Page 24 of Wolf Bane (Marked #3)

I remembered the story—hell, I’d only just thought about it a few days ago.

Or was it longer? Shit, how much time had passed?

But knowing what I knew now about the complaints, knowing what I knew then about Mr. Stone running out the weres he didn’t like…

I looked at the raggedy group around me with a new, uneasy awareness.

Wonder if they’ll let me move in with them when shit goes south with the clan this time?

“We heard ‘bout you. Real interestin’, I think. Ethan’s not his daddy, huh?

But he sure as hell ain’t runnin’ to mend fences.

Leavin’ us hanging in the wind like he does.

Been trying to broker a meetin’ with him for, lordy, six?

Seven? Seven years now. Too busy playin’ cops and robbers first. Now he’s off bowin’ and scrapin’ for that council. And here we are,” he sneered.

Spreading his hands wide, he took in not just the moldering building around us but their lives as a whole.

The hardscrabble small community outside the building that, without even seeing, I knew had to be scraping by, hanging on to life by the skin of its teeth like a hundred other money-poor, problem-rich communities that got ignored and NIMBY’d into dust.

Benoit watched whatever expression itched on my face, his sneer curling into a knowing smirk. “Yeah, that’s right. Way I figure it, the clan, particularly the Stones, owe us. They owe us our rightful homes back, they owe us our status back in the pack, they owe us everything, Doctor Babin.”

The way he spat my name mad my hackles—such as they were—rise. “I can’t do anything for you. I don’t understand what you’re expecting here, Benoit. I’m not part of their clan.” I jerked my chin at Daniel. “Hell, most of ‘em would just as soon let me be your buddy’s chew toy as look at me.”

“Well, we’ll just talk about that later, hm? First, you’re gonna help us get Zero here fixed up,” he said with menacing pleasantry.

Zero shook their head. “I’m getting better,” they muttered. “Rosa, though. And Kim.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I covered my face with my hands, damning myself for that choice as my arm gave a screaming throb. “I can’t do what you’re asking. Do you think being some mutant hybrid’s given me the magic touch or something? Jesus…”

“No,” Benoit said, dropping all attempts of faking pleasantness.

“But I do think you’re sucking the right dicks to get the council’s attention.

And don’t you try an’ lie ‘bout the clinic,” he added with a suck-toothed sneer.

“Daniel’s been pickin’ up hours with the Dallas place.

Said your name got talked about a whole bunch up that way. Not a real popular guy, mutt.”

He nodded to Daniel, and I was grabbed—on my good arm, thankfully—and frog-marched towards that interior door. “Let me show you what they’re doing,” Benoit ground out.

They shoved me through the door and into what had once been some sort of cafeteria, from the looks of things.

A long counter with empty steam tray slots ran down the far wall, rolled up metal shutters dangling from the ceiling along the length of it.

Rather than people serving food, it was a repository for stacks and stacks of plastic tubs.

Some were open and full of what looked like packets of IV tubing and other medical supplies.

The others were closed but likely held more of the same.

Instead of tables where employees could eat a quick lunch between shifts or hide out with coffee when shit was too much, there were several camping cots in a row, each with a were in various levels of respiratory distress.

“Stage one,” Benoit muttered beside me. “If they survive this, it turns into what we’ve started calling the feral stage.”

“They don’t survive that,” Slidell whispered beside me, voice shaking.

My feet moved unbidden towards the nearest cot. A young woman—barely more than a child—was still and sallow save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“How long does this last? My friend who’s sick, it’s been about a week. And a little girl I know… she’s ill, too.”

“I’ve been sick like this for going on ten days,” Zero offered quietly. “It’s not getting worse. And I haven’t started going feral yet.”

“Feral…” There’s a list of words you never want to hear as a doctor—hell, as anyone, really—and feral is near the top.

“Just what it sounds like,” Benoit said, grim. “Uncontrollable shifts, lashing out, attacking other weres. Animals.” He heaved a sigh. “Humans. Like seeing a rabid dog but worse cuz it’s someone you know. Someone you care about.”

A woman in torn jeans and a too-large t-shirt came bustling out from behind the counter area, hands full of IV tubing packets. “We’re almost out of saline, Ringer’s and glutathione.” She shot me a harried look. “This him?”

“Landry Babin,” I said, nodding. “You a doctor? Why are you using glutathione?” It was more common in those trendy IV bars in some cities—which, no one asked my opinion, but I was gonna give it if they did, should all be shut down because who the fuck gives people unnecessary IV therapy?

Glutathione was one of those buzzwordy things they liked to use because it sounded really medical and official when they tried to upsell clients on the benefits of detoxing and purifying cells and bullshit.

In truth it was used sometimes to help patients recover after chemo or with certain autoimmune issues, but it wasn’t the miracle cure some of these scam artists liked to claim it was.

She shot me a tired, quick grin. “Most folks guess a nurse since I’m a woman.

They’d be right, but it pisses me off they assume.

” Stuffing some of the packets under one arm, she stuck out her hand for me to shake.

“Fern Wade. And we’re using this as a sort of Hail Mary.

Nothing seems to slow it down, so we figured… ”

“Cellular regeneration on a Lego brick level?”

She nodded. “Yep. We don’t have access to a full lab so we’re piecing together best we can.”

“Is it helping?”

Fern gave me a pointed, sad look.

No. No it wasn’t.

