Page 19 of A Wulver for the Week (Pine Ridge Universe)

S eptember, 2024

Pine Ridge, New York

“Waterworks Plumbing!” My voice is guttural, almost inhuman.

It’s been over eighty years, but when I first come out of my deep, lifeless sleep, I’m still more beast than human, no matter how well my form holds the shape of a man.

Why did I pick up my phone? I have a cardinal rule—never answer a phone call before my eyes are focused. Plumbers do no one any good when they’re drunk or disoriented.

That’s right. Mighty Golem, the Living Earth, Most Sacred Servant of the Temple, Protector of Innocents, Defender of Lives... is a licensed and bonded plumber, serving Pine Ridge and Broome County.

If my vision had been less blurred, there’s an even chance I’d have just let it ring. The call was from Jakob Minegold, one of my oldest friends—and a man who is notoriously immaculate in his housekeeping and maintenance. I just did my annual inspection of his property last week. If he’s calling me, it’s to socialize.

I don’t want to be social these days.

I'm not heartless (well, no, technically I am ), but sometimes I stew. I sink into misery. I’m a monster, living in a community of monsters. It’s peaceful. Aside from taking a weekly shift on the Night Watch, I have no one and nothing to protect. The monsters around me have found love and friendship. Some do marry humans, but why shouldn’t they? They are living things, made of flesh and blood, or at least spirit. They can relate to humans, even create families with them.

They’ve become whole. It’s a reminder that I’m still a thing that was made of magic and clay, a puzzle put together seamlessly, but still missing one piece.

I save people from frozen pipes and backed up toilets. I think the men who risked their lives and souls to make me would be ashamed of what I’ve become... and I think I’m ashamed, too.

Minegold is the unofficial mayor of this paranormal-friendly town and the chief supernatural representative. Like me, he assumed his monstrous form during World War II, and for the same reason—to protect the innocent. After years of toil on the battlefields and behind the scenes, he’s content with peace, with playing family with his “adopted” children and now a grandchild.

“Reginald? Are you there?”

“What?” I rasp, shaken back to the present, struggling to leave my earthen sleep. It's been harder lately. Some days I don’t even wake up.

“Do you recall the name LaFontaine?”

My mind zooms backwards to a happy time in the midst of war and tragedy. “Artie,” I whisper. “Artie and Yvette.”

“That’s right. Young Arthur Sloane married Yvette LaFontaine in 1942. They had several children, in addition to the little boy Mrs. Sloane already had from her late husband.”

“I remember. He was shot by occupying forces in Paris. Yvette was already a widow when we met her.” A ghost of a smile crosses my lips. I remember the first time I saw Arthur holding her hand at the end of the voyage. I saw the beginning of their romance—but such a thing never happened for me. “Arthur adopted him—a beautiful little fellow. Pierre, they called him. Artie was a wonderful father, but they kept the boy’s last name out of respect to his father’s heroism and Yvette’s French heritage.”

Bitterness fills me. Artie has been dead for fifteen years. All the men who made me have died. The young children I ferried to safety during the war are dead or elderly. The ones who are left are scattered around the world. I’m only a hazy memory to them, and perhaps that is good. I’m a part of their lives that they associated with terror and loss.

“Pierre LaFontaine reached adulthood, thanks to your protection of his mother and adopted father. He had several sons, and they had children, and they’ve had children... The one who needs our help is Therese LaFontaine.”

“A little girl?” Something inside of me wakes up. I can protect again?

“Not so very little, Reginald. I think she’s in her twenties.”

“Oh. Oh? Why turn to me? What does she need to be protected from?”

Minegold stalls. “It's not long-term. It's a week, maybe two weeks, tops. You don't have to leave town. It is far better that she comes to us. This task will be just... perfect for you. You’ll get to use all of your skills.”

“You can stop stroking my ego. What does the job entail? What skills? You want me to guard her and do a full copper refit?”

“Both. Well, not the full copper refit, but fixing up an old house on Ridge View Way.”

“The lady needs me to protect her from a realtor?” There’s only one house on Ridge View Way. The small lane runs past one of the cemeteries in Pine Ridge, and as any supernaturally conversant person knows, you do not build your home on top of someone else’s.

Jakob heaves a deep sigh. “I'm afraid you won't like this part, but as I said, it's not for long. You're going to have to go undercover. Therese must appear completely unaware and innocent of any knowledge of supernatural doings.”

I look in the mirror. I look like a human. A stocky, barrel-chested human with a square jaw and a square head to match. Bulging muscles and a frame too short to carry them all. It gives my torso a bunched up appearance that I’m not fond of, but it’s something I can’t change. My skin is light gray. I look like I’m moonburned instead of sunburned. “You want her to seem ignorant of anything paranormal, so you stick her with a supernaturally created being? A golem?”

“Just until the Feds can take her.”

