Grimm Wolf - Julie Steimle (fantasy novels to read .txt) 📗

two and then the driver. “We have toured countless German castles. You are overreacting.”

Shaking his head, Rick silently pulled out a pen from a pocket and started to write on the bag he had gotten from the eatery. He said as he scribbled out words, “I was trying so hard to keep you guys out of my mess. But you idiots are too headstrong.”

“Who’s the idiot?” Rhett bit back. “You’re freaking out over nothing.”

Scribbling out a bit more, Rick glanced back at them, just as the car pulled up past a pair of wrought iron gates. Immediately the scene opened on a cultivated area which they entered. It had these huge trees with sophisticated canopies which arched over the open ground. The ‘castle’ itself was at the end of the cleared drive in an arc so that they could drive in a circle if needed to exit again. Parking near the entrance right behind the lead cars, the driver glanced once at Rick with a smug look and set the emergency brake. The man quickly pulled the key out of the ignition and exited the car. Jordan noticed he kept the key, which was weird. He should have handed it back to Rick. It was Rick’s rent-a-car after all.

Rick glanced at the empty driver’s side with a desperate look, gritting his teeth. He peeked out the window at the approaching Germans who genially greeted them, calling for him and his friends to come outside. Since this entire freak out was ridiculous, Emory was the first out of the car, exiting on the left hand side. Rhett came out after him while Jordan went out on right. Rick lingered inside. His face was nearly green. Jordon wondered if he was about to faint, or vomit.

“Are you going to stay in there?” their amused host, Peter Schwitzer said, peering in with his head cocked to one side.

Jamming the bag he was holding to the floor in front of his seat, Rick cursed and opened the passenger side door, getting out. Standing to his full intimidating height, squaring his strong shoulders, he gazed straight at Herr Schwitzer, advancing on him. “Damn you.”

Herr Schwitzer grinned, pleased. He immediately led the way to the interior of the castle.

They followed, Rick taking up the rear.

Herr Schwitzer’s men separated a bit, three of them strolling after their group grinning with pleasure at their new guests.

The tour of the castle started off well enough. They entered to a broad door into a stone tiled floor lit with modern electricity. The place was a combination of modern and ancient, beautifully combined for aesthetic taste and convenience. Herr Schwitzer, as they strolled into his home, orated on the history of the castle leading up to his connection to it. It was an ancient fortification, owned by nobles for centuries before the French sacked it in a war. The typical stuff. The furniture inside, however, was also cross between historical and modern comfort. In one room was a big screen TV, a room which he called his gathering hall though it had to have been a former great hall with huge vaulted ceilings and large wooden beams to hold it up. In another room was a pool table. He had put in a Jacuzzi in one of the bathrooms, with super jets, and a waterfall shower. He was clearly wealthy. But Emory thought that was a desecration to the historical value of the place—yet he said nothing about it. He did not want to offend his host.

The castle, Herr Schwitzer explained, housed his family which was headed by his father who was currently in Italy on business, and several other friends who were part of his clan which he called in German his wolfsrudel. Rhett peeked to Rick who flinched at the sound of the word, as the word meant ‘wolf pack’. Jordan, Rhett, and Emory followed Herr Schwitzer from room to room, absorbing all the ancient stone mixed with modern wiring. They wondered how the place was heated in the winter, if it was heated at all. There were huge fireplaces with gigantic mantles, but such were on average inefficient. They asked questions about the castle and the family and got answers which were polite, concise and meaningful, but the entire time Rick remained silent. He seemed to follow them, almost stalking behind them with his eyes mostly watching Herr Schwitzer, yet also the associates and housekeeping, as if counting them and looking escape routes.

“How big is your manor house?” Herr Schwitzer asked Rick finally, seeking a comparison. There was pride in his voice as they had seen more than most castle staff had allowed.

Rick huffed. “What does it matter? A house is a house.”

“I heard you own extensive grounds,” Herr Schwitzer said smoothly, amused at Rick’s reticence.

This time Rick rolled his eyes. He said nothing.

“How many acres does your family own?” the German persisted.

Rick didn’t respond.

“Oh, come on,” Herr Schwitzer urged, pausing in their walk. “How large is your territory?”

A deep grumble came from Rick’s throat.

Jordan stared. This was rude coming from Rick. He never acted like this.

Emory spoke up, “Do you mean around his house? Or in total around the world?”

Rick shot him a sharp warning glance, one telling him to shut up.

Herr Schwitzer laughed, nodding. “Point made. Admittedly, my family only owns portions of this forest and bits of Cochem. I suppose it would be small compared to man who own so-called animal reserves.”

So-called? Jordan could tell that was stab at Rick, but he was not sure why.

“They aren’t so-called animal reserves,” Rick bit back. “They are animal reserves. No hunting is allowed on the land.”

“No hunting at all?” Mr. Schwitzer inquired, smirking at him.

Rick glared back. His friends wondered why he hadn’t refuted it. What did this man think? That the Deacons used it for their own personal hunting grounds? Their friend hated guns. He only liked it when his security had them.

