Chapter 112: Inseparable

Nash

“Hey, what’s your hurry?” The cashier chided me flirtatiously as she counted out my change. I grabbed the cash off the counter and spared a glance at the woman behind the counter. She was passably attractive, but nothing that interested me. I only had eyes for one woman.

“I got someplace to be,” I said shortly. As I turned, I scanned a display of brochures, advertising local attractions and events. I spotted a glossy photo of a French castle, and snagged it out. “Hey, do you know this place?”

The cashier squinted at the brochure. “Oh yeah, I know that place. The Château Royal. It’s just north of the city. They do a couple of events each year, you know, a masquerade in October, a Christmas ball. But it’s closed to the public most of the time. It’s owned by an old, rich French family, like forever. Since the 1700s.”

“Huh.” I flipped through the brochure, but it appeared they had just used the photo to promote historical architecture in and around Quebec City. I stuffed it back in the rack. “Thanks.” I gave the woman a half-hearted wave as I went out the door.

The early afternoon sun glinted off the hood of the jeep. I circled the vehicle and jumped back in the seat, and took a sip of the coffee before I stuck the keys in the ignition. I didn’t need directions, anyway, I had the coordinates for the Royal Pack from Josiah and Olivia. I turned up the radio and headed north.

I spotted the towers poking out of the top of the trees miles before I came up to the gate. It was a little abrupt. One minute you are driving down a winding, narrow country road, with trees leaning on each side, sun filtering through the leaves and dappling the pavement. I passed one small sign that said, Warning: Private Property, but I didn’t take it seriously, until I rounded the next corner and had to slam on the breaks to avoid plowing into a huge wrought iron gate.

There wasn’t anyone manning the gate, at least not that I could see. But there was a little kiosk with a call button. I rolled down my window and pushed the button under the speaker.

“May I help you?” A smooth female voice a thick French accent asked with a little crackle.

“Um, yes, I’m looking for Château Royale?”

“You’ve reached the gates, my friend, but this is private property. The Château is closed to tourists.” The female pointed out with a friendly but firm tone.

“Yes, um, I understand. But I need to see someone, um, a friend. She lives there.’

“Then ask your friend to request a visitor’s pass, sir.”

“That’s a problem, because I don’t have her contact.”

“Yes, I guess that is a problem. Have a nice day, sir.”

The speaker went quiet. I pushed the button again, but this time no voice answered.

“Look, my name is Nash Turner. I’m a friend of Daphne Redhawk. Please, it’s really important, so if you could tell her that I’m here, and I need to speak to her, I’d really appreciate it.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

Silence.

I swore and slapped the steering wheel. I backed the jeep up, turned around, and pulled off the road before I put it in park and jumped out. I knew I was taking a big risk, trespassing on werewolf territory, but I had come this far, I couldn’t turn back now.

I walked up to the gate, avoiding the kiosk, which had a camera on top. I scanned the area and saw several other high-tech cameras mounted to the fence, and in the trees surrounding the gate. It was a safe bet that someone was watching every move I made. A ten-foot-high fence stretched in either direction away from the gate, with razor wire, and if I wasn’t mistaken, electrified wires across the top.

These werewolf-people weren’t kidding.

The easiest place to breach the fence, as far as I could see, was right at the gate. It was topped with sharp pointed spears, but at least it wasn’t electrified. I rubbed my hands together and gauged how high I could jump to get a hold high enough up the gate. I took a few steps backwards, and bounced on the balls of my feet.

“You don’t want to do that,” a low, growling voice warned me.

I turned toward the trees and saw a huge man come strolling out like he’d just been on a casual hike in the woods. Except he was wearing a tactical vest, a black beanie hat, and he was carrying a mean-looking spear in one hand. I relaxed and smiled. “Nah, you are right, I don’t want to. Maybe you could be a pal and just open the gate?”

“‘Fraid not.” The man said. “I guess you didn’t see the signs on the road. This is private property. Strictly no trespassing here.” He swung that spear and pointed it at me.

“I don’t want to trespass, either,” I said, holding out my hands in an innocent gesture. “But I really need to talk to a woman in the palace. Maybe you could get her a message?”

“Do I look like a messenger boy?”

No, he looked like a soldier. He was half a head taller than me. It was hard to tell his age. Werewolves seemed to age slower than us mere mortals, but there were lines fanned out from his eyes and deep lines bracketing his unsmiling mouth. His neck was thick and muscular, as were his broad shoulders.

I wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t alone. Wolves hunt in packs. Somewhere in those woods, in the shadows that my eyes couldn’t penetrate, there were more guards, just waiting. If I made a move, there would be a dozen wolves on my ass before I could reach my jeep.

“No sir, I was just hoping you could help me out. I need to talk to Daphne Redhawk. She’s kind of a big deal. The King’s daughter is married to her brothers, right? The Redhawk brothers? And I got important information for her about the bear shifter that attacked her a couple of months ago.”

That gave the soldier pause. He wrinkled up his nose like he was taking in my scent. The tip of his spear lifted into more neutral position, pointing toward the sky. “You know an awful lot for a homo-sapian-sapian.”

“Yeah. So, will you help me?”

“Nope.” The spear lowered again, leveled at my heart. “Get back in your vehicle and go home.”