The Heart of a Wolf (novella)

Sebastian sees off the mob, meets Isadora's children, and realises he was wrong

Sebastian followed the mob out into the hall and watched as they left, one by one, using a touch of the coercive power that was his gift to speed them on their way. The servant closed the door almost on the heels of the sullen showman, who was being assisted from the premises, none too gently, by two of the local people.

Sebastian turned from the door and beheld riches. Spread down the stair, in a variety of sizes and colours; boys and girls; every skin tone from palest English cream to ebony black; the youngest perhaps seven or eight and the oldest in his mid-twenties. They all bore the tempting odour of the old blood. And—except for the youngest—every pair of eyes fixed warily on Sebastian was silver, amber or deep emerald, the tell-tale sign of one who had changed.

"I leave you my treasures, Bastian," Nathan's letter had said. "I have made you guardian of the younger ones, but you will want all of our children and won't care a bit where they come from."

All of them. A score or more, and Nathan was right, too, when he said that Sebastian would not care about their origins. Sebastian had read that wrong, had assumed Nathan was making him guardian of Isadora's children, had jumped to scandalous conclusions about the relationship between Nathan, Harris, and Harris's wife.

These children were too old and too diverse for Isadora to have birthed, and if they came from the sewers and gutters of all Europe, Sebastian did not care. They bore the old blood. More, they were strong enough in the blood that they could change. Treasures indeed.

His fiercely possessive grin broke the tableau, the oldest of the young men moving through the crowd on the stairs asking, "What has happened? is it Mei Ling?"

Sebastian, recalled to the young wolf's need, made for the parlour, reaching the door just ahead of the young man and the servant, but they followed hard on his heels as he entered the room, and the youngest child, a little Asian boy, squirmed through their legs and under their arms to throw himself beside the wolf.

"Mei Ling!" he cried, then looked piteously up at Isadora. "Mama? Is Mei Ling dead?"

Isadora was half-fainting on the couch, so drained of colour and energy that a thin tracery of blue veins showed on her drawn brow, but she roused at that, saying, in little more than a croak, "Just tired, Ping Ping." The wolf, too, made an effort, opening her eyes and whimpering a little, so that the boy lay his head on the floor beside hers and cuddled into the soft fur.

Sebastian had seen exhaustion such as Isadora's on those who had spun their own life reserves into whatever magic was their gift. "Bring food for your lady, and a nourishing drink," he commanded the servant. I will see to the girl; Mei Ling, is it? And this other?" He looked his question to the young man from the stairs. The others seemed well cared for—nourished, not visibly abused.

"Beef tea, Barrett, and some of the meat pie. Perhaps some biscuits," the young man commanded. "Clara, fetch a blanket for Mei Ling, and a medical kit to see to her wounds, and those of the stranger." Sebastian almost said he had no wounds, but the stranger was the naked boy, of course.

His commands given and swiftly obeyed, the young man addressed himself to Sebastian. "I do not know who you are, Sir, but I can care for those in my charge." He met Sebastian's glare, his only sign of unease a tension in his neck and flaring of nostrils.

Such courage deserved to be rewarded with an introduction. "I am the Duke of Bleidrich, guardian to these children by my brother's charge, and King to them and to you by my blood and my power." He threw a little of his coercive will at the impudent fellow, and was perversely pleased when the only response was a slight waver in the voice that said. "I am Christopher Harris, Your Grace, tutor to these children."