Consular Times: The Primogenitor Saga, #3

1

PANG! PANG! PANG! PANG!

A hammer struck a baking sheet with the regularity of metronome. It might not have been so bad, but the baking sheet sounded like it was right beside her head. And the evil bastard hitting it with a hammer just wasn’t stopping.

I swear if you don’t stop beating that metal with a hammer I will arrest you for assaulting a federal agent. Even inside her own head, her voice sounded rough, a mixture of a parched throat and disuse.

When no one responded and the hammering didn’t cease, she forced her eyes open and immediately closed them against the bright white everything. The curtains around her. The ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights overhead. The sheet and blanket that covered her. Everything was pure white and too damn bright.

She heaved herself into a sitting position and found she sat on a hospital bed in one of those horrid hospital gowns, and then, the stringent smell of antiseptic hit her harder than that damned hammering. It hit her so hard her nostrils and lungs burned.

Her body felt like it needed a stretch, like she’d been immobile for too long. But that wasn’t her focus. She looked for the source of the hammering, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. It made no sense. Something hammered against metal, and it was so close.

She endured another few strikes until tiny motion caught her eye. She watched a drop of water fall from the faucet and strike the metal sink with the same headache-inducing noise.

What the hell… she muttered as she forced herself to stand… and clutched at the hospital bed when the room spun and heaved around her like a rowboat in a hurricane.

The sensation soon passed, and she tried to stand on her own once more. Success. Her legs trembled a bit as she took cautious steps to the metal sink, but they steadied soon enough. Her sole mission was to stop the faucet from dripping, but when she stood at the edge of the sink, her thirst claimed her. She turned the faucet on full-bore and leaned down to swallow as much as she could.

When an automatic door swooshed open somewhere behind her, she paid it no mind as she maintained her focus on quenching her thirst, and it wasn’t until someone pulled the curtains aside that the memory of being in a hospital gown forced its way through her single-minded focus on the faucet.

She jerked a wet hand back to hold the gown closed just as a man said, Well, it’s nice to see you up and around.

She spun and found a man in blue jeans and a blue-and-green-checked shirt underneath a white lab coat. He looked like he was in his mid-40s.

Hi. Most people around here just call me Doc. I run the infirmary. Can you tell me your name?

She blinked and fought the urge to grimace. She hated her name. Edwina Eustace Burke.

Doc smiled and nodded once. Good. Do you hurt anywhere?

No... at least… I don’t think so.

Also good. Now, tell me the last thing you remember.

She turned and shut off the faucet, making sure it was all the way off and wouldn’t drip. Then, she crossed to the bed and sat, all the while searching her mind.

I think… I think… I was shot and Special Agent Hauser was carrying me out of some kind of control center. We had been captured while looking into the black ops group that had been hunting Sloane Martinez. We were in a hallway, and I think I passed out.

Doc smiled again. Excellent. From what Agent Hauser tells us, that should have been your last memory. You were unconscious when Alpha Wyatt arrived and saved your life.

Her eyes shot up to lock on his. "Wyatt saved my life? How?"

"Really, Agent Burke… do you have to ask? You were seconds from death. How do you think he saved your life?"

She fought a wholly irrational urge to grin like a child. If Wyatt saved her, he did it by turning her into a shifter, and Wyatt was the first feline primogenitor in recorded shifter history… a Smilodon. The memory of running her hand through his fur came unbidden to her mind, and a slight smile escaped her control.

"So, I’m a Smilodon shifter now, huh?

Doc shrugged. If the process holds true, yes. But there is much… well… we hardly know anything about primogenitors. If the process held true, Alpha Wyatt would’ve been a cougar, or mountain lion if you prefer. So, while I want to say you’re a Smilodon shifter now, I—like everyone else in town—am waiting for your first shift. That will tell us beyond all doubt. Now, if you will excuse me a moment, I shall contact Agent Hauser and Alpha Wyatt to inform them you’re awake.

Wait, please, Burke said. How long was I out?

Doc looked over his shoulder, answering, Seven days. We were beginning to worry a bit.

