Prologue
September 30, 1981
Tendrils of smoke rose ghostly white against the night
sky like escaping spirits. Two days had passed and the
house had collapsed to
one side in a heap of charred beams and ash. No human could
have survived such
devastation.
James Macleod was not human.
Far beneath the blackened beams, he lay burned,
bleeding, and broken. Close to death but as yet unable to
embrace it. Now and
then, he broke the surface of unconsciousness, only to be
dragged under again
by relentless agony and despair.
The waning moon hid its face as James opened his eyes
at last. For a fleeting moment he thought he was blind,
then realized night had
fallen, although which night it was he had no idea and
didn’t care. He was
still alive – barely – and didn’t care about that
either. His broken ribs
screamed at him as he began to cough up more blood and
soot, but this time
oblivion stubbornly refused to take him back.
Evelyn. He couldn’t see her beneath the debris,
but he could just reach her delicate fingertips. They were
cold and unyielding.
He felt again the slash of agony in his heart that was far
greater than the
pain in his body. She had been human. Vulnerable, both she
and the child within
her, his child. He had failed them both, failed to
protect them, failed
even to discern any danger to them. He had been moving the
cattle to summer
pasture in the deep coulees along the river when a calf
blundered into the
fast-moving water. Saving the young animal and regrouping
the herd had set him
back an hour, then two. Just two scant hours in which all
that was dear to him
was left defenseless.
He'd known at once. James had barely turned his truck
for home when cold terror suddenly clawed his heart and his
wife's voice echoed
briefly in his mind. Gunning the old pickup, he'd kept it
on the rough dirt
road by sheer force of will. Faster, faster,
heedless of the rugged
terrain. He had to get home, had to reach her. When
an axle broke, James
left the crippled truck and raced flat out, first on two
legs, then on four.
Later, at the post office, she had nothing but bulk
mail in her box. She dropped the flyers and ads into the
trash by the door as
she left. At least there weren’t any bills. But there was
no winning envelope
from Publishers’ Clearing House either. She attended the
last of her weekly Tae
Kwon Do classes – she couldn’t afford any more – but
there were no
breakthroughs there. She had yet to master all 29 movements
of the hyung,
the complicated practice sequence that would allow her to
progress to the next
level.
The feeling of letdown was heavy by the time
Jillian opened the door to her tiny rented room. It was
silly, it was childish,
but she couldn’t deny she was disappointed that not a single
out-of-the-ordinary thing had occurred that day. On top of
that, she was tired
to the point of being downright cranky. "Maybe the stupid
dream didn’t mean
anything this time. Maybe it isn’t supposed to mean
anything. Maybe
Marjorie was right and this whole wolf thing really is a
figment of my – "
The phone rang, making her jump, and she snatched up
the receiver with a growl. With any luck it might be a
telemarketer and she
could download a little of her frustration. Petty, she
knew, but it would be
something. She promised herself to feel guilty
later. "Yes?"
"Is this Dr. Jillian Descharme?"
"What are you selling?"
The caller didn’t even pause. "A job. I’d like you to
come work for me. My practice is running me ragged, and I
need a hand. If
you’re as good as your instructors say you are, it could
turn into a
partnership. That is, if you like northern Alberta."
She fumbled with the receiver then, certain that
reality had taken a complete holiday. "What?" Her brain
finally kicked in.
"Wait a minute. I forgot what day it is – this is a
stupid April Fool’s joke,
isn’t it?" Jillian wracked her brain to figure out who
might pull such a prank.
A co-worker? A former classmate? "Of all the mean, rotten –
"
"No, it’s no joke, honest. Hey, if I’d realized what
day it was, I would have waited until tomorrow to call you.
I promise you, this
is a real call about a real job. Look, it’s calving season
and I haven’t slept
in two days, so if I sound desperate, I am. Will you
come?"
