FIC: Balancing Act 5/7 (PG-13) SG-1/AB
Three fics over one weekend = fun times for Mhal. Enjoy!
Balancing Act 5/7
A Stargate SG-1/Anita Blake crossover
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: After being "asked" to change schools, 16-year-old Jack O'Neill moves to St. Louis. His new school looks as if it might be better than the last; the teachers seem halfway decent. And yet, there's something sort of odd about his new science teacher, Richard Zeeman...
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. MGM/UA, Gekko Productions et al. own all things Stargate SG-1. I am but borrowing the characters for a brief time and shall return them intact at the end.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, violence.
Words: 6,400
Timeline: A year after season seven "Fragile Balance" for SG1 (the mini-Jack episode) and a month after Incubus Dreams for Anita Blake (Not Danse Macabre compliant).
Previous chapters here.
~~~~~
"Hi, You've reached Richard Zeeman. I'm not available to take your call right now, but please leave a message."
Jack swore under his breath. He hated voicemail. "Mr. Zeeman, it's Jack O'Neill, you really need to call me. It's about--" Jack glanced over at the shop clerk eyeing him suspiciously. Bending over the phonebook, Jack continued. "It's about Sandra, she's got some real bad family stuff going on right now, and it's really a lot like your situation so I thought you'd be able to help." Where was Daniel when Jack needed subtlety? "You've got to call me as soon as you get this message, life and death and I am really not kidding around." Jack gave the answering machine his cell number, then hung up.
The store clerk leaned over. "You done, huh?"
Jack gave the man a winning grin. "Not yet."
The clerk grunted. "Hurry up or I start charging you rent on that book!"
Jack ignored the man. Richard wouldn't be at school, it was a Sunday. He might be at a friend's house, but how the hell was Jack supposed to find him that way? He wasn't sure if the werewolves were really listening to the police lines, but he couldn't risk it. Not yet.
Thinking of law enforcement made an idea pop into Jack's head. Anita Blake was police, sort of, and she seemed to have a rather close relationship with Zeeman. At least, that was how it looked in class when she gave the guest lecture. That might just work, Jack thought.
No Anita Blake was listed in the residential section of the book. Jack couldn't quite remember the name of her company from the information that he had read online, something to do with zombies. Would that be in the business section? He couldn't find anything under Z for zombies. This is what my life is, aliens and zombies and fucked-up werewolves. Maybe we can get Thor to start cloning werewolves and then--
Animators Inc., listed under A, had a quarter-page ad. Jack whipped out his cell phone and dialled the number. Please let them work on Sundays.
"Animators Inc."
"Hi!" Jack blurted out. "I need to talk to Anita Blake. Now."
"Ms. Blake is not in at this time, can I take a message for her?" said the female voice on the other end of the line, unperturbed.
"No, I can't leave a message," Jack said. He slapped the phone book closed and exited the shop, giving the clerk the thumbs-up on his way out. "Is there any way you can give me her cell number? It's a family emergency thing."
"We cannot give out our partners' contact information," the woman said. "If you leave me a message, I can get it to Ms. Blake."
Jack pulled his jacket tight around his chest, trying to block out the biting cold. He didn't have time for this. Sandra didn't have time for this. "It had to do with Richard Zeeman," Jack said, playing his trump card. "I really need to talk to Anita, please."
The woman hesitated, long enough for Jack to make it back to his car. "I'm not sure..."
"Please." Jack gripped his keys in his hand, wishing desperately for his team. Daniel would be able to get the number out of this woman. Hell, Carter could hack into something and find the contact. And Teal'c... well, him and Teal'c could find the furry bastards who took Sandra and rip them into pieces. But he didn't have his team, they weren't his team, and he was on his own.
"All right," the woman finally said. She rattled off a number so fast that Jack barely had time to scratch it into the dirt on the top of his car. "You are not to use that number frivolously, young man," she finished.
"Thank you," Jack said. He hung up without another word and quickly dialled Anita's cell. Every ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, the line clicked.
"This is Anita Blake. I am currently away from the phone. Leave a message."
Damn it! Jack kicked the dented side panel of his car. Why have a cell phone if it wasn't on? "Marshal Blake, it's Jack O'Neill," Jack said after the requisite beep. "I need to get in touch with Richard Zeeman right away, it's important."
Jack's first instinct was to keep this all to himself, born from almost a decade of saving the universe from the Goa'uld. But Anita dealt with crazy lycanthropes as her job. It was probably a bad idea to trust her, but Sandra didn't have time for caution.
"I just got a call from Sandra, this girl in my class. She got grabbed by some werewolves and they're holding her." Jack took a deep breath. "This one guy, he said that Richard Zeeman needs to open a letter they left at his house. Sandra didn't know where she was, but she said the car was blue with a rusty passenger door and no passenger-side mirror. They also said they were monitoring the emergency lines, so I didn't call the cops." Jack paused. "Look, Sandra's just a kid. I don't care what Zeeman's deal is, but I officially do not care. Get her out of this."
Jack ended the call and stepped into his car, tossing the phone onto the seat next to him. He started the engine and peeled out onto the road, not knowing where he was going. He had no idea how to find Sandra or even where to start looking. All he did know was that he couldn't sit around doing nothing. Sandra was the same age as Skarra had been when the Goa'uld took him as host.
She was the same age that his son, Charlie, would have been, if Jack hadn't been careless enough to leave his gun loaded in a drawer.
If there was even the slightest possibility that Jack could help Sandra in any way, he had to do it. He couldn't let another child die.
Jack glanced down at his cell phone, wishing Anita would call back. Then he remembered that he hadn't given Anita his number. He was getting sloppy. He had been a fucking Colonel in the U.S. Air Force, and he was making stupid mistakes. When this ended, he was going to kick his own ass.
Think. First priority, contacting Richard Zeeman, had been taken care of, at least as far as Jack could take it at this point. If Jack assumed that they were in the worst case scenario, in which Richard was totally out of touch, then the new priority became finding Sandra himself. All he had was her cell number.
Unless... Jack pushed the gas pedal down and floored it through a yellow light. He picked up his phone and dialled a number from memory.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Henry! It's Jack."
"Jack O'Neill? I haven't heard from you in ages, you son of a bitch! You okay? You sound strange."
"Yeah, it's just this stupid cell." Jack quickly checked over his shoulder before cutting across three lanes of traffic to make it to the exit. "I'm calling in my favour."
Henry was quiet for a minute. Jack prayed that his older self hadn't already called in the marker. "Look, Jack, I don't--"
"Henry, please."
"What can you want from me?" Henry asked, starting to sound suspicious. "You made General, that opens up a lot of doors."
Jack didn't stop to wonder who in the Air Force had been insane enough to promote Jack O'Neill to General. "This isn't exactly what you'd call part of the job, Henry."
"Fine, fine. Just, ah, remind me again of what I did to deserve this?" Henry's tone was joking, but he wasn't kidding around. Jack supposed he didn't blame the man's caution, but every second that ticked past was one more moment for the werewolves to kill Sandra.
"One, I saved your sorry ass on your wedding day with that whole 'forgetting the ring' thing." Jack pulled his car up in front of an all-night hardware store and killed the engine. "Two, I saved your sorrier ass with the general in Germany in that little AWOL incident."
"I wasn't AWOL," Henry protested. "I was..."
"Yeah, stuck in an air vent at a movie theatre, I know. Satisfied?" Jack glanced around as he headed into the store, but no one looked twice at a skinny teenager.
"Guess so. What can I do for you, Jack?"
"You still working telecom?"
"Sure am. Julie's going to kill me, but I'm here right now. Just finished cleaning up a major meltdown on the East Coast."
"Good." Jack stopped in front of the coils of rope. "I heard on TV a while ago that there's some kind of technology in the works that can track cell phones when they're powered down?"
There was a long silence on the phone. "Jack, what's this about?"
