Chapter 29 Isla's Network
POV: Isla Reid
Location: The Rookeries, 18 Months Post-Bite
Time: Present Day
I'm treating a silver burn on a newly turned wolf when Sophie bursts into the Bethnal Green location.
"Isla. We've got a problem. The Shadwell building. Landlord's threatening eviction. Says we're violating occupancy limits."
I finish bandaging the burn. "How much does he want?"
"Two thousand pounds. By Friday. Or he calls the police."
Two thousand pounds. I have maybe three hundred in our emergency fund. This is what happens when you run charity operations with no budget.
"Tell him I'll meet him tomorrow. Negotiate payment plan." I look at the newly turned wolf. A girl, maybe nineteen, attacked three days ago. "You'll be okay. The burn will heal in a week. Keep the bandage clean."
The girl nods. She's terrified. They all are at first. Turned into monsters, abandoned by families, ending up in the Rookeries because there's nowhere else.
I've helped seventy-four wolves in eighteen months. Most move on after three months. Learn to survive, find work, disappear into packless life. But while they're here, I keep them alive.
Sophie follows me outside. "We can't keep doing this. The money problems. The bribes. The constant scrambling."
"What's the alternative? Let wolves die?"
"No. But we need funding. Real funding. Not just donations and theft." Sophie pulls out a list. "I've been researching. There are sympathetic supernaturals. Fae who support packless causes. Vampires who donate to charity. We could approach them."
"Vampires who donate to charity usually want something in return."
"Everything in the supernatural world involves trade. At least we'd have resources." Sophie hands me the list. "There's a fae named Elara. She runs sanctuary programs. Might be sympathetic."
I review the list. Three fae. Two vampires. One dragon. All with money and possible interest in helping packless wolves.
"Set up meetings. I'll talk to them." I fold the list. "But we're careful. No deals that compromise what we're doing."
"Agreed."
We walk to the Whitechapel location. Meg's flophouse where this all started. Twenty-three wolves currently in residence. Three volunteers managing daily operations.
One of the volunteers, a wolf named James, pulls me aside. "Isla. There's someone watching us. Vampire. Well-dressed. He's been observing for three days."
"Observing how?"
"Standing across the street. Taking notes. Watching who comes and goes." James points to a figure in the shadows. "There. See him?"
I look. The vampire's maybe four hundred years old. Expensive clothes. Professional bearing. Not a Rookeries resident. Someone from the wealthier supernatural community.
"He's not threatening anyone?"
"No. Just watching. But it's creepy. What does he want?"
I don't know. But vampires who watch usually report to someone. And reports lead to attention. Attention leads to interference.
"Ignore him. If he approaches, let me know immediately." I head inside. "Keep running operations normally."
The vampire continues watching. I can feel his eyes on the building. Calculating. Assessing. Reporting.
That night, I meet with Elara. The fae sanctuary operator. She's old, maybe eight hundred years. Seelie Court exile who runs refugee programs for supernaturals fleeing persecution.
We meet at a neutral location. Coffee shop in Soho that caters to supernatural clientele. Private booth in the back.
"Isla Reid. I've heard about your work." Elara's voice is musical, typical fae characteristic. "Shelters for newly turned wolves. Quite impressive for someone who's been packless less than two years."
"I'm a nurse. Helping people is what I do."
"Was a nurse. Now you're packless wolf running unauthorized shelters in the Rookeries." Elara sips tea. "That's quite a transition."
"I didn't choose it. I was attacked. Turned against my will. Lost everything." I meet her eyes. "But I'm making the best of it. Helping others who've been abandoned by the system."
"Noble. Dangerous. Probably doomed." Elara sets down her cup. "But I admire the effort. What do you need from me?"
"Funding. Resources. Protection if possible. We're helping seventy-four wolves across three locations. We need money for rent, food, medical supplies, bribes to keep officials from shutting us down."
"How much?"
"Five thousand pounds monthly would cover basic operations. Ten thousand would let us expand."
Elara considers this. "That's significant money. What do I get in return?"
