The Forest Bull (9 page)

We were rapt. He was a brilliant speaker, his tone that of a natural teacher. Our fascination was shattered with a harsh knock at the door, jarring us from our receptive mood.

“I’ll get it.” Wally uncoiled from her chair and went to the front door, disappearing outside for a brief moment. The Baron watched from the screen, smiling.

“
Delivery. From the Baron? How did you do that--magic?” Wally’s tone was suspicious.

             
“Not magic. Federal Express,” The Baron, a man we would now call Cazimir, laughed across the miles as we fell to the package, our curiosity burning. Wally prized a small rosewood box from the fat envelope.

“The box slides out, r
ight to left,” Cazimir offered helpfully, as the wood was polished to be seamless. Inside was a wonder.

             
A necklace dangled from Wally’s hand, eliciting a collective noise of appreciation from the three of us. This was art. A single square of silver was chased with copper in the form of a stallion in profile, one bead of carnelian marking the eye of the proud animal. A chain of small silver links attached cleverly to a fore and rear hoof that touched the border of the two inch shape. The horse seemed to pulse with life in the metal. If ever there was a debate about what Cazimir’s primary pursuit should be, the piece ended it with finality.

             
“You are gifted beyond words. I cannot fathom what it feels like to have things like this stolen from you.” Risa’s voice was reverent.

             
“You are too kind. Yes, the collection is valuable, but there is another, larger concern at hand regarding my baubles. It is the primary reason for contacting you after careful research among persons who possess your
particular
abilities.”  The Baron’s emphasis was light but definite. He was revealing a great deal for someone who stood to lose so much.

             
“How did you find us, if we may ask?” Risa asked, the picture of decorum.

             
“To put your minds at rest, it was not an easy task. I began with a simple question: Who finds things that do not want to be found? The answer lay in the nature of the lost objects. Since Elizabeth is immortal, I needed a very specific type of finder. Someone, or some people, as it turned out, who could operate comfortably in a world where the threats were outside the scope of normal humanity. To that end, I employed some of the same tactics that you use and was led by the trail of disregard for humanity. Crime brought me, through my proxy agent, to you, although, in truth, the search took more than a year. The woman you dispatched, Senya?” His eyes shifted directly to me. “My agent saw you leave with her but did not see . . . the unpleasantness of her demise, let us say, but did report motes of light drifting away on the salt air. You were followed, discreetly, and then further observations and inquiries were made, leading me to the three of you. And here we are.”

             
“Cazimir, forgive me, but you don’t exist. We searched online, books, newspapers, every repository of information we have access to. Your name is a dead end. The lodge you live in is built of air. Your family name is a ghost. Can you explain how this is possible?” I was as respectful as I could be, but the answer we got to this question would determine a great deal of how our interaction would proceed from that point on.

             
“That is a testament to the value my family puts on discretion. Did you, perhaps, find mention of another protector of the aurochs, ambitious Germans who sought to reverse their plight?” We had, and he knew it.

He
continued, “That scheme took place in the 1920s, but, under Catherine of Poland three centuries earlier, a very minor relative of hers built an extravagant hunting lodge in the Bialowicza. King Wladislawa IV seized that lodge and began to actively manage the forest beyond simple hunting laws, imagining himself as the true guardian of the natural world. What he did not know is that opposite his plush abode, in a sheltered valley, my family, with funds Catherine had granted a century earlier, built what would become my home and the home of the aurochs, which miraculously survived until the time that they came under the care of my people.”

“Your agent?”
Risa seized on that thread first, Wally nodding in accord. We had all picked up on the fact that he had a contact here that was skilled enough to observe us, unseen.

“Yes. My apology for the intrusion, but
, as you will see, quite necessary. I have revealed nothing of your existence whatsoever, and my observer has reported to my complete satisfaction.” Cazimir remained unperturbed that we asked about this, of all details, first.

“Well . .
.” and Wally drew the word out, voicing so many of our concerns. “May I ask that, if your family has no need of money, why do you need the collection returned? Is there a value that we are unaware of, perhaps?”

Cazimir’s face was shadowed, his smile waning. The lamp at his desk flickered
, and he glanced over with a sigh of resignation. “We will lose our connection in a moment. I shall be brief. I do not, as you say, need the items for monetary reasons. In fact, I care not at all for them other than in a superficial manner. I want Elizabeth back, or at least something of her. My family is nearly gone. There is Elizabeth, and there is me. She is immortal. My time is limited. I have staff here, a modest number, but my promise to this land has, with her departure, rendered me a prisoner here. While I am bound to this place, Elizabeth is not. She is gone, and I remain. I know that you are more than human now, and that is requisite for this task. Were you not augmented by your lifestyle, you would be dead. Find the baubles, and you will find Elizabeth. That which you recover is yours to keep. Remember, she does not wish to be known, so you must pursue her with great care. My instincts reveal that you will both choose to assist me and succeed. I will speak to you two days hence. Good night.”

