A Wolf’s Secrets

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

 

“So, did you read the book?”

Howard Richard Deacon III sighed heavily and pulled up the copy of Blood and Chocolate and wearily handed it to his father. “Yes…”

His father stared at him from his side of the car as it rumbled along the Rue de Flandre toward Rue La Fayette at his seventeen-year-old. It was summer, and he had taken his son along on his Paris business trip, the first one in a long time. “Did you actually read it and not just skim it?”

‘Rick’ Deacon moaned. “Yes, Dad. I read it. I read the entire lousy book.”

Closing his eyes, Mr. Deacon II shook his head. “It was important.”

“I don’t see why.” Rick practically sulked, staring out the window. Then he heaved a breath and said, “Why am I coming with you to Paris this time? After all these years, you told me you didn’t want me to get involved with the French, or the Germans for that matter. What gives? Why now?”

“They’ve requested you.”

Rick stared at his father. The man’s grave tone said volumes. His father was an unusual man. Besides being a multi-billionaire, CEO of Deacon Enterprises with diverse forms of business around the world, physically his father was an intimidating personage. The man’s hair was a peculiar, dignified mix of grays which made him seem older from the back. But when a person saw his face, they were startled at how hale he was. Dignified and quiet, Mr. Deacon's amber eyes often unnerved unfamiliar business partners. But he did not intimidate Rick. Rick replied, “Oh, really? So when did you start taking orders from the Loup Garou?”

Sighing, Mr. Deacon shook his head, staring back at his son who was a totally different animal from him, from his reddish brown hair to his wild wolf-gray eyes. “Things are a lot more complicated than you realize.”

Rolling his eyes again, Rick replied, “Oh? Does this have something to do with making me read a fictional werewolf novel? I mean, come on Dad. You and I both know this kind of stuff is nonsense. Why did you insist that I finish it before I get here? I know the Loup Garou Society is not just some environmentalist organization. You could have just said it instead of making me read something stupid.”

Mr. Deacon shook his head again. “Son, I had you read that book because I wanted you to understand pack mentality.”

His eyes leveling on his father, Rick stared dryly. “You’re kidding me.”

His father just stared back. There was so much wolf in his gaze, eyes that said he did not joke.

Shaking his head, Rick leaned back in his seat. “This is stupid. The Colorado pack is not like those fictional wolves in the b—”

“Not all packs are the same.” His father frowned deeply at him. “You should remember this from those Canadians you met in New York. They were like that. You know they wanted you to assimilate into their pack. Packs are desperate for fresh blood. But you don’t know anything else about their culture.”

Rick’s gray eyes flickered between something human and something else as he replied, “So? So they are not all the same? I don’t think the French are intending to make me join their pack.”

Nodding, agreeing, Mr. Deacon chuckled weakly, “No. They don’t want that. In their eyes, you have two failings against you—you are American, and you are a third generation wolf. That would make you troublesome to their community. I’m thinking of something else they will want from you.”

Nonplussed, Rick stared at him. “Like what?”

Sighing, Mr. Deacon said, “What did the Canadians want from you again? Malik and Lukas?”

Immediately, Rick blushed. It had been a year and a half ago at the time when Rick was still a student at Gulinger Private Academy in New York City when a pair of Canadian werewolves had tried to kidnap him so they could bring Rick back to their pack to provide fresh genetic material for their gene pool—the old fashioned way. The idea had been so absurd. It sounded outright backwoods cultish. Rick had barely escaped. Thing was, Malik and Lukas, the two Canadian wolves, had gotten killed by the Supernatural Regulator’s Association in Times Square—which Rick had blamed himself for. The SRA had been hunting him, but the two wolves had ended up in the crossfire.

“The French will want the same,” his father said.

Rick stared.

He leaned near his father, grabbing his wrist. “I thought the French were a civilized pack. The fact that they are headquartered in Paris… a number of their group live in this city as proof of that. You can’t be serious.”

He could see color coming into his father’s face, which was odd. The usually dignified businessman, who also happened to be hiding his double life as a second generation werewolf, was blushing with… Could it be? Shame?

“Dad… What does this happen to do with the book you gave me to read?” Rick stared into his face, trying to get a read on him. His father was one for secrets, the one thing he didn’t like about the man.