"I don’t know you from Adam. And you haven’t even met
me. You haven’t seen my resume. I haven’t even applied for
the job yet. I
didn’t even know there was a job." She certainly
hadn’t looked for
anything that far away, had never been to that part of the
country. Mentally
she pictured a map of Canada and visualized Alberta. It was
one of the largest
provinces, stretching from the American border all the way
up to the Arctic
Circle. Just how far north was this clinic? Was there still
snow on the ground
there?
"I’ve been friends with a couple of your instructors
for a long time. That’s where I got your name. They both
said you’re good, and
that’s good enough for me." He rattled off their names and
enough personal
details to prove he was telling the truth. Or that he’d
really done his
research. He seemed to read her mind then. "Call them up.
Ask them about Connor
Macleod, and they’ll tell you I’m not a nut case or a
stalker."
"But I have a job."
"I heard. I also heard your present position’s
temporary. I happen to know the director of the place –
he thinks you’re
extremely talented too, by the way. Says he’ll even let you
go early, if you
decide you want the job here."
She sighed and swore, forgetting that the man could
hear her through the receiver. She ran a hand through her
choppy blonde hair,
causing it to stand straight up in places. It was all too
true that her job at
the environmental center was up at the end of the month.
She’d tried hard to
find another opportunity to work with wildlife, especially
wolves, but most
positions these days were filled by volunteers. Those that
weren’t were largely
government-funded – and that funding had dried up
considerably after the last
election.
Tapping the phone against her chin, Jillian figured
that this Macleod guy really must be flat-out desperate.
Why else would he call
up someone on the other side of the country for God’s sake?
It was on the tip
of her tongue to say no, to tell him she’d rather
patch up coyotes and
feed orphan skunks than work with livestock and pets. Not
only were they more
interesting to her, but coyotes and skunks didn’t have
owners to deal with. She
wasn’t as good with people as she was with animals. Okay,
she could be
downright lousy with people, especially ones that didn’t
take care of their
animals.
But she couldn’t make herself say no.
Jillian hadn’t been out of veterinary college very
long. She desperately needed a full-time position, any
position that would give
her a chance to pay off her massive student loans and get
on her financial
feet. She might have a DVM after her name now, but that was
all she had to her
name. No cash, no savings, no car, no furniture, no
apartment. No family that
could help her out either, not since an accident had
claimed her parents when
she was in the second grade. She didn’t even have her
textbooks anymore – she’d
been forced to sell them last month to keep her small room
near the
environmental center.
"Hello? Hey, are you still there?"
She realized she’d left the man hanging. "Sorry, just
thinking things through. It’s a big move. You’re just about
on the other side
of the country."
"Let me make it easier then. Commit to giving us six
months, and I’ll pay your way here. If you really hate us
after that, or we
can’t stand you, no harm done. I’d pay your way home,
too."
She could do six months. That wasn't a long time. She
could keep her temper, make nice with clients for six
months. Probably. Macleod
likely ran a cramped, shoestring operation in the middle of
nowhere, but the
guy was offering good pay and a place to live thrown in.
And surely there must
be wildlife rehabs she could look into while she was there.
Maybe she could
work for Macleod’s clinic for a while and then move on to
what she really
wanted to do with her career. Besides, how bad could it be?
Making a mental
note to check this guy out with her instructors and maybe
even the RCMP before
she actually packed any suitcases, she said yes.
And remembered the wolf dream as she hung up the
phone.
* * * *
The full moon called and the Pack answered. The lights
of the town of Dunvegan were left behind as seven creatures
ran silently,
effortlessly, mile after mile. Nothing could cover distance
as efficiently as a
wolf’s perfect form. Charcoal and tawny, gray and silver,
gold and black, the
wolves were a diverse group, yet they moved as one with the
smooth grace of long
practice. Eventually a white wolf joined them, easing into
the band without a
ripple.
The Pack loped along the game trails at the very tops
of the coulees, high above the Peace River valley. The
wolves’ path seemed
almost suspended between sky and water, moon above and moon
reflected below.