Jack checked the load on a thin black nylon rope. "You and I know that when the media get a hold of anything we do, that usually means it's already been around for years."
"It might."
"So if I gave you a cell number, you'd be able to find out where it is even if the phone's off?"
"No, Jack, you don't get this answer until you tell me why I'm doing this."
Jack grabbed the rope in one hand. "Henry--"
"No, I'm not jerking around anymore."
"I could order you to do it," Jack said.
"Like hell that'll work. I've been out for ten years."
"Henry--" Jack broke off. Once upon a time, he'd trusted Henry with his life. Could he afford to do the same thing with Sandra's life? He ran his thumb over the end of the rope, remembering the fear he'd heard in Sandra's voice.
"Can the games, O'Neill."
"It's my neighbor," Jack said. It wasn't technically a lie, and that was really what mattered. "His daughter, she's about sixteen, and he hasn't heard from her in a bit, and it's a bit of a rough crowd."
"Jesus, Jack, that's not--"
"She's Clarabelle's age," Jack interrupted. He felt ill, bringing up Henry's youngest girl. She and Charlie had played together when they were toddlers. "And he's got a really bad feeling about this and I told him I'd try to help."
"Damnit," Henry muttered under his breath. "Fine, O'Neill, but if this comes back to bite me in the ass... What's the number?"
Jack gave him Sandra's number. "This will work even if the phone's off?"
"As long as the battery's still in the phone, we can pinpoint them to within five feet," Henry told him.
"Is that even legal?"
"It's in the fine print of the contract."
"Bullshit."
"Shut up," Henry barked, his tone suddenly all business. "Got her. What the hell is going on, Jack?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this cell phone unit is at the northeast end of Castlewood State Park, miles outside of St. Louis in Missouri. Is this kid some kind of runaway?"
"No." Jack walked to a rack of maps, as fast as he could without drawing undue attention. "She's really not. Do you have coordinates on the phone?"
"Jesus, Jack, if she's Clarabelle's age, you tell her parents to call the police," Henry instructed. "Hell, call in the Feds. She's across state lines."
Jack almost asked Henry what he meant by that Feds crack, then he remembered that Old Jack was supposed to be stationed at Cheyenne Mountain. "Can you give me the exact location?" Jack asked as he shook open a state map and laid it on the beige floor.
"Yeah, give me a second." Muffled voices sounded on the other end of the line. "Crap, Jack, one of the routers crashed up in New York, I have to go. I'll email you the coordinates in five minutes."
"Henry, no--" Jack tried to keep his friend on the phone, but the line went dead. Fuck! Henry would email them to the person he had thought he was talking to, Colonel Jack O'Neill. No, wait, now it was General Jack O'Neill and it was just as fucking useless.
Jack tried to focus. What did he have? He knew Sandra's phone was in the northeast section of Castlewood State Park . Jack examined the map. The park stretched over nearly five miles, a lot of it on steep terrain. He took a deep breath. It was a start.
Gathering up the map and his rope, Jack headed for the checkout. It had been years since he'd had to go into a fight without a gun or proper equipment. But he was Jack O'Neill. This was what he'd been trained to do.
Jack picked up a few more things on his way to the front counter. The clerk looked at him funny when he put down his armful. "A map, rope, wrapping paper and sports chalk?" She snapped her gum. "What are you going to do with a map, rope, wrapping paper and sports chalk?"
"I'm going to MacGyver myself a sports team."
The clerk pursed her lips. "Anyone ever tell you look like--"
"Every day of my life. Can you hurry?"
Insulted, the clerk snatched the cash out of Jack's hand and rang his purchases through without further comment. Jack noticed that she short-changed him, but he didn't have the time to care. He grabbed the bag off the counter and dashed out of the store.
The parking lot was sufficiently empty that Jack had no qualms about popping the trunk and grabbing the black duffle bag hidden under the mat. He opened the bag and checked the contents. Hunting knife, flares, duct tape, water, machete, field binoculars; everything was right where he had left it. He'd thought about including a pistol and some extra ammo in the bag, but couldn't figure out a way to buy a handgun legally. Plus, at the time, he had been able to delude himself that he wouldn't need a gun at high school.
No time for a gun. Jack pushed back the fog in his head from a year of civilian living, and concentrated. Going after a group of werewolves with only a knife and some flares was an incredibly stupid idea, but he couldn't sit around and wait, hoping Richard Zeeman picked up his voicemail.
Jack grabbed the bag and slammed the trunk. He could do this thinking while driving. The clock was ticking on Sandra's life. Sliding in behind the steering wheel, Jack started the car with one hand and hit redial on his cell phone with the other. Even if Anita Blake's phone wasn't on, she was still his best bet to get the message to the cops on Sandra's location.
~~~
"How can you stand there so calmly?" Richard demanded. His beast was itching to get out, burning in his chest, and all Anita could do was load up her gun.
"Because, Richard, I need silver ammunition to kill the bad guys," Anita told him as she snapped the shotgun closed. "I thought you were familiar with the concept of firearms."
Richard gripped the back of a kitchen chair. "We can't stand around, we have to--"
"To what? We have no plan of attack, no idea what we're up against!" Anita interrupted. "What do we have? A letter taped to your door saying that someone has one of your students? We don't even know who did this!"
"I know!" Richard heard a loud crack, and the chair came apart in his hands. He kicked the chair across the room, narrowly missing Anita's wererat bodyguard, Claudia. The tall woman glared at him.
"Richard, would you calm the fuck down?" Anita demanded. "We'll figure this out!"
"How?" Richard asked again. He hated falling apart like this, but this wasn't a normal situation. His life as a werewolf was supposed to be separate from his life as a teacher. But now, enemies had broken through that line, kidnapping one of his students.
Richard was the Ulfric, head of the Thronnos Rokke clan, and he didn't know what to do.
It didn't help that Anita went automatically to her guns. Jamil and Shang-Da, Richard's bodyguards, were in the basement of Anita's house, gathering what weapons they could. Merle, one of Micah Callahan's bodyguards, was helping them, while Claudia stayed with Anita. Richard didn't want to bring in other types of lycanthropes. This was a werewolf problem, and he had to deal with it accordingly. Right?
There had never been a coalition of lycanthropes before, not in St. Louis, not anywhere. Richard had thought the working together was fine for the smaller groups, the weaker groups. But the werewolf pack was not weak, didn't need outside help in solving their problems. How could he change that now, bringing in wererats and wereleopards to help him?
The front door slammed shut. Richard caught the scent of vampire on the air before Jean-Claude entered the room, followed by Asher and Meng Die. "What the hell are you doing here?" Richard demanded.
"I called him," Anita said.
"What the hell for?"
"We need help!"
"This isn't a vampire problem!"
Jean-Claude held up his hand. "Is this a direct challenge?" The question was obviously rhetorical, as the vampire just kept on talking. "It is not. The pack is potentially in danger, and that is unacceptable. Ma petite, what has occurred since you called me?"
Anita concentrated on pushing silver bullets into a gun clip. "Not much. Sylvie took Jason and Graham to Richard's house to see if they could pick up any more scents, or clues as to who left the letter. Merle and Shang-Da and Jamil are downstairs loading up."
Claudia stirred against the far wall. "I spoke with Rafael. Any help the Ulfric needs, he can have."
"How understanding of your King," Asher said with a mocking undertone.
Claudia narrowed her eyes at the vampire. "The Rodere have a treaty with the werewolves, and we honor that covenant."
Asher fixed Claudia with an icy blue stare. "And the Rodere are nothing if not honourable."
"Asher." Jean-Claude's voice was soft, but the power pushed at everyone in the room. "Ma petite, what did the letter say? You were not clear in your message."
Anita looked at Richard. He shook his head, but walked across the kitchen to pick up the piece of paper he'd found on his front doorstep when he had arrived home from Sunday dinner with his parents. "Here," he said briefly, holding it out to Jean-Claude.
