clustered around bonfires in alleyways, feeding the flames with any trash that they could find. They raised dispirited eyes to him as he passed by, but they didn’t speak. The houses and flats that he passed all looked neglected. Boarded up, almost. Sometimes, there were ragged blankets in the place of curtains on the windows. Car wreckages littered the front yards and the pavements.

  He took a deep breath and turned down Enhurst Road. The worst street, in the worst district. And very close to where he had the privilege of living.

  The thudding sound of music filled the air, the bass deep and throbbing. Again, his ears protested the beat. The lights from the ragtag string of shops that threaded along the street hurt his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. Run-down bars, filled with all sorts of criminals. He veered out wide onto the road to avoid a fight taking place outside one. In another world, he might have intervened, but he knew there was no use here. He heard glass smashing on the pavement as a bottle was dropped in the scuffle.

  Women clung to the street corners, leaning against street poles. They chewed gum and looked so bored it was almost painful to watch them. Men in cars cruised by, slowing down to talk to them. The women would become animated in an instant, leaning down to talk to them through the opened car windows. Almost like actors given their cue to walk on stage, he thought ruefully.

  “Hey, sugar.” A woman in a long, curly brown wig with fake eyelashes a mile long greeted him as he walked by. “You look cold. Do you need some warming up?”

  He shook his head, smiling as he kept walking. He didn’t blame the women. They were only doing what they must, to survive. The way that they knew how. The city streets had their own set of rules and codes; different to the codes of small towns or country areas. Briefly, he remembered the freedom and space of being in the wilderness. He had been in the city a long time now. Too long. But there were reasons for that, of course. Very good reasons.

  He ducked down a side street. It was industrial now; factories and warehouses that looked abandoned in the dark. He walked towards an old one, seemingly boarded up. As old as the hills. He had heard the history of it. It had started out life as a clothing factory, where women would sit at old-fashioned sewing machines all day for a pittance. Then it had morphed into a canning operation. Now, it was derelict, on the demolishment list. When the city got the money for it, of course. Which wasn’t likely to be anytime soon. This was hardly a neighbourhood they were scrambling to throw money at.

  He approached a boarded-up door, checking swiftly that no one was around, watching him. He knocked three times, swiftly. A pattern of rapping that was distinct and not easy to imitate.

  The door cracked open, just a little. And then, he eased inside.

  The interior of the warehouse was the epitome of open-plan living. A whole lower floor spread out, with two small rooms leading off it. The rickety staircase lead to the second level, which was similarly spread out. High windows ran the length of the building. Most of the panes were broken; a few were completely shattered. Planks of wood had been hastily hammered over them to keep out the cold.

  The skylight on the upper level was the best feature of the place, he thought, sardonically. It was huge, and always ensured that the warehouse was illuminated. During the day, he often watched clouds scuttling across the sky. And at night, it was a good place to lie back, on some rugs, and watch a million stars start to pinprick the night sky.

  There was a rooftop area, which could be accessed via a rusty old ladder, leaning haphazardly against a wall. From there, you could see the whole of the city skyline, and beyond. Spread out for miles around.

  The warehouse might one day be demolished, or if not, picked up for a song by some person with a vision. It could be renovated, made into a home. He could almost see the stainless steel kitchen and marble benchtops they would install, and the cutting edg
e art canvases hung on the walls. The roof top could be transformed into an oasis of greenery, with outdoor lounges and a barbeque. Inner city living at its finest. If the neighbourhood was cleaned up, of course.

  But it was far from that vision now. And it was the only place he could call home – at least, for the time being. Until his service to the pack was done. Sometimes, he longed for that day; could almost taste it. Where would he go? He couldn’t see himself staying in the city. His blood called for a remote place; woods or mountains. A cabin, perhaps?

  But most of the time, he wanted to stay. He had work to do. He still hadn’t proved himself—not in the way that he wanted to anyway. Not in the way that he needed to.

  He walked into the lower level, flinging himself onto a shabby sofa. Everyone was out, it seemed, except the man who had let him in.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked, rubbing his neck. His head still hurt.

  The man shrugged. “I’m not their keeper. They’ll be back when they’re ready.” The man eyed him, watching him rub his neck. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Headache,” he answered, shortly. He didn’t want to explain what had happened.

  The man assessed him. “You changed, didn’t you?” His eyes flicked over him. “Your clothes are in shreds!”

  He sighed. “It wasn’t intentional,” he slowly began. “There was a woman, being attacked. My blood just started boiling…and before I knew it, it had happened.”

  The man cursed, pacing the room. “How many times have you been told, Caleb? You must get your temper under control. It’s too risky, changing in the city streets. Anyone could see you doing it.”

  “I know,” he replied, shortly. “I get it, okay? It just happened!” He took a long breath. “I’m working on controlling the temper. Tonight was the first time I changed unintentionally in a long time.”

  The man kept pacing the floor. “There’s rumours as it is. On the streets. People whispering about wolves. We must keep a lid on it. You know that they will hear the rumours, sooner or later, and then they will try to find us.”