“Because I don’t. I’m more a cat person.”
“Liar. Cats hate you. They actively attack you.”
Kera reached the front door, Erin right behind her.
“I know. I can’t even say it’s because I’m a Crow. When I was eight, my aunt’s old cat almost tore my lip off. I don’t know why, though,” she added, smiling. “I am such a lovely person.”
“You know, you’re actually not.”
Erin laughed and Kera raised her fist to knock on the door. That was when she realized the front door was open.
Grabbing Kera’s arm and pulling it away from the door, Erin pushed the door all the way open.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Because we’re nosy.”
“What is this ‘we’ shit, white girl?”
Erin chuckled and walked into the house. Together they made their way down the big halls toward the library.
To Kera’s surprise, no Protectors came out to greet them. Or, more accurately, stop them. From what she’d heard, the quickest way to get a Protector to rip your head off—literally—was to “invade” one of their precious libraries without permission. And that was the word they used. “Invade.”
But she and Erin walked on, seeing no one . . . until they reached the library. That was where they froze. Right outside the large double doors that stood wide open.
They froze and gawked. Looked at each other. Then gawked some more.
Because Kera really didn’t know what was going on.
Wasn’t life weird enough these days? Why did it keep getting weirder?
One big Protector was braiding Jace’s hair. Intricate, pretty braids that looked straight out of some historical TV show where people get beheaded or poisoned and a king rules with an iron fist while his queen plots.
Standing around him were three more Protectors, giving him tips and pointing to a couple of books they held.
But that wasn’t the weirdest part.
Another Protector, the one Kera knew they called Bear, had Jace’s puppy around the waist, holding the dog up over his head and turning in a circle. As if he was showing Lev something. “This is not a room to poop in, puppy,” he announced . . . to the dog.
The dog.
“You shall not poop in this room. Nor shall you chew on anything. Or urinate. You shall not urinate in this room!”
He brought the puppy down and turned him around so he and Bear were eye to eye. “Do you understand me?” he asked . . . the dog.
The dog.
Still not the weirdest part.
Another Protector, wearing latex gloves, carefully pulled old-looking books out of a big wood box and placed them on the table. When one of his brothers tried to touch a book, he slapped hands or punched stomachs and told them, “Until the Crow says you can touch, you don’t touch.”
“I just want to look.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I will kill you!” the Protector bellowed.
Still not the weirdest.
The weirdest part? That was Jace.
Because Jace wasn’t trying to find a table to crawl under or a car trunk to hide in. She wasn’t actively trying to avoid all the weirdness.
And yet, Kera had seen Jace practically run from a room screaming when the Crows began to argue about some reality show they’d all been watching.
She wasn’t doing that now. Instead, while some strange dude with absolutely gigantic hands braided her hair, she was playing. . . Scrabble.
She was also winning, the Protector she’d just beaten throwing his hands up in the air while several of his brothers politely applauded and laughed.
Bear put the puppy on the floor. “Now that you know the rules, I expect you to abide by them. Understand?”
The puppy barked and Bear seemed to take that as an acknowledgment and agreement to his terms. Did the man not realize Lev was just a dog and was probably barking because . . . well . . . because he was a dog?
“Good. Now go forth and try not to annoy.”
At that point, Kera looked at Erin and she shrugged her shoulders in reply.
They turned to leave and found Danski Eriksen standing behind them. Not only had he not made a sound as he’d moved up behind them—creepy enough, thanks—but he also had a large white cat on his head.
A cat.
On his head.
He smiled at them—at least that wasn’t creepy—and said softly, “Lev will be fine.”
That was good enough for Kera. She nodded and walked around him, glancing back to see Erin move out of range of that cat’s paw as it slashed at her, claws extended as much as possible.
Snarling, Erin turned toward the cat but before she could do or say anything, Kera grabbed her elbow and yanked her away and back down the hall.
When they reached the car, they both got in. Brodie was still in the backseat, her gaze bouncing back and forth between them.
After a moment of silence, Kera asked Erin, “Starbucks?”
She nodded. “Starbucks.”
And they headed out for a coffee and a few hours of analyzing what the holy fuck they’d just seen.
Yardley King, movie star, paparazzi favorite since her accidental sex tape, and Los Angeles Crow, sat in her trailer and waited until she heard the knock.
“Come in.”
Her agent’s assistant opened the door and leaned in, smiling.
Yardley had to fight her desire to narrow her eyes in a show of obvious distrust, but she wanted to be better than that. It wasn’t as if Brianna had done anything wrong. Not really.
She’d done what anyone in Hollywood would have done after their boss had apparently thrown herself out her office window. She’d taken over.
And yet . . . Brianna’s boss wasn’t just anybody. She was Betty Lieberman. An elder Crow. A mighty seer. And a kick-ass agent.
Betty had taken Yardley under her wing as soon as Yardley had woken up in the Bird House. Betty had not only handled Yardley’s battle training, she’d managed her career. Taking her from a former teen star who, at that time, couldn’t get a job to save her life to a fifteen-million-per-film movie star in little more than three years with a whole redemption story attached.