Joy, fierce and bright, was all around.
Stars wheeled overhead, revealing the constellations of
the early morning as the Pack leader turned towards Elk
Point. There, she
slowed at last and picked her way along the rocky
promontory until the trees
parted to reveal a sweeping view. Tongues lolling, sides
heaving, the wolves
flopped down on the stone plateau just as a sudden wind
gusted up from the
valley. Dry leaves swirled into a lazy vortex around the
group. The air crackled,
flashed here and there with tiny sparks, as static
electricity began to
collect. The power built until the ground thrummed with it,
until the very
rocks vibrated.
Sudden silence burst as loud as a thunderclap. Human
laughter and human words flowed in quickly to fill the
vacuum. The breeze died
away, the leaves fell to earth. Where eight wolves had
been, there was now only
one. A lone white wolf and seven human beings.
Connor Macleod automatically reached out a hand and
ruffled the thick soft fur. His older brother was not just
the only one in the
family with such a snowy pelt, but the only Changeling that
Connor had ever
seen with that coloration – not an albino but a true white.
Their father had
often called James a winter wolf, but there was
always a touch of
sadness in his voice when he did so. Connor had pressed him
for an explanation
once. It’s a verra long journey until spring for a
winter wolf, lad. A verra
long journey. Connor had been too young to attach any
meaning to his
father’s words. Now he saw that they had been all too
prophetic.
He spoke to his older brother in his mind. All of them
had that ability; it was part and parcel of being
Changeling. Good to see
you, bro. Have you eaten tonight?
Old moose, lame. Easy hunting. Full now.
James’ words were always clear in Connor’s mind,
but they were few and labored, as if it were a strain to
use human words at
all. As if running as a wolf for thirty years made it
difficult to even
remember the language. Seven words in a row nearly counted
as a speech.
It might have given Connor a tiny glimmer of hope, but
he hadn’t allowed himself that luxury in many years. His
hand fell away from
the thick white pelt as he automatically blocked the rest
of his thoughts from
his brother. What possible good could it do to tell James
how much he missed
him, ached to talk with him, to joke and laugh with him,
hell, even to fight
with him? How the whole family grieved for James, as if he
was dead. And he was
dead to them. Even as a wolf he very seldom ran with
the Pack or came near
any of them except Connor on occasion. James had forsaken
his human self
entirely, and it was unclear if he was bound to the
Macleods by remembered
human ties or merely a wolf instinct to be part of a
Pack.
But not one of us blames him for it. Good Christ,
how could we? We weren’t there. We were too far away, all
of us too damn far
away. He shook his head. By the time they’d
arrived at James’s farm,
the house was a heap of blackened beams and cold ashes.
Too damn late to do
anything but bury poor Evelyn. It had nearly been too
late for James as
well. The Pack had tracked him through deep
wilderness for two days,
unable to catch up with him until he finally collapsed from
his horrific
wounds. Over thirty years had passed and still Connor
shivered at that memory.
He had barely recognized the blackened and battered
creature that once was the
white wolf. Changeling or not, it was a flat-out miracle
James had lived.
But the miracle was incomplete. The wolf came
back to them, but not the man. Connor glanced over
at his brother. The
massive white creature was stretched out on the ground
beside him as if
relaxed, but the vivid blue eyes flicked from person to
person. Alert. Ready,
Connor knew, to disappear. Everyone else knew too. Connor
noticed that each
member of the Pack, family and friend alike, would glance
over at James and
then turn away quickly, not knowing what to do or say.
Fearing to break some
unknown spell, fearing that the white wolf would leave them
even sooner than he
usually did.
It’s hard on James but it’s hard on all of us too.
Your older brother has lost his balance, his ability to be
comfortable in both
worlds.
Jessie Watson’s voice was warm and strong in Connor’s
mind. He knew the Pack leader was focusing her speech so
only he could hear it.
