you had in your first transformation. Then you were back, Dr. Michael Bonnard, a man of whom I’ve grown quite fond, and you ministered to my wounds. Which you could not have failed to notice were already healing. I myself could not help noticing your valor in leading the wolf away from me as soon as it showed itself, nor the effort it cost you to overcome it. Not the least part of that effort was your clear desire to vanquish that wolf without hurting it, although for its part it appeared ready to kill both you and me. That wolf is the cause of some distress for you. I extend my sympathy, but more than that, Livia and I have . . . a number of unusual gifts, shall we say. The Laws of our people dictate that we not reveal ourselves thus, but we both believe this is a situation extraordinary enough that we are willing to contravene those Laws. If we may be allowed to put ourselves at your disposal? Whatever your troubles, you may find us surprisingly helpful.”
What surprised Livia was something she was sure only shecaught, though that had more to do with her long friendship with Spencer than with her Noantri senses: a tiny quaver in his voice. He had told her he was touched by Michael’s bravery and attentiveness and felt that a debt was owed. But this was something more.
Spencer was in love.
16
T homas wondered if he himself, not Spencer George, was delusional. Was he really sitting in a New York town house listening to two European vampires accuse an Abenaki Indian of being a werewolf?
To be fair, it wasn’t phrased as an accusation, and only Spencer George had said it. Livia, though, didn’t look shocked, wasn’t suggesting gently to Spencer that he might want to go lie down. Her gaze stayed steady on Michael Bonnard, with a look on her face that Thomas could only read as guarded hope.
In Rome, having finally acknowledged the truth of the Noantri and what they were, Thomas had asked Livia about other peoples whose natures might be beyond what Thomas had understood, up until that day, as “human.” Her answer had been that if such others existed, the Noantri had no knowledge of them. Thomas had accepted that; contemplation of the Noantri nature itself was more than enough spiritual labor for a lifetime.
What had not occurred to him until this moment, seeing Livia’s face—and Spencer George’s, for that matter—was what the Noantri might feel, if such others were found to exist.
The Noantri were alone. For millennia, each individual hadbeen literally alone, unaware of others, forced into furtive and degraded lives by hungers they couldn’t control. With the signing of the Concordat they’d slowly begun to gather, to create a Community. The ability to live openly—their natures still hidden, but their lives assimilated into the world of those they referred to as “Unchanged”—was, Livia and others had impressed upon Thomas, an enormous relief and a joy to them. No Noantri lived isolated any longer, unless he wanted to.
Still, Thomas suddenly understood, the Community did. In spite of their wide geographical distribution, living in every corner of the earth, at roughly ten thousand, their numbers were small. The overwhelming majority of humans were of one nature; they were of a different one. The discovery, if such it were, of another—what to call it? variety of human?—would fill a void for them that Thomas could only begin to imagine.
It would, if it happened. But this could not be that. Michael Bonnard, standing before them in this room, could no more be a shapeshifter than Thomas himself. Spencer George, weak and delirious, had obviously dreamt what he’d seen in the park. Bonnard’s brooding dark gaze as he regarded Spencer, then turned to Livia and lastly, now, to Thomas, expressed concern for a man he cared about and a hope that his friends could help. Nothing else.
Secure in that thought, Thomas was stunned by the words Bonnard finally spoke.
“You should have died,” he said to
What surprised Livia was something she was sure only shecaught, though that had more to do with her long friendship with Spencer than with her Noantri senses: a tiny quaver in his voice. He had told her he was touched by Michael’s bravery and attentiveness and felt that a debt was owed. But this was something more.
Spencer was in love.
16
T homas wondered if he himself, not Spencer George, was delusional. Was he really sitting in a New York town house listening to two European vampires accuse an Abenaki Indian of being a werewolf?
To be fair, it wasn’t phrased as an accusation, and only Spencer George had said it. Livia, though, didn’t look shocked, wasn’t suggesting gently to Spencer that he might want to go lie down. Her gaze stayed steady on Michael Bonnard, with a look on her face that Thomas could only read as guarded hope.
In Rome, having finally acknowledged the truth of the Noantri and what they were, Thomas had asked Livia about other peoples whose natures might be beyond what Thomas had understood, up until that day, as “human.” Her answer had been that if such others existed, the Noantri had no knowledge of them. Thomas had accepted that; contemplation of the Noantri nature itself was more than enough spiritual labor for a lifetime.
What had not occurred to him until this moment, seeing Livia’s face—and Spencer George’s, for that matter—was what the Noantri might feel, if such others were found to exist.
The Noantri were alone. For millennia, each individual hadbeen literally alone, unaware of others, forced into furtive and degraded lives by hungers they couldn’t control. With the signing of the Concordat they’d slowly begun to gather, to create a Community. The ability to live openly—their natures still hidden, but their lives assimilated into the world of those they referred to as “Unchanged”—was, Livia and others had impressed upon Thomas, an enormous relief and a joy to them. No Noantri lived isolated any longer, unless he wanted to.
Still, Thomas suddenly understood, the Community did. In spite of their wide geographical distribution, living in every corner of the earth, at roughly ten thousand, their numbers were small. The overwhelming majority of humans were of one nature; they were of a different one. The discovery, if such it were, of another—what to call it? variety of human?—would fill a void for them that Thomas could only begin to imagine.
It would, if it happened. But this could not be that. Michael Bonnard, standing before them in this room, could no more be a shapeshifter than Thomas himself. Spencer George, weak and delirious, had obviously dreamt what he’d seen in the park. Bonnard’s brooding dark gaze as he regarded Spencer, then turned to Livia and lastly, now, to Thomas, expressed concern for a man he cared about and a hope that his friends could help. Nothing else.
Secure in that thought, Thomas was stunned by the words Bonnard finally spoke.
“You should have died,” he said to
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