April 10th, 1929

Nicoletta stared hard at the photograph, her thumb running over and over Vano’s pained little smile and the curly hair falling in his face. He was reading yesterday’s newspaper. She’d have preferred a phone call as proof of life, but that hadn’t happened yet. 

“Satisfied?” Moore asked, less impatient than some of the other lackeys that came and went. “Are you ready?” He glanced up and down her curvy frame, covered by the frumpy dress she’d been given and the wide sash she’d made, ripping it off the hem of another ugly dress to cinch her waist in; not so fashionable in current modern styles, but it was good enough for her mother and gran. She’d used the same torn dress to make a cloth to tie her black curls back, covering most of it. A girl had to have some style, even if she had to wear a prosthetic arm that looked like something out of a sci-fi mag.

Moore didn’t quite hide the condescension in his manner. She didn’t know if it was because they’d given her terrible clothes, because she turned into a wolf, because she was effectively a captive, or if it was because she was a Gypsy. Any one seemed likely. 

Nicoletta tucked the photograph carefully into the dresser, one of a few pieces of furniture in the otherwise sterile room. Vano was still at the hospital, though she didn’t know where that was, and hadn’t picked up any scent of it. She wasn’t even sure it was on the army base where they kept her.

With Moore still waiting for her, she glanced around as if she might need to collect her bag or a coat. Of course, she didn’t have either. “Ready,” she said finally.

Moore led the way out of her apartment, into a hall with a guard half-asleep at his post. In the months she’d been here they’d grown complacent. She’d take advantage, if she didn’t know they’d hurt Vano to punish her.

“We have someone new you’ll be working with,” Moore briefed her, striding ahead. “He doesn’t need to hear your complaints, so close your head.” He glanced at her sharply. “And when I say that, I mean you don’t need to speak a peep about anything to do with your brother.”

They’d already told her what they’d do if she told anyone about her situation. She fingered the sturdy silver chain locked around her neck, the one that kept her from shifting without permission. The throat on her wolven form was tough, but so much thicker than her human neck that shifting would crush her windpipe, choking her if it didn’t decapitate her first.

And that wasn’t even what she was worried most about.

As if she’d voiced a threat, Moore narrowed his eyes at her. With difficulty, Nicoletta looked away. 

They trod the same hallways she’d been down before, so when they came out of the building, she was ready for the light to blind her. It was only a minute as they crossed the dusty street, and then they were in another one. It was with some surprise that they turned left instead of right, and she lifted her head, trying to catch a whiff of her brother.

She recognized a familiar scent, but it wasn’t his. She couldn’t place it until Moore opened a door to a meeting room, and she saw the strange man she’d tracked down a few weeks earlier. 

His hair was brushed back, and dry, but it was the same inky-black it had been before. His skin was like polished maple, and his eyes were big and dark. He reminded her painfully of Vano; nearly the same height and weight. Dressed differently, though, in work pants and sensible shoes, with a twill shirt under a wool vest. Not as flashy as Vano; more practical, though still clearly high quality.

He looked better than he had that miserable day in the forest, though she supposed that didn’t mean much. She’d forgotten half of what he and Droste had discussed, but it came back to her now—or at least the confusion of the day did. Their conversation hadn’t made much sense to her, beyond the pain that he’d been hired when she and Vano had been taken.

What she did know was that he was, apparently, on her captors’ side now, which made him the enemy. She tugged lightly on the chain around her neck. 

The only other person in the room was a woman Nicoletta had had dealings with before: she was as toxic as a spider. Mrs. Dunfre smiled as they entered, breaking off whatever she’d been saying to—what had his name been?

“Mr. Woodward,” Mrs. Dunfre said expansively. “You’ve met Nicoletta, I believe. You’ll be training with her from here on out.”

He stood quickly, but without any recognition. Then he smiled, and it seemed genuine, transforming his face from slightly angular to very attractive. Politely, he corrected Mrs. Dunfre. “No, actually, I don’t believe we have. Fex Woodward. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

Nicoletta cocked an eyebrow at Mrs. Dunfre, thrilled to be able to call the woman out on a mistake. Shifting her gaze back to Fex, she walked reluctantly closer to the table. “Actually, Mr. Woodward, we have.” She knew she shouldn’t, that it was foolish to needle anyone in power over her—which was everyone—but she still looked coy and added, “You rubbed me down with a towel.” 

He paled slightly, whether in anger at her implication or horror at the same, she wasn’t sure. He began, “I beg your par—” and then broke off. His eyes flicked toward the rune-covered wood and leather of her prosthetic arm, and she could almost see the wheels clicking along in his mind as his expression changed from horror to dawning realization, and then leaping to the impossible far faster than most people ever would. “Wait. Are you—? You’re that Nicoletta?”