The vampire took the letter and brought it up to his face. "Werewolf," the vampire muttered, inhaling deeply. "Not one I recognise." He handed the paper to Meng Die.
Meng Die licked the edge of the paper, her pink tongue darting from between pale lips. From any other woman, the gesture would have been enticing, but Meng Die made it creepy. "I do not know this wolf," she said.
"It's not local," Richard said reluctantly. "I don't know who would do this. It doesn't make any sense. Not without a previous challenge, or something."
"Bad guys don't always play by the rules," Anita pointed out, as the basement door opened and the three bodyguards came out, carrying far too much weaponry. "And if they don't, we don't."
"What does that mean?" Richard asked.
Anita and Jean-Claude shared a look, and in spite of everything else that was happening, Richard felt an irrational surge of jealousy. Once upon a time, he had been the one Anita shared glances with. But that was lost now, and he would never get it back. Never have her back, the way it was before.
"It means that we will do whatever it takes to safeguard the pack," Jean-Claude answered. He looked up at Richard, such a dangerous expression on his face that Richard wondered how he ever could have thought Jean-Claude weak. "We protect what is ours."
Richard couldn't let it go. He'd fought too long to keep separate from the Triumvirate to let Jean-Claude in like this. "The pack isn't yours--"
"Richard." It was only one word from Jamil, but it stopped Richard in his tracks. "We haven't got time for this. If it was just Lukoi, I'd agree with you, but if they've got one of your students, there's no way we can hide this if it goes bad."
"That's what you think I'm worried about?" Richard exploded. "Hiding this if something goes wrong?" He stalked over to Jamil. "What would 'wrong' be, exactly? If one of my students get eaten? For the only reason that they're in my class?"
"I didn't say that." Jamil ducked his head in submission to Richard. "This isn't us, this isn't the way we do things. Whoever's doing this isn't working by rules right now, they're not going to start any time soon." Jamil rolled his eyes up to meet Richard's gaze. "If we want to survive, we have to act accordingly."
"That means no hesitation, mon ami." Jean-Claude walked across the room to stand at Richard's side. "No rules." Richard felt a brush against his mind, private, locked far away from where Anita could hear. No mercy.
Richard clamped down on his wolf, pushed back the hot animal desire to hunt and kill what would hurt those under his protection. He couldn't rush into this, not if he wanted to save whichever of his students was in danger.
And save them he would, then he would kill his enemies, drink of their blood and eat the flesh from their bones.
Anita eyed Richard and Jean-Claude, a frown on her face. Before she could say anything, Richard's cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
"It's Sylvie. We have another problem."
Richard's stomach dropped. Sylvie was at his house with Jason and Graham. Had the enemy wolves gotten to them? "What?"
"Do you know someone named Jack O'Neill?" Sylvie sounded more annoyed than anything, and the lump of tension in Richard's stomach eased a little.
"Why? Yes, I do, but why?"
"This was on your answering machine, listen." The phone crackled, then a tinny voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Zeeman, it's Jack O'Neill, you really need to call me. It's about-- It's about Sandra, she's got some real bad family stuff going on right now, and it's really a lot like your situation so I thought you'd be able to help. You've got to call me as soon as you get this message, life and death and I am really not kidding around."
Richard swore under his breath.
"Richard?" Sylvie came back on the line. "What's this about?"
Richard pressed his hand against his eyes. "Sandra's a girl in one of my classes, and unless she's been turned since I saw her on Friday, I think she might be the one the wolves took."
"What about this Jack character?"
"Jack O'Neill is another one of my students." Richard raked his hand through his hair. "Although I have no idea how he's involved in this."
"Maybe he's involved with the other wolves?" Sylvie suggested.
"No, he's not," Richard said immediately.
"Fine. There's nothing else here, Richard. We're leaving."
"Be careful," Richard ordered his second-in-command as she hung up the phone.
Jean-Claude had a thoughtful expression on his face. "This is the boy who recently transferred to your class?"
"Why?"
Jean-Claude shrugged. "It does seem very convenient, that the new boy in your class is the one to inform you of the child's disappearance."
It took Richard a few moments to understand what Jean-Claude was driving at. "Are you nuts? Jack's not involved with these guys!"
"You do not know that."
"I do!" Even as he spoke, however, doubt pulled at Richard's mind. Jack had transferred at an odd time of the year. He didn't have any guardians, and there was that odd sensation that Richard had when he looked at Jack, that the boy was not what he appeared. "I don't think he'd have done anything like this."
"Regardless, it is possible that he is somehow involved," Jean-Claude said, brushing off Richard's words. "We now know the name of the student in peril."
"What good does that do us?" Asher suddenly asked. "We are no closer to knowing the location of these wolves."
"We'll figure something out," Anita said. She slid a gun into her shoulder holster.
"What if 'we' do not?" Asher pressed, looking directly at Richard.
"We will!" While she was speaking, Anita had pulled out her cell phone. "We'll figure it out, save the day, all that Pollyanna crap." She frowned at her phone.
"What?" Richard asked wearily. He wasn't sure that he could deal with any more problems.
"I missed two calls," Anita said. Her expression changed as she listened to the messages. "Why the hell did Jack O'Neill call me?"
Richard hurried across the room to Anita's side, putting his ear close to the phone to hear the familiar voice. "...to get in touch with Richard Zeeman right away, it's important. I just got a call from Sandra, this girl in my class. She got grabbed by some werewolves and they're holding her. This one guy, he said that Richard Zeeman needs to open a letter they left at his house. Sandra didn't know where she was, but she said the car was blue with a rusty passenger door and no passenger-side mirror. They also said they were monitoring the emergency lines, so I didn't call the cops. Look, Sandra's just a kid. I don't care what Zeeman's deal is, but I officially do not care. Get her out of this."
"What the hell was that?" Anita asked.
"You said there was another message, right?" Richard's beast itched to get out, and it was with a great deal of effort that he held it in. "What does that one say?"
Anita hit a few more buttons on her phone. "Blake, it's O'Neill again. I have this friend-- never mind. Look, Sandra's at the northeast end of Castlewood State Park. Call the police, just made sure that it's off the police scanner." The message broke for a moment. "...don't know when you'll get this, so I'm going out there."
That was the end of the message. "Is he insane?" Anita demanded. "A teenager against werewolves? What kind of twisted macho crap is this?"
"At least now we know Jack didn't have anything to do with this," Richard said, pressing his fists against the counter.
"Great, just great!" Anita threw up her hands. "So he didn't have anything to do with the wolves grabbing your student. He's still a teenager about to go wading into shit he doesn't have a hope of surviving!"
"Are we going to stay here all night listening to them argue?" Meng Die asked Asher, sounding terribly bored.
"No, we're not," Anita said. She glared at Meng Die. "We've got a location, we're moving out."
"What about the cops?" Merle said, speaking for the first time. "Anita, you going to call them in on this?"
Richard glanced around the room. Everyone was watching Anita, waiting for their cues from her. Even his wolves had their focus on her. "We'll call them after," Anita decided. She wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. "We go in and deal with this. It's easier if we don't have to worry about any humans getting caught in the crossfire."
"Except Sandra and Jack," Richard had to point out.
"Yes, Richard, except the two children." Anita grabbed one last weapon off the table. "Any more comment before we go?"
Claudia stepped forward. "Is this is? We're going in against an unknown number of werewolves with three vampires, three wolves, a leopard, a necromancer and a rat?"
Anita gave her a look. "With this group? We could take down small countries."
Claudia shrugged. "Just checking."
As Anita led the way out of the house, Richard rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was all going to go horribly wrong. If it had involved only lycanthropes... but it didn't only involve lycanthropes. Two of his students, children, had been dragged into this.
Jean-Claude was right. The enemy wolves had broken the rules of engagement by bringing human children into the mess. That meant Richard didn't have to show any hesitation. There would be no mercy for those who threatened the safety of those under his protection.