The screen blinked once
, and the connection was cut. The Baron, a man trapped in a castle of wood, had asked us not to retrieve jewelry, but something, someone, more important to him than a king’s fortune—his daughter.

             
And I wanted her dead.

Petra

Viktor leaned back in anticipation, the buffed leather of the custom chaise squeaking under his muscular frame. Unlike many billionaires, his vanity demanded that he keep his body in enviable condition. To be slovenly was, in his opinion, a sin of the commoner, and one that he would not allow himself to commit. Defiling young women was another issue entirely. His 200-foot yacht was ripe with the most beautiful women culled from the shoreline during an orgiastic day of purchasing cars in Miami. The men and women who worked for him knew to bring only the best to the deck of
Inquisitor
. From that pool of beauty, he had selected the flawless girl before him. Viktor glibly commented on the beauty of her unusual blood-colored earrings, the dark jewels held in antique silver. It was a typical opening foray intended to begin his brutish seduction of the girl.

Her earrings swayed as she laughed, shining with stately worth.
He had seen her comically-elongated pinky nail as she sipped white wine on the deck and made his determination.
Coke whore
. Although he never touched drugs, he kept a small quantity in his suite as an enticement for certain women. If a line of high grade cocaine did not remove their doubts about the immediacy of his lust, then other, more physical means could be used. He had a reputation to protect, and momentary prudish behavior could not interfere with his image. Simply stepping onto the deck of
Inquisitor
was, in Viktor’s mind, tacit approval for him to take what he wished. A woman’s refusal was unacceptable, no matter what reason she gave.

They retired to his suite after he made his wishes known with a possessive
hand in the small of Petra’s graceful back. The other social climbers saw their chances for notoriety or money die in a gesture.

Petra paused
and sinuously dropped her silk dress to the floor in a rippling circle. She stood before him in nude blonde magnificence, clad only in heels that accentuated her legs. Her Czech lineage gifted her with beauty of a rare nature. She picked up her dress and bound her hands with a languorous motion, kneeling before him in complete supplication. It was exactly as he wished. Busy fingers unzipped his trousers and freed him in one motion. Even constricted by the silk, her movement was serpentine and free of awkwardness. His anticipation grew acute.

She hesitated. Viktor
hated
teasing. He reached out to guide her but his hand was rebuffed as exquisite heat washed over him, a paralytic of unmatched pleasure. She drew him out of her mouth and encircled his entire manhood in her hands, her touch maddeningly light. Viktor looked out from heavily lidded eyes at the golden angel kneeling before him.

“Keep going.
Now. And do not stop.” His voice was thick with lust.

             
“As you say.” Petra leaned forward to her work, her fingers teasing, probing and dancing around his base in a flutter. Her grip tightened. She bore down with her mouth, the conflicting pleasures stoking Viktor to near climax as her fingernail punctured his skin and neatly severed a gossamer strand, the only nerve that mattered to a cocksman like Viktor. He burst into her even as his organ began to detumesce, the last erection of his life fleeing him just as his pleasure ebbed.

             
Now he felt the wound. “What . . . what have you . . . ” he sputtered, his eyes rolling in fear as the woman who had stolen his claim to manhood rose up, smirking. “What have you
done
to me?” he whimpered, but he knew. He knew even as Petra’s heel snapped forward, shattering his nose and pitching him, unconscious, over the chair, back into the deep woolen rug. He lay on his back, arms spread as if crucified, his limp member lolling as it would for the remainder of his life. Petra spat in his open mouth. Smiling, she pulled her dress over her head before smoothing it to go back to the party. With a final look mixed of triumph and pity, she pulled the door to the suite closed, thinking,
Mother would be proud.

Florida

The mood in our house was frosty the next morning. I was simmering with what I imagined to be well-deserved anger. Wally was strangely dispassionate, and Risa avoided me altogether after a brief discussion over breakfast during which she called me a self-serving prick. Lest anyone think we are an unwaveringly united collective voice, we had occasional arguments that ranged from tame to paint-blistering brawls that raged just short of physical violence. Without even asking Risa, who was like a human lie detector, I could smell bullshit in the Baron’s story. My doubt did not mean that every statement was a lie. But there were too many red flags in his narrative to escape notice. If Elizabeth was immortal, why wasn’t he? How did she turn? Was she really his daughter or something else? These questions seemed natural to me, and I know Wally and Risa were thinking within the same framework. I was being forced into the unsavory position of playacting with the Baron until we could determine the truth or whatever nuanced history passed for fact when dealing with a family as unique as that of Cazimir.

