by Seana Kelly
I projected my voice. “When Dr. Underfoot arrives, let him in.” I looked at Clive. “That ought to do it.”
He nodded and began to pace again. “I take it this was another victim dropped at your doorstep?” He stopped pacing in front of the woman, looking at the wounds.
I explained what had happened after the bar closed. Clive looked murderous as he listened. I was pretty upset, too, but I didn’t understand why he seemed to be taking this so personally.
“Do you know her? Is she another wolf from your uncle’s pack?” Clive asked.
“I’ve never seen her, but it’s been years and I was only staying with him for a couple weeks. Less. There’s a pack in the North Bay. She could be one of theirs.”
Clive answered the discreet buzzing of his phone. He listened for a few minutes and then snapped it shut again. “We’re clear above. They scented a wolf, possibly two. There’s a faint scent trail underlying a stronger one. As there were two wolves here today, it’s possible that the weaker trail is from then. It is also possible that one wolf dumped the body and left while the other stayed to wait for you, shooting when he saw you in the water.”
Any way you looked at it, the wolf who was torturing women was trying very hard to get my attention.
Thirteen
Wherein Clive Freaks Out Shakespeare
“Don’t leave the bar unless necessary. And then, only with a trusted escort. No wolves. I can have one of my men stay here at night—”
“Stop.” I held up my good hand. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a wolf, not a vampire.”
He stopped pacing to stare at me, surprised that I would question him. “Yes, I’m aware and quite grateful. Unfortunately, I’m the one who keeps being called to fix your messes. Why do you suppose that is?”
I shrugged and then winced. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“My luck has taken a turn of late.” His phone sounded, and he pulled it to his ear. “Yes, I’ll meet you at the stairs.” He replaced it in his pocket and strode up the staircase.
Liam, who had moved back to my side, leaned in whispering, “He’s claimed you as one of his own. To hurt or threaten you is a direct challenge to him. That’s why he’s so pissed off. Someone doesn’t respect Clive’s threat. Vamps don’t take offense well.”
“What do you mean he’s claimed me as his?” I started to sweat in my wetsuit. Did the magical community see me as Clive’s property? As his to do with as he chose? The sudden loss of independence and control made me lightheaded.
“Relax, Sam. It’s nothing bad. It means that he’s named himself as your protector. We all know you don’t have a pack. Clive didn’t want anyone to see that as a signal that you were fair game. He wanted it known that anyone who threatened you, would be taking on him and his nocturne. Trust me, okay? It’s a good thing.”
We stopped talking when footsteps sounded on the stairs. I wasn’t sure how to feel about this news. On the one hand, it was wonderful that I had a nocturne of vampires ready to do battle for me. On the other, what kind of payment was expected?
Clive returned with Dr. Underfoot in tow, a doctor’s bag at his side.
“Miss Quinn, it’s nice to see you again. Although, I’m sorry this is the reason.” His eyes went to the dead woman before returning to me. “Is there a better place for me to work?”
I thought about it a second. “There’s a couch in the bookstore. Would that work?”
“Yes, I think that would put you at a good height.” He smiled kindly. At least I think he did. I couldn’t see much of his face behind the beard. The skin around his eyes crinkled, though. “Can we lose the wetsuit?”
I tried to get up, but slipped, my legs too weak to stand. Clive was there, his hand out, but I pushed it away. I could freaking stand by myself. I didn’t need his protection or his hand. I bit back a whimper as I got my good leg under me and stood. My injuries flared to life, before a wave of sweet pain relief flowed through me again.
My hands shook as I tried to unzip the wetsuit. I was only wearing bike shorts and a sports bra underneath. I paused, looking at the men around me. I didn’t want anyone to see my scars, but I needed a doctor to treat my wounds.
“Shall I?” Clive stood nearby, ready to help.