“The Feds ?” That’s the last thing any paranormal being wants to deal with! “That’s not my line of country, Jakob.”

“Nor mine, but you and I both know that the paranormal and normal go hand-in-hand far more often than not.”

“I don’t want to end up in some lab.”

“It’s the Federal Witness Relocation Program.”

“Why aren’t the Feds protecting her now?”

“Because she’s just entering the country today. They need her evidence, and they need her to testify. Therese is one brave young lady, according to her grandmother. She is the one who contacted me for help.” Jakob’s voice is surging in excitement. Like me, he lives to play the hero. Unlike me, he has something else to live for besides that. “Therese knows that her ex-husband’s associates will probably attempt to intercept her now that she is back in the country.”

“Where is he now?”

“He was arrested in Europe a few months ago. If he hears that she’s been talking to anyone who twigs as an agent, he’ll take her out. Not personally, I imagine, because he would be the first suspect, but he’ll have it arranged.”

“How in the world do you know all of this?” I demand.

“Her Grandmere!” Jakob rolls the French word off his tongue lightly, something I can’t manage.

“In Paris?”

“In Louisiana. Sloane and LaFontaine educated their children well in the ways of religious and divine protection—what some call good or “white” magic. Therese knows of golems and will have no trouble trusting you.” Minegold gives another sigh. “What she did not learn much about was the darker side of magic, the evil things magic can do. When she met a charming young man in New Orleans, she married him—unaware that he was in the earthly employee of demons. He works in human sacrifices, Reggie. If Delgado believes that Therese is not some fluffy innocent, ignorant of his dark habits, she will be his next offering.”

“But... The Feds?” This sounds like a job for the Night Watch, not a lone plumber! We’ve taken down all sorts of evil humans and monsters over the years.

“The Feds are trying to bring down a killer. To you and I, a human sacrifice is only one part of a complex problem. Obviously, a sacrifice is made for power, and the sort of power Matteo Delgado brokers is hair-raising. I’ve been doing some rapid digging—not too much lest I alert the wrong people, but I believe his most prolific clients are among the darkest practitioners in New Orleans.”

I shudder. I’ve seen humans who use other humans as currency, as experimental fodder. It is a fate I saved others from—but that was long ago and the act was simple, if harrowing. Get them to safety, away from evil people. There was an ocean between my charges and their destruction.

Would I be able to protect this young lady if evil was hunting us in our own backyard? “Murder is murder, whatever the purpose. The police should handle this.”

“But to the police, there is nothing to connect Delgado to any of his kills. He doesn’t have to kill any specific type of person or in any particular way. He travels around the world, a stabbing here, a strangling there, a murder in Venice one month and Montreal the next. Without Therese’s evidence, there would be no way to connect a series of random deaths to one man.”

“But Therese caught him?”

“Indeed, she did—with her own eyes. Once she talked to her grandmother, her eyes were opened further. She saw that one death was not the end of his crimes. She was able to find out a lot about his activities before she left him in Rome. She called the American police, who for once managed to handle things with some degree of success and connected her with Interpol. Interpol agents in Rome were able to get Delgado into a cell on something minor. Now, they must collect evidence before springing a murder charge on him. The odds are slightly in Therese’s favor. He’s killed so often and in so many locations that he will not automatically assume his ex-wife was the witness. But once his lawyer sees the witness list and the evidence against him... Well, you can understand why a lot of people would keep quiet and say they didn’t see a thing.”

“I admire her guts, but—”

“Marie LaFontaine, Therese’s grandmother, kept her grandfather’s journals, specifically the parts about meeting you and I in Pine Ridge. Specifically the parts about you, how you were made, and your oath to protect Arthur’s family and the families of the men who created you.”

I try not to curse out loud.

“Marie told Therese to contact us, that the town could protect her—and specifically that you could protect her. She is the family of one of your creators.”

“I know, but not by blood.” As if that ever mattered to me before.

I can hear the snicker and picture Jakob’s weary expression. “Listen to a vampire, dear boy. Blood doesn’t matter.”

“I... Don’t want to get involved. I want this to end.” The words come out faster than I can think them. “You’re powerful. You know the ways of our people.”

“That’s true, but—”

“Unmake me. If I do this thing for her, unmake me.”

“I can’t! Only someone with the sacred incantations would... The journals.” Minegold’s voice grows ponderous. “I suppose if he wrote about your creation, there’s a chance Arthur Sloane recorded or hid the words of life and the words of ending in his journal. They’d be useless without you there, but he might have left them in writing as some sort of failsafe.”

“Or some kind of mercy,” I whisper. I think back to the days on the boat, the days where I watched Yvette and Artie start to form some sort of bond and realized I would never have it for myself. “Whether the words of ending are written down or you have to make them as you go, you are powerful. You could do it. I don’t want to go on like this. Over eighty years, and still empty.”

“I know that pain, but there are things to fill it. There are friends, family, hobbies—”

“Not for me.”