Closing his eyes, Mr. Deacon said in a low voice, “You are seventeen years old. It is about time I told you the whole truth. And part of it is best understood by reading that book. The author captured the feeling in such packs almost perfectly.”

“It is a work of fiction, Dad,” Rick said. “You and I both know werewolves originate through witchcraft—”

“Or a very powerful curse,” his father cut in.

Rick raised his eyebrows. Chills went down his arms and legs where he had hairs.

Grimacing, his father explained, “We don’t know the origins of all were-kind. You have seen enough of this world to understand that there are multiple ways of getting cursed.”

Rick nodded slowly. He did know. He had met numerous people at Gulinger High who had various kinds of conditions either though curses or by birth, and sometimes both. It complicated their lives. But since the day he had found out that he was a werewolf, back when he was thirteen, he had always accepted the story that werewolves were of three kinds only: the wolf turned to man, like his grandfather; the born werewolf like him and his father, carrying the genes; and the person with partial lycanthropic toxemia, which isn’t actually a werewolf at all but someone infected with the germs in a werewolf bite, and therefore curable. His grandfather had been made through witch magic, and it had been an awful curse which he had passed on. But now his father was disassembling the wolf-creation paradigm he had told Rick.

“Some packs believe they are not cursed but blessed with being wolf,” his father said.

“But don’t they still have to change on the three nights of the full moon?” Rick protested. “Don’t they still have to make a kill each night? How can they see it as a blessing?”

Mr. Deacon gazed on his son sadly. “I know you hate being a wolf.”

Rick closed his eyes. Finding out he was a werewolf had ruined so much. It wasn’t just the painful transformation, or the impetus to kill and devour something each night of the full moon, or even being targeted on a monthly basis by ruthless, unscrupulous hunters. But that his mother had left his father—and him—over them being wolves. He didn’t even know where she was… if she was alive or not. She had run off after her parents had committed her into an asylum for claiming that her son had transformed into a wolf and chased after her. It was his biggest regret.

He hadn’t meant to scare her. At the time, Rick had no idea what he was. He had been terrified himself when he went through that traumatizing first change. He didn’t realize what had happened until after his father had come home from a ‘business trip’ and explained it to him. He found out later that his father always had been gone from home on the full moon for that very reason, he didn’t want to harm him or his mother during his changes. And because Rick had not transformed at his first full moon of life. His father had assumed the curse had passed over him—only to have it pounce on him during puberty. People who knew Rick’s wolf side often said he was more wolf than most wolves—even while human… which didn’t make him happy though they had meant it as a compliment.

Painfully, Rick asked, “What does this have to do with the French?”

Seeing that Rick was taking the conversation more seriously, Mr. Deacon said, “The Loup Garou… they believe that they are superior to ordinary humans, that their condition is a blessing from the goddess Diana.”

Rick snorted.

“Don’t discount old legends,” his father growled warningly.

“Yes. Yes…” Rick moaned, waving it away. “I’m sure that Diana was some kind of fairy or elf messing around or had punished some human who had annoyed her, and they are now pretending it was a blessing. I get it.”

“You don’t get it,” his father said, his growl deepening. “You and I both know that elf folk are real and still around—though diminished. But most wolves who have lived entirely in their packs are mainly unaware of the rest of the unseen world. They would take offense if you hinted their goddess was an elf—or even a witch. So don’t you mention such a thing to them. It is a deep-seated belief. You cannot offend it. You cannot root it out. You would be branded a heretic if made a mock of it—and trust me, they dole out medieval justice against ‘heretics’.”

Sighing, Rick felt like grabbing his head. Medieval justice…. The unseen world loved doling out the brutal ‘justice’ under the noses of civilized human society. It was another reason he hated being a werewolf. Besides, witchcraft was most likely the source of the Loup Garou pack. His father had told him enough about their habits to know that they were no less cursed than he and his father were.

“The thing is,” his father said, leading on to something different, “there is more I need to tell you about my past history with them.”

Rick peered dryly at him.

“It is also related to why they requested that I bring you this trip.”

Waiting, Rick shook his head, wondering what the point was to their conversation. They had been driving from the airport to the Loup Garou Society headquarters in Paris, and they were finally getting close to their destination. They might not be able to finish their conversation in time.

“I need to confess something to you,” his father said.