The tour continued on. It had an edge to it now, though. Not only could Jordan feel it, but Rhett was getting uneasy, and Emory was growing annoyed as Herr Schwitzer seemed to be talking only to Rick now…. Like he was showing him the house alone and trying to one-up the multi-billionaire heir. This became more obvious when they toured the turrets, which were kept in their medieval state.

“It is a marvelous view, isn’t it?” Herr Schwitzer said once they reached the top of one particular turret, which was accessible via trap door and was surprisingly overflowing with foliage—not how one would usually maintain a castle roof. Plants in pots rimmed the top like a frothy cloud of leaves with only a path to the edge. “You can even see the river and the light of Cochem.”

They certainly could. Rhett went to the edge with Emory and Jordan, gazing out over the darkening valley. The sun was nearly gone and stars were poking out.

They could also see that the top of the castle was entirely covered in plant life. It looked as if it was part of the forest, almost indistinguishable. Camouflaged.

“Do you know how far a run that is?” Herr Schwitzer asked off-handedly.

Jordan shrugged, guessing, “A half hour? Forty-five minutes.”

Chuckling, Herr Schwitzer glanced with amusement at him. “I suppose, for a fleet-footed man with good running shoes on. But, uh, how fast by wolf feet, do you think?”

The three friends lifted their eyebrows at such a question. Did Herr Schwitzer also have an interest in wolves, the same as the Deacon family? They glanced to Rick who had stiffened. Rick replied, “I don’t really care to know.”

“Oh, my gosh!” Emory exclaimed. “Can you be more rude?”

Rick’s eyes shifted to him. “I can try.”

Herr Schwitzer laughed. He waved the question away, turning to go back down. Leading the rest of the tour in again, he said with amusement, “You are so humorous. Perhaps the better question really is, who would be able to reach Cochem first? A man or a wolf?”

“Don’t threaten,” Rick said, getting up close to him.

“Then play nice,” the German said back, still amused with him.

Huffing, Rick walked with his friends, peering into the depths of the stairwell going back down and at the windows which were decorative but not the kind that could open to let in a breeze. Rick seemed inclined to smash the stained glass—which made no sense, because the designs were fantastically beautiful. They depicted lunar patterns. There was something decidedly pagan about them actually… which maybe was what offended Rick. But as they were so interesting, Emory decided to broach the subject.

“Those windows,” he said. “Are they modern additions to the castle or are they from a more Gaelic era.”

Halting, the Herr Schwitzer glanced back at him, then peeked at Rick who seemed to go white at the mention of them. Rick shot the German a look as if to say, ‘Don’t talk about it.’ It was a little startling, as it seemed Rick knew the story about the windows and what was being depicted, and it made him sick.

“Have you ever heard of the goddess Diana?” Herr Schwitzer asked with a decidedly superior air.

Emory nodded. “Yeah. Roman goddess of the hunt and of the moon. Originally known as Artemis by the Greeks. Is that what they are depicting?”

Grinning smugly, Herr Schwitzer nodded. “Yes. The windows allow in moonlight. It is beautifully illuminated on the full moon, which yesterday was the last day of. We call this tower the moon tower. It is also an ancient shrine to the moon goddess.”

“I thought Germans were mostly Lutheran,” Rhett murmured to Jordan.

Jordan nodded, though he caught the look from Herr Schwitzer and Rick that said the Schwitzer family had never been Lutheran.  

As Herr Schwitzer led them downward, now toward the basement or ‘dungeon’ area of the castle, he narrated the history of that tower and its connection to his family who had ended up with the castle by chance.

“Unlike the Deacon family, my family discovered our home. We built up the unclaimed and forgotten ruins of Wolfsburg with our own means. And we have found ways to hide it from satellite for our own privacy.”

“Wow…” Emory murmured, impressed. Which explained all the rooftop foliage and tree cover below.

“Our family has thrived here for many generations—including avoiding the Nazis during World War Two.” Herr Schwitzer grinned at that.

“Have they ever abetted them?” Rick murmured darkly, tramping down the stairs after them.

Jordan’s eyes widened on Rick, appalled at such an accusation. He was about to protest, but Herr Schwitzer hardly seemed fazed.

“Of course not,” the German said off-handedly. “We never get involved in politics.”

“And what about those people who had run here for safety?” Rick murmured, his gaze even darker.

Herr Schwitzer’s eyes narrowed this time. “That was not political.”

That answer made no sense. Something in that conversation was missing. What had happened?

Rick’s eyes seemed like steel daggers on the German. He huffed. “I suppose not.”

“Do you know what your problem is?” Herr Schwitzer said, casually as he continued to lead the tour into the deeper castle parts. “The problem with your entire family…”

Rick stiffened as they continued on, Herr Schwitzer not even gesturing to the amazing arching doorways, or the stonework in the walls, or the fantastic tapestries depicting wolves and the moon in different phases. A peculiar feeling stole over Rick’s three friends as they continued on with Herr Schwitzer, an ominous impression that this tour was not for them at all, never had been, but was for Rick entirely. The German had just needed to get him there. The word Rick had called them in the car—hostages—lifted to the forefront of their brains. Herr Schwitzer was looking at only Rick now, like a competitive wrestler posturing before their big match.

“…The problem with your entire family is that you don’t do a very good job of preserving or expanding your own,”