“You won’t even try! Lately, you hide away. I never see you in town. Do you even eat these days?”

I skip the questions and criticisms. It’s different for Jakob. He was human once, and he’s never killed an innocent. He still has his human soul. Our positions are different, however similar he may try to make them. “I have tried long enough! Promise me that if I help this woman, you will set me free.” I resist the urge to punch the mirror as I watch my face working, breaking down. Sometimes I wish I would turn to dust, but I haven’t, and I won’t. They built me far too well.

“I am going to pray that you change your mind. But if you do not—then yes, I will help you. We must help Artie’s great-granddaughter first. If Delgado’s goons don’t believe she’s moved on and is living a happy little human life, he will stop observing her and send Hellhounds to finish the job.”

“Where is she now?”

“I spoke to her last night. An undercover Interpol agent will have her on a plane this morning. Early this evening, you and I will meet her at the Binghamton Airport. If she’s not being followed, we will hurry her to that little fixer-upper on Ridge View Way, and you will be the plumber who is there doing a full overhaul on the house. If she’s still got a tail, we will do anything in our power to convince Delgado that she’s moved on and has no interest in him any longer.”

“Well, what does he think now?”

“Therese didn’t tell him the real reason why she was leaving. She left after staging a big fight and storming out of their hotel in Rome. When she got to the airport, she called him and said that she was done with him, that she married him because she wanted a rich, glamorous life of jet-setting around the world with her playboy husband, but she didn’t realize how lonely and empty it would be. Then, she told him—well, she panicked, I believe.”

“Oh, no. What did she say?” I try not to groan. I value honesty except in extreme circumstances. Artie and I told many lies over the course of the war. I suppose Therese is in a war for her own survival.

“She told him she had met someone else, a sweet, small-town guy. She met a man with a blue collar and a big heart who would start a family with her and put her before his career, who would let her settle down in one place and not drag her around the world.”

“Ooh. And she didn’t think that would make him mad?”

“She knows him better than we do.”

“Apparently not. She was living with a killer.”

Minegold continues, “She gave her statement in Rome and hurried to London, where she’s been living for several months, cooperating with Interpol and living in a secure flat that’s next to an agent’s. Because of her, they’ve been able to connect a string of deaths to Delgado—only he doesn’t know that yet. They must have a very solid case before they can risk it, especially if they try him for multiple murders and he gets off. Then he cannot be tried again for any of them. For now, they have Delgado on something else—tax evasion or fraud, something like that, I think. Once they hit him with a murder charge, all the excrement will hit the fan. When Therese left, Delgado believed she knew nothing about his criminal or sacrificial activities. After charges are presented—that won’t be the case.”

My admiration for the lady goes up. She must be one cool customer. “So, if she is being followed, I’m supposed to pose as what? Her handler and get her to some safe house? Won’t they think it’s odd that she has a bodyguard if she doesn't know her husband is a criminal?”

There’s a waffling hesitation in Jakob’s voice. “No, no one must know that you’re the bodyguard. You’re supposed to be the sweet, small-town man she left Delgado for.”

“What?”

“Wear a nice suit, Reggie. You might have to star in an off-off-broadway production this evening. You play the groom.”

I hesitate. I’m never going to get married. I long for deep emotional connections, but lack the soul to create them. I rarely speak. Women like communication.

But Minegold? He’s suave. Elegant. A widower. He knows how to be married.

“Why don’t you do it? Take her back to your house, and—”

“I cannot protect her in direct sunlight. I’m too easy to harm with fire or sunlight. You are indestructible. You are also, no offense, far more the picture of a small-town, blue collar sort. You’re actually a plumber, for heaven’s sake!”

“But I don’t know how to fake being someone’s brand-new husband!”

“Take her to dinner. Laugh at her jokes! Fix up the house with her. Newlyweds do those sorts of things.”

“I would imagine there’d be a lot more laying pipe that’s related to consummation than actual plumbing,” I snap.

“Then look besotted when you’re in public.”

I want to refuse, but something sears in my chest.

My oath. To protect.

The promises I made when I said goodbye to Artie Sloane on his deathbed. He always treated me like a person. I told him I would always protect his family. He went with pictures of all his children and grandchildren by his bedside—adopted or otherwise, they were all his out of love.

Maybe I was jealous that a man with such a huge heart made me—and yet never figured out how to give me even a fraction of what he was capable of feeling.

“I don’t want to do this—but I’ll do it.”

“The agents will walk Therese through her paces. You just provide cover and protection that they can’t possibly deliver. They’ll tell us the next steps. I’ll see you at four. Oh, and mazel tov. I hope you and Ms. LaFontaine, formerly Delgado, will be very happy together.”

I hang up and step straight into the shower. I’m going to have to pack. Find my suit and hope it’s not too wrinkled. Oh, yeah, and learn how to look happy. I’m supposedly meeting my new bride this afternoon.