2 - The Old Guard

Harlan Mundelein stalked through the big Illinois farmhouse, toward the kitchen where Burton was yelling for him. “Pipe down, Burton, I’m coming,” he muttered under his breath. What would Burton be like today? Lucid? Maybe. But maybe not. It was the 29th anniversary of Harlan’s mating, and the day was hard on both of them. Harlan snorted thickly, more of a snarl really. This motherfucking travesty of an anniversary was hard on every shiften who still lived. Which was about half of how many there used to be.

All their females had been killed at once, and it had happened on the day that Harlan had mated, twenty-nine years before. Although he still felt like he was in his 20s, although his renegade mind still said stupid shit like he was 14, he now was 53, and his miserable fucking life as a tired, alone wolven was finally on its slide down the other side of middle-age. With any luck he could get his stupid ass killed sometime soon, join his Eventine in The Haven. What he wouldn’t give to see her again, to touch her skin one more time...

He entered the kitchen. Burton greeted him warmly, showing him the dining room table. “Harlan! Finally. Look, here’s the drinks and the food and the cake is in the oven.” He gave Harlan’s khaki uniform the once-over, like he was still Chief of the Serenity Police Department. Which he kind of was. When Burton had taken his side-trip into looney-ville, Harlan and Wade had quietly removed him from office, setting him up here at his house where he had everything he needed, his range and his pictures and his fairy drops. They set him up weekly visits with Remington, the doctor, who was a cat, and never mentioned him again. No one else mentioned him either, almost like he'd never existed.

The wolven couldn’t handle another blow and every one of them knew it. They had all been like zombies for years, the males barely holding it together, the fathers collectively watching their pups, all males, flounder without their mothers, their sisters, that necessary maternal energy. The shiften females had done what any female population did for their males. They tempered them, they soothed them, they rewarded them with beauty and softness and kindness and kept them in line with harshness when needed. But it was a female harshness, one that always looked for the best. One that always considered the family as a whole, the community, their neighbors and friends as one, all of them pulling together for the strongest whole.

And then they’d been gone. All of them.

Males like Burton had done the best they could, but there was no recovering from something like that. All you could do was live through it. Live through it they had. And now the males in charge were the generation of wolven in their 30s who had grown up without mothers, without females and their fathers were just... kind of… fading away. If no one mentioned Burton again, had he ever really been Chief?

Harlan shook his head, studying Burton. The male looked good. No wrinkles to speak of. His eyes were clear, his skin dark, like the sky just before midnight, mysterious and full of secrets. He didn’t look crazy, but he’d always been secretive.

“Burton, Chief, look, no one is going to want to come. You do this every year, and every year, it’s the same thing. You remember that this isn’t just the anniversary of when me and Evie mated, right? This is also the anniversary of—”

But he cut off when he saw Burton’s face, the way it fell. No one liked to be reminded of when all the shiften females had succumbed to a water supply tainted by the greatest enemy of all of them. Khain. The demon.

Harlan tried again, gently. “Burton, no one wants to come.”

Burton shook his perfectly round head, his dark, coarse hair shorn short still, like he liked it. “They are all coming.”

Burton must have been approaching 80, although he had always been secretive about his age. But he did not look a day older than Harlan was. Still vibrant. Still strong. It didn’t make sense because he had no mate to slow his aging, never had, but not making sense never stopped anything from being a thing.

Harlan wanted to give up, but he couldn’t. “Don’t get upset if they don’t. There's a lot going on right now. Heather is in labor and has been for way too long, no one knows what to do. They are talking about c-sections but Graeme is against it. Willow and Bruin got mated yesterday, Bruin is the bear I was telling you about, he’s the fire chief now, but his mate, Willow, when she touched him she gave him back his renqua, and she gave back his brothers their renqua. Bruin and Willow are heading out of state now to tour country, all the major fire departments, and then the world. It’s a big deal, Burton, you remember, right? I told you? B3, he bet away all the bearen renqua?” Harlan smacked Burton on the shoulder over his own renqua. Just to remind him of their connection with Rhen, their goddess, their creator, their deity. Burton’s renqua was a star, like all Citlali, shiften slated as leaders, with divine vision.

Harlan’s renqua was a knot, a thick and twisting knot that he used to think meant he was special. He would give anything not to be fucking special anymore. He was tired. He’d been fighting for too long. Special was overrated.

Burton didn’t even seem to notice Harlan’s words, but Harlan would never stop telling him everything that was going on in the world, no matter how disconnected from reality Burton seemed to want to be. Burton went slightly blank, staring out the window into the yard of the 56 year old farmhouse that just happened to sit on 56 acres of hobby land, with a little red cabin in the back.