"Newly turned wolves who survive their first months. Who don't go feral or die from silver poisoning. Who become functional packless members of supernatural London." I lean forward. "You run refugee programs. You know the value of saving lives that would otherwise be lost."
"I do. But I also know the politics. Lord Mordaunt controls most of London's supernatural economy. If I fund operations that threaten his interests, there are consequences."
"How does helping newly turned wolves threaten vampires?"
"Organization threatens vampires. Packless wolves are useful because they're desperate and divided. Easy to exploit. If you're creating community, giving them structure and support, that changes the dynamic." Elara watches me carefully. "Mordaunt won't like it."
"Mordaunt doesn't have to know."
"He already knows. That vampire watching your shelter? Mordaunt's spy. He's been monitoring you for weeks." Elara pulls out a document. "This is his report. Filed three days ago. Recommendation: eliminate you before the network becomes a threat."
My blood runs cold. Eliminate. That's not metaphorical. Mordaunt wants me dead.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm deciding whether to help you or distance myself before you're eliminated." Elara's blunt. "If I fund your work, I'm making an enemy of Mordaunt. That's expensive and dangerous. I need to know if you're worth that cost."
"I'm keeping wolves alive. That should be worth something."
"Morally, yes. Politically, less clear." Elara stands. "I'll consider it. But understand the stakes. Mordaunt's been consolidating power for decades. He owns judges, controls Parliament, manipulates pack politics. If he decides you're a threat, you die. And anyone supporting you suffers consequences."
"I'm not stopping."
"I didn't think you would. Wolves like you don't stop until you're dead." Elara leaves money for tea. "I'll contact you within a week. Either with funding or a polite refusal. Be careful in the meantime."
She leaves. I sit in the booth processing what I learned. Mordaunt's watching me. Considering elimination. And my work is considered threatening enough to warrant vampire lord attention.
I should be terrified. Should consider shutting down. Disappearing before Mordaunt moves against me.
But seventy-four wolves are depending on the network. Without it, they die. Go feral. End up in fighting pits or vampire blood clubs.
I can't stop. Not when wolves need help. Not when the system continues creating victims.
Even if it gets me killed.
I return to the Whitechapel location. The vampire spy is still watching. Still taking notes. I walk straight toward him.
He doesn't run. Doesn't hide. Just waits while I cross the street.
"You're Mordaunt's spy. Reporting on my shelter network." I stop a few feet away. "What do you want?"
The vampire smiles. "Direct. I appreciate that. Yes, I'm monitoring your operations. Lord Mordaunt wants to understand what you're building."
"I'm helping newly turned wolves survive. That's all."
"That's not all. You're organizing packless wolves. Creating community. Giving them structure and support." The vampire consults his notes. "Seventy-four wolves across three locations. Fifteen volunteers. Network growing monthly. If this continues, you'll have hundreds of wolves within a year."
"Is that a problem?"
"For Lord Mordaunt, yes. Organized packless wolves could disrupt vampire control. Could become a political faction. Could challenge Parliamentary authority." The vampire's voice is matter-of-fact. "My recommendation is elimination. Kill you before the network becomes too established."
"And if I stop? Shut down the shelters?"
"Then you're not a threat. The network dissolves. Packless wolves return to desperate, divided state. Everyone's happy except the wolves who die."
I stand there facing a vampire who's calmly explaining why he thinks I should be murdered. This is supernatural politics. This is how the system works.
"I'm not stopping."
"I didn't think you would. People who build things rarely stop when threatened." The vampire puts away his notes. "I'll file my report tomorrow. Recommendation for elimination. What happens after that is Lord Mordaunt's decision."
He walks away. Disappears into the London night. Leaving me standing outside my shelter knowing a vampire lord is deciding whether to kill me.
I go inside. Twenty-three wolves are sleeping in makeshift beds. Volunteers are organizing supplies. The network continues operating.
This is what I built. This is what matters. Helping wolves who would otherwise die alone and desperate.
If Mordaunt decides to eliminate me, at least I'll die doing something worthwhile. At least the network will continue without me. Sophie and the volunteers can keep it running.
That has to be enough.
Even if it costs me everything.
Again.