Rick stared. “If it is worse than finding out that I am a werewolf, I don’t know if I can take it.”

Chuckling painfully, his father shook his head. “Not worse. Just… shameful.”

Sitting up, Rick stared at his father. “What do you mean?”

Cringing, his teeth almost elongating, Mr. Deacon had to put forth effort to get the words out. “I… When I was a young man, just after my father passed away—”

“Was murdered by the SRA,” Rick cut in, his resentment towards the SRA solidly founded. The SRA had also killed his grandmother when his father was just a pup while protecting him, and Rick also had defined scars from their encounters.

Nodding, Mr. Deacon continued. “Yes. Anyway, I was a mess. I was only nineteen, and suddenly heir to the entire Deacon fortune. A CEO with no clue how to run the business. And the SRA were following me nearly everywhere, waiting to catch me off guard.”

Rick sat back, listening.

“I sought refuge among the French pack,” his father explained. “They were excellent at hiding wolves, and I knew I’d be safe with them. The SRA had no clue where I was because of them. And while I was in Paris, I was able to renew our family's business contacts.”

Rick nodded, urging him on. Nothing was shameful about any of that.

“But I…” His father shook his head. “I was vulnerable. Scared. And… the Loup Garou convinced me to do a very wrong thing.”

“You didn’t kill anybody, did you?” Rick drew in a breath, anticipating the worst.

Death surrounded werewolves. It was a fact of life. But Rick and his father had sworn to always keep their wolf affairs away from human ones. They had always made their monthly kills small animals, which they had paid for and arranged so they could remain out of the news. And they helped other wolves who were in the same situation—to keep them from becoming man-eaters. But there were always instances and encounters between hapless idiots and those loathsome SRA hunters, which ruined everything. The worst fact was, most werewolves started off as assassins. It had been the purpose of their creation.

“No.” His father was painfully laughing though.

The vehicle carrying them veered onto the road which the Loup Garou Society building was located.

“Then…” Rick urged him on with a hand roll, glancing out the window at the street signs.

Cringing, his father bit out, “When I was young and stupid, the Loup Garou convinced me to add to the gene pool of their pack—like the Canadians tried to convince you to do.”

Rick pulled back. “Oh, my, gosh. Dad!”

“It is one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

“I can’t believe you!” Rick stared, exasperated. “Especially after how you got after me during that whole kidnapping incident—and I had done nothing wrong except sneak away from the school group while ice skating.”

His father shook his head in silence, so much regret etched in every line on his face. The car temporarily stopped at a street light.

Rick stared more, realizing what this meant. “So I’ve got a…”

Cringing deeper, his father could not look Rick in the eye.

Pulling back, Rick’s eyes examined him further. There was clearly more to it than this. So he said, “What exactly happened? Did Mom know about this?”

His father nodded. “I had told her before we got married that I had, uh, been a little loose while in Paris when I was young. That, I might have an illegitimate child or two who might suddenly show up one day and…”

Rick groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “So you told Mom about that but not about being a werewolf?”

“The wolf would have terrified her,” his father replied gravely.

Rick shot him a dirty look, as that was exactly what had happened. He then shook his head and said, “So she was prepared for some kid or adult to come out and say you were their dad?”

He nodded. “She was forgiving. She understood that I was…uh, unstable at the time.”

Unstable. His father was always good at choosing the right words. Unstable described their life. The only thing truly stable in their lives was that they had accumulated enough money to buy forests and create wolf reserves. They had plenty of places to hunt now which were far from human civilization, and they could have hunters simply arrested for trespassing. It was a win for all—except maybe those hunters, but he didn’t care about them.

“She didn’t know it was a wolf thing, though,” Rick grumbled.

His father sighed. “That’s not the worst of it.”

“What’s worse?” Rick moaned. “I’ve got a brother or sister out there, probably. Have you been hiding him or her? Or were they abandoned?”

His words struck his father as if he had punched him. Rick watched the dignified man visibly cringe, pain his eyes. Deep regret. Even during the divorce, his father had not looked so penitent… like he wanted to go medieval and lash his own back.

“When I went along with the Loup Garou’s scheme,” his father said with a cringe, “they had conditions which I had to comply with.”

“Shock me,” Rick said, wondering what Hell his brother or sister had to deal with all those years. He had abandoned them.