~~~
Jack crouched low in the bushes by the trail. It was almost pitch black, and even with his night vision it was tough going. He'd covered a lot of ground, but he hadn't found the werewolves' trail yet. The only sign he'd located was fresh tire tracks in the snow in the parking lot. The ridges in the snow hadn't melted, which made it likely that the marks were less than a day old.
He shifted his weight, mentally reviewing his gear. There was a knife taped under his pant leg and a length of rope looped around his belt. He'd considered bringing his machete, but he couldn't run with that thing on his back.
The flares in his coat pocket dug into his ribs as he stood up again. He didn't know why he'd brought the damned things, but they might be the only distraction he got.
Jack counted off his steps, looking around for any sign of recent passage. When he hit twenty, he pulled another piece of the cut-up silvery wrapping paper and stuck it to a tree, marking his trail in case he needed a quick escape. He'd considered that he might be leading the werewolves right to him, but it was the middle of winter in a snowy park. He was probably the only human who had walked through here in days. Picking up his scent would be easy for a werewolf.
Right. I get that this was a stupid idea, Jack told himself. I've been up against worse.
Of course, he'd faced those "worse" bad guys with the rest of SG-1 at his side.
Twenty more steps. More wrapping paper. He repeated the pattern a dozen times, keeping track of how far he had gone. Miles behind him, and miles to go in the cold and the dark.
He had reached the halfway mark up the hill when he spotted the first sign. The faint moonlight couldn't hide the scuffs in the snow, the dirt kicked up. Jack knelt beside the marks. Ice hadn't had a chance to form on the fresh dirt. Jack scanned the area, and finally spotted a shoe print in the snow. Smaller than his own. He couldn't remember how big Sandra's feet were, but it was highly likely that this mark was from her shoes.
She'd been this way, and she'd been kicking.
Jack found a similar patch of kicked-up dirt a hundred yards up the hill. Sandra's marking a trail, Jack realized. Smart girl.
He followed the trail farther up the hill to the top of the ridge. A few times, he stopped to tie a length of thin black rope between two trees, half a foot above the ground. Numbers echoed in his brain, numbers of steps and distances traveled and trip lines and minutes to daylight. There was no room for second-guessing.
The cold air caused his breath to fog as he headed higher. He had to go slow, watching the ground, and it was the only thing that saved him from stepping in the middle of the bear trap.
Icy adrenaline spiked down his spine as he saw the familiar disturbed pattern of earth, the dirt slashing a scar on the snow. Someone had scattered dirt and leaves to hide the silver metal of the trap. The trap was big enough to snap a man's leg clean off.
He knew someone who had used bear traps on lycanthropes before, who had spread the dirt in just this way. It had been almost fifteen years since Bill Harris had been infected by those Russian werewolves. Fifteen years crumbed to yesterday as Jack stared at the trap.
Jack didn't understand. Bill Harris had been a good man, someone Jack would trust with his life. Could this be him? The military had discharged him, his wife had taken the kids and left. Bill had lost almost everything. Would that drive him to this?
Jack knew what it was like to lose almost everything. Charlie, Sara... and then, being cloned by Loki, being put into a teenager's body and being ripped away from the SGC and his team. He hadn't gone crazy and threatening to eat little girls.
This raised the stakes. Jack found a heavy rock and stepped back from the trap. He used all his anger to heave the rock onto the trap.
The trap jaws slammed shut with a violent crash.
The werewolves would probably have heard that. Jack had to move, had to find Sandra and get her out before this went any deeper.
The next trap was better hidden, but now that Jack knew what to look for, they were easier to spot. He tripped that trap with a big stick and kept moving, no longer bothering to mark his trail with fluttering bits of silver.
Wind picked up as Jack hurried silently over the frozen ground, blowing his scent away down the hill. The sound of the air rattled through the trees, almost masking the snap of a dead branch right behind him.
Jack froze. His knife was in its sheath under his jeans, out of reach.
Another soft crunching step on the snow.
Jack didn't bother to turn around. He ran, eyes on the ground. Someone ran after him, footsteps coming closer as they ran along the ridge.
Jack almost didn't spot the next trap in time. Without thinking, he gathered all his momentum and leaped over the trap. He landed safely on the other side, and kept going.
Something crashed into him, pushing him to the ground. The wind knocked out of him, Jack didn't have time to prepare for the fist that slammed against his head. Everything exploded into white stars, a supernova of pain, then black.
When he regained consciousness, his head ready to split open from the pain, Jack could taste metallic blood in his mouth. Not good.
He made himself ignore the most damaging of the pain and tried to lift his head. Nausea washed over him, but he blinked it away.
"He's up."
Jack couldn't mistake the clipped voice. He turned his head and focused on Bill Harris, a dark shape against a tree.
"So he is." The other voice came from Jack's other side. It took him a moment to remember how to work his muscles, to turn his head to see the other man.
Slowly, Jack's vision cleared. There were three men in the darkness. Bill was on one side of Jack, the nameless speaker on the other side. Across the small clearing, the third man stood by a rock as if he was guarding something. Something moved, and a flash of white turned towards him. Sandra.
Jack crooked her a grin. "How you doing?" he asked, ignoring the werewolves.
"I'm okay," she said. Her teeth chattered, but her voice was strong and angry. "What about you?"
"Just great. Me and head injury go together like... things that go together." Concentrating was more difficult than normal, but Jack was going to blame that on the head injury and the cold. While he'd been passed out, someone had taken his jacket. Assholes.
The unfamiliar werewolf by Jack's side kicked him in the ribs. "Why are you here?" he asked, kicking again.
Jack breathed around the pain in his ribs. Please don't let them be broken. "Dude, you've got my friend," he said, giving Sandra a glance. "What was I going to do? You told me not to call the cops."
The werewolf grabbed Jack by the throat and lifted him into the air, choking. He clutched at the man's hand, struggling for air. Blackness pulled heavily at him, making his hands too heavy to lift. Just before it all faded out, the man let Jack go and he fell to the ground.
Oh, glorious oxygen. Jack forced his eyes open as he sucked in air, watched the man looming over him. "You missed a spot," Jack gasped.
The man crouched down over Jack's legs. "You think this is a game?" he growled. "I will eat you alive, boy." He looked over his shoulder at Sandra, then back at Jack. "Or maybe I'll have a little fun first."
Jack swallowed painfully. There was no way in hell he was letting this monster anywhere near Sandra. "You want fun?" Jack croaked. "I can give you fun."
The werewolf snorted. "We don't play that way, pretty boy."
And yet you call me pretty. Jack managed to hold his tongue on the obvious comment. "You only need one of us, right?" While he spoke, he looked around the site. His jacket was draped over a rock, beside a box of equipment. Even in the dark, Jack could see the distinctive outline of a sniper rifle. His day was looking up. "How about you let me go?"
The werewolf cocked his head. "How about I eat you now?"
"Wouldn't it be more fun to chase me down?"
Bill Harris slowly walked around. He stared down at Jack, a confused expression on his face. Please don't recognize me, Jack thought. Not yet.
The werewolf on top of Jack stood. "You think you can get out of this alive?" he spat. "You will die for this."
"Better die running, then." Jack climbed to his feet. A wave of dizziness and nausea rushed over him, but he didn't fall. "How about you give me a three minute head-start?"
The werewolf leaned in. His breath smelled like rotting meat, and Jack's stomach lurched. "Thirty seconds."
"Frank!" Bill exclaimed. "We're in the middle of an operation, if we deviate from the plan--"
Frank the werewolf snarled at Bill. "This is my game," he spat. "If I say we play..." He turned back to Jack, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "We play."
Jack glanced at Sandra. She looked scared and angry. Jack only hoped that Anita Blake and Richard Zeeman were on their way with the cavalry, and soon. Otherwise, he would be dead.