Jaggar Lockport lived in the cabin, Canyon and Timber Wheeling, too. The Old Guard, Harlan thought. Jaggar was old guard: he’d been 16 when Harlan had arrived in Serenity, a 23 year old male with a prophecy that pulled him into the thick of things, just months before it had all happened. Canyon and Timber were too young, really, just babies, but Harlan had known their mom, known them as kids. So yeah, Old Guard. They counted.

He squeezed Burton’s shoulder. “You here, Burton?” It had to keep Burton grounded to the present to hear what was going on, Harlan hoped. Things were heating up. Burton was not fit for duty anymore, but he was still a Citlali, still a wolven, and if the shit hit the fan, they would still need him to fight. Khain had shown up at the bearen estate a few days ago, and there had been no energetic indication at all. The felen had never felt him come into the real world from the fiery dimension, rather like the human concept Hell, that he lived in, the Pravus. Something big had happened, and if Khain could run around the real world without them even knowing, they were all in a world of hurt. More of a world of hurt. Plus there were a cadre of new bad guys—Harlan’s head hurt just thinking about it. About what had happened recently and what was coming. It wasn’t gonna be good. Were they losing the war?

Shiften didn’t mate humans often because the half-breeds they made were not strong enough to fight and were rarely able to shift. But an angel had stepped in after the “incident” if that’s what you called it when half a population was wiped out in one vicious swipe, and mated with human females to make the “one true mates.” The half-angels that were fated to mate the shiften and birth a new army to fight Khain.

Six one true mates had been found, one of them Willow, who was fated to Bruin, who was a bear. Four more had been fated to wolven, all cops, all KSRT, Khain Special Response Team. You couldn’t be a cop unless you were wolven, and you couldn’t be a KSRT team member without a prophecy. Then one more mate, Heather, had been fated to Graeme, the dragen.

Harlan slid into the booth and threw a handful of Burton’s crudités in his mouth. Fucking vegetables. Fuck he hated vegetables. Which explained why he was eating them on this shitty day, maybe? Why the fuck not, right? Get out of his groove, shake shit up, eat a fucking carrot and see what happens. He’d go vegetarian if that would get him into a fight with someone. No, not vegetarian, he’d go Vegan. You hear that Rhen? Light? I will stop eating animal products, meat and eggs and milk and fucking cheese if you just make something happen today. Something interesting. Something dangerous. Something I can dive into headfirst. Forget it all…

“One true mates, Burton,” he mused softly, crushing a second carrot stick in his palm with his fingers and dropping the mush onto the table. Orange smear on his palm. Yuck. Food should not be orange. He wiped his hand on the tablecloth that normally did not grace this simple wooden table. “Who else is meeting their mate soon? Do you know?” He spoke idly, but you never knew what Burton was going to say. He shouldn’t be encouraging Burton but the fucking carrot was sitting in his stomach like a piece of orange plastic and throwing him off. Oh, and today was a day for opposites, remember? Today was shake-shit-up day. Do what you normally would not do. So let’s ask stupid questions of the most powerful Citlali we have, the one whose been bat-shit crazy since his adoptive daughter died with all the rest of them, and see what he says. Why not?

Harlan slumped in the booth. What a fucking life. Eating carrots for kicks. Maybe he should work patrol today. Keep busy, at least. But he couldn’t. He had duty out at VF later, which was what Rogue and Mac called Trevor’s farm, where all the other KSRT males who had found mates so far had moved to, even Bruin and Willow, even though Bruin was a bear and he and his mate would be traveling for months.

So who else was still getting a one true mate? Not him, no, his mate was dead and he didn’t want another. Jaggar, yes. The beast was getting a mate for sure. The Beast Anchors Time. A voice in his mind scolded him, trying to make him face his own prophecy, but that was pointless. Who else? Canyon and Timber? Maybe? Sebastian? No way any female was gonna see anything redeemable in that sour ass. Fate would have to make her blind and deaf and maybe stupid. Any patrol officers? Maybe. Blake. Trent and Troy? No, not possible. More bearen? Maybe. They were strong fighters when you could get them to fight. Pacifists, most of them, which was unfortunate because they were massive and powerful. Most of them had to be talked into it, amped up for it. Like, it was hard to stoke a bear’s bloodlust, maybe cuz they were so damn massive, it took them a bit to get going, but once you managed? Watch out. Bruin was the exception. But no one had to stoke his bloodlust. He just got it. He knew sometimes fighting was all you had left. Felen? The slinky big cats who didn’t seem to care if they mated with humans? The ones who oozed sexuality with every slide of their body, even the males. How would that work? Foxen? No way. Never happen. Foxen were the bad guys, some people thought.