He did the same. I don’t know how to help him.
You’re doing all you can. James is doing all he can,
too. He’s chosen to stay here, for one thing. He wanders
but always returns. He
still feels a connection to this land that your family
claimed and settled, a
bond to something that symbolizes roots. And he responds to
you, Connor. Cares
for you as a brother not just a Pack-mate, even guards you.
Haven’t you sensed
him on some level when you’ve been working late at the
clinic?
Connor looked across the fire, saw it brush
golden highlights over Jessie’s dark skin. There was always
something regal
about her, a sense of power. She was a small woman,
downright tiny when
standing next to her husband, Bill. Yet she possessed a
formidable blend of
courage and wisdom, as well as more exotic gifts. Including
magic. He didn’t
doubt her, but the news came as a surprise. James has
been at the clinic?
Many times. Perhaps you haven’t noticed his physical
presence because thoughts of James are always in
your mind. Take a walk
tomorrow and use your Changeling senses to check the stand
of trees behind the
building. Scent the air, the ground. Watch for hairs in the
hay bales in the
compound, prints along the fences in the corrals. He
watches over you, Connor.
He watches over the others too.
Well, then he should be fired – he didn’t make sure
everyone was dressed tonight. Connor tried to lighten
the subject, a little
uncomfortable with the notion that the older brother he
worried so much about
was guarding him. He turned his attention to where Devlin
was mercilessly
teasing his twin Culley about missing shoes and socks.
Anything – clothing,
objects, tools – that touched a Changeling’s body as it
shifted to wolf was
automatically suspended in a another dimension until human
form was resumed.
What or where that dimension was exactly, Connor didn’t
know, only that the
current theory favored the existence of many more
dimensions than the four that
Einstein declared. That was Devlin’s passion, exploring the
physics associated
with Changeling life. Culley, however, couldn’t care less.
Always in a hurry,
he often Changed without checking to make sure he was fully
clothed.
It wasn’t a problem unless they had to shift back to
human form unexpectedly. Explaining why their youngest
brother was barefoot in
the middle of the night could be tricky. Culley had no
jacket either, only a
light T-shirt, but a Changeling’s ambient body temperature
was much higher than
that of a human. Connor shook his head, nearly smiled.
That boy would be
comfortable if he was buck-naked in a snowstorm. Then
he saw Culley steal a
wistful glance at the white wolf and the heavy-heartedness
returned full-force.
They think he avoids them, Jessie. And he does, he
steers clear of everyone. Except me, Connor thought.
And he doesn’t
exactly hang around much with me either. They were just
a year apart in
age, and they’d been inseparable when they were growing up.
Even when Evelyn
entered their lives, they’d remained close. Close before
everything went to
hell. I miss him, Jessie. It drives me crazy, wishing I
could help him.
You are helping him. You’re there for him.
How many months was it before James even attempted to
communicate? Yet he
speaks to you now in your mind. How many years before he
would venture near the
Pack? Yet he often runs with us now, ran with us tonight.
Progress is slow and
subtle, very hard to see when it’s happening – but James
has been opening a
door a little at a time. He doesn’t know it, but he is
ready to be healed. And
because of this, the healer will come.
What healer? Who?
I don’t know. I haven’t seen that. I just know that
the Universe reaches out to us when we make an effort, when
we show we are
ready. James is ready. The healer will come. She broke
the connection then,
turning her attention to something Bill was saying.
Connor looked down to find the white wolf gone. Good
Christ, I didn’t sense a thing. James was like a damn
ghost at times. His
brother might be talking – well, technically, using mind
speech – a little more
but if he was making any real progress, Connor couldn’t see
it. He couldn’t
imagine who or what could possibly heal his brother’s
shattered soul. Still,
Jessie’s words gave him a little actual hope. He let
himself feel it this time,
savor it. Hope that James could find his way back to his
human self, hope that
he would find a reason to want to come back. And stay.