Frank leaned in to Jack, feral delight on his face. "Run."
Next Chapter
Balancing Act 5/7
A Stargate SG-1/Anita Blake crossover
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: After being "asked" to change schools, 16-year-old Jack O'Neill moves to St. Louis. His new school looks as if it might be better than the last; the teachers seem halfway decent. And yet, there's something sort of odd about his new science teacher, Richard Zeeman...
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. MGM/UA, Gekko Productions et al. own all things Stargate SG-1. I am but borrowing the characters for a brief time and shall return them intact at the end.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, violence.
Words: 6,400
Timeline: A year after season seven "Fragile Balance" for SG1 (the mini-Jack episode) and a month after Incubus Dreams for Anita Blake (Not Danse Macabre compliant).
Previous chapters here.
~~~~~
"Hi, You've reached Richard Zeeman. I'm not available to take your call right now, but please leave a message."
Jack swore under his breath. He hated voicemail. "Mr. Zeeman, it's Jack O'Neill, you really need to call me. It's about--" Jack glanced over at the shop clerk eyeing him suspiciously. Bending over the phonebook, Jack continued. "It's about Sandra, she's got some real bad family stuff going on right now, and it's really a lot like your situation so I thought you'd be able to help." Where was Daniel when Jack needed subtlety? "You've got to call me as soon as you get this message, life and death and I am really not kidding around." Jack gave the answering machine his cell number, then hung up.
The store clerk leaned over. "You done, huh?"
Jack gave the man a winning grin. "Not yet."
The clerk grunted. "Hurry up or I start charging you rent on that book!"
Jack ignored the man. Richard wouldn't be at school, it was a Sunday. He might be at a friend's house, but how the hell was Jack supposed to find him that way? He wasn't sure if the werewolves were really listening to the police lines, but he couldn't risk it. Not yet.
Thinking of law enforcement made an idea pop into Jack's head. Anita Blake was police, sort of, and she seemed to have a rather close relationship with Zeeman. At least, that was how it looked in class when she gave the guest lecture. That might just work, Jack thought.
No Anita Blake was listed in the residential section of the book. Jack couldn't quite remember the name of her company from the information that he had read online, something to do with zombies. Would that be in the business section? He couldn't find anything under Z for zombies. This is what my life is, aliens and zombies and fucked-up werewolves. Maybe we can get Thor to start cloning werewolves and then--
Animators Inc., listed under A, had a quarter-page ad. Jack whipped out his cell phone and dialled the number. Please let them work on Sundays.
"Animators Inc."
"Hi!" Jack blurted out. "I need to talk to Anita Blake. Now."
"Ms. Blake is not in at this time, can I take a message for her?" said the female voice on the other end of the line, unperturbed.
"No, I can't leave a message," Jack said. He slapped the phone book closed and exited the shop, giving the clerk the thumbs-up on his way out. "Is there any way you can give me her cell number? It's a family emergency thing."
"We cannot give out our partners' contact information," the woman said. "If you leave me a message, I can get it to Ms. Blake."
Jack pulled his jacket tight around his chest, trying to block out the biting cold. He didn't have time for this. Sandra didn't have time for this. "It had to do with Richard Zeeman," Jack said, playing his trump card. "I really need to talk to Anita, please."
The woman hesitated, long enough for Jack to make it back to his car. "I'm not sure..."
"Please." Jack gripped his keys in his hand, wishing desperately for his team. Daniel would be able to get the number out of this woman. Hell, Carter could hack into something and find the contact. And Teal'c... well, him and Teal'c could find the furry bastards who took Sandra and rip them into pieces. But he didn't have his team, they weren't his team, and he was on his own.
"All right," the woman finally said. She rattled off a number so fast that Jack barely had time to scratch it into the dirt on the top of his car. "You are not to use that number frivolously, young man," she finished.
"Thank you," Jack said. He hung up without another word and quickly dialled Anita's cell. Every ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, the line clicked.
"This is Anita Blake. I am currently away from the phone. Leave a message."
Damn it! Jack kicked the dented side panel of his car. Why have a cell phone if it wasn't on? "Marshal Blake, it's Jack O'Neill," Jack said after the requisite beep. "I need to get in touch with Richard Zeeman right away, it's important."
Jack's first instinct was to keep this all to himself, born from almost a decade of saving the universe from the Goa'uld. But Anita dealt with crazy lycanthropes as her job. It was probably a bad idea to trust her, but Sandra didn't have time for caution.
"I just got a call from Sandra, this girl in my class. She got grabbed by some werewolves and they're holding her." Jack took a deep breath. "This one guy, he said that Richard Zeeman needs to open a letter they left at his house. Sandra didn't know where she was, but she said the car was blue with a rusty passenger door and no passenger-side mirror. They also said they were monitoring the emergency lines, so I didn't call the cops." Jack paused. "Look, Sandra's just a kid. I don't care what Zeeman's deal is, but I officially do not care. Get her out of this."
Jack ended the call and stepped into his car, tossing the phone onto the seat next to him. He started the engine and peeled out onto the road, not knowing where he was going. He had no idea how to find Sandra or even where to start looking. All he did know was that he couldn't sit around doing nothing. Sandra was the same age as Skarra had been when the Goa'uld took him as host.
She was the same age that his son, Charlie, would have been, if Jack hadn't been careless enough to leave his gun loaded in a drawer.
If there was even the slightest possibility that Jack could help Sandra in any way, he had to do it. He couldn't let another child die.
Jack glanced down at his cell phone, wishing Anita would call back. Then he remembered that he hadn't given Anita his number. He was getting sloppy. He had been a fucking Colonel in the U.S. Air Force, and he was making stupid mistakes. When this ended, he was going to kick his own ass.
Think. First priority, contacting Richard Zeeman, had been taken care of, at least as far as Jack could take it at this point. If Jack assumed that they were in the worst case scenario, in which Richard was totally out of touch, then the new priority became finding Sandra himself. All he had was her cell number.
Unless... Jack pushed the gas pedal down and floored it through a yellow light. He picked up his phone and dialled a number from memory.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Henry! It's Jack."
"Jack O'Neill? I haven't heard from you in ages, you son of a bitch! You okay? You sound strange."
"Yeah, it's just this stupid cell." Jack quickly checked over his shoulder before cutting across three lanes of traffic to make it to the exit. "I'm calling in my favour."
Henry was quiet for a minute. Jack prayed that his older self hadn't already called in the marker. "Look, Jack, I don't--"
"Henry, please."
"What can you want from me?" Henry asked, starting to sound suspicious. "You made General, that opens up a lot of doors."
Jack didn't stop to wonder who in the Air Force had been insane enough to promote Jack O'Neill to General. "This isn't exactly what you'd call part of the job, Henry."
"Fine, fine. Just, ah, remind me again of what I did to deserve this?" Henry's tone was joking, but he wasn't kidding around. Jack supposed he didn't blame the man's caution, but every second that ticked past was one more moment for the werewolves to kill Sandra.
"One, I saved your sorry ass on your wedding day with that whole 'forgetting the ring' thing." Jack pulled his car up in front of an all-night hardware store and killed the engine. "Two, I saved your sorrier ass with the general in Germany in that little AWOL incident."
"I wasn't AWOL," Henry protested. "I was..."
"Yeah, stuck in an air vent at a movie theatre, I know. Satisfied?" Jack glanced around as he headed into the store, but no one looked twice at a skinny teenager.
"Guess so. What can I do for you, Jack?"
"You still working telecom?"
"Sure am. Julie's going to kill me, but I'm here right now. Just finished cleaning up a major meltdown on the East Coast."
"Good." Jack stopped in front of the coils of rope. "I heard on TV a while ago that there's some kind of technology in the works that can track cell phones when they're powered down?"
There was a long silence on the phone. "Jack, what's this about?"
Jack checked the load on a thin black nylon rope. "You and I know that when the media get a hold of anything we do, that usually means it's already been around for years."