Burke sat back on the hospital bed, trying to wrap her mind around that. It was almost impossible to believe she’d been unconscious for a whole week. She didn’t feel hurt or sick or injured in anyway. In fact, she felt better than she ever had in her life. In the distance, she heard Doc talking to someone, and she guessed he was on the phone telling Hauser or Wyatt that she was awake. That meant she would be leaving the infirmary soon, and she needed clothes that were not bloody rags or a hospital gown.

Another cursory scan of her surroundings did not reveal the presence of her personal effects, which led her to wonder if anyone had found them in that black ops base. It wasn’t such a big deal to replace her driver’s license or voter registration card, but she despised the thought of dealing with her bank and credit cards.

Since she was a shifter now, would she have to move to one of the shifter territories? What would happen to her job? Burke reached behind her and pulled the sheet and blanket around her as she tried to organize everything in her mind. After chasing that rainbow for several moments, she realized that she had no way of knowing just what would change in her life now. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like not knowing. She didn’t like not being in control.

While she ruminated on her new situation, she heard automatic doors swoosh again, followed by almost running footfalls. Before Burke fully lifted her head, Winnifred Hauser charged through the open curtain and almost leaped to enfold her in a hug.

I was so worried, Hauser whispered.

Burke felt like her friend’s primary goal was to compress her ribs until they would fit inside a soup can, but she didn’t mind. Not yet, at least. They had become very close during the time they spent as prisoners of the black ops organization.

It seemed like they had only just begun to hug when the automatic doors swooshed again, and soon Wyatt stood at the curtain’s perimeter. He smiled at seeing them hugging each other, and he moved to lean against the wall to wait them out.

Burke whispered to Hauser, We have an audience.

Hauser jerked back from Burke and spun, her eyes wide and cheeks red from embarrassment. Hello, Wyatt. I didn’t see you there.

Wyatt grinned. That’s okay. Burke did.

Hauser’s blush deepened. Yes… well…

Don’t worry about it, Wyatt replied. He righted himself from where he was leaning and reached behind him, producing a pair of flip-flops. He tossed them onto the hospital bed. There you go. Even if your clothes were not a bloody mess, I doubt they wholly fit anymore. I know mine didn’t, and the fit was off just enough that it bugged me like a low-grade toothache. Hank, at the general store across the street, is waiting for you; his wife will help you with your new measurements, and I expect you to walk out of there with clothes for at least two weeks. It’s on me.

Oh, no… I couldn’t, Burke demurred. That wouldn’t be right, especially since I’m a federal agent.

Yes… about that. You might be a federal agent out in the greater United States, but you’re in Godwin County, which is shifter territory. And you’re a shifter now, too. So, while I have no authority over Hauser as such, you are another matter entirely. Besides, Hank will just deduct the price of the clothes from his monthly administration fee, so it’s all good.

Hauser frowned. Administration fee?

Yeah… it kinda threw me for a loop when Alistair and Gabrielle told me about it. Apparently, shifters don’t do taxes the way humans are used to thinking of taxes. Instead of quarterly taxes or annual taxes, all the shifters in a given territory pay a portion of the previous month’s income to the Alpha. The Alpha then, in turn, handles all the ‘normal’ taxes and uses what’s left over for maintenance, a personal salary, and things like that. So, Hank will tally whatever clothes or items you pick onto a form that he will then submit with his administration fee. I will then forward a copy of that form to the state and the IRS, when I handle our taxes… because nobody wants to piss off the IRS. Oh, and before I forget, I’ve arranged for a room to be waiting for you at the hotel, so once you get settled, find me. We have a few things to discuss, and I highly recommend you not put it off. I’d like to make your transition to the wonderful world of shifter life a little easier than mine was. But… that’s up to you.

With that, Wyatt waved goodbye and left the infirmary.

Burke sat on the hospital bed, feeling a tad stunned. He didn’t even let me thank him.

It’s not like you won’t have the chance later. Can you forgive me for having him bite you?

Burke smiled and pulled her back into a hug. Of course, I forgive you. I’d rather be alive than dead, and honestly, I’m wondering if I’ll be a Smilodon, too. I’m a little anxious to find out.

I know. I’ve thought more than once over the past week about asking Wyatt to turn me, too. Hauser looked around the space as if she wasn’t sure what else to say. Then, she brought her eyes back to Burke. Well, you ready to get out of here?