Shaking my head, ignoring the whine rising in my throat, I grabbed the zipper with a shaking hand and dragged it down. Without the use of both arms, though, I couldn’t get out of it. Swallowing my pride, I nodded to Clive. He gently peeled the snug neoprene down my arms, over my hips, and down my legs, helping me to pull my feet out. The struggle started the gunshots bleeding anew.
Liam disappeared behind the bar and came back with a blanket. Once the wetsuit was off, their gazes were directed anywhere but on my body, on the thick, corded scars, bisected by thin traceries. Clive took the blanket from Liam and wrapped it around me before picking me up and carrying me into the bookstore. It was embarrassing to be carried like a baby, but also warm and comforting. Both wounds were on the same side of my body so at least once I had been placed on the couch, I could keep the blanket over most of my body and not move.
Dr. Underfoot examined the bullet holes while trying to distract me with conversation. “Do you surf or scuba dive?” he asked, no doubt referring to the wetsuit. His very hairy hands were gentle, and I relaxed by degrees.
“Neither, really. The fish scattered when I tried scuba. I guess even underwater I smell like a predator. And surfing wasn’t for me. It was fun when I caught a good-sized wave, but it’s a time suck and I have a business to run. Mostly, I prefer to watch the water from in here.”
Dr. Underfoot gave me a couple of injections. “The thigh wound is the easier of the two. Let me get that one bandaged up so I can concentrate on your arm. I’ll need to do more work there.”
I looked everywhere but at my leg as he treated the wound. “Doctor, can I ask you about your name?”
“Of course. What would you like to know?” When he’d finished with the gouge in my leg, he pulled sharp, shiny things out of his bag. I stared at the blanket, pretending I hadn’t seen them. He gave Liam a light to point at the wound in my arm.
“I’m not sure. Anything you’re willing to tell me.” I tried to gather my thoughts, avoiding the sight of him digging into my biceps with a long, pointy instrument that I was pretending didn’t exist. “I wanted you to talk...but I’m also trying to wheedle a story out of you, I suppose. I’m surrounded by people who live for centuries or more, and they never want to talk about it.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We aren’t always the most forthcoming about our personal experiences. You must understand, though, for many of us, trying to reconcile who we were with who we are now can be...” He stopped to dig deeper into my arm. “Ah, there we go—sorry, what was I saying? Oh, yes, it can be a bit off-putting.”
Clive made a quiet sound of assent.
Doc Underfoot continued. “Think of who you were and what plans you had when you were turned. You appear much the same, but are you the same person?”
Not even close. I thought of the teenager I’d been, always on the run, wondering if college might ever be possible. I’d never envisioned a life as a bookish bartender. I’m content with the life I lead, but it is worlds away from where I started.
“That was a few years ago, wasn’t it? Consider the changes if it had been one hundred years ago, five hundred, one thousand. There is a certain malaise some of us old ones experience. The weight of so many years can crush. Please don’t be too hard on us when, for sanity’s sake, we try to live in the present.” He paused to let me consider that. “Now, to your question—”
“Sorry,” I interrupted. “Forget I asked. I’ll sit quietly and try not to bug you.” I’d only been a supernatural for seven years, a blink of an eye to these two men. Sometimes that knowledge smacked me in the face.
“No, no, I didn’t intend to chastise you, only to explain the reticence you often encounter when you ask for our stories. Underfo
ot is a common dwarf name. Dwarfs used to live underground; some still do. So, Underfoot is a surname that indicates residence. It is similar to the human names Carpenter or Weaver, names that indicated the occupation of a man. That’s all.”
Oh, I guess that wasn’t too personal. “Why did you decide to become a doctor?”
“The reason behind that is a bit more complicated. You see, the dwarfs used to be a very warlike, vicious people. Again, some still are. The patience and restraint required for medicine do not come naturally to us. When your people are given to waging bloody battles, there must be someone to deal with the carnage, one way or another. I have perpetrated many atrocities in my long years, but the last was enough to change me. And that, my child, is a story I will not tell,” he said, his voice hollow.
