by E. A. Copen
“Yes, sir.” Cynthia shifted the phone to speak to me. “Marcus has had to step out on business. I’ve arranged a ride home for you,” Cynthia reported and then turned back to her phone call.
“What about the promise he made me? He promised he’d tell me what he knew about the Kings.”
Cynthia paused and glared down at me. I could tell she was listening to whatever Marcus had to say for himself. “He says he told you he’d tell you, not when he’d tell you.”
“You tell him he’s a slimy son of a bitch.”
She hung up and dropped the phone into her pocket without relaying my message. It didn’t matter. I knew he’d heard me as I’d said it plenty loud enough for him to hear.
I extended a stiff arm toward her. “I need a hand.”
Cynthia helped me up and I limped out to the car. It wasn’t as nice as the one Marcus had driven earlier, but I was glad I didn’t have to step up into it. The door closed, and I leaned my head back in thought. Even though I was now one hundred percent sure a ghost was behind Mia’s strange sickness, I was still missing answers. For example, I had never seen a ghost become twisted and deformed on the inside like this one had. How had she infected Mia and why? Why hadn’t she infected me, too?
And what was going on with my magick?
I cracked open an eye and looked down at my hand as I flexed my fingers. Twice now in the last day I’d used magick without even thinking about it. Without effort. Maybe the magick was a reflex. There were explanations, but it still made me uneasy. I couldn’t just let spells fly like that. I needed better control.
There was no way I was doing any more research that night. My body was too badly beaten and the lack of decent sleep was catching up to me. Thank God for Saturdays. Too bad it was only Wednesday night.
~
The car dropped me off at Patsy’s to collect my Firebird. It took three tries to coax my old car to life and longer than usual to make it back to Sal’s. I almost stopped at my house before I remembered the condition it was in. Sal said Valentino, Shauna, Daphne, and Ed were supposed to come by and work on it, but I didn’t think they were done. A big green rental dumpster still sat in my driveway and all the lights were off. If they were done, Hunter would have gone home. Well, maybe. Maybe he was excited to stay with Sal. He always did like sleeping over there.
Sal’s bike wasn’t in the driveway when I parked and neither was Chanter’s truck. I got out and noticed there was an unusual pool of light coming from the back. There was a dusk to dawn floodlight back there, but this light looked too low to the ground for that. As I came around the side of the trailer, there was a loud clang followed by a string of cursing in English, Spanish, and whatever Native American language Sal and Chanter spoke all the time.
I peeked around back to find Sal sitting beside his motorcycle, rummaging through a toolbox. He had one of those orange cords with the lightbulb at the end wrapped around the front of the bike so he could see the ground. The cord ran up into the kitchen through the window. He didn’t look up at my approach, but that was probably because he’d borrowed Hunter’s iPod and earbuds. I could hear the angry scream of a guitar and the pounding of drums from several feet away and wondered how his sensitive ears could stand the volume up that loud.
After I stepped into his field of vision, he popped one of the earbuds out and raised his eyes to regard me. I sucked in a breath through my teeth. Sal’s eyes were normally a light shade of honey brown. When he was angry, I’d seen them flash gold. But I’d never seen them tinge with red like that. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew better than to stare an angry werewolf in the eye, and he sure seemed angry. I dropped my eyes to the ground. Maybe it wasn’t enough. He shot up so that he was standing over me, ripped the other earbud out of his ears and dropped the iPod into his toolbox.
“Where the hell have you been?”
His tone made me want to shrink but I didn’t. “I can come and go whenever I want. You don’t own me, Sal.”
He ignored my protest. “And why are you dressed like that?” I heard him draw in a deep breath through his nose. A low growl rumbled from his chest. I probably reeked of vampires. Dammit. I should have thought of that, but I didn’t expect it to set him off.
He pitched the wrench he had in his hand off into the desert and then ripped the light off his bike. He cast it aside hard enough that the bulb shattered. Whatever he’d been fixing on his bike must not have been anything too serious, because he climbed on it and started it right up.
