Page 41 of The Wolf Professor

As they walked down the street, Max focused on his surroundings to keep from focusing on Charlie. The grand Malibar stone residences with their neat gardens, gravel drives, and fountains spoke of another time, a genteel, peaceful period after Athelrose had helped the monsters regroup and heal their differences.

“It’s so pretty around here,” Charlie observed after a moment. “I love this early Motham architecture.”

Max felt his shoulders relax. This was a safe topic, discussing history. “They borrowed from all kinds of species to make these houses spectacular. A little bit of Rococo vampire in the mix added elegance.” He pointed to the balcony of one mansion. “And see over there, you can clearly detect Mothfolk artisans at work in the delicate filigree patterns. The pillars are very much the grand designs of griffins. Orcs generally did the builds, that’s why these houses have stood the test of time. Orcs don’t have great artistic flair, but what they lack in elegance they make up for in damn solid workmanship.”

“What about werewolves?” she asked. “Is their influence in any of these houses?”

“Werewolves preferred caves or dwellings that were lower to the ground. The places they did build were torn down after the mutiny.” Max steeled himself. He didn’t enjoy discussing his ancestors’ dark past. “It was devastating for Athelrose that his second in command rose up against him, and I daresay he wanted no reminders of wolves around the city.”

“That uprising was led by Colonel Oliver Felcin, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. The Dark Traitor, as he was known. After the mutiny was quashed, the Felcin pack escaped, tunneling under the wall one moonless night, and made it to the mountains. There, they pit their wits, guerilla-style, against ogre tribes, gaining advantages at full moon. But yes, Felcin’s betrayal reflected badly on the other packs, who were herded to the Wastelands by angry supporters of Athelrose.”

“Did the Felcin pack die out?”

“Not completely. Some of them are still out in the high mountains, believed to be fighting off ogres.”

“And the Hunts, were they part of the uprising?”

“My understanding is they were not. They managed to hold their own, snouts just above the ground, so to speak. Eking out a living on the edges of the Wastelands. Not honorable folks, I’m afraid to say, but not ferals, or mutineers, at least.”

“They’ve come a long way since then,” Charlie said brightly.

Max’s lips tightened. “Maybe.” He didn’t want to get into a discussion about the damn ruts again. He saw with relief that they’d reached the gates of the palace. They sparkled in the wintery sunshine, shaped like huge moth wings. Beautiful to behold.

“Oh look,” Charlie exclaimed, “the Christmas tree is up, ready for the pageant.” She ran over to the gates and pressed her nose through the golden bars, like a kid gazing into the window of a candy shop. The palace did indeed look amazing, with its sparkling white façade, and the grand entrance decked with sprigs of holly, fir leaves, and sparkling baubles. A gigantic Christmas tree stood in front of it, strewn with streamers and colored lights.

But for once, the grandeur of it all did not hold his attention. All Max could do was gaze at Charlie. She was a whirlwind of contradictions. One moment the serious history buff, the next full of vivacity and fun. And try as he might, he felt himself becoming addicted to all of her. Luckily, he was distracted by the appearance of a tall thin man scurrying toward them on long legs from a side door of the palace. He had all the hallmarks of a mothman, pale and fine-boned, and as he got closer, Max could clearly see small gauzy winglets at the shoulders of his neat gray suit. It was said that all palace employees had some link to the original Motham family, so he was probably a distant relative.

He smiled and waved a slender hand as he got closer. “Welcome, Professor Hunt. We are so honored to have you visit us here.” He opened the smaller gate next to the main one andwith a little bow, ushered them both inside. “I am the curator, Edwin Bloom.”

Charlie did a full turn around in the driveway, her eyes huge. “It’s even more beautiful once you get inside.”

Edwin looked at her benignly. “It is indeed. Did you not visit for the pageant last Christmas?”

She shook her head. “No, sadly the date coincided with a family gathering.”

“We will be opening the palace grounds again this year, on Christmas Eve. Perhaps you could bring your lady friend?” He looked at Max, who swiftly interjected, “Miss Sullivan here is my research assistant.”

Edwin gave a little smirk. “Ah, my mistake,” he said. “We Mothfolk are prone to flights of romantic fantasy.” He cleared his throat. “Back to business. First, for some housekeeping.” He brought two name tags out of his pocket on ribbons. “Here are your passes.”

“May we look around the gardens first?” Charlie asked. It was clear she could hardly wait, her feet fidgeting to go exploring.

“Of course. With the Motham family not being in residence at present, I can be more relaxed about showing you around,” Edwin said, leading the way.

They followed him, their feet crunching on the gravel drive, past a liveried guard, a broad-shouldered centaur who saluted them. Edwin led them through topiary gardens, past a maze and ponds full of giant koi fish.

Max watched Charlie as she stood staring at the fountain. She laughed with delight when water suddenly spouted out of a nymph’s mouth. “It must be so amazing in summer,” she sighed as she rejoined them and smiled up at Edwin.

She was obviously charming the mothman, who seemed totally enchanted by her.

Max felt an unpleasant jarring sensation in his belly.

Good gods, man, you can’t be jealous of a skinny little mothman. But the way Charlie listened, her head tilted, asking him myriad questions, the way she laughed when Edwin came out with a little quirk of Mothfolk humor, irritated him to the core.

He tried to hide his scowl behind a rather inane smile. Finally, he could take no more of Charlie and Edwin’s easy chat and interjected, “I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but time is precious, and we have a lot to see.”

“Of course.” Edwin inclined his head. “I’ll take you down to the archives.”

---