She gave a mocking curtsey. “In the skin. Out of the fur.” He looked like he had words caught in his mouth that weren’t quite breaking free. She squinted and sniffed the air. “You really didn’t know,” Nicoletta said with a little surprise. “They really didn’t tell you.” 

He lost a bit of his starch, skin deepening in color. If he could have hidden, Nicoletta got the distinct impression he would have. “I… No. No, I didn’t. If I’d known—that day, I mean—I assure you I’d never have taken such liberties, Miss Nicoletta.” His words tumbled over each other. “Certainly not without asking your leave first, but…” 

Nicoletta raised her eyebrows and tipped her head, wondering how he thought he’d have asked her leave when she’d been effectively mute.

His skin darkened even more at something only he could see. “Oh dear g—” He choked off the cuss, apparently remembering his manners. “I am so sorry.”

She tipped her head the other way, reviewing that day. She knew she should tell him it was all jake, that it didn’t matter, but instead she found herself saying, “Are you sorry for drying me off? Or for touching me all over—”

“That’s quite enough of that,” Mrs. Dunfre interrupted sharply. Then, quieter, spinning her web of false gentility, “I’m sure what Nicoletta means is that wolves have no compunctions about such things as occurred, Mr. Woodward, so think nothing of it.” She pinned Nicoletta with a frozen smile. “Please, Nicoletta, sit.” It wasn’t a request.

Nicoletta inched closer to the table, frowning at Woodward when he made as if to come pull her chair out for her, and sat as far from them as she could. Moore stood sentry at the door, apparently thinking she might make a break for it. 

Mrs. Dunfre sat and, constrained by proper etiquette, Woodward sat as well. But he was scowling incredulously at the spider. “Mrs. Dunfre,” he said with righteous indignation, “you shock me. It’s clear to me that Miss Nicoletta is a person—a woman—whatever form she chooses to take.”

It had been months since anyone had treated her like a person, instead of a talking animal. It lit something in Nicoletta, and she lifted her eyes and focused on Woodward. 

Dunfre was watching him, too, noticeably chilly but still exactingly polite. “It’s lovely that you believe so,” she said, and continued despite Woodward’s glare, “since we’re hoping you’ll be able to work together in the future. Today we are here so that you can complete a simple army training course together, just so we can be sure there are no major problems.”

“I see. I’m willing, if you are, Miss Nicoletta.”

Nicoletta peered at him, trying to decide if that was some subtle mocking at her forced cooperation, but he seemed sincere. “We have our orders,” she said with a brittle smile.

Dunfre stood. Woodward followed quickly, and Nicoletta dragged herself to her feet, already aware of what was coming. 

Then Woodward gave her a quick glance, and with his gaze on her shoes he said only a little awkwardly, “Those, um— They don’t seem like the best shoes for an obstacle course.”

Dunfre laughed like it was a brilliant comment and they were in some fancy parlor. “No, they aren’t, are they?” She gestured to an adjoining door. “If you don’t mind changing, Nicoletta?” At least it wasn’t a screen or a curtain this time. 

Nicoletta tugged on the chain pointedly. Dunfre’s gaze flicked past her, no doubt cueing Moore. It took effort to not turn and show him a fang, but things like that had only made them treat her less like a human in the past. Instead, she gathered up her hair and lifted it, skin prickling at the nape of her neck. 

She didn’t look at Woodward as Moore unlocked the collar. She carefully didn’t look at anyone. She didn’t listen to Dunfre, either, as the woman prattled on, making small talk about the course to come, as if distracting Woodward. 

The chain slithered down one side of her neck, dangling free for a beat before Moore pocketed it. Nursing her simmering anger, Nicoletta made her way to the dressing room. She shed her dress, unsure if she was relieved to be changing to her wolven state or sorry she had to give up her clothes. The arm came off after a minimal struggle with the buckles. She set it on the shelf beside her shoes, made sure the doorknob was a long handle that she could open with a paw, then let skin morph into fur. 

**

Fex didn’t know why it was such a shock when the door opened again and an enormous, thick-ruffed, grey and black wolf emerged. He’d seen Nicoletta in that exact form when he’d met her, but still. When Mrs. Dunfre had asked Nicoletta to ‘change’ in the next room, Fex had assumed Nicoletta would swap her sage-yellow dress and impractical slippers for some sort of athletic outfit. Maybe a tennis dress and shoes, or since they were to be going through a training course of some sort, the billowy harem pants that seemed to be the new scandalous fashion for such things.