What if he was going to start something with Marcus?
I reached out and put a hand on the front of his bike. “Sal, you need to calm down.”
“Get out of the way,” he snapped at me and revved up the engine.
I didn’t think he would hit me, but I wasn’t willing to risk it. I stepped aside and he zoomed away on his bike, leaving me choking on dust and exhaust. After the fight with the ghost, my lungs were already strained, and coughing brought me to my knees. For just a moment, I understood how Chanter felt as I fought for breath.
I should have been livid. All the anger, the strain of dealing with Marcus, and the pain in my chest had worn me out. My muscles ached and my head throbbed from the coughing fit. As much as I wanted to go after him, I was just too tired and sore, so I dragged myself up the stairs and inside.
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing I did inside was unplug the cord to the light Sal had been using. I’d go out and pick up the glass tomorrow morning if I had time. Or maybe I’d leave that for Sal since it was his mess. Having not eaten with Marcus, I was starving, but I wanted to get out of the dress first. I hadn’t rescued any of my clothes from the house yet, and it didn’t look like they had either. I went digging through Sal’s dryer and found a pair of sweats with a drawstring I could pull tight and a tank top to throw on.
After I’d showered and dressed, I walked out of the bathroom to find Hunter staring absently into the fridge. “Hey, kid,” I said and ruffled his hair. “What’s for dinner?”
I leaned in behind him to stare into the fridge. Food options were limited to an unidentified stew of indeterminate age and a carton of eggs. I frowned. Sal normally kept his kitchen more stocked. Not eating could account for part of his bad mood. Werewolves needed a lot of calories to keep going.
“How about I order us a pizza?” I offered. “We could play some cards or a board game or something?”
“It’s a school night,” Hunter said, his voice flat. He turned to look out the front window toward our house. “I heard you two fighting outside.”
I winced. It probably wasn’t easy on Hunter with things tense between Sal and I.
“Everything’s going to be just fine,” I promised him. “Sal just needs some time to himself. There’s a lot going on.” I gave my son a gentle shove away from the fridge and felt his body stiffen under my hand. “Why don’t you go pick us out a movie to watch while I call in the pizza order?”
Hunter picked out something zombie related, and we watched it together after the pizza showed up. Well, mostly he watched it. Dealing with undead things in real life meant I didn’t have much of a taste for fictional monsters. Besides, everything Hollywood did with zombies was totally wrong. This studio needed to fire their fact checker since, the last time I checked, covering yourself in guts didn’t do anything to hide you from zombies. It just made you smell bad.
Instead, I settled in to browse the news on the internet, occasionally glancing up to watch the way the blue light of the television lit up Hunter’s face. I’d almost fallen asleep when he turned to me and said, “I’m worried about Sal.”
I looked up from my phone. “What?”
“Something’s wrong with him.”
“Chanter’s health problems are stressing him out,” I said. It was only a half truth, but I hoped it would be enough to calm Hunter’s worry for now. I agreed, though. Something was off with him and had been since the night before, but I couldn’t put my finger on what i
t was either.
Hunter let out a sigh and turned back to the screen. A bunch of zombies slowly lumbered down an abandoned city street after a screaming lady. Her screams only managed to draw more of them out after her. After a moment of staring at it, he reached out, grabbed the remote and turned off the film.
He yawned and stretched. “I’m tired,” he said, standing. “Man, I almost wish we didn’t have to go back home once things are fixed up. When Sal’s not being moody, this place isn’t so bad, you know?”
I smiled and put down my phone. “Night, Hunter.”
As he shambled down the hall for bed, I grabbed the uneaten pizza, and took it to the fridge, exchanging it for a beer before kicking it closed. As tired as I was, I wasn’t relaxed enough to pass out, so I sorted through Sal’s DVDs, looking for something else to watch.
I had it down to either The Untouchables or Chinatown when the landline phone rang. The digital clock on the wall ticked over to eleven thirty-six, too late for anyone but the pack or one of the Kings to be calling Sal. If it was Istaqua, I didn’t want to talk to him. On the off chance that it might be Chanter, I decided to answer the phone.
