Aurendel - Strays

Following Kate's brief but tumultuous visit, Jack and the wolf remained fairly subdued for the rest of the day, uneasily avoiding eye contact and keeping conversation at a minimum. They nursed their bruises in silence, brooding over the whole fiasco. Gradually it became obvious to Jack that the wolf bore him no ill will over their fight that morning; rather, its melancholy was the result of Kate's outburst. It sighed, and moped, and, most alarmingly, had to be prompted to eat. Jack was convinced. The poor critter had it bad. It seemed not to notice what it was eating that evening as it absently shoveled its supper of pan-fried liver and onions (a dish Kate reviled) into its mouth. Halfway through dinner it paused, fork mid-air, staring off into the distance.

"Hey," said Jack. "You okay?"

The wolf started. "Hmmm?"

"Are you ok?"

"Oh." The wolf looked at its fork as if it had no idea what it was doing, and set it down on the plate. Then it looked at what it had been eating and furrowed its brows. It looked up at Jack and asked, "What's this?"

"Pan-fried calf's liver and onions."

The wolf recoiled. "You cooked liver?" It looked at him like he was crazy.

"Don't you like liver?" Jack asked defensively.

"You're not supposed to cook liver! Yuck!"

Jack stared back.

In the kind of tone you'd use to explain something to an idiot or a very small child, the wolf said, "Liver is to be eaten raw, preferably fresh from the kill." It prodded the meat with its fork. "Look at this! It's as tough as old boot leather! And you said it was from a calf?" It shook its head disgustedly. "Humans!" It pushed its plate away and got up from the table.

"Hey!" Jack yelled. But the wolf stalked off, muttering to itself under its breath.

When Jack had finished his own dinner and cleared away (grumbling that the wolf could've at least scraped its plate!), he headed for the living room. The wolf was sprawled on the sofa, looking dejected. It looked up at him as he sat down in his chair, picked up his remote, and turned on the news.

"I'm sorry I was so rude, Jack," it said.

"Don't worry about it," he replied. "I shoulda thought of that myself." And so he should. Stands to reason a wolf wouldn't care for any kind of well-done meat. As an afterthought, he added, "Maybe before you head home, we can have lunch at that new Japanese restaurant Kate's always trying to get me to take her to. I won't eat sushi, too much like somethin' you'd bait a hook with. But you and she can, and I'll have a teriyaki steak.

"What's sushi?" it asked.

"Raw fish." Jack made a face. "Far as I'm concerned, the only fish meant to be eaten raw is oysters, with plenty of tabasco."

The wolf chuckled. "Sushi sounds good." Then it sobered. "But I doubt Kate will join us."

Jack snorted. "She'll be back. She blows off steam now and again, but she'll get over it before you know it."

The wolf was silent a moment, then abruptly asked, "Jack, do human women play hard to get?"

That amused Jack. "Sure they do." His eyes narrowed. "But I'll remind you, challenge or no challenge, Kate is already got. And as she so emphatically pointed out, she can make up her own mind." He folded his arms across his chest, effectively closing the topic to discussion.

The next morning over breakfast, Jack announced his intention to take the wolf into town. "Downey should be back from his road shows," he said, "and the shop'll be open. We can find out what he's done with the mirror, get him to show it to us, and when he's not lookin', poof! you go through."

The wolf didn't look happy about the idea. Jack knew perfectly well why. "It's for the best," Jack said. "You've got a job to do back there. And Kate belongs here." The wolf didn't answer, so after a moment Jack added, "Hell, she doesn't even know what you are and where you're from. Can you imagine her reaction?"

The wolf closed its eyes and nodded. In a very soft voice it said, "You're right, Jack. It's for the best." Jack couldn't help feeling a little sorry for it, but it'd get over it in time and find a nice female of its own kind. All for the best.

As he drove into Okachula, Jack glanced at the wolf from time to time. It was staring straight ahead fixedly, looking more like it was being taken to its execution than going home. Awkwardly, Jack said, "Your pack will understand, about you not getting your job done, if that's what's worrying you." The wolf glanced at him and nodded. They both knew that wasn't it, but it was the best Jack could manage.

When they got to Tom Downey's Antiques, the wolf put the best face on things it could. The sign on the door said "Open", and workmen were installing a new plate glass window to replace the one the wolf broke. Jack and the wolf strode in confidently, looking about in hopes of espying that doggone mirror. They'd only been there a minute or two when a baby-faced blond fellow approached them, saying, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"You're Downey?" Jack asked.

"Yes, I'm Tom Downey," he nodded, and offered his hand.

Jack declined to shake it. He'd taken an instant dislike to the fellow. Too light in the loafers. Kate might chide him for his prejudices, but Jack was the way he was. Can't teach an old dog new tricks. "Jack Randolph. And this is Harold Wolf."

As Downey offered his hand to the wolf, the critter sneezed loudly. It took a step back, and sneezed again, its eyes watering.

"Are you all right?" the antiques dealer asked solicitously, while Jack fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the wolf.