It had been almost a year since Trevor, the leader of the KSRT and the first shiften to find his one true mate had met Ella. Their young had just been born. Twins, Track and Treena, born conjoined at the torso, but separated, and both were healthy. That was enough to thaw even a first class grump like Harlan. Young. There were young again. The wolven would not die out. Even if he had no future, there was a future to be had. He could drive on, keep working, for the young.

Burton didn’t answer Harlan’s question. He set the table with the good china, his ma’s china, ignoring Harlan’s moodiness. He was probably used to it.

Harlan heaved to his feet to help him with a sigh. He loved Burton like his very own father, and he would never give up on him. “Jaggar is taking them to the airport now, Bruin and Willow. They are going to head over to the West coast and then—”

Burton dug in his mental feet, his tone like that of a child. “Jaggar is coming.”

“Not for a while he’s not.”

A police vehicle drove past the window to the red cabin in the acre of the property, Canyon driving. He would not come for the “anniversary party,” avoided it every year, but he would come by later for poker, which Harlan could not stay for. As soon as Jaggar got back from airport chauffeur duty, they would head out to VF.

Harlan didn’t know what VF stood for. Something stupid probably, like Victory Farm or something. Rogue, Mac’s mate, was ok, tough and smart and deadly, but when she was around Mac, she was as annoying as he was. Loud and brash and didn’t give a fuck if she hurt your feelings or not. Harlan’s feelings were unhurtable, at least on the outside, hardy har, but not everybody’s were. He thought of Beckett’s mate, Cerise, so innocent and sweet, and Willow too, but Willow and Rogue were best friends already, and Cerise was toughening up, and fascinated with Rogue. Followed her around like Rogue was giving badass lessons and Cerise had a closet full of leathers just waiting to be worn. Rogue probably had her out in the forest smoking cigarettes and swearing.

The police vehicle pulled into the hidden driveway that would take it to the little red cabin in the back. Another vehicle pulled into the driveway, a dark jeep. Wade and Lorna. “Burton,” Harlan scolded. “Wade should not be here. There’s a million things going on right now. He should be at the hospital with the young, or at the cabin with Heather and Graeme.”

Burton shushed him. “Don’t worry. Wade is just coming for a second. To drop something off, then he’ll get back to Crew. Lorna is staying for poker.”

“Burton, Crew’s an adult now. He’s fine. He doesn’t talk to Khain anymore, remember? That all happened a long time ago. Now Wade has to get back to Track and Treena.”

Burton’s smile slipped just a bit. “Oh, that’s right. Track and Treena.”

Kalista pulled in the driveway in her little sports car. Harlan was glad Jaggar wasn’t there. She wouldn’t stay for long, she never did, but she was as old guard as they came, wolven or not. She was a felen, a mountain lion, or a catamount as they called themselves, and the leader of the Pumaii.

Burton bustled off to grab something from another portion of the house. From the record room, he shouted something. Harlan couldn’t quite hear him. Had he said the name Evie? Please no, don’t let it be one of those days. He couldn’t talk about Evie today.

The doorbell rang. Harlan went to it, opened it. Speak of the wolf, Crew was there. Had he come in with Wade and Lorna? He handed Harlan something. A box. Harlan took it. Tossed it on the couch. He’d give it back to Crew for next year, later when Burton couldn’t see. “Sorry,” he told Crew. “I didn’t think he was going to do it this year.”

Crew pushed his way inside. “No worries. We’re all used to it.”

The Old Guard, the ones who had known Burton Risson as a strong and competent leader, they were used to it. There weren’t many of them left.

Crew gave him a report. “Dahlia’s with Heather who is still laboring hard, but Remington says it’s today. She’s constricted or something. I’ll explain to Burton that we might have to leave quickly.”

Crew headed off to find Burton. Maybe they would end up on the range till cake time, maybe not. Burton was only allowed on the range with someone else, and Crew was his favorite. Something about him soothed Burton.

The smell of chocolate reached him. Burton made a cake every year on the anniversary of his and Evie’s mating. Every year it was chocolate with white frosting. Burton used to buy the cakes from the store, but after year fifteen or so, he started making them himself. The “Congratulations, Harlan and Evie,” in pink and black piped icing was in his handwriting, and it didn’t make Harlan cry at all last year.