"It might."
"So if I gave you a cell number, you'd be able to find out where it is even if the phone's off?"
"No, Jack, you don't get this answer until you tell me why I'm doing this."
Jack grabbed the rope in one hand. "Henry--"
"No, I'm not jerking around anymore."
"I could order you to do it," Jack said.
"Like hell that'll work. I've been out for ten years."
"Henry--" Jack broke off. Once upon a time, he'd trusted Henry with his life. Could he afford to do the same thing with Sandra's life? He ran his thumb over the end of the rope, remembering the fear he'd heard in Sandra's voice.
"Can the games, O'Neill."
"It's my neighbor," Jack said. It wasn't technically a lie, and that was really what mattered. "His daughter, she's about sixteen, and he hasn't heard from her in a bit, and it's a bit of a rough crowd."
"Jesus, Jack, that's not--"
"She's Clarabelle's age," Jack interrupted. He felt ill, bringing up Henry's youngest girl. She and Charlie had played together when they were toddlers. "And he's got a really bad feeling about this and I told him I'd try to help."
"Damnit," Henry muttered under his breath. "Fine, O'Neill, but if this comes back to bite me in the ass... What's the number?"
Jack gave him Sandra's number. "This will work even if the phone's off?"
"As long as the battery's still in the phone, we can pinpoint them to within five feet," Henry told him.
"Is that even legal?"
"It's in the fine print of the contract."
"Bullshit."
"Shut up," Henry barked, his tone suddenly all business. "Got her. What the hell is going on, Jack?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this cell phone unit is at the northeast end of Castlewood State Park, miles outside of St. Louis in Missouri. Is this kid some kind of runaway?"
"No." Jack walked to a rack of maps, as fast as he could without drawing undue attention. "She's really not. Do you have coordinates on the phone?"
"Jesus, Jack, if she's Clarabelle's age, you tell her parents to call the police," Henry instructed. "Hell, call in the Feds. She's across state lines."
Jack almost asked Henry what he meant by that Feds crack, then he remembered that Old Jack was supposed to be stationed at Cheyenne Mountain. "Can you give me the exact location?" Jack asked as he shook open a state map and laid it on the beige floor.
"Yeah, give me a second." Muffled voices sounded on the other end of the line. "Crap, Jack, one of the routers crashed up in New York, I have to go. I'll email you the coordinates in five minutes."
"Henry, no--" Jack tried to keep his friend on the phone, but the line went dead. Fuck! Henry would email them to the person he had thought he was talking to, Colonel Jack O'Neill. No, wait, now it was General Jack O'Neill and it was just as fucking useless.
Jack tried to focus. What did he have? He knew Sandra's phone was in the northeast section of Castlewood State Park . Jack examined the map. The park stretched over nearly five miles, a lot of it on steep terrain. He took a deep breath. It was a start.
Gathering up the map and his rope, Jack headed for the checkout. It had been years since he'd had to go into a fight without a gun or proper equipment. But he was Jack O'Neill. This was what he'd been trained to do.
Jack picked up a few more things on his way to the front counter. The clerk looked at him funny when he put down his armful. "A map, rope, wrapping paper and sports chalk?" She snapped her gum. "What are you going to do with a map, rope, wrapping paper and sports chalk?"
"I'm going to MacGyver myself a sports team."
The clerk pursed her lips. "Anyone ever tell you look like--"
"Every day of my life. Can you hurry?"
Insulted, the clerk snatched the cash out of Jack's hand and rang his purchases through without further comment. Jack noticed that she short-changed him, but he didn't have the time to care. He grabbed the bag off the counter and dashed out of the store.
The parking lot was sufficiently empty that Jack had no qualms about popping the trunk and grabbing the black duffle bag hidden under the mat. He opened the bag and checked the contents. Hunting knife, flares, duct tape, water, machete, field binoculars; everything was right where he had left it. He'd thought about including a pistol and some extra ammo in the bag, but couldn't figure out a way to buy a handgun legally. Plus, at the time, he had been able to delude himself that he wouldn't need a gun at high school.
No time for a gun. Jack pushed back the fog in his head from a year of civilian living, and concentrated. Going after a group of werewolves with only a knife and some flares was an incredibly stupid idea, but he couldn't sit around and wait, hoping Richard Zeeman picked up his voicemail.
Jack grabbed the bag and slammed the trunk. He could do this thinking while driving. The clock was ticking on Sandra's life. Sliding in behind the steering wheel, Jack started the car with one hand and hit redial on his cell phone with the other. Even if Anita Blake's phone wasn't on, she was still his best bet to get the message to the cops on Sandra's location.
~~~
"How can you stand there so calmly?" Richard demanded. His beast was itching to get out, burning in his chest, and all Anita could do was load up her gun.
"Because, Richard, I need silver ammunition to kill the bad guys," Anita told him as she snapped the shotgun closed. "I thought you were familiar with the concept of firearms."
Richard gripped the back of a kitchen chair. "We can't stand around, we have to--"
"To what? We have no plan of attack, no idea what we're up against!" Anita interrupted. "What do we have? A letter taped to your door saying that someone has one of your students? We don't even know who did this!"
"I know!" Richard heard a loud crack, and the chair came apart in his hands. He kicked the chair across the room, narrowly missing Anita's wererat bodyguard, Claudia. The tall woman glared at him.
"Richard, would you calm the fuck down?" Anita demanded. "We'll figure this out!"
"How?" Richard asked again. He hated falling apart like this, but this wasn't a normal situation. His life as a werewolf was supposed to be separate from his life as a teacher. But now, enemies had broken through that line, kidnapping one of his students.
Richard was the Ulfric, head of the Thronnos Rokke clan, and he didn't know what to do.
It didn't help that Anita went automatically to her guns. Jamil and Shang-Da, Richard's bodyguards, were in the basement of Anita's house, gathering what weapons they could. Merle, one of Micah Callahan's bodyguards, was helping them, while Claudia stayed with Anita. Richard didn't want to bring in other types of lycanthropes. This was a werewolf problem, and he had to deal with it accordingly. Right?
There had never been a coalition of lycanthropes before, not in St. Louis, not anywhere. Richard had thought the working together was fine for the smaller groups, the weaker groups. But the werewolf pack was not weak, didn't need outside help in solving their problems. How could he change that now, bringing in wererats and wereleopards to help him?
The front door slammed shut. Richard caught the scent of vampire on the air before Jean-Claude entered the room, followed by Asher and Meng Die. "What the hell are you doing here?" Richard demanded.
"I called him," Anita said.
"What the hell for?"
"We need help!"
"This isn't a vampire problem!"
Jean-Claude held up his hand. "Is this a direct challenge?" The question was obviously rhetorical, as the vampire just kept on talking. "It is not. The pack is potentially in danger, and that is unacceptable. Ma petite, what has occurred since you called me?"
Anita concentrated on pushing silver bullets into a gun clip. "Not much. Sylvie took Jason and Graham to Richard's house to see if they could pick up any more scents, or clues as to who left the letter. Merle and Shang-Da and Jamil are downstairs loading up."
Claudia stirred against the far wall. "I spoke with Rafael. Any help the Ulfric needs, he can have."
"How understanding of your King," Asher said with a mocking undertone.
Claudia narrowed her eyes at the vampire. "The Rodere have a treaty with the werewolves, and we honor that covenant."
Asher fixed Claudia with an icy blue stare. "And the Rodere are nothing if not honourable."
"Asher." Jean-Claude's voice was soft, but the power pushed at everyone in the room. "Ma petite, what did the letter say? You were not clear in your message."
Anita looked at Richard. He shook his head, but walked across the kitchen to pick up the piece of paper he'd found on his front doorstep when he had arrived home from Sunday dinner with his parents. "Here," he said briefly, holding it out to Jean-Claude.