“Sal’s phone. Judah speaking. Who’s this?”
“Ah, I’m glad it’s you and not your boy, Ms. BSI.”
It was Bran, and he sounded both winded and irritated. I almost hung up until I thought about what he’d said. Bran had called knowing Sal wouldn’t pick up. “What’s the matter, Bran?” There was a loud sound in the background. I thought it sounded like glass breaking. Something scuffed against the speaker of the phone, and Bran’s muffled voice called out something in Japanese. At least, I think it was Japanese.
“Everything okay there, Bran?”
He returned to the phone with a grunt. “You had better come down here and get your boyfriend.”
I pushed away from the counter I was leaning on. “Is he okay? What happened?”
Bran sighed. “Nothing he won’t heal.” There was a slight pause before he added, “I may have broken his nose. You’d better come quick. He’ll regain the ability to speak soon, and next time it might not be me he picks a fight with. It will be someone who likes him a little less, I think.”
“I’m on my way,” I promised, and then hung up.
After I scrawled a quick note for Hunter in case he woke up, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. The night air held a standard November chill, and I immediately regretted the tank top, at least without a jacket to accompany it. I had to hurry, though, so I didn’t go back for one. Bran and Sal had seemed pretty close before, always laughing and joking with each other. If they’d gotten into a fight, Sal must have gone looking for it. With the mood he’d been in, I wasn’t surprised, but I was pissed.
Back when Alex and I were married, I used to get calls like that all the time. One of his buddies would call me to come and pick him up because he’d gotten piss drunk and picked a fight with someone twice his size. I swore up and down he did it just to irritate me. Now that I knew he’d been a werewolf, there was a part of me that wondered if it wasn’t just his way of letting the wolf out. I’d been pissed at him every time, too. Every time I picked him up, I gave him an earful, and let him sleep it off on the sofa. I’d swear up and down that was the last time, but it never was. God, how had I been such a pushover before? It made me a little ashamed of myself. I couldn’t let Sal get away with that. I wouldn’t repeat the same mistake twice.
The roadhouse parking lot didn’t have any lights, but I could see the neon from a long way off. It was the only building out there in the middle of nowhere, making it even easier to find. The minute I pulled into the parking lot, the front door opened, and Bran stepped out. He was wearing his Kings’ vest, of course, and a white cotton shirt underneath that sported a few fresh bloodstains. He stopped in front of my car and waited for me to get out.
“What happened?” I demanded as soon as I climbed out.
Bran spread his hands wide and shrugged. “He gets this way sometimes. I haven’t seen him do that shit in a while. Oh, excuse the language.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all right. He left pissed off. What’s gotten into him?”
Bran lowered his head and gave me a sheepish grin. “He was not happy that I called you. Less so that I broke his nose. It’s one thing for him to come in and shout at me, but he was stupid enough to start his act with Istaqua. He is lucky I shut him down before Istaqua stepped in.” His expression sobered. “He came here looking for a fight, Judah, and his mood is still foul. I would have normally called Chanter but...” He trailed off. “Well, you’re aware of Chanter’s condition.”
I crossed my arms. “Where is he?”
Bran gestured to the roadhouse, and I followed him inside.
The atmosphere was completely different the second time. It was just the Kings there that night. Some I knew. Others, I didn’t. Chanter wasn’t there. Diabla wasn’t manning the bar either. She was busy trying to convince Sal to keep a bag of ice balanced on his face while he leaned back against the bar.
Istaqua sat at a table in the center of the bar with three women surrounding him, a pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray in front of him, and several empty bottles. He and Flash were engaged in a card game that abruptly ended when I walked in. Istaqua lowered his cards to the table and glared at me. I returned the stare with as much malice as I could manage.
“It’ll fucking heal,” Sal insisted to Diabla as she scolded him. “And when I can see straight, I’ll give you one to match, Bran.”
“You won’t,” Bran said in a casual tone, “because you are going home.”