Biting the inside of my lip, I stared out the moonlit window. When the silence began to stretch, Clive came to my rescue.
“I once met Shakespeare.”
And at other times, their long lives and their infinite well of stories made me positively giddy. I silently begged to be told the story. He rolled his eyes and sat down on the arm of the sofa, near my feet.
“I was living in London during Elizabeth’s reign. Before you ask, no, I never met her. I’m a vampire, not royalty. Theaters were good places to find a meal, lots of warm bodies, pressed close together, everyone’s attention elsewhere. I was attending a performance of Richard III. Shakespeare hadn’t been a playwright for long, so there wasn’t a great deal of importance attached to the man or his name at the time.
“I’d intended to eat and run, but I was drawn in by his portrait of a physically and psychologically deformed man. I forgot why I was there, and instead was lost in the play. Shakespeare played Richard. Burbage must have been ill, a last-minute substitute needed.”
He shrugged. “I have no idea why Shakespeare had taken to the stage that night, as he normally didn’t perform the lead in his own works. I’ve seen the play performed many times since. The actors often use humpbacks, slings, wheelchairs, but none have ever conveyed the twisted body and soul with the brilliance that Shakespeare did, using only his voice and a subtle adjustment of his stance.” Clive made a gesture, an echo of what he’d seen, before his hand dropped to my foot. He squeezed and continued his story, his thumb rubbing my instep.
“After the performance, I hunted and then caught up with the players at a nearby tavern. Most were spending their wages on women and drink, but Shakespeare was sitting in the back, in the shadows, watching. A few women approached him, offering themselves, but he declined and sent them away. I watched him watching the others. As I’m sure you are aware, I can make myself unnoticeable if I choose.”
I nodded, pretending I’d known that.
“He studied the boisterous crowd. There was one man in particular, an overly large, loud, uproarious fellow that I noted some years later depicted in one of his plays. He became Falstaff.”
If only I’d known Clive earlier in life, studying Shakespeare in school would have been a breeze. Of course, if I’d met Clive earlier, I probably would have been a snack. The thought didn’t creep me out as much as it should have.
“I approached Shakespeare that night. His eyes took in every detail in seconds. I explained how compelling I found the characterization as well as his performance, how well I understood the dark soul he brought to life. After a lengthy pause, he leaned forward and asked me if I were one of the fair folk.”
Clive smirked and shook his head. “Well, he knew I wasn’t human, and was trying to puzzle me out. He gave the barest of shudders and then sat back. He may have guessed my true nature, though, for after he thanked me for my comments, he left. He had a strange look in his eye. I’ve often wondered if it was genius or fear.”
I stared at him, absorbing every detail. “Wow, I should get shot more often,” I couldn’t believe that Clive had told me a story.
He pressed more firmly on my foot. “I’d prefer you didn’t.”
Yeah, I’d prefer that, too.
Fourteen
The Strange Case of the Wolf Puppet
Once Dr. Underfoot had me bandaged, he bid us good night. Liam departed soon afterward. Clive, however, didn’t move from his seat on the couch arm. When I tried to stand, he was there, gently picking me up. The blanket slid, but I snatched it back, covering myself with my good arm. Clive held me a little away from his body, so my bandaged parts didn’t get banged. When he’d carried me earlier, with Dr. Underfoot and Liam watching, I’d been embarrassed. Now, however, I felt something different.
My head settled back against his shoulder so I could watch him. I didn’t know what to make of my vampire protector. He’d claimed me as his own and yet I seemed to annoy the holy bejeezus out of him. “Clive?”
“Hmm.”
“Thank you.” Watching the play of moonlight on his face, I experienced the strangest desire to reach up and touch his perfect face. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My heart beat faster at just the thought, though.
Clive glanced over, caught me staring, and adjusted his hold, pulling me closer. He strode across the bar, through the kitchen, and waited at the door to my apartment where I had more wards.