“Please, son. I’m ashamed enough as it is.” His father’s amber eyes chastened him. “It only happened the one time—but I was vulnerable. And they want you to do the same.”

“What?” Rick blustered, retreating towards the side door. “You brought me here for that?”

“No,” his father gravely replied. “I don’t want you to cooperate. Let me finish explaining what happened, because you only have heard a small part of it.”

Sitting back, Rick stared hard at his father. To be honest, he never would have believed that anyone could have succeeded in manipulating the man. His father, despite his long-held secret about being a werewolf, had always been a man of integrity. He was known for it. Mobs and cartels had tried to bully him during business affairs and failed wretchedly. The SRA were constantly losing against his father’s uprightness and forthrightness. There was no crime they could peg on him. No one could make his integrity break. And yet the French had. Once.

“As I said, I was nineteen, in Paris,” his father explained. “When they approached me, they appealed to my… uh, sense of compassion for the wolves who had not attained as much financial success as I. They explained to me that their pack needed new blood desperately… and I was nineteen.”

Rick rolled his eyes. Nineteen and horny. He had heard that excuse before on the news. He never though his father would admit to it.

“The point is, I was bought into it. I was taken to a week long, loud and loose party where they loaded me up on drink and brought willing girls to me who wanted to get pregnant.” He shook his head. “I was so drunk, I could hardly tell one from another.”

“Dad!” Rick stared more. He had said girls. Plural.

“I know.” Mr. Deacon raised his hands in surrender. “I know. It was the stupidest, most thoughtless thing I had ever done. But for what it was worth, they were all wolves. None of them were unsuspecting human beings. These were Loup Garou who signed on for the pack’s program. I just provided the…” He closed his eyes, cringing.

This was too much. As a werewolf, Rick's place in the universe had always been iffy. But his family had been regular attenders of the Christian church back in Middleton Village. He was best friends with the pastor’s grandson. He had lived a moral life by the Judeo-Christian standard. And though the world trends were leaning more and more towards decadence and sexual promiscuity, Rick had never felt inclined to lean that way himself—though opportunity had definitely been there. His family had always carried themselves with dignity. His father had always been an upright citizen. But now, that view had been shattered. Rick honestly never would have thought that his father would have even considered getting involved in some kind of wolf orgy.

But he had.

“And my mother knew about this?” Rick murmured, still trying to wrap his mind around it.

His father nodded. “Though not to the extent of the Loup Garou or what they had asked of me. I told her I had gotten drunk at a party and behaved…” He could not finish.

Staring at him, shaking his head, Rick felt disgusted. He finally said, “How many girls did you get pregnant?”

His father shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Rick protested. “You has sex with them, for pity’s sake!”

“I don’t know. I was intoxicated. A lot of the time we were as wolves. Things get complicated when you are in wolf mind. And they never told me how many children I had sired.” His father stared at his knees, shoulders hunched and arms hanging.

And though his father looked wretched, Rick pursued the answer, “How many did you… you know, hook up with? Guess.”

Cringing with another shrug, his father looked like he wanted to bury his face in his hands. “Thirteen? Fourteen? I can’t recall. I told you, I was drunk, and it was all a furry blur.”

“Fourteen!?” Rick’s face went white. “Dad!”

“I know! Alright?” His father massaged his forehead. “I told you. I have regretted it ever since.”

“You should have demanded to know,” Rick snapped, thinking of all those kids born around the same time. His mind was already working on how he could find out who could be his brothers or sisters. If he could find the month and days when that party had happened, he could calculate nine months from then, sneak into Loup Garou records, or have someone like Semour Dawson hack into their files to get the information. Semour would do it. For goodness sakes, Tom Brown would do it in a heartbeat.

But then, Rick realized, he didn’t want to get Tom involved. Tom would have a heyday over the news of his father’s promiscuous indiscretion—and Tom himself was entirely indiscrete. It came with being a half-imp who loved trouble.

Nodding, Mr. Deacon said, “I tried to find out. But the Loup Garou explained that they did not want the troubles of the Deacon family affecting my offspring. They knew I was hunted. They just wanted my seed.”

The conversation itself felt nasty. It was like swimming in murky, briny water on a hot sweaty day with mosquitoes and leeches surrounding him. Nauseated, he couldn’t even look at his father. After a while, Rick said, “Ok… But did they tell you if you did have a kid from that night, or day, or whatever?”