The vampire took the letter and brought it up to his face. "Werewolf," the vampire muttered, inhaling deeply. "Not one I recognise." He handed the paper to Meng Die.
Meng Die licked the edge of the paper, her pink tongue darting from between pale lips. From any other woman, the gesture would have been enticing, but Meng Die made it creepy. "I do not know this wolf," she said.
"It's not local," Richard said reluctantly. "I don't know who would do this. It doesn't make any sense. Not without a previous challenge, or something."
"Bad guys don't always play by the rules," Anita pointed out, as the basement door opened and the three bodyguards came out, carrying far too much weaponry. "And if they don't, we don't."
"What does that mean?" Richard asked.
Anita and Jean-Claude shared a look, and in spite of everything else that was happening, Richard felt an irrational surge of jealousy. Once upon a time, he had been the one Anita shared glances with. But that was lost now, and he would never get it back. Never have her back, the way it was before.
"It means that we will do whatever it takes to safeguard the pack," Jean-Claude answered. He looked up at Richard, such a dangerous expression on his face that Richard wondered how he ever could have thought Jean-Claude weak. "We protect what is ours."
Richard couldn't let it go. He'd fought too long to keep separate from the Triumvirate to let Jean-Claude in like this. "The pack isn't yours--"
"Richard." It was only one word from Jamil, but it stopped Richard in his tracks. "We haven't got time for this. If it was just Lukoi, I'd agree with you, but if they've got one of your students, there's no way we can hide this if it goes bad."
"That's what you think I'm worried about?" Richard exploded. "Hiding this if something goes wrong?" He stalked over to Jamil. "What would 'wrong' be, exactly? If one of my students get eaten? For the only reason that they're in my class?"
"I didn't say that." Jamil ducked his head in submission to Richard. "This isn't us, this isn't the way we do things. Whoever's doing this isn't working by rules right now, they're not going to start any time soon." Jamil rolled his eyes up to meet Richard's gaze. "If we want to survive, we have to act accordingly."
"That means no hesitation, mon ami." Jean-Claude walked across the room to stand at Richard's side. "No rules." Richard felt a brush against his mind, private, locked far away from where Anita could hear. No mercy.
Richard clamped down on his wolf, pushed back the hot animal desire to hunt and kill what would hurt those under his protection. He couldn't rush into this, not if he wanted to save whichever of his students was in danger.
And save them he would, then he would kill his enemies, drink of their blood and eat the flesh from their bones.
Anita eyed Richard and Jean-Claude, a frown on her face. Before she could say anything, Richard's cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
"It's Sylvie. We have another problem."
Richard's stomach dropped. Sylvie was at his house with Jason and Graham. Had the enemy wolves gotten to them? "What?"
"Do you know someone named Jack O'Neill?" Sylvie sounded more annoyed than anything, and the lump of tension in Richard's stomach eased a little.
"Why? Yes, I do, but why?"
"This was on your answering machine, listen." The phone crackled, then a tinny voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Zeeman, it's Jack O'Neill, you really need to call me. It's about-- It's about Sandra, she's got some real bad family stuff going on right now, and it's really a lot like your situation so I thought you'd be able to help. You've got to call me as soon as you get this message, life and death and I am really not kidding around."
Richard swore under his breath.
"Richard?" Sylvie came back on the line. "What's this about?"
Richard pressed his hand against his eyes. "Sandra's a girl in one of my classes, and unless she's been turned since I saw her on Friday, I think she might be the one the wolves took."
"What about this Jack character?"
"Jack O'Neill is another one of my students." Richard raked his hand through his hair. "Although I have no idea how he's involved in this."
"Maybe he's involved with the other wolves?" Sylvie suggested.
"No, he's not," Richard said immediately.
"Fine. There's nothing else here, Richard. We're leaving."
"Be careful," Richard ordered his second-in-command as she hung up the phone.
Jean-Claude had a thoughtful expression on his face. "This is the boy who recently transferred to your class?"
"Why?"
Jean-Claude shrugged. "It does seem very convenient, that the new boy in your class is the one to inform you of the child's disappearance."
It took Richard a few moments to understand what Jean-Claude was driving at. "Are you nuts? Jack's not involved with these guys!"
"You do not know that."
"I do!" Even as he spoke, however, doubt pulled at Richard's mind. Jack had transferred at an odd time of the year. He didn't have any guardians, and there was that odd sensation that Richard had when he looked at Jack, that the boy was not what he appeared. "I don't think he'd have done anything like this."
"Regardless, it is possible that he is somehow involved," Jean-Claude said, brushing off Richard's words. "We now know the name of the student in peril."
"What good does that do us?" Asher suddenly asked. "We are no closer to knowing the location of these wolves."
"We'll figure something out," Anita said. She slid a gun into her shoulder holster.
"What if 'we' do not?" Asher pressed, looking directly at Richard.
"We will!" While she was speaking, Anita had pulled out her cell phone. "We'll figure it out, save the day, all that Pollyanna crap." She frowned at her phone.
"What?" Richard asked wearily. He wasn't sure that he could deal with any more problems.
"I missed two calls," Anita said. Her expression changed as she listened to the messages. "Why the hell did Jack O'Neill call me?"
Richard hurried across the room to Anita's side, putting his ear close to the phone to hear the familiar voice. "...to get in touch with Richard Zeeman right away, it's important. I just got a call from Sandra, this girl in my class. She got grabbed by some werewolves and they're holding her. This one guy, he said that Richard Zeeman needs to open a letter they left at his house. Sandra didn't know where she was, but she said the car was blue with a rusty passenger door and no passenger-side mirror. They also said they were monitoring the emergency lines, so I didn't call the cops. Look, Sandra's just a kid. I don't care what Zeeman's deal is, but I officially do not care. Get her out of this."
"What the hell was that?" Anita asked.
"You said there was another message, right?" Richard's beast itched to get out, and it was with a great deal of effort that he held it in. "What does that one say?"
Anita hit a few more buttons on her phone. "Blake, it's O'Neill again. I have this friend-- never mind. Look, Sandra's at the northeast end of Castlewood State Park. Call the police, just made sure that it's off the police scanner." The message broke for a moment. "...don't know when you'll get this, so I'm going out there."
That was the end of the message. "Is he insane?" Anita demanded. "A teenager against werewolves? What kind of twisted macho crap is this?"
"At least now we know Jack didn't have anything to do with this," Richard said, pressing his fists against the counter.
"Great, just great!" Anita threw up her hands. "So he didn't have anything to do with the wolves grabbing your student. He's still a teenager about to go wading into shit he doesn't have a hope of surviving!"
"Are we going to stay here all night listening to them argue?" Meng Die asked Asher, sounding terribly bored.
"No, we're not," Anita said. She glared at Meng Die. "We've got a location, we're moving out."
"What about the cops?" Merle said, speaking for the first time. "Anita, you going to call them in on this?"
Richard glanced around the room. Everyone was watching Anita, waiting for their cues from her. Even his wolves had their focus on her. "We'll call them after," Anita decided. She wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. "We go in and deal with this. It's easier if we don't have to worry about any humans getting caught in the crossfire."
"Except Sandra and Jack," Richard had to point out.
"Yes, Richard, except the two children." Anita grabbed one last weapon off the table. "Any more comment before we go?"
Claudia stepped forward. "Is this is? We're going in against an unknown number of werewolves with three vampires, three wolves, a leopard, a necromancer and a rat?"
Anita gave her a look. "With this group? We could take down small countries."
Claudia shrugged. "Just checking."
As Anita led the way out of the house, Richard rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was all going to go horribly wrong. If it had involved only lycanthropes... but it didn't only involve lycanthropes. Two of his students, children, had been dragged into this.
Jean-Claude was right. The enemy wolves had broken the rules of engagement by bringing human children into the mess. That meant Richard didn't have to show any hesitation. There would be no mercy for those who threatened the safety of those under his protection.