“I’ll send Greeny and Clinton on a run for supplies,” Benoit interposed smoothly. “Check on beds four and five. Their fevers spiked earlier.”

I stared as Fern hurried towards a little alcove at the other end of the space, shoving the packages off to someone who looked half-awake before she went to a cot midway down the line.

“I need you to tell me everything you know,” I said flatly. “And I’ll tell you what I know. But I’m not doing it unless you let me make a call first.”

* * *

Benoit led me on a tour around the makeshift infirmary which was, ironically, an old hospital.

“This used to be the community hospital for La Coupe Parish,” he explained, pointing out the ghost of the old logo emblazoned high on the wall over the beds.

It was grimy, traces of industrial adhesive remaining in the vague shapes of letters and easy to miss if I wasn’t looking directly at it.

“When they built that big corporate one closer to Shreveport, this one was cycled out first as a rehab center, then an old folks’ home, and then just left to rot at the taxpayers’ expense.

Until ‘bout six months ago when that shittin’ council bought it up. Now it’s rottin’ on their dime.”

The knowledge that not only had I been kidnapped but was now in another state sent a fresh wave of disorienting nausea though me, rocking me back on my heels unsteadily. “We’re in Louisiana?”

Benoit raised a shaggy brow. “Course. When Stone the Elder Asshole kicked us loose, we came here where my family had a bit of land, somewhere for us to lick our wounds a bit. Besides, you think a Texan gonna name they kid a fine name like Benoit?” He laughed.

“Come on now, ‘fore you get started you need to see what we got.”

What they got wasn’t a lot. The cafeteria converted to a sort of hospital, some medical supplies I didn’t have to guess were stolen, and a lot of stress.

“I don’t have a cure,” I said finally. “I just work in that clinic the council set up outside Belmarais.”

“They really love your little pack of freaks. Throwin’ all sorts of money and help your way,” Daniel groused.

“ Help ?” I laughed hollowly. “Are you fucking high right now? What the hell kind of help are we getting?”

“The clinic,” Slidell muttered. “ Attention . You got that live-in ear for the council, don’t ya? And fucking Waltrip is all over the place and?—”

“Whoa, whoa… Waltrip? What the hell does he have to do with any of this?” My head was spinning worse than before. I staggered to a cot, thankfully empty, and collapsed hard on the unforgiving surface.

Benoit hissed something in patois to Daniel, who rolled his eyes and threw up his hands before stalking from the infirmary space. Benoit jerked a nod at Slidell and Zero, seemingly telling them to go.

Zero shook their head. “No, listen to me,” they began, then hissed as a ripple moved over their body. Not a shudder, the actual muscles moving beneath the skin. “Shit…”

“How long has this been happening?” Benoit demanded. “Slidell?”

“Yesterday,” he croaked. “This is the second time.”

Zero snarled, tongue lashing out against teeth that were suddenly too long, too sharp, before retreating to a normal size.

Zero grimaced, dropping to the floor in a crouch as their breath came in rapid pants.

Finally, they shuddered again, and their breathing slowed.

“I can stop it right now,” they explained weakly. “But I don’t know how much more…”

“Let me call someone,” I demanded, turning on Benoit. “If you want my help, let me help, but I can’t do this on my own. I need… I need my friends.” And medical attention and possibly the cavalry.

Benoit and Daniel had a silent conversation that was mostly eyebrows and scowls before Benoit motioned for me to follow him as Daniel stalked away into the clinic. Instead of returning to the grungy office I’d awakened in, he led me through it and into a short, narrow corridor.

“This way,” he muttered, pushing me ahead of him into what was probably a storage closet at one point.

A few rotting cardboard boxes, victim to the area’s humidity and probably a bad storm or two, were collapsing slowly beneath one of the lower shelves.

My nose burned with the acrid tang of dust and mold setting up camp in my sinuses, no doubt ready to haunt me later.

“Listen before you start runnin’ your mouth,” he said, nudging me to sit on one of the shelves. “You look like you’re gonna die.”

“Well, your friend did maul me, and I lost blood. And I’m dehydrated. And I puked. And?—”

“ Pah ,” he fussed, waving one hand at me. “If you were a real were, you’d shake it off. Be strong. Heal.”

“Need me to point out the irony in that, hm? If your folks were real weres?—”

The deserved slap was brutal, knocking my head against the side of the shelving unit. Blood bloomed in my mouth, pulsing with the ringing in my ears.

“I’m not letting you leave here till you give us what we need,” he said, voice low enough to shake my bones.

“We know all ‘bout Bluebonnet. Hell, I worked for ‘em back in the day. But I didn’t know any of y’all made it out, you know? But I see why the council’s keepin’ you for a pet.

You’re gonna kiss their ass for keepin’ you safe, aren’t you?

Turning your back on the weres. Is that what you want, punishin’ us for what they did to you? ”

I blinked slowly, dizziness not abating this time, and slid to sit on the floor. “Look, it might be the concussion, maybe it’s blood loss, probably an exciting combination of both, but I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, Benoit.”

A commotion drew his attention to the door. I seized the moment, kicking at his ankle, but it was weak. So weak he didn’t even glance down and instead moved closer to the door, scowling.

“Good lord,” he muttered. “Man’s like a rash on my ass.” He gave me a push back with his foot against my ribs, opening the door just wide enough to slip out. “Don’t go nowhere.” He grinned. “We’re not done negotiatin’.”