“Clive may enter,” I said.
He carried me past the living room and into my bedroom. “You need to take a shower before bed, to warm up and wash off the seawater and blood.”
“Do you ever stop bossing people around?”
“Rarely. If I could rely on others to make sound, rational decisions, I’d be freed of the burden. Unfortunately for me, people will insist on being idiots.”
“Hey!”
He carried me into the bathroom and set me down, holding me steady until my legs worked properly. “Remind me, who was it that was wandering the city alone in the middle of the night after multiple attempts on her life? Who jumped in the ocean to retrieve a dead body?” He tapped his chin in mock contemplation. “Let. Me. Think.”
He waited as I stood motionless in the bathroom, door open. “What now? Do you need help undressing?”
I snorted, pushing the door closed. Knowing I needed help, but unwilling to ask for it, I dropped the blanket and tried to figure out how to get out of bike shorts and a sports bra without bleeding all over the place. I knew Clive and the medication were keeping most of the pain away, but I still suffered sudden jolts when I moved the wrong way.
I was finally able to get my shorts and panties past my injury, letting them fall to the floor and stepping out. The sports bra was another story, though. I tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to get it off, sweat breaking out with the effort and jabs of pain. Maybe I should just shower in it.
“Why haven’t you turned on the water?” Clive’s voice through the door startled me, yipping in pain when I flinched and pulled at my stitches.
“Getting undressed is proving more difficult than I thought.”
He mumbled something I didn’t catch. Louder he said, “I can help.”
“Hard pass.”
“I won’t look.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, staring at the scars reflected in the mirror. And what the hell happened to my hair? “You can’t help me with your eyes closed.”
“We’re able to see a kind of infrared image of warm bodies, even with our eyes closed.”
I thought about that for a minute. “Handy.”
“It is, yes. May I come in?”
I looked at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. This damn bra wasn’t coming off. I could use my scissors to cut it off, but I liked this one. Sighing, I mumbled, “I guess.”
Clive opened the door and stepped in, his eyes closed. “Put your arms up.”
I turned back to the sink and raised one arm above my head, the injured one halfway. He pulled the edges of the sports bra from my skin and gently eased it over my head.
“You can get cleaned up now,” he said, as he dropped the bra on the floor. “Oh, and Sam?”
“Yeah?” I caught his reflection a
s he shut the door.
“No more late-night swims, yes?”
I was clean and moderately awake when I opened at noon.
First down the stairs was Owen. “Hey, beautiful. Ask me how my evening went.” The wiggling eyebrows and leering smile told me all I needed to know.
“Okay, who is he and will he be around long enough for me to meet him?”
“Yes, he will. He’s sweet and smart and adorable. You’ll love him.” Owen was glowing even more than usual.
The tightness in my chest eased. Giddy, romantic love was a much better topic for reflection than gunshots and dead bodies.
“So, what does Mr. Wonderful do?”
“He’s a veterinarian. I met him when I took my niece to the zoo a few weeks ago. He works with the large exotics.” He winked at me. “I’m not going to tell you what he looks like. See if you can figure it out when he visits.”
Normally, I’d be okay with this game, but not today. “Owen, I’ve had a rough couple of days. Could we do this without the mystery?”
He stopped smiling at my words. “Did something else happen?”
“Yeah. A few things. Another cut-up woman was dumped in the water outside the bar. When I went to fish her out, someone shot me.”
Owen’s eyes got big as he scanned my body looking for injuries. “Shot you? Why would anyone shoot you? Wait.” He paused, shocked. “Does that mean these women are being dumped here on purpose?”
“I wish I knew.” Although, I was afraid I did know. “I’m okay. A gouge in my thigh. A through-shot in my arm. Doc Underfoot was here to check me out and bandage me up.”
“I’m sorry. Here I am, gushing about my beau, and I completely missed the limp. Sit down. Sit down. What can I do?” To know Owen is to love him.
“What do you know about wards?”