The wolf held the handkerchief over its nose and mouth, saying, in a muffled voice, between sneezes, "Just--fresh--air." It retreated to the front door, which it struggled to open. While Jack turned back to the shopkeeper, the wolf panted for breath, gradually recovering from its sneezing fit.

With an awkward smile, Downey asked Jack, "Are you looking for anything particular today?"

"Actually, yes," said Jack. "You see, those two fishermen told me about the mirror they netted, and I hoped to have a look at it."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Randolph!" Downey exclaimed. "I sold it!"

"Excuse me?" the wolf asked, looking back over its shoulder towards them. Then it buried its face in the handkerchief again as another sneeze nearly rocked it off its crutches.

Wringing his hands, Downey explained, "You see, I took with me a number of unusual pieces that I thought I could get better prices for elsewhere."

"Who'd you sell it to?" asked Jack.

"A dealer from Savannah. I forget her name, but I have her card somewhere." Downey sashayed to the back of the store and came back shortly bearing a pink business card, which he handed to Jack. It listed a Lynne's Antique Emporium, giving an address on Broughton Street, Savannah, Georgia.

"May I keep this?" Jack asked.

"Oh, of course," Downey fluttered. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," Jack replied, and wishing him good day, gave a jerk of his head to signal the wolf to follow him out of the shop.

They got back into the truck, Jack chewing his moustache all the way. Then he turned to the wolf and demanded, "What the devil was all that about?"

The wolf shook its head. "Jack, I told you. Fairies make me sneeze."

Jack smacked his forehead in disgust. After a moment, the wolf asked, "Now what?"

"Now I call this lady with the pink business card," Jack growled, "and see about keeping her from selling it before we can get there."

"And how long will that take? Where is Savannah?" the wolf asked.

"It's a good six hour drive from here, with favorable road conditions. It'll mean an overnight stay there--damned if I'll make a twelve-hour round trip in a single day if I can help it--so I'll need to call ahead to reserve a room in a motel somewhere."

The wolf nodded. Jack noticed it was a bit pale and peaked looking. "Somethin' wrong?"

The wolf swallowed hard. "I don't know, Jack. A six-hour ride in your truck . . ."

Did the critter have motion sickness? That'd be bad, having it getting sick and needing to pull over every little bit. Did dramamine work on wolves? Or motion sickness wristlets?

By the time they got back to Jack's house, the wolf was in a sweat. That didn't look like motion sickness to Jack. As they went inside, he laid a hand on its arm, startling it. "You're hot as a pistol," Jack said, frowning.

"I'm fine," the wolf said.

"No you're not." Jack was adamant. He shook his head. "You're not fit to travel, and that's a fact." He wondered if he'd really hurt the poor critter yesterday morning. He'd given it a couple of pretty hard kidney punches, trying to make it turn loose of him.

The wolf didn't answer, just laid itself down on the sofa, kind of curling up there. That didn't look good, either.

Jack wasted no time getting on the phone to call this Lynne. Jack got little satisfaction from the call, other than speculating on the face and figure that went with the soft alto on the other end of the line. Yes, she knew the mirror Jack was asking about. No, she couldn't hold it indefinitely; if Jack wanted it, he'd have to get to it before another customer did. No, she wouldn't make a credit card sale over the phone and ship it back--Jack would have to come and get it personally. No, the mirror wasn't on the floor yet to be sold, because she was cleaning it and refinishing it first.

"I'm not lookin' to have it refinished, ma'am, I want it just the way it is," said Jack. It would be expensive enough, God knows, without having the price upped that way.

"Well, I really hadn't got started on it quite yet. I'd planned to clean it today, refinish tomorrow," the antiques dealer said.

"Well," said Jack, "if I show up at your shop first thing in the morning, could I get it as is?"

Lynne thought a moment, then agreed. "I think I can safely say that no one will have made another offer, since it will still be in back. How much did you say you'd pay?"

Jack hadn't said. "I'll make an offer when I see the merchandise," he growled.

Lynne sighed heavily. "Oh, very well. You do realize, though, don't you, that a find like this is a once in a lifetime--"

"Yes, I realize. Look forward to seein' you tomorrow."

"It will be my pleasure," her voice smiled. "Have a nice day."

Jack disconnected, then got the number of Savannah's tourist information center from Information, and called the tourist center ("centre"--it was a trendy place) and made reservations for a room for himself at an inn just off Bay Street. Then he went to his room and packed an overnight bag.

When he went back to the living room, the wolf was looking worse than before. It was soaked with sweat, and its color was sallow. Jack shook his head. This was very bad. "I'm goin' to Savannah," he announced. The wolf struggled to sit up. "No, you're not going with me," Jack declared. The wolf whined. "You're sick. You rest today. I'll call you in the morning when I've got the mirror. If you're not doing better by then, you'll have to see a doctor, like it or not."

"But, Jack--"

"No buts. Doc Hanlon's a decent fellow. He'll keep his mouth shut if we have to tell him the truth--or else."

"Whatever you say, Jack."

Jack patted the wolf's shoulder and left, hoping he was doing the right thing. It was certainly becoming the expensive, time consuming, damned nuisance thing, right or not.