Keeper's Justice
Copyright© 2025 by Charly Young
Chapter 31: Quinn
Quinn and Wraith stepped out of the portal onto the western shore of Lake Chelan in eastern Washington. The sun was just coming up, the air was filled with the scent of Ponderosa pine and the powdery astringent smell of sagebrush. The lake was dead calm—mirror smooth.
Quinn took a deep cleansing breath. He noticed trout rising to a morning hatch and spared a momentary wistful thought about fishing with the boys and his friend.
“Can you sense Niamh?” he asked as they started north on the well-worn trail.
“No, I don’t. We need to hurry,” Wraith said, her voice curt. “We’ve wasted too much time.”
Quinn pointed north. “The wolf-kin colony lies at the northern tip of the lake. From what I remember of this place, we’re about three miles from it.”
Wraith stilled. “There are beings up there watching us.” She pointed her chin to the hillside above them.
“Yes. Let ‘em watch. They probably monitor the gate 24/7. Let’s ignore them. Put on your human disguise. No sense in showing our hand.”
Wraith rearranged her features to a pretty blond-haired human teenager. The two started walking north.
Behind them, a small odd-eyed Asari half-blood female popped out of the portall She almost fell before righting herself. She immediately dropped to hide behind a dense cluster of sagebrush and stared all around, struggling to get her bearings and marveling at the open spaces of this realm. For the first time in her short life, she was out of the crowded city.
Eighteen-year-old Joshua Chelan hated watch duty. He was careful not to show it. Jarvi, one of the Alpha’s original crew, was a bully, liable to change suddenly from a pleasant smile to a rage at the drop of a hat.
For the last year, Alpha had insisted on a constant watch on the portal that led to Oldtown. At random times during the past six months, a stream of slaves came through the portal and passed on into the Opari. Their job was to collect the drugs from whoever was leading and show them to the other thinning.
That was the reason he hated this duty. He felt guilty that he was adding to the suffering of the pitiful broken beings who came through. But he had no choice. His only option was to obey or die—a fate suffered by his cousin and uncle.
Lately, though, with the Alpha’s increasingly irritable moods, over-watch duty away from the pack was a blessing. Just yesterday, he had broken twelve-year-old Loralie’s neck for spilling his beer as she waited on him.
This morning, he was torn between keeping an eye on Jarvi and watching the three humans who were walking the trail below them.
Jarvi smacked him on the head and whispered harshly, “Pay attention. Do not look directly at them, you fool. Are you a cub? They could sense your gaze.” He shouldered the 30-30 he carried and prepared to fire.
“What are you doing? You can’t just shoot them.”
He snarled back at him, “I can and will. Be silent.”
He turned to watch and found the male human looking directly at him from the trail below.
Then he disappeared.
Behind him, Jarvi made a sudden anxious whine. He felt Jarvi shift into his wolf form. He looked over his shoulder and saw him in his vulpine form, nose in the air, tasting the air for a scent.
Things were happening too fast. He turned his attention back to the path below, thinking he should shift too, even though Jarvi hadn’t told him to.
Then Jarvie’s wolf head tumbled back into the hollow where he stood. He turned his head away from the grisly sight and found himself face to face with a human male whose eyes were pools of black.
“You have a choice here, wolf. You can answer my questions and obey my commands or your head will rest beside your friend’s.”
Joshua wet himself in full panic. Instinct demanded he shift and escape. But he was certain that if he did, this man would end him.
He bowed his head in submission.
The ridge overlooked the compound from the northwest, giving them a commanding view through the pines. Late afternoon sun slanted across the valley, turning Lake Chelan into hammered copper in the distance. Quinn lay prone at the ridgeline, binoculars raised. His companions spread out to either side, equally silent.
Joshua crouched behind them, far enough back that he wouldn’t skyline against the ridge. He couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
“Crawl up here and talk me through it,” Quinn said quietly, not lowering the binoculars. “What am I looking at?”
Joshua swallowed hard. He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “The big building. Center of everything. That’s the Long House.”
Quinn tracked to it. The structure dominated the compound—maybe a hundred feet long, timber-framed with a steeply pitched roof. Smoke rose from multiple chimneys. Even from this distance, it radiated permanence and craftsmanship. A building meant to last generations.
“Viking longhouse style,” Quinn muttered.
“Yeah. It’s ... it is our heart. Dining hall, council chamber, ceremonial space. Twice a day, the whole pack eats there. Everyone had a seat at those tables. Even the youngest pups once they’re weaned.”
Quinn made a small noise of acknowledgment and shifted his view. “Building next to it?”
“Kitchen House. Kept separate because of fire risk.”
“Next to that is the storehouse. The alpha’s people control the food stores.”
His binoculars swept right. “The barn?”
“Dairy barn. Red one by the meadow. We keep—kept—eight milk cows. The meadow runs down to the lakeshore. Good grazing. Kids take the cows down every morning after milking, then bring them back for evening milking.”
“The cabins,” Quinn said, lifting his glasses to track up the draw. “Thirty or so?”
“Thirty-two,” Joshua corrected automatically, then caught himself, shrinking down further. “They’re family clusters. Were. Up the draw, kind of hidden in the trees. Each bloodline had their own group—a main house for the senior pair, smaller cabins for their kids, unmated adults, and elders.”
The cabins were barely visible through the pine cover—log construction, cedar shake roofs weathered silver-gray, stone foundations, and chimneys. They looked organic, like they’d grown from the forest rather than being built in it.
“Log and stone,” Quinn said. “Quality work.”
“The old ones built them to last. Some of those cabins are two hundred years old. My family’s been in the same cluster for six generations.”
“Your family still there?”
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