I have money. I have a home
. These are tools for me, and, as long as I am physically able to strip wealth away from immortals, I can continue to rid my world of evil. That salient point is where Risa and Wally and I disagree. I want Elizabeth to answer for what I know is a long life of spreading death and sadness. I have been unflagging in my desire to eliminate immortals quickly and without hesitation. There is, in my mind, no nuance to evil. And yet, the respect I have for my partners demanded that I at least listen to their case for why the Baron’s needs should circumvent my desire for vengeance.

             
I needed information about Elizabeth, about the Baron, and about why my wrath directed at my near executioner should be held in check.

             
I was asked to lunch by Suma and seized the opportunity for a change of scenery. We met at an Italian deli on Sheridan Street and took to a booth, sliding across the plastic seats in the midst of utter chaos. It was incredibly busy, and the background was a nice distraction from the intense chill at home. Suma ordered a sandwich with so many varieties of garlicky meat that I was glad we had arrived separately. I kept true to my first love on the menu, a chipped ham sandwich with homemade dressing and fries. Suma wasted no time in expressing her reasoning for our newfound status as lunch pals.

             
“You talked a great deal during your recuperation, and, until our group discussion, I thought you were delirious. I am a person of science. I am a trained skeptic, but I know evidence must override my inhibitions to expand what I think can be possible. I am also,” she slowed her speech, clearly attempting to reconcile divergent ideas, “a Thai. I am the product of a culture that is steeped in spiritualism. It is a second skin for me, and no amount of university can make me deny what I feel at a cellular level. I also respect my family, not because I am an automaton who is expected to do so. No, I respect results. My parents were excellent people of great character. They worked, they saved, and they took duty to family so seriously it was like law.  They lived in a world where the veil between reality and the supernatural was a curtain to be passed through each day.”

She paused, appraising the mountainous sandwiches that had arrived.
“Occam’s razor notwithstanding, I want to hear from you how you came to be . . . what you are. How did you and Wally and Risa become a unit? Are you an enhanced
ménage a trois
, or just what the hell is your connection? Is it convenience borne of an unusual gift? Hatred due to your respective losses? Is it love? Or is it something I cannot imagine because I am from a more ordinary place?” Her frustration bubbled forth now as she tried to understand how her family had come to danger from what might be sexual dilettantes with a penchant for killing. I understood. The curtain had been pulled back, and her own flesh and blood were now at risk from something that she did not fully grasp. Nursing me to health had given her evidence, though, that the threat was real.  She feared that powerlessness, but her cool exterior demanded that she approach the situation with logic in order to understand what she could do. In truth, I was surprised at her relative calm. I suspected that she was intensely passionate but measured in her actions. As a physician, it was expected. As a woman of discipline, it was what she had chosen.

             
After a deep breath and a gulp of tea, she asked, softly, “Can you really defend my family?” That, I knew, was the most important question she would ever pose to me, and she deserved a thoughtful, honest answer. Around contemplative bites of ham, I parsed the truth and expounded where necessary, clarifying terms unfamiliar to her.

             
“I have very little family left,” I began, “so you can imagine how I feel about yours. I admire them, and I’m even a little bit jealous of them at times. They are at an intersection right now. I care for them but feel real hate for immortals, but I don’t imagine you can understand that type of incandescent fury. Risa and Wally, we keep each other from combusting with it. We see the effects, you know.”

Suma sat, rapt. “We were party kids, amateur students who were drifting, careless; we met in college
, but, after a drunken weekend of
in vino veritas
, we realized that we shared a collective ghost story, but this one was real. Can you imagine two other people who felt the same bizarre thing, how rare that would be? The same brush with evil? Who believed you? In one second, I found my purpose. I’m not saying we were a well-oiled machine at first; we didn’t even really know what the hell we were doing. But we sensed the rightness of it all, and we made peace with the violence, especially Wally. She was such a gentle soul then. One of my first kills was some sort of vampire who looked about ten years old. He bit through my watch band and broke my collarbone before I pounded my knife up into his chest. I pinned him to the door of my car, and, even as he was dying, he tried to rip my throat out with his thumbs. I almost died because I hesitated to murder what
looked
like a child. Risa found out he had been killing people, good people, since the dustbowl years in Oklahoma. I swore I wouldn’t make that mistake again, but I knew I needed help. I puked into the tub for hours and slept for a solid day. This was when we all lived separately. After that, we decided to move in here, where we could watch each other, and help, and hold each other when no amount of hot water could wash the sin from us after a kill. So when you ask me, do I love them, I can tell you that love isn’t a big enough word for what we feel for each other. The danger makes it something more. “

             
I ducked my head into the last of my sandwich. After a quiet moment I asked Suma, “Do you want me to talk less or more?”