She’d shown Yardley the ropes among the Hollywood vipers and the local Vikings. She’d taught her how to read a room at a media event and how to rip off a face with her talons while leaving her victim still breathing.
Betty had been like a mother to her. Actually, she’d been better than Yardley’s own mother, who’d been the one to pin Yardley down on her bed and shove a copious amount of drugs down her throat until she’d overdosed. But that was a long story she really didn’t want to get into.
Instead, she just wanted Betty back, but Yardley was contractually trapped here while one of her closest friends was in some kind of a weird coma.
And Yardley didn’t believe for a second that Betty had tried to kill herself. Because that woman wouldn’t give anyone in the industry the satisfaction. Not Betty.
So then, what did happen? Yardley didn’t know.
All she knew was that she was on this location shoot with this idiot director. An emotional mess of a man who had convinced the world he was an auteur.
Betty had warned her. Not by using her seer powers, either. Instead, she’d just said, “You really want to do this movie, sweetie . . . ? Because he’s an idiot.”
Dammit, Betty had been right! As always, Yardley should have listened.
“How ya doin’, hon?” Brianna asked, stepping into the trailer and closing the door behind her.
Yardley didn’t like how familiar and comfortable Brianna had become lately, either. She didn’t need the woman kissing her ass, necessarily. But Yardley would definitely prefer that Brianna not act like they’d been best friends since the beginning of time.
“The man’s a mess,” Yardley immediately stated. “I mean . . . he’s a mess, Brianna.”
“Yeah . . . I was just talking to the pro
ducer and all the double-talking . . . definitely an issue there.” She took a few steps closer and Yardley couldn’t help but notice the copious amount of jewelry on the woman. She was sure that Brianna had given herself a much bigger salary than Betty had approved, but wow . . . that was a lot of gold. And diamonds. So many diamonds. “Is he really in a tent somewhere . . . crying?”
“Yes. He cries every day. Over nothing. The slightest hiccup and the man bursts into tears. This entire movie is a fucking disaster.”
“I heard the studio is going to bring another director in. They just have to work out a deal to get rid of this one.”
“I don’t want to work with another director on this thing. I just want out.”
“But hon—”
“Get me out of this.”
“Well . . . you did sign a contract.”
Yardley stared at Brianna. The way Betty had taught her.
“Don’t speak, sweetie,” Betty had always counseled. “Just stare . . . and wait. You have to be willing to wait. It freaks people out every time.”
So Yardley waited and, after several long minutes, Brianna finally threw up her hands and said, “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you just go back to the hotel?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll call you later.”
Brianna left and Yardley’s security team—several of her fellow Crows who were paid well to protect the one movie star who probably didn’t need it—came in to help Yardley pack up. As far as she was concerned, she was out of here. If the media wanted to turn her into a diva over it . . . so what?
Thankfully, her sister-Crows knew how to get Yardley to lighten up. After only a few minutes, they had her laughing and talking about past boyfriends until sometime later, they heard a horrible scream.
Always Crows, they ran out of the trailer without thought to their own safety. Much of the film crew was running past her. Running away. Some people were screaming. Others crying. One big guy, some union driver, stopped, leaned over, and threw up.
Shocked, Yardley and the others pushed forward until the producer crashed into her, trying to push Yardley back.
“No, babe. You can’t see this.”
Babe? Did he just call her babe?
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Just go back to your trailer. I’ll be in—”
Yardley pushed the producer off her as one of her sisters walked out of the director’s tent and motioned to her. She quickly walked in, ignoring the producer’s demands for her to stop.
As soon as she stepped inside, though, she did pause.
Yeah. She paused.
Gazing down at the man she now felt a little bad for, Yardley asked her fellow Crows, “Where’s his skin?”
Jace relaxed back against her chair and pressed the tips of her fingers against her closed eyelids, taking a moment to rub them. They were dry and she wished she’d remembered to bring some eyedrops just to lubricate them.
“Tired?”
Pulling her hand away, she looked up at Ormi Bentsen, leader of the Southern California Protectors.
“Just my eyes. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s late, Jacinda. You should go home.”
“But I just found this book on runes and—”
“It’ll be here tomorrow.”
Jace took a moment to study Ormi. His wings were out. She looked over her shoulder at the floor-to-ceiling windows and realized it was dark.
“Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize to me about working too hard. I love hard workers.”
“It’s just been pretty fascinating. I mean, some of these books are completely useless to you guys. But others, I think, will be quite an addition to your collections.”
“That’s what I needed to know. Now . . . I’m assuming you’ll be staying with us through the full translation process.”
“Uh . . .” Jace rubbed her nose. “I think I was just supposed to translate titles and authors and get the general gist of each book. Although I’ve been told there’s some kind of list for other translation services.”
“Those will wait until you’re done with this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. You fit in perfectly here.”
Jace had never heard that before. “I do?”
