The Werewolf and His Boy by Warren Rochelle

Author:Warren Rochelle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: werewolf;shifter;magic;witches;gods;m/m;gay romance;GLBT;urban fantasy;powers;new adult;alternate history
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2016-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Sunday morning, November 22, 7:29 a.m., local time

The air popped and the white light surrounding them vanished.

“Is this Penn Station?” Henry stared up at the huge black screen in front of them. He read aloud the words across the top: EAST GATES at one end, DEPARTURES in the middle, WEST GATES at the other end. It was more than a little overwhelming—it was downright scary. The raven prrukked in his ear, calm. The ceiling was way over their heads. Beside them, people and luggage were coming off an escalator. All around them more people were staring up at the same screen, checking tickets, gathering up luggage, setting luggage down; eating doughnuts, bagels, breakfast biscuits, talking, some yelling and running, others drinking coffee. It was chaos.

“Mama, look at those boys, that bird—they just appeared. I saw them. Look, Mama, look.”

Henry jerked around to see a girl, about eight years old, staring and pointing. Her mother hushed the girl and pulled her away, while the child kept insisting she had seen them appear out of nowhere, a white light flashed, she wasn’t making it up…

“Quick, next Jump,” Jamey said as he took Henry’s hand and closed his eyes.

* * * * *

Keflavík International Airport, Reykjavík, Iceland, 12:29 p.m., local time

Jamey opened his eyes.

This time Henry remembered to wrap both of them in shadows. Four silvery-white aluminum statues, each facing a cardinal point, enclosed them in an invisible square. Above them a sign in English pointed toward the Panorama Bar. Henry, the raven on his shoulder, and Jamey stood in the exact middle of the space, as Jamey inhaled, exhaled. Henry squeezed his hand.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” Henry said after taking a deep breath.

Jamey closed his eyes.

* * * * *

Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland, 12:30 p.m., local time

Jamey opened his eyes again.

They stood on silver-grey cobblestones, Trinity’s bell tower at their backs, as they faced the Front Gate arch—looks like a castle gate, Dr. M had said, with a big oaken door, bound in iron, with a smaller door inside. Stone buildings formed a three-sided wall that enclosed the courtyard. Just like Dr. M had described. She said this had been one of her favorite meeting places in graduate school.

He closed his eyes.

* * * * *

The British Museum, 12:31 p.m., local time

Jamey opened his eyes. He staggered, hit by a wave of exhaustion. Henry caught and held him up. They stood just inside Room 38, surrounded by exhibit cases and what seemed like an infinite number of clocks and watches.

“Sirs? Your backpacks need to be checked. Someone should have told you downstairs. And you, sir,” the guard said, turning to Henry, and looking down at his scruffy, hairy feet with some distaste, “well, I supposed those sandals will do. Your bird stays outside. However did you get up here past the guards? Are you with a film company? The museum is always happy to cooperate, but we do like to be informed in advance.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot. We got separated, uh, from our group.

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