Page 169 of White Wolf

“Lanny, Harvey called,” Trina said, kneeling down to dig under the sofa for his boots. He’d managed to kick them underneath in his sleep. “Our DB’s gone missing from the morgue.”

That got his attention.

He sat the rest of the way up with a gag and a moan, wiping his hands down his face. “What?”

“Chad Edwards’ body is no longer in the morgue,” Trina said, setting the boots up side-by-side at the edge of the couch. “Put your shoes on and I’ll get the coffee.”

She went to do so and heard him swing his legs over the couch with a heartfelt groan. “Wait.What?”

For once she was glad for the tininess of her apartment, dumping spoons of sugar into his coffee while she explained over her shoulder. “His body’s gone missing from the morgue. Which means.” She slid a mug for herself under the drop and popped in another K-Cup; turned to carry his coffee to him. “Either we’ve got a body snatcher on our hands. Or…”

“We’ll watch the security tapes.” He squinted up at her when she tapped his shoulder, reached with two shaking hands to take the mug. “Wait. Or what?”

She shrugged. “Or…he got up and walked off.”

Lanny snorted into his coffee and took a tentative sip. When it appeared to go down alright, he took a more aggressive one. “Right. Okay.”

Trina took a deep breath, worn out already just thinking about explaining it to him. “Lanny, something happened while you were passed out.”

That got his attention. He lifted his head and opened his eyes all the way, bloodshot and exhausted, but fixed on her face. “What? Did somebody–”

She waved him to silence. “It wasn’t a bad thing, I don’t think. I learned some things. And I need you to listen without interrupting me. Okay?”

He stared at her a moment, then finally nodded.

She took another deep breath, and began.

She told him about the bell ringing, about touching it and finding herself somehow in the body of her great-grandfather, a sweet-faced werewolf kneeling at her feet, knowing her real name, urging Nikita to show her what had happened in 1942, when the world was at war…and changing forever. She told him about the band of secret Whites hidden within the Cheka, their mission to retrieve Sasha and take him to Stalingrad. Told him about Monsieur Philippe, about the horrifying, violent moment when Sasha was turned. About the girl sniper Katya, whom Nikita had loved, and who’d loved him back – her great-grandmother. Told him about Rasputin. About all the blood. The grief. About the copper tang of blood filling Nikita’s mouth, his devoted wolf making him immortal.

Told him they were just a few blocks over, and wanting to meet her.

Through all of it, Lanny drained his coffee and his eyebrows climbed steadily toward his hairline, forehead crinkling up like an accordion.

When she was done, silence reigned for a full minute. A minute in which Lanny didn’t blink.

Finally, he took a huge breath and said, calm and rational, “So. Okay. You areverydrunk.”

She smacked him in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“I’m sober, you asshole. Look at me. Do I look drunk?”

He peered at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, like you could tell,” she huffed. “I’m being serious. I know it sounds insane, but it’s true. You know my family’s Russian. I showed you the bell before. It – it kinda makes sense. In a way.” Even though it sounded ludicrous to her own ears as she tried to explain it.

Lanny extended his empty coffee mug toward her, expression considering. “How ‘bout a little more?”

~*~

They needed to get to the morgue; Harvey would have bodies in need of drawers backing up if they didn’t get down there and have a look at the scene. Trina ought to at least fire off a text to let the doctor know they’d be along soon.

But the two of them sat at the tiny café table in her kitchenette and Lanny smoked two cigarettes while she explained it again. In the wash of early sunlight, his face looked a wreck, but he seemed awake now, after the second cup, his cig burning down to embers in the hand he had braced on the tabletop.

“Believe me or don’t,” Trina finally said, breathless and worn out from talking. If anything, going through it a second time had only made it that much more real in her mind. “Here.” She pulled out her phone and showed him the text from Sasha. “That’s Nikita’s…friend, or whatever he is.” His wolf.

Lanny’s eyes moved over the text twice and he nodded, stubbing his cigarette out in the little decorative plate she’d set out for that purpose. He seemed to choose his words carefully, voice threaded with smoke. “So your great-granddad is a vampire. Who lives with a werewolf. And they want to meet you.”

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