His father nodded. “But they would not tell me how many. Rather, they requested that I donate to a fund to pay for their future—which I have been regularly paying ever since.”

That added up. Rick had seen a number of the business records. His father had made him spend a week with his accounting staff so they could teach him how they kept the books and managed their finances. Rick had seen all sorts of funds his father invested money, from animal reserves to peculiarly named clubs and associations. He even had favorite web personalities he was secretly funding under the web name A. Wolf. This, however, explained the huge donations and membership fee payment to the 

Loup Garou Society. It didn’t make sense for his father to support a foreign, independent wolf pack which had its own lucrative sources of revenue. He was funding the lives of his possibly scandalously-large number of older brothers and sisters born together in the same month, older than him by eight years.

That’s when the startling notion struck him. He was not an only child. He wasn’t even the oldest. He was the youngest of them all. One of those other wolves from another mother would be his father’s true heir. Rick wasn’t sure how he felt about that. All this time he had been training to take the reins of Deacon Enterprises, hoping his father would live a long life before that would happen. But now, someone else would have to be trained in the job. And he… he would need to find another career.

“You are my heir,” his father said, as if reading Rick’s mind. It must have been all over his face.

“How?” Rick asked, staring at his dad. “I won’t be the oldest—”

“You are the heir mentioned in my will—by name. My other… offspring in the Loup Garou are not legally mine. I have no doubts they take the names of their mothers, and are legally wards of the Loup Garou Society.” Mr. Deacon gravely shook his head. “It is an entire mess. I never should have done it. They must hate me.”

Those words struck Rick hard.

Not the detail that he was the named heir, but that his siblings—whom his father had been tricked into making and forced to leave to the will of the French pack which their mothers belonged to—quite possibly knew about him and his father, and hated them both.

But another notion arose. Maybe they had been kept ignorant and were never told by the Loup Garou who their father was. Maybe the Loup Garou did that sort of thing to passing lone wolves all the time, enticing them to sow their wild oats among the she-wolves of the pack to increase diversity in their gene pool. But thinking about it, their mothers were sure to have told their children. How many children could claim to be offspring of a world-renown multi-billionaire? How many women could resist bragging the connection? There had to be resentment.

“If I knew who they were,” his father murmured, almost to himself, “I’d offer to take them home with us. I’d pay for anything they needed. I… I feel wretched for what I have done. Because I know what it is like to lose a father and a mother. No one deserves that.”

Rick lowered his eyes to his knees. Normally he would have retorted with some remark about his mother leaving them, but in this case it did not seem fair to kick a man when he was down—worse to pull a suffering wolf’s tail.

“Is there some way to fix it?” Rick muttered.

His father, sighed and shrugged. “I am glad you are handling this news with maturity. And, I don’t know. I wish I knew a way to fix it.”

Rick turned his eyes to look out the window. They were nearly there. He could see Notre Dame from his window.

“But if for some reason you find out who they are,” his father whispered as if it were a painful wish, “let me know. I want to help them if I can.”

Rick nodded. So did he, though the idea that he was not actually an only child felt foreign still.

“And whatever you do,” his father said in a louder voice as they pulled to the curb, “Don’t let them trick you into doing the same as I did. Year after year they have been asking me to perform them the same ‘service’ as I had that one time. And each year I have refused.”

Rick stared at him again. This was the father knew. And now he comprehended why his father had been so strict with him. He didn’t want Rick to make the same mistakes as he did. And no wonder. The repercussions affected more than just himself.

“I need you to stay strong, as I know they will approach you,” his father said.

Rick nodded. “Got it.”

And the conversation was over.

The chauffer came out and opened the door.

Rick was not familiar with this driver, who was from the Loup Garou. Though, with one look at the man’s eyes Rick knew he was also a wolf. His eyes were amber like his father’s, though this man's hair was darker, almost black but dusty like ashy charcoal. It really wasn’t the hair color or eye color that gave him away though. It was his smell and the furry texture to his hair. The French driver also watched them with the patience of a wolf as they climbed out of the vehicle.

“Dad…” Rick turned from his rude staring toward his father who walked up the front steps to the established old-French building. “Whatever happened to Henry? I thought he was supposed to come with us on this trip?”