             
“More. And you can start with some basics. How long have you been paired off, partners? How long have you known Risa and Wally?” She paused, pensive and looking at me anew. I could tell our conversation was shifting her view of me, but, in what manner, I was uncertain. In an existence as bizarre as mine, the truth always won out because it trumped any fantasy I could concoct.

             
“Fourteen years. Each. I’m thirty-eight years old, and we’ve been ferreting out immortals full-time for almost thirteen years.”

             
“Stop. You’re thirty-eight?” Suma was incredulous. “Is this another challenge to my scientific bedrock?” Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back in the booth. She was skeptical, even after seeing me vomit acorns, presumably put in my stomach by an evil being that defied the facts she held dear. The evidence was contrary, since I knew I looked to be in my mid-twenties.

             
“I noticed something was different about me after our third kill. It was a small thing. I was swimming the canal when I heard Risa yelling. I had been just under the surface, kicking and watching the sun break through the water. She was panicked and getting ready to jump in, for some reason. I yelled at her and swam to the dock. She was
pissed
. She asked me, with a poke to the chest, if I thought I was funny. We all know I’m hilarious, but this was something else, which she made clear with more jabs. Finally, she told me that I’d been under water for six minutes. Now, I can hold my breath well because of diving, but that was new to me. Then, I realized that I felt some sort of tension in my muscles that I couldn’t explain. Wally joined us later, and I felt like a prize hog at a fair. They poked and prodded, but there was nothing wrong. It was a few days later that I sussed out what was happening. Turned out it was happening to them, as well, but they hadn’t realized it because they were dealing with something missing from their bodies rather than something being added to it, after a fashion.”

             
“What was different?” Suma asked.

             
“They had stopped menstruating. Completely, in unison, for three months.” I thought back to the hysteria of pregnancy tests in the bathroom at Walgreen’s and the dawning realization that our bodies were not entirely our own to control.

             
“No immaculate twins, then, but what brought on the amenorrhea? Was it stress or shared illness?” The doctor in Suma was calculating possible causes, I could see.

             
“I don’t think so. We think it is acquired. Like me swimming underwater or being a bit faster, or Risa reading faces and intuiting people’s thoughts, word for word. You see, this was the first proof we had that change was coming for us with each contact. I was thrilled. Risa was dour, and Wally cried in gales for an afternoon before she went out to the solace of the yard. They knew what it meant, what was happening. Fourteen years later, hindsight is cheap. We’ve never seen an immortal infant. Do you know why?” I asked, my eyes downcast. I knew Suma would understand the reason.

             
“The immortals are sterile, right? Whatever it is that infects them must happen outside the womb. They cannot breed, so they must create. Yet, with each ‘birth,’ they expose themselves to the possibility of a new form that may lay them bare to us. To the world. Still, they bite and seduce, or whatever their vector is and they do it because their organs are barren. And you found this out in a moment of understanding and decided to stay the path.” Now her expression matched the kindness in her voice. She saw it all.

             
Suma clasped my hand lightly. “I’m so sorry. What a cost.”

             
“I think you see why we are so intractable. I’m not vicious. I put them down like rabid dogs, not born of hate for the animal, but because the dog is no longer in charge of its own body. The distinction is that these animals look like us, but they are very different. They kill wantonly. They’re good at it. But, even if there is a small core of their former humanity, it has to be sacrificed. That makes me the blade man almost every time. The girls have different skills from mine. You might not know it, but Wally is incredibly lethal, although her violence is wild and unfocused. She is less clinical than Risa, but so angry; she’s been intermittently angry for years. It flares with her, almost uncontrollable. We are three sides of a coin, and we work well together, which is fortunate, because it seems like we’ll be doing it for a long time. You might think it’s a hellish way to live, but I suspect that hell is
far
beyond my imagination. “

I knew this to be true because I saw the handiwork of these creatures
much too often.

“To answer something you haven’t asked, Suma, the answer is yes.
Yes, I can protect your family because, if something gets close enough to hurt them, it won’t matter. Wally and Risa and I will be dead. And the knives we wield against these lost beasts will be gone, along with more innocents, falling to the darkness, and nothing to stop it.”