Kalista climbed the porch steps and arrived at the door, all dappled hair and slinky body suit and high heels. Her uniform. Harlan gave her a hug. “Burton’s in the record room.” She nodded and looked around. “Jaggar’s not here. He’ll be back soon.”

“I can’t stay long,” she purred. Literally purred. Yuck. Not his thing. He liked his females rough and tumble and straightforward, not slinky and purring. Kalista headed into the house to find Burton.

Harlan left the door open, heading toward the kitchen. His room was on this main floor, and so was Burton’s. Evie had commandeered the entire top floor when she’d lived there, and neither one of them had been able to take her things down yet. A glance up the stairs afforded him a peek at the entrance to her room. He looked away quickly, back to the kitchen. He walked in and sat down, and waited for someone to tell him what to do. For someone to give him a mission. He was still a soldier, still functioned best when he had a job to do. The sitting around was the worst. That was when he would see the little places where the past touched today, where the younger Evie reached through time and patted his face softly, promising a younger him someday, they would share a few hours of stolen sweetness. His Evie had never been known for her sweetness, but she could be sweet with Harlan.

And little girl Evie, he could see proof of her, too. Like in the painting of the little fairy girl on the wall, with the flower hat, balancing on the drop of dew on a spider web, her delicate feet not breaking the surface of the tear-shaped drop. Evie had stolen it from a local gallery when she’d been five, giving it to Burton for his birthday, wrapped in paper she’d colored herself. He’d made her take it back, so she’d earned the money with a sly lemonade stand and bought it for him for $91 a month and a half later.

How he could stand to live in this house, he didn’t know. Evie peeked at him from everywhere.

Laughter from the back room hit him hard. Life just kept pushing forward, and that was the part that hurt the most if you let yourself think about it. That you could lose the person who was the most important to you in all of eternity, and life would just keep pushing forward, making your hair go gray and your mind go stiff and sweeping your memories out one at a time, the oldest ones first, but still the old hurt would be there, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it but feel it. He wasn’t good at that feeling shit. So the pain poked at him daily.

Lorna and Wade showed up at the front door. Wade eyed him warily. Lorna gave him a pitying smile.

Harlan kept his eyes still with effort. The carrot had told him no eye-rolling was allowed once you were over 50 years old. Your eye tendons were too creaky and would freeze that way or something. “It’s been 29 years. I’ll make it, I swear,” he said and stalked away. They were family, he didn’t have to show them in. He didn’t even have to fake a smile.

“Burton is in the record room,” he told them. This was all for Burton. It certainly wasn’t for Harlan. He would rather forget this day ever even existed. He headed into the kitchen for some cake to wash down that carrot with.

Burton came out of the record room, followed by Crew and Kalista. Kalista was already saying her goodbyes. She waved to Harlan, said hi to Wade and Lorna who had come into the kitchen, then she was gone. Harlan listened with one ear only. Burton came into the kitchen, peering around the room. “Where’s Evie?” he said.

Harlan’s chest seized. Lorna took Burton’s arm. “Burton, don’t you remember, Evie died. Almost thirty years ago, you remember, right?”

Harlan dropped into the booth. Shit. The carrot was a little fucking orange liar. This was the same old shit, different day. Crew slipped into the booth across from him and shot him a commiserative glance. Yeah, it sucked, it all sucked, and it didn’t help that Burton couldn’t remember what year it was.

Harlan nodded at Crew as if he’d spoken. “Hey, me and Jaggar have duty tonight at VF. Canyon and Timber are tied up with duty. If Burton gets worked up, can you run with him tonight?” Crew nodded and popped a grape in his mouth from Burton’s fruit tray. He looked happy. And why the fuck not? He would not sleep alone tonight. He had Dahlia, the third one true mate to be found. She’d come right around like they all had. They all felt that pull toward their fated mate as strongly as the males did.

Burton dropped into the booth, ate a blueberry, then shook his head and raised his voice. “She’s not dead, she’s in Rhen’s meadow.”

Harlan held his breath. Burton had come up with many versions of “Evie’s not dead, Evie’s coming back,” over the years, but this was the first time Harlan had heard the phrase, “Rhen’s meadow.”

He shot a look at Crew. Crew’s eyes were wide and he was staring intently at Burton. He caught Harlan looking at him and nodded his head, then mouthed four words.

“Real place. Been there.”

Harlan stiffened. He stared hard at Crew, then Burton, who was picking the top off a strawberry, then back at Crew. Crew shook his head, speaking the last four words out loud. “I never saw Evie.”