“Where’s Wolf? FBI Spying on Lycanthropes” read the headline of the paper that sat on the table between Rico and I. Somebody in copy editing was probably pretty pleased with themselves, but seeing my name attached to the byline beneath it made me wince.
Rico studied the page as he sipped his coffee. “Man, no wonder you’re always so worried. Turns out somebody was watching you.”
I hadn’t had time that week to meet with Rico for lunch, but now, more than I ever, I needed his advice. So the two of us were meeting for a quick breakfast at the coffee shop on the ground floor of the Wexler Building. Although technically, it was already my second meal of the day.
Who needs Atkins when you have lycanthropy?
I called MacClelland.
“Miss Stone,” he said. “Is it already time for another round of twenty questions?”
Well, that certainly sounded promising. At the very least, he hadn’t hung up yet.
“Would you give me twenty answers?”
“Well that depends on the questions,” he replied. Dropping into a more serious tone, he said, “Same deal as before. Nothing gets attached to my name and I won’t give you anything that needs to stay secret.”
“That’s more than reasonable,” I said. It wasn’t the same deal – MacClelland had shifted from refusing to leak anything secret to refusing to leak anything that should be secret. It was a subtle distinction, and I doubted that he was even consciously aware he had changed his position. It suggested that he might be experiencing some cognitive dissonance of his own – maybe of the kind that arises when ideals and principles contradict?
“American Cargo Ship Sunk Near Singapore” was the top headline of Wednesday’s front page. The five column banner easily overshadowed any and all of the stories below-the-fold, including the one tucked away in the lower right corner, under the headline, “Parahumans Targeted by No Fly List”.
I tried not to feel bitter about being crowded out by a story off the wire. I’d set out with the goal of just breaking the story, and had ended up with a front page headline. A single column, below-the-fold headline, but still a front page headline. That had to count for something.
This is part of an irregular series of posts about the larger world of Newshound, expanding on certain aspects of the worldbuilding that might not be examined as closely in-story. It is, essentially, a snippet of my worldbuilding notes, heavily edited for readability and spoilers.
In this installment of Newshound Notes, we’re going to be examining the geopolitics of Southeast Asia. For our purposes, this roughly corresponds to the region east of India and south of China, historically known as Indochina, as well as the Malay Archipelago. We’ll mostly be focusing on events in the 20th century, since that’s when most of the noticeable divergences occur. While not every divergence from history can or will be covered, it should generally be assumed that events unfolded the same or similarly until/unless stated otherwise (or if it can be assumed to be otherwise from common sense).
Anyways, let’s begin.
With Friday’s traffic delay still fresh in my mind, I got up and drove downtown almost an hour early and camped out in the lobby of the Wexler Building so I could ambush Kurt as he came in. I used the time spent waiting to finish compiling my notes.
Kurt saw me before I saw him – I had my head down in my laptop, confident that I’d be able to smell him the moment he stepped in the building. It hadn’t quite occurred to me that what I considered Kurt’s scent was mostly the smell of his coffee.
This is the first part of what will be an irregular series of posts about the larger world of Newshound, expanding on certain aspects of the worldbuilding that might not be examined as closely in-story. It is, essentially, a snippet of my worldbuilding notes, heavily edited for readability and spoilers.
In this installment of Newshound Notes, we’re going to discuss American Presidents. Some readers may have already realized, based on some of the off-handed references to current events that the characters make, that Newshound takes place in an alternate history. (If you hadn’t realized this, I regret to inform you that Yugoslavia hasn’t been a country for over a decade, and you should really update your history textbooks.) This alternate history is the incidental and logical result of things like werewolves, vampires, faeries, and wizards existing and being public knowledge in-universe.
Today, we’re going to look at how that affected American politics, specifically Presidential politics.
Hello dear readers. All seven of you. I was waiting until Newshound got listed on the Web Fiction Guide before finally launching my Patreon, and now that that’s happened, I’ve done that thing I just mentioned.
If you’ve enjoyed the web serial so far, or just feel like taking pity on a cash-strapped author, I encourage you to go HERE and become a Patron. Or use the link in the sidebar. Or don’t do either of those things. It’s up to you, I won’t tell you how to live your life.
It was close to lunch time on Monday when Jonathan finally called me back, the unmistakable opening riff of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” signaling his call. I picked up immediately, glad to have the temporary distraction. Kurt had put me on local culture news that day, and I was already sick of reading press releases about the state ostrich festival later in the week.
“Find anything?” I asked eagerly.
“And hello to you too,” he said. “I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”
I sighed. “Jon, don’t be petulant. You aren’t as good at it as I am.”
Because there’s been an influx of new readers recently, I just want to clarify that the update that was scheduled for May 20th has been pushed back a week, due to a series of events entirely within my control. I’m not dead, the serial hasn’t been abandoned, don’t panic.
I woke up to find myself lying on the ground, naked, with blood on my face.
So, pretty much a regular Sunday morning.
It was still dark out, and I briefly considered going back to sleep. The den was cozy, warmed as it was by the body heat of two dozen lycanthropes, and I was exhausted. More than that, I ached. The shift from wolf to human had happened while I was asleep, but that didn’t make it any less painful.
As I stared through half-closed eyes into the predawn gloom, I felt my wolf stirring at the edge of my mind. The inexorable pressure she had exerted the night before was gone, but she was still far from silent. It didn’t take long for her to start nagging and prodding. Couldn’t sleep in, that would be a sign of weakness.
I hated the posturing. Hated having to act like a wolf, even as a human. But I had fought hard for my spot near the top of the pack’s pecking order, and I was loathe to give it up so easily.