“You’re quiet. You do your work. But when you do have something to say, it’s concise, useful, and doesn’t bore anyone with unnecessary, vapid content. For a Protector that’s pretty much the ‘whole package,’ as they say.”
“I really like coming here,” she admitted. “But some of this translation may take time. Some of it is in seriously ancient Russian. Plus, there’s some Mongolian in there and some of the books are just written in runes. Which . . . for me . . . would actually be an amazing challenge. But I don’t want to waste your time. I’m sure a Holde’s Maid could translate the runes much quicker than I can—”
“Perhaps,” Ormi cut in. “But they will annoy me.”
Jace frowned. “Isn’t your wife a Holde’s Maid?”
“And she annoys me. Love her to death,” he quickly added, “but to work with her? Rather get my toes eaten off by rats. That’s how annoying she is. Demanding. Demeaning. Rude. Pushy. It’s true, I find her very attractive and our sexual life is quite fulfilling—”
“Oh.”
“—but when it comes to my work here and my brother Protectors. . . I must think of their welfare. And mine. My wife has no patience with them.”
“What makes you think I have patience?”
“You beat Kilmar at Scrabble, but not once did you try to remove the eyes from his head. My wife can’t say that.”
“I don’t know why he got so bitchy, though. He said Latin words were included.”
“He didn’t know anyone knew Latin as well as him.”
“Well, he was wrong.”
Ormi laughed and gently closed the cover on the laptop they’d loaned her. “Go home, Crow. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jace stood, taking a moment to stretch her muscles.
“Are you leaving?”
Jace smiled as Bear walked toward her, Lev asleep in his arms.
“Thank you so much,” she said with real sincerity.
Bear grunted and handed Lev over.
“I don’t know what happened to Kera. She said she’d be here to pick him up.”
“She was,” Eriksen said, walking into the library with a set of keys in his hand. “Her and Erin Amsel.”
“Really? Why didn’t anyone say anything?”
“Bear had Lev handled. Didn’t you, Bear?”
Another grunt.
Bear started to walk away, but stopped and leaned in to Jace. His face looked really angry, but she didn’t shrink from it. She had a feeling that would just . . . hurt his feelings.
Which was kind of a strange reaction to a man who seemed moments from threatening her life.
“Tomorrow,” he practically snarled. “You can bring him back. He was very good. He only pooped and peed outside.”
“Uh . . . okay.”
“He poops a lot, you know,” he added.
“Did you feed him a lot?”
“He appeared hungry to me.”
“He’s a dog. Dogs will always appear hungry, even if they’ve just had an entire slab of cow. That’s just their way. They don’t have an ‘off’ button when it comes to eating. So it’s up to us to monitor what they eat and adjust accordingly.”
Bear straightened up, gazed down at Jace before replying, “Excellent point. Tonight I’ll read books on dogs. By tomorrow. . . I’ll know more.”
“I don’t have to bring—”
“You can bring him. Good night.”
“’Night, Bear.”
The large man lumbered out and Ormi grinned at her. “See? My wife would have hexed him by now and all his skin would have fallen off long before that conversation ended.” He patted Jace’s shoulder. “You’re perfect.”
> Ormi walked away without another word, and she turned to Eriksen. He shrugged at her. “Told you. This job is for you.”
“He wants me to do all the translations. Is that because of you?”
“I didn’t say a word. But the list on the refrigerator is filling up. You are going to be booked for quite a while. Besides, even if I had said something, Ormi still does what Ormi wants to do. So you must have impressed him. All on your own.” He held up the keys. “Lift?”
“Oh, I can fly—”
“With the dog? He’ll be shitting in panic all the way home.” Dammit, the man was right. But another long, painful, chitchat-filled drive back to the Bird House? Oy.
Jace forced a smile. “Okay.”
Eriksen stared at her a moment before laughing and walking off. She had no idea what that meant, but she girded her loins for the nightmare to come.
Ski pulled up to the front of the Bird House and shut off the engine, the doors automatically unlocking.
“See ya tomorrow.”
Jace glanced at him. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Did I do something wrong? With the work, I mean.”
“Are you kidding? You even got Ormi’s seal of approval. His own wife can’t get that. Why?”
“Well . . . you didn’t say anything.”
“Did you want me to say anything?” When she struggled to answer, he said, “Let me put it this way. Did you want me to talk to you about general, nonsensical things? Or keep quiet until I have something interesting to enthrall you with?”
“You make me sound horrible.”
“No, no. That’s not what I meant. You just don’t like bullshit. But as second in command of the Protectors, I spend a lot of time bullshitting. I work with the other Clans. Occasionally I have to work with the gods because Tyr really has no patience for them anymore. And I am good at bullshitting. But I only do it when I need to. I am more than happy to sit and be quiet until I have something of actual interest to say. And I just assumed that’s what you’d prefer.”
She smiled in relief. “Actually, I would.”
“Then there you go. So, see you tomorrow?”
The Undoing Page 11