Burke nodded, and Hauser grabbed the flip-flops, dropping them on the floor. Burke pushed off the bed and slipped her feet into them before following Hauser out of the curtained area.

Doc, I’ll bring the gown back as soon as I finish at the general store, Burke said as she followed Hauser out of the infirmary.

Doc never looked up from the book that held his focus, but he did acknowledge her with a wave.

Minutes later, Burke stepped out of the infirmary building and into the sun of a clear, cloudless sky about mid-morning. The air smelled fresher, somehow, and she couldn’t hold back a smile at the sheer joy of being alive.

As she followed Hauser across the street, Burke noticed Wyatt talking with a woman and a boy on the cusp of early adolescence. They stood beside a blacked-out SUV sporting US Government plates, and three or four people in suits and sunglasses—whose posture and mannerisms screamed protective services—stood near them. With a little effort, she forced her curiosity to release the idea and made doubly sure she had a tight grip on the seam of her hospital gown. She eagerly looked forward to wearing normal clothes again. Then food. Lots and lots of food.

2

Abeautiful day greeted me when I stepped outside the infirmary building, the breeze still carrying hints of the heavy rain earlier in the week, and I smiled as I closed my eyes and focused on the smells wafting along with the wind. I loved a good rainstorm, especially how the air smelled fresh and clean in the wake of it.

The sound of engines rolling to a stop nearby pulled me from my reverie, and I opened my eyes to see two blacked-out SUVs rolling to a stop across the street. The lead vehicle sported government plates, and I assumed the chase car did as well. The moment the engines shut off, every door on the SUVs opened. A woman and man in suits and sunglasses exited the front driver and passenger sides, respectively, and a woman who looked about twice my age stepped into the sun from the rear door on the driver’s side. She shared a quick word with the driver before she started to cross the street, her eyes locked on me.

I started across myself, and we met on the yellow line that separated the lanes. It was a slow day, and their SUVs were the first vehicles the street had seen in a couple hours.

Hello, the woman said. My name is Mina Vickers. President Williams charged me with establishing and overseeing the American consular office here in Precious. Am I correct that you are Alpha Wyatt Magnusson?

I smiled and nodded. Yes, I am. Let’s step over to the sidewalk beside your vehicles. It’s been a slow day in town, but that could change at any minute. I also understand you may have something of a personal request for me.

Mina blanched. How… how did you know that?

My sister Vicki told me about the situation with your son.

Oh… uhm… what are your thoughts on the matter? Mina asked, still seemingly rattled by my knowledge of her son’s situation.

I shrugged. How old is he?

He’s thirteen.

I’ll be honest. I’m very new to all this; it’s only been about sixteen weeks since I became a shifter. But… from what the born shifters tell me, the greatest risk in changing a human lies at the extreme ends of his or her life, so the further into childhood or old age they are, the greater the risk that they won’t survive. Most shifters won’t even consider trying to change someone who isn’t through puberty yet, but I understand waiting would not be in your son’s best interests.

Mina shook her head. No, it would not. The longer we wait, the worse his condition will become.

The rear passenger door of the lead SUV opened, and a boy with red curly hair hopped out and ran to Mina’s side. She put her arm around him as he hugged her.

Noah, this is Wyatt.

I crouched to put myself at his level and smiled as I held out my hand. Hi, Noah. How are you?

He took a half-step out from behind his mom and gave me an acceptable handshake for a thirteen-year-old. I’m okay, I guess.

Well, it’s nice to meet you, and welcome to Precious. I gave him my best welcoming smile, then stood and turned to his mom. I think the first step is getting you and your people settled at the hotel. Then, we can discuss both topics further. Maybe later today or first thing tomorrow?

Mina nodded. That sounds good. I think we’re all still on East Coast time. My body is screaming that it’s lunch time.

I pointed over my left shoulder with my thumb. Then, you want to visit Gladys’s diner right away. Since most of us get all our meals at the diner, we don’t really have a true grocery store in town. Oh… and if you do visit the diner, you should ask for the human menus.

Human menus? Why is that?

Let’s just say the portion sizes are radically different, and they need to be aware that you can’t put away food like the rest of us.

Mina blinked. Oh, wow… seriously?

I just nodded. One of the most difficult adjustments to… my new situation… is that six thousand to eight thousand calories per day—and most of that protein—are normal for me now. That’s how much it takes for one of us to be healthy.

