Three hours later, her broken arm reset and with a new cast, she was wheeled into the psychological ward. Instead of the sweet young woman they had hoped for, she had woken up struggling and had to be sedated again. The doctors were at a loss as to why the medication she had been taken was no longer working, but they would try something different. In the meantime, she needed to be admitted to the mental health ward. It was the best place for her to heal up, and the people who worked there were experienced in dealing with someone who had sudden violent outbursts.
She would spend the next two months in a mental hospital before she would be released to her mother. It took that long for the voices to stop this time.
Craig Forrest, one of the North American members of the global Werewolf Council, sat down heavily in his chair as his mind went back fifteen years earlier. As a former Alpha who had been retired for more than five decades, he was still the junior man on the five-man governing body of all things Werewolf.
The authority of the Council was absolute. Their function was to mediate differences and dispense justice, ensuring above all else that their existence remained secret from humans. The extinction of the Arrowhead Pack, one of only two Packs in northern Minnesota, had been the most difficult assignment of his life. When he and his fellow Council members had arrived eight hours after the alert went out, it was already too late to hide anything.
There had been no call for help and no witnesses to what happened that night. The closest Pack, the Oxbow Pack, was the obvious subject, but no evidence linking them had ever been found. The Alpha couple there was distraught, the Arrowhead Alpha was the older brother of the Oxbow Luna. Their Packs had always been closely linked, and in over a century there had never been a conflict between the two. No other Alphas had lodged complaints, and they still had no suspects.
It was the fire that started shortly after sunrise that resulted in the 911 call. The large Pack House was completely gutted, along with all the smaller houses and outbuildings. The small rural fire departments didn’t have the equipment to deal with a blaze this size, and by the time other departments arrived, it was too late to save anything.
The firefighters initially thought the place was deserted because no one met them or was watching the fire burn. It wasn’t until they started overhauling the fire after it had burned out that they started finding the bones. LOTS of bones. Human and dog bones alike, scattered throughout the big house, dozens and dozens of skeletons.
The Council moved into action, and he was thankful at the foresight that required each Pack to designate the Council lawyer as executor in case of such an event. A list of Pack members was provided that matched the number of human remains found, and the Medical Examiner was bribed to assign the remains to the people on that list. They others? Werewolves were not heavily involved in human society so creating a paper trail that led elsewhere was easy. Nobody was looking for them, and their disappearance wasn’t noticed. All the Packs knew the entire Pack was wiped out, and nobody questioned the Council’s actions in response.
So, when he arrived at his upstate New York office in the morning and started his routine, he had no warning everything was about to change. The message had been left on his answering machine last night and got an immediate reaction. The name “Charlotte King” hadn’t been uttered in fifteen years.
He got the other four members of the Council on the video conference. “Gentlemen, we may have a problem in Minnesota,” he said without preamble as the last man joined them. “I got this message last night from a detective in Rochester, southern Minnesota.” He hit PLAY on his phone.
“Mr. Forrest, this is Detective Terry Jones of the Rochester Police Department in Minnesota. I’m looking for information on Charlotte King, born September 24, 1999 in Lake County, Minnesota. According to my record search, her parents both died in a fire, but I can’t find adoption records or anything else on her in the database. Since you are the executor of her parent’s will, I’d like to follow up on her whereabouts. You can reach me at 218-555-1212. I work nights, so please leave a message or email me at terrance. jones@rpd. mn. gov. Thank you.”
He let the words sink in. “I did a quick search on the Internet, and right now the Rochester media is full of coverage of the attempted murder of one sixteen-year-pld girl and the attempted kidnapping of another. Look at the sketches of the suspects I just emailed you.”
“I know this man,” Councilman Waterman said. “He’s a Beta in the Bitterroot Pack!”
“He was, he was killed two nights ago at the Mayo Clinic hospital in a shootout with police,” Craig said. “I accessed the Werewolf database and identified the second man, he was a warrior in the same Pack. He’s dead too. Both were killed trying to kidnap named Treasure Olson, the same one they had attacked the previous night.”
“Fuck me,” Chairman Gruber said. “They found the Lost Princess.”
Craig nodded, then put up the most recent photo he could find on the Internet of Treasure Olson, taken at her father’s funeral service. “She looks just like her mother, Joanna. The sole living first-born female descendent of King Lycanos didn’t die in the fire like we thought. No, she was found by the side of the road the previous night in the next county.” He let the information sink in. “She went into the human foster system, then was adopted by the State Trooper who found her and his wife. They’ve lived in Rochester for the last ten years.”
“You’re telling me she has grown up with humans and she’s now sixteen? What about her wolf?”
“That’s kind of the problem. A Google search on her shows that at age fourteen, she went nuts on the soccer field and severely injured another player. It looks like she’s been in and out of the mental health system ever since.”
There was silence on the line for about fifteen seconds. “First things first, we have to take care of Alpha Todd Blackstone. There’s only one way he would know the child survived when we all thought she was gone.”
“He was the one to wipe out the Arrowhead Pack,” Councilman Waterman said, the implication suddenly hitting him.
“Exactly. And I guarantee you that they didn’t try and kidnap her twice unless the Alpha directed it,” Craig said. “Get to Missoula as soon as you can, we need to hold a trial.”
“What about Treasure,” another asked the Chairman.
“I will call her grandfather and let him know. She needs her family now.” He stood with his hands on the desk. “No one else knows the Princess is back, and for her own safety, it has to stay that way.”
Chairman Erik Gruber closed the videoconference and made a few calls. Twenty minutes later, he had the jet being spun up, a flight plan filed, and a squad of four Council enforcers meeting him at the plane. He sat back in his chair, thinking of what he would say before he opened the contacts list on his phone. He used to know the phone numbers of the twelve American and ten European Packs by heart, but now there were only eleven and numbers kept changing with cell phones. Finding the contact for the retired Alpha of the Adirondack Pack, he pressed the line for Charles Smith and put the phone to his ear.