~~~
Jack crouched low in the bushes by the trail. It was almost pitch black, and even with his night vision it was tough going. He'd covered a lot of ground, but he hadn't found the werewolves' trail yet. The only sign he'd located was fresh tire tracks in the snow in the parking lot. The ridges in the snow hadn't melted, which made it likely that the marks were less than a day old.
He shifted his weight, mentally reviewing his gear. There was a knife taped under his pant leg and a length of rope looped around his belt. He'd considered bringing his machete, but he couldn't run with that thing on his back.
The flares in his coat pocket dug into his ribs as he stood up again. He didn't know why he'd brought the damned things, but they might be the only distraction he got.
Jack counted off his steps, looking around for any sign of recent passage. When he hit twenty, he pulled another piece of the cut-up silvery wrapping paper and stuck it to a tree, marking his trail in case he needed a quick escape. He'd considered that he might be leading the werewolves right to him, but it was the middle of winter in a snowy park. He was probably the only human who had walked through here in days. Picking up his scent would be easy for a werewolf.
Right. I get that this was a stupid idea, Jack told himself. I've been up against worse.
Of course, he'd faced those "worse" bad guys with the rest of SG-1 at his side.
Twenty more steps. More wrapping paper. He repeated the pattern a dozen times, keeping track of how far he had gone. Miles behind him, and miles to go in the cold and the dark.
He had reached the halfway mark up the hill when he spotted the first sign. The faint moonlight couldn't hide the scuffs in the snow, the dirt kicked up. Jack knelt beside the marks. Ice hadn't had a chance to form on the fresh dirt. Jack scanned the area, and finally spotted a shoe print in the snow. Smaller than his own. He couldn't remember how big Sandra's feet were, but it was highly likely that this mark was from her shoes.
She'd been this way, and she'd been kicking.
Jack found a similar patch of kicked-up dirt a hundred yards up the hill. Sandra's marking a trail, Jack realized. Smart girl.
He followed the trail farther up the hill to the top of the ridge. A few times, he stopped to tie a length of thin black rope between two trees, half a foot above the ground. Numbers echoed in his brain, numbers of steps and distances traveled and trip lines and minutes to daylight. There was no room for second-guessing.
The cold air caused his breath to fog as he headed higher. He had to go slow, watching the ground, and it was the only thing that saved him from stepping in the middle of the bear trap.
Icy adrenaline spiked down his spine as he saw the familiar disturbed pattern of earth, the dirt slashing a scar on the snow. Someone had scattered dirt and leaves to hide the silver metal of the trap. The trap was big enough to snap a man's leg clean off.
He knew someone who had used bear traps on lycanthropes before, who had spread the dirt in just this way. It had been almost fifteen years since Bill Harris had been infected by those Russian werewolves. Fifteen years crumbed to yesterday as Jack stared at the trap.
Jack didn't understand. Bill Harris had been a good man, someone Jack would trust with his life. Could this be him? The military had discharged him, his wife had taken the kids and left. Bill had lost almost everything. Would that drive him to this?
Jack knew what it was like to lose almost everything. Charlie, Sara... and then, being cloned by Loki, being put into a teenager's body and being ripped away from the SGC and his team. He hadn't gone crazy and threatening to eat little girls.
This raised the stakes. Jack found a heavy rock and stepped back from the trap. He used all his anger to heave the rock onto the trap.
The trap jaws slammed shut with a violent crash.
The werewolves would probably have heard that. Jack had to move, had to find Sandra and get her out before this went any deeper.
The next trap was better hidden, but now that Jack knew what to look for, they were easier to spot. He tripped that trap with a big stick and kept moving, no longer bothering to mark his trail with fluttering bits of silver.
Wind picked up as Jack hurried silently over the frozen ground, blowing his scent away down the hill. The sound of the air rattled through the trees, almost masking the snap of a dead branch right behind him.
Jack froze. His knife was in its sheath under his jeans, out of reach.
Another soft crunching step on the snow.
Jack didn't bother to turn around. He ran, eyes on the ground. Someone ran after him, footsteps coming closer as they ran along the ridge.
Jack almost didn't spot the next trap in time. Without thinking, he gathered all his momentum and leaped over the trap. He landed safely on the other side, and kept going.
Something crashed into him, pushing him to the ground. The wind knocked out of him, Jack didn't have time to prepare for the fist that slammed against his head. Everything exploded into white stars, a supernova of pain, then black.
When he regained consciousness, his head ready to split open from the pain, Jack could taste metallic blood in his mouth. Not good.
He made himself ignore the most damaging of the pain and tried to lift his head. Nausea washed over him, but he blinked it away.
"He's up."
Jack couldn't mistake the clipped voice. He turned his head and focused on Bill Harris, a dark shape against a tree.
"So he is." The other voice came from Jack's other side. It took him a moment to remember how to work his muscles, to turn his head to see the other man.
Slowly, Jack's vision cleared. There were three men in the darkness. Bill was on one side of Jack, the nameless speaker on the other side. Across the small clearing, the third man stood by a rock as if he was guarding something. Something moved, and a flash of white turned towards him. Sandra.
Jack crooked her a grin. "How you doing?" he asked, ignoring the werewolves.
"I'm okay," she said. Her teeth chattered, but her voice was strong and angry. "What about you?"
"Just great. Me and head injury go together like... things that go together." Concentrating was more difficult than normal, but Jack was going to blame that on the head injury and the cold. While he'd been passed out, someone had taken his jacket. Assholes.
The unfamiliar werewolf by Jack's side kicked him in the ribs. "Why are you here?" he asked, kicking again.
Jack breathed around the pain in his ribs. Please don't let them be broken. "Dude, you've got my friend," he said, giving Sandra a glance. "What was I going to do? You told me not to call the cops."
The werewolf grabbed Jack by the throat and lifted him into the air, choking. He clutched at the man's hand, struggling for air. Blackness pulled heavily at him, making his hands too heavy to lift. Just before it all faded out, the man let Jack go and he fell to the ground.
Oh, glorious oxygen. Jack forced his eyes open as he sucked in air, watched the man looming over him. "You missed a spot," Jack gasped.
The man crouched down over Jack's legs. "You think this is a game?" he growled. "I will eat you alive, boy." He looked over his shoulder at Sandra, then back at Jack. "Or maybe I'll have a little fun first."
Jack swallowed painfully. There was no way in hell he was letting this monster anywhere near Sandra. "You want fun?" Jack croaked. "I can give you fun."
The werewolf snorted. "We don't play that way, pretty boy."
And yet you call me pretty. Jack managed to hold his tongue on the obvious comment. "You only need one of us, right?" While he spoke, he looked around the site. His jacket was draped over a rock, beside a box of equipment. Even in the dark, Jack could see the distinctive outline of a sniper rifle. His day was looking up. "How about you let me go?"
The werewolf cocked his head. "How about I eat you now?"
"Wouldn't it be more fun to chase me down?"
Bill Harris slowly walked around. He stared down at Jack, a confused expression on his face. Please don't recognize me, Jack thought. Not yet.
The werewolf on top of Jack stood. "You think you can get out of this alive?" he spat. "You will die for this."
"Better die running, then." Jack climbed to his feet. A wave of dizziness and nausea rushed over him, but he didn't fall. "How about you give me a three minute head-start?"
The werewolf leaned in. His breath smelled like rotting meat, and Jack's stomach lurched. "Thirty seconds."
"Frank!" Bill exclaimed. "We're in the middle of an operation, if we deviate from the plan--"
Frank the werewolf snarled at Bill. "This is my game," he spat. "If I say we play..." He turned back to Jack, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "We play."
Jack glanced at Sandra. She looked scared and angry. Jack only hoped that Anita Blake and Richard Zeeman were on their way with the cavalry, and soon. Otherwise, he would be dead.
Frank leaned in to Jack, feral delight on his face. "Run."
Next Chapter