Sal lifted the ice off his face and sat up. There was a cut healing over the bridge of his nose, and the skin under each eye was puffy and red. In a short while, that red would turn black. Yep. Definitely broken.
If he’d been Alex, I would have scolded him in front of everyone. I didn’t want Alex out drinking all the time. In my stupidity, I thought embarrassing him in front of his drinking buddies would discourage him. Sal was going to have to show his face back at the roadhouse, and he wasn’t going to give up drinking, though I wished he’d curb it a little. If this had been just a drunken brawl, I would have made more of a scene, but it looked like he’d already done that himself. Besides, I think my sullen silence said enough. I planted my feet, folded my arms, and cocked my head to the side, waiting.
Sal looked away and mumbled something I didn’t catch.
Diabla reached out and smacked the back of his head. “I hear that word in my bar again, young man, and I’ll give you a broken nose.” She pointed to me. “Go with your woman and sleep off your drink, you surly werewolf.”
He growled at her but stood and swayed on his feet. It took a lot of alcohol for a werewolf Sal’s size to get that trashed.
“BSI to the rescue again,” Istaqua mumbled.
Sal turned toward him, a fist balled. He might have engaged Istaqua if Bran hadn’t put a hand on Sal’s shoulder as he passed. “Let me walk you out, brother.”
Sal didn’t protest, but the look he gave Istaqua would have made most people drop their gaze. Instead, Istaqua’s glare followed him all the way out.
The three of us stepped back out into the cold. When the door closed, Bran let go of Sal and turned to me. “Take care of him, Judah.” He gave a slight bow. He held a bottle of water out to me that I took. Then, he turned and eyed Sal before going back inside.
Sal stared at the ground between us.
I arched an eyebrow. “Bran, huh? You’d think if you were going to come out here and pick a fight, it’d be with someone you didn’t like.” He didn’t answer me. I uncrossed my arms and sighed. “Sal, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
He turned his back to me and reached down to pull his shirt over his head. The swollen nose and pain in his face made it awkward. He hissed in pain. He jerked it off anyway.
“Oh no you don’t.” I reached out to grab his arm. “You’re not going to sh
ift to avoid talking to me, not after the day I’ve had.”
Sal spun on me with a growl. An icy panic settled in my stomach as he grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me up against the driver’s side door of my car, that same red-gold hue in his eyes. I’ve made a huge mistake, I thought. I should’ve known better than to touch him when he was so pissed off. His control over the wolf had to be close to giving way. I should have just let him shift and walk away. Stupid, Judah. Stupid. If he was willing to take on Bran, he’ll...
He’ll what? Attack me? If Bran thought that was a possibility, he wouldn’t have left us alone out in the parking lot. Or maybe I’d just misjudged Bran.
I flattened myself against the car as far as I could. I should have turned my head, offered him my throat in a gesture of submission. That’s what I’d been taught to do in the academy if an aggressive werewolf cornered me and I was unarmed, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Something about his eyes captured my attention and wouldn’t let go. Even if I had wanted to turn, to run, to fight, I couldn’t, not with him looking at me like that. His pupils shrank, letting the color fill his eyes even more and his breath came out heavy from his broken nose. His lip twitched once, and then he showed me his teeth. “Mine,” he growled in a low, husky voice.
Then, he pressed his body against mine and pulled my head up into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
For a moment, the panic increased, growing into a ball around my thumping heart. It subsided when I realized I’d grossly misinterpreted everything. He hadn’t turned on me to attack me. The sudden fit at his house when I turned up dressed in borrowed clothes and smelling of Marcus and vampire wasn’t about the fight we had earlier. He thought I’d given myself over to Marcus, or at least that I’d considered it.
Again, I had been reduced to a thing to be owned and protected. That thought made me turn away. “No,” I said as he dropped his lips to nip at my neck. “I’m not yours. I’m not anybody’s. That’s the whole point.” I pushed him away, despite his growl of protest. “And you smell like the bottom of a cheap bottle of whiskey. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sal. First, the jealous fit, and now I have to come out here and get you—”