So…? Mina’s voice trailed off as she flicked her eyes toward her son and back.

That would be a matter to discuss with Doc, but like I said, let’s get you settled and fed. Then, I’ll get Doc and Alistair to meet with us in the conference room to discuss the situation. Once we have that moving, we can discuss your consular office.

Mina grimaced. We should focus on that. After all, it is the main reason I’m here.

I shook my head. Nope. Don’t worry about what the government wants just yet. I’m still working on sorting out where the consular office will be. I’m thinking of taking First Avenue and turning it into a kind of Embassy Row, because the Magi Assembly decided to follow suit and will be establishing a consular office here, too.

Oh… I wasn’t expecting that, Mina replied. Do you think they would be amenable to talks for establishing an American consulate with them?

Who knows? But probably. In terms of their consulate with us, Vicki pushed the idea through the Assembly just so that I would always have access to Magi certified to create portals and assault rifts; she was afraid that I might call her someday for one or the other when she was too tied up in other matters to hop over here for me.

Mina’s expression made it clear to me that she had no idea how to process that. Your sister wanted you to have Magi available to support you, so she forced a measure to establish a consulate here in Precious through the Magi Assembly?

Yeah. We’re twins, but she has always looked out for me like an older sister. Besides, she will inherit the family seat on the Assembly one day, so Grandpa has been including her more and more in Assembly affairs.

I think I have a lot of catching up to do. I didn’t pay as much attention to the supernatural briefings as I should have, and that decision is coming home to roost with a vengeance.

I smiled. Don’t worry. We’ll help you ease into it as best we can. But for now, let’s get you checked into the hotel, so you and your people can get some food.

I left Mina and her people in Melody’s capable hands and headed back to the infirmary. I wanted to help her son if at all possible, which meant I needed to discuss the situation with Doc. There was also the issue of Moira MacCallan, but so far, she seemed content to keep pretty much to herself and treat her stay in Precious as some kind of vacation. It seemed odd that the idea of shifters didn’t surprise her at all, while she presented no indication of being supernatural herself, but I had bigger things to worry about. I decided to make a point of checking in with her at least once a week and otherwise leaving her to her own devices, which meant it was probably time to invite her to lunch or something and see how she was doing.

These thoughts carried me into the ward room where Doc seemed to spend most of his time waiting for the few patients he ever had. I found him sitting at his desk, focused on what appeared to be a medical journal of some type. He looked up as I entered the room and smiled a welcome my way.

Ah, Alpha Wyatt… what brings you to my corner of town?

I have a bit of a sticky situation on my hands, Doc, and I’d like you to weigh in on the matter.

Of course, of course! Pull up a chair, and tell me all about it.

I grabbed one of the ubiquitous wheeled chairs that seemed to be in every doctor’s office and hospital everywhere, pushing it over to a friendly conversation distance before sitting. "So, President Williams decided to establish a consulate here in Precious with the whole point of regularizing relations between shifters and Uncle Sam. I tried to get her to put it in Chicago where the Council meets, but Lyssa shot that down like a flak cannon. Anyway… the person President Williams named to run the new office is Mina Vickers, and her son has been diagnosed with Batten disease. In fact, I’m almost certain her son’s condition is why Williams chose her."

Doc nodded his understanding. I see, and you want to offer to turn the boy into a shifter to cure the disease.

Correct. So, what kind of minefield am I walking into? He’s thirteen now, and from what little the internet told me about Batten disease, he may have at most another ten years or so, if he’s especially lucky, with a progressive decline in his condition.

Doc grimaced. All other things being equal, I’d counsel you to avoid changing the boy. The human body goes through enormous changes during puberty, and the added stress of becoming a shifter during that time is often more than a body can bear. I would like to conduct an exam and evaluation of him prior to embarking on this path, and if I feel the risk is too great, I would like for you to refuse to turn him. Yes, that’s borderline cruel, but what would be worse? Going through an agonizing death now, or experiencing a progressive decline over the next ten years? That will be the question facing you and the boy’s mother.

And what if she says she wants to risk it, despite your recommendation?

"I… don’t know. Wyatt, you have to understand; I swore the Hippocratic Oath just like every other medical professional, and I