His father flinched, shaking his head. “As much as I appreciate Henry’s loyalty to our family, I did not want him surrounded by so many wolves. Besides, his main charge is to manage our affairs at home.”

“Are you afraid the Loup Garou would hurt Henry?” Rick asked, concern creasing his brow as Henry had been his father’s chauffer at home for years, a good friend of the family, and their most recent steward after the death of Lewis who had been murdered by the SRA on a full moon.

“We will not discuss this further,” his father replied, going to the doors, which had now been opened for them. “As were are now in Loup Garou territory, and guests.”

 

Wild Oats

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

 

Going into the interior of the Loup Garou Society building was like stepping back in time. That’s not to say they didn’t have electric lights or the modern conveniences as wifi, but that the décor was outstandingly traditional French. From the chairs to the chandeliers and everything in between, it had that old Marie Antoinette feel to it. Rick half expected someone to say “Let them eat cake” with someone else screaming “Off with her head!”

While he looked around, his mind was full of French clichés from Pepe Le Pew to the beret-topped mustached man carrying baguettes and wearing a striped black and white shirt. Of course, the people inside were dressed in proper business attire, suits and jackets, and they were speaking way beyond what his high school French class had taught him. He understood only very little of the greeting.

His father spoke fluent French. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope you did not wait long for our arrival.”

“Not at all. Not at all.” The Frenchman then directed his father into the room, “Please, if you would follow me.”

They followed the Frenchman into side hall which took them down a long corridor. The French had a collection of various art. It was all tastefully decorated, with hardly an indication that it was a wolf-run let alone wolf-loving establishment. It almost made Rick laugh, as his home back in Massachusetts was obsessively covered in wolf art. In fact, at Deacon Manor, there was hardly a picture in the place without a wolf in it.

“Are you enjoying the art?” the Frenchman directed his question at Rick.

“He doesn’t speak enough French yet,” his father said.

“Really?” the Frenchman turned his attentions to his father again, looking mildly surprised. “But you said he has had three years of it.”

His father weakly chuckled, apology in his voice. “Yes. But three years of unfocused study, I’m afraid. He hasn’t quite taken it as seriously as his other courses. He’s actually been trying to get me to switch him to Mandarin Chinese.”

“Chinese?” the Frenchman looked a little affronted. “Whatever for?”

“He thinks China will soon drive the market,” his father said.

The Frenchman huffed. “But they focus on learning English in their schools. He doesn’t need to learn Chinese. You had better tell him that his relations with the Loup Garou are more important than a business venture in China.”

There was something in his father’s looks that said that Mr. Deacon was silently disagreeing with whatever had been said, yet was too polite to continue the argument.

They were taken to a set of wide double doors of a locked room where the doors were soon immediately opened for them. Directly, they were shown to two chairs in which they could sit while they awaited their alerted hosts.

The wait was only five minutes, though it might as well have been five hours, as Rick felt every second. Rick had the uncomfortable and oppressive feeling that he was being watched and analyzed from all angles. Of course the room did have security cameras, but the servants also were in the room, standing at attention with stoic expressions while they waited. He figured they were low-level wolves within the organization, as he didn’t think the Loup Garou were the type to employ humans in a place where wolf-conversations could be overheard. His father had bragged that they had impeccable security.

Rick fidgeted with the fringe on the chair, almost unraveling it. He tried to sit on his hands when his father gave him a look, but he soon was distracted by the paintings and molding on the ceiling, which was positively from another era. The fresco above was a collection of strangely posed half-naked women and men with cherubs, animals and random scenes of… well, he couldn’t quite figure it out. It was like Rembrandt just decided to doodle one day. It encircled the entire ceiling. Rick turned his head to follow it.

“Son!”

Rick’s eyes popped down again, self-conscious.

His father stared at him. “Please.”

Blushing, Rick stared at the floor.

The carpet under his shoes was patterned funny. Rick shifted his foot to uncover it, tracing the route of the threads with his eyes. He followed the pattern up to the table between his and his father’s chair. He noticed his father staring disapprovingly at him. Quickly, he averted his eyes to the door.

The door didn’t open for another two minutes. By that time, Rick was wondering what his buddy Andrew Cartwright was

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.04.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7893-5

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