But no, she had changed into a wolf. Or what looked like a wolf. There was nothing to suggest it was an illusion—his memory of her teeth from the day she’d hunted him down was enough proof of that. But was it reasonable to call her just a wolf, when she clearly retained some degree of a human mind in this form? She came up to Fex’s waist, no bigger than she’d been the last time he’d seen her like this, but he still took a few steps back. Maybe it was being in such close quarters, or maybe it was some lingering fear he harbored that made him brush a hand over the shoulder she’d bitten that day. Whatever it was, he was aware he was being impolite, and forced himself to stand still.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Woodward, she knows better than to harm you,” Mrs. Dunfre said, in the patronizing tones of a society lady promising her sweet little Pekingese dog was no threat.

It immediately made Fex dislike the woman. Just like Droste had, she treated Nicoletta like a dog. A bad dog she didn’t much care for. But not three minutes ago he’d sat at the table with Nicoletta conversing with her. Either he was being unspeakably rude to her, or they were playing some sort of elaborate trick on him. He hadn’t watched her transform, after all. Hadn’t even known she could transform. Werewolves were a story humans used to frighten children into coming home before the sun went down, not sassy, dark-haired women who could change shape regardless of the phase of the moon.

He twisted illusion around himself without even thinking about it, leaving his image staring at Nicoletta while he slipped past her and the humans to peer into the room where she’d changed. It seemed to be some sort of large supply room. Only one way in or out. Folded neatly on a counter sat the dress Nicoletta had worn, along with a set of women’s underthings, stockings, and the impractical heels. And more tellingly, a heavy wood and leather prosthetic arm.

He ghosted back to the spot he’d left his imitation standing, and let the illusion go.

Neither of the humans seemed to have noticed. The guard who’d brought Nicoletta remained by the door, looking bored and suspicious; Mrs. Dunfre was in the middle of describing the objective of this training in more detail.

Nicoletta was another matter. She stared right at him with those green-gold eyes—the same unusual color as human Nicoletta’s—like she was trying to… He wasn’t sure. Communicate something? He realized abruptly that she’d seen everything he’d just done, because, like she had the day she’d caught him, she could see through his glamours. Damnit. He really should have remembered that sooner.

So now he was being unspeakably rude to her in more ways than one. To make up for it, he went right over to her, offered a tentative smile, and crouched to put himself at eye level with her. 

Sainted Sweetgrass, she had enormous teeth.

“I’m sorry, Miss Nicoletta, I wasn’t expecting…” He waved a hand to indicate her whole person. “This. Clearly, I should have been.”

Nicoletta blinked once, then dropped her nose in a nod. She stretched her head forward to sniff him cautiously, first his neck, then a shoulder, a foot. Turning her head back toward the storage room, she flicked her eyes at him side-long.

That settled it. She definitely knew what he’d done. 

“I, um. Well—”

Mrs. Dunfre tapped the wooden floor with the toe of her shoe. “As I was saying, Mr. Woodward, we’ll be evaluating your ability to support and complement one another through the course.”

“Oh. Oh yes, of course,” Fex said, straightening out of his crouch. “And we’ll be timed?” he asked, because that seemed like a reasonable question someone who’d been paying attention would ask.

“Yes, but once more, speed is not the objective here,” Mrs. Dunfre answered. “This is a test of the compatibility of your special abilities.” Where by ‘special’ she meant ‘abhorrent,’ Fex translated. In his short time on the base, he’d found that the personnel who knew he was Fey were at best uncomfortable and at worst fearful around him. 

Well. Nicoletta had been, too, hadn’t she? She’d been deeply reluctant to sit near him. She ought to know she didn’t have much to fear from him, though, based on their first encounter.

“All right,” he said. “I suppose we’ll just have to figure out how as we go.”

The obstacle course turned out to be far enough from the administerial and residential areas that they were transported by truck. Fex sat on the bench in the back of the canvas-covered contraption, idly comparing it to the prairie schooners of sixty years ago. This was faster, certainly, but also smellier, noisier, and generally less pleasant than riding behind a team of horses or oxen.

Nicoletta’s guard, who’d finally been introduced as Corporal Moore, sat in the back with Fex and Nicoletta. He wasn’t much inclined to small talk, which suited Fex just fine. Mrs. Dunfre and two more official-looking types with clipboards and stopwatches followed in a large car. 

They ended the drive in a wooded area with rolling hills. It was a cool, gray day with not much wind, which made the prospect of running reasonably appealing.

“You’ll begin here,” Mrs. Dunfre said, pointing to a white-painted rock in the shade of a beech tree. “Observers are stationed at several points over the course, which is marked by those yellow flags.” A small wooden stake with a strip of yellow canvas hanging limply from it stood next to the rock. There was another about ten yards along into the trees.

“Do you understand your objective?”

Fex nodded. “Traverse the course and locate a hidden package.”

“Then let us begin,” Mrs. Dunfre said.