by J. P. Rice
As the cheering mass of citizens dispersed, Tyr sauntered over to me. He dipped his head and said, “Gale. How are you, my dear?” He held out an upturned palm.
I set my hand in his. He raised and kissed the back of my hand, sending a little rush through me that only Tyr could do. Normally, I thought kissing a woman’s hand was creepy and outdated, but everything was different with this man.
He leaned in and hugged me, gently caressing the back of my neck. Under his touch, my voice squeaked, “I’m still alive. Much to the chagrin of many people.”
We broke the embrace, and I took a step back. Tyr said, “I can relate to that. What brings you back home?”
Home? I’d never considered Pittsburgh my home. I’d never considered anywhere home. I was born in Clara Spiritus, the home of the Celtic Gods, raised in an otherworld by elves, and had lived in a few different locations after that. But I’d always felt a kinship with Pittsburgh. It provided a feeling of home, more so than all the others combined.
We both had to forge our own reputations with what we were given. Everyone knew Pittsburgh as a hardworking, blue-collar city and I likened myself to that. I had to earn everything in life, even my magic. We’d both made mistakes along the way. I could remember when the streets were filled with thick black smoke.
I’d made too many mistakes to list, but we were rehabilitating our images. Pittsburgh was a leader in the field of medicine. The Hillman Cancer Center was the premiere treatment facility in the world. Pittsburgh had gone from killing people with smoke from the steel mills to curing people with rare diseases from around the world.
I had gone from someone who would kill on a whim just to get a laugh out of the Morrigan to prospective peacemaker. So maybe this was home.
Someone bumped into me from behind, pushing me closer to Tyr. I told him, “I came to see my father. And I still haven’t been to see him. What have you been up to? Still hunting?”
“Tell you what. Why don’t we go sit down somewhere where we can talk without a crowd?” He gestured around at the mass of people surrounding us.
Caught up in the moment, I hadn’t realized we had an audience. Tyr had that effect on me. He made me feel like I was the only person around when we were together. He walked over and patted his animal on the back, then he sent his ride away. Pegasus parking was a real bitch in the city.
The winged animal crept higher in the sky, navigating between the buildings and rising high in the cerulean sky until it took on the nebulous look of a distant cloud. I forgot all about my sandwich, tried to hide my perma-smile and walked alongside Tyr.
****
We went to Kaya, a Caribbean joint down the street and got a table near the back. The quaint, one-room restaurant with a bar didn’t provide much seclusion, but it was better than standing on the sidewalk. I sat across from Tyr and tapped my right foot uncontrollably under the table. I played with the napkin on my lap as I stared into his eyes.
Tyr was still in his flexible battle gear, and I couldn’t believe that the restaurant workers had barely batted an eye at his medieval attire, when we had walked in.
On the way over, Tyr had informed me that after the dragons had crashed the city, it had forced the citizens to accept the supernatural. On second thought, the restaurant probably felt safer with someone dressed like Tyr around in case something happened.
I balled up the napkin and clenched my hand. Two hundred years of sexual frustration could do that to a girl. I released my killer grip from the linen cloth and wiped my damp palm on my jeans. I’d been tempted, only by Tyr, but I’d stayed true to my husband and had never cheated on him. My disturbing experiences in the Red Cavern and Zeus’s subterfuge didn’t count.
Tyr was big and strong, but not to the point of ridiculousness like Zeus. His appearance reminded me of the beaches of Hilton Head. He had sandy blond hair, a firm jaw and a strong dimpled chin. I could stare at the waves of his ocean blue eyes all day. His perfect tan in the dead of winter spoke to a life of leisure or permanent vacation. Except for a closely shaven beard and mustache, he looked almost the exact same as the last time I’d seen him.
It was a proper man’s beard too, not the uneven blond peach fuzz pasted on that Mike Mendelino’s smirking face.
What I liked best about Tyr were the battle scars on his arms. I knew that sounded weird, but he had a lot of crisscrossed scars that mirrored mine and made me feel like it was some sort of sign. A kindred spirit connection.
He also had the stitch marks around his right wrist where they had attached his new hand. After Fenrir had chomped off his hand, Tyr remained without it for hundreds of years until the Norse doctors had found a perfect match. My father had also lost his arm in battle and had it reattached many years later, which only added another layer to our cosmic connection.
Tyr sipped his water and set the glass down as he spoke, “Before you ask, I’ll strike preemptively. I haven’t heard any news about Darabond. I know that’s your main concern. Your lips haven’t spoken of him, but your eyes certainly have.”
That was one of the key reasons I liked Tyr. He’d always been sensitive with my emotions and didn’t scoff at me for still chasing after my husband. He’d actually offered to help me track him down a few times.
“I appreciate that. So what are you now, like some benevolent superhero who swoops in to save choking victims?” I asked, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans under the table.
He flashed his winning smile, his ivory teeth glowing in the dim atmosphere. “I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’m trying to help people now. I was spending too much time with Loki. Growing cynical of the world. Far too callous. I want to help people now.”
Were we meant to be together? Both of us were trying to improve our lives and get out of the hunt. “I feel the same way. I’ve been so blinded, only worrying about me or my husband, that I forgot about everything else. Great minds think alike, it should seem.”
“To be honest, I would think you’re in the Burgh because of all the whispers about Lugh’s Spear.” He raised his eyebrows.
I drank some water and moistened my parched throat. “Then you would be wrong. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in what happened to it. I just won’t be the one going after it.” I didn’t want to reveal the rumors about Loki and the Spear.
Even if Tyr didn’t spend a lot of time with Loki anymore, they used to be good friends and the relationship was his only connection to his former pantheon. I didn’t need Tyr getting pissed off at Loki for not telling him about it, and trying to start a war like Jonathan. Plus, I hadn’t verified the Loki clue yet.
“What do you know about it?” I asked.
Tyr broke his molasses roll in half and grabbed the butter plate. “Not much. I know that I’ve heard this kind of talk hundreds of times before. Honestly, I feel that the Spear is still at the bottom of the Atlantic. And all these rumors are just to get people like you and me fired up.”
He was right. We’d been through this song and dance before, jumped through the same hoops and eventually come up empty. The process was tiresome. After I had thrown it in the sea, the first whispers started back up in the late 50s, and as the years went on, they only intensified. It was always a friend of a friend of a guy we used to know saw the Spear. Or something in a similar vein. Never anything concrete.
Poseidon was the only one who could have possibly found it. With the vastness of the ocean, even that was a longshot possibility.
“I agree. I’m actually focusing on bringing peace to the brewing wolf-vampire war. Have you heard anything about that?” I caught myself getting lost in his eyes and turned to the side, pretending to watch the basketball game on the TV for a second.
Tyr chewed his roll, swallowed and said, “Oh yeah. I heard that vampire friend of yours, Jonathan is starting all kinds of shit.”
I watched as he dabbed his lips with the white napkin. “What are you talking about? He said the wolves jumped one of his guys in a safe zone.” I grabbed a p
lantain chip dusted with powdered sugar out of the basket.
Tyr laughed and squeezed his lemon wedge garnish into his water. “Oh, June. Don’t believe everything you hear out of someone’s mouth. He basically executed the ‘thropes working security at some lawyer’s house. Mathias something or other. Then he went after the Larimores for some strange reason. The guy started a war with the most powerful group of shifters and his own vampires across the state. He’s toxic. I’d stay the hell away from him if I were you.”
This certainly put me in an awkward spot. I wasn’t sure whom to believe. “I’m going to talk to Octavius on his behalf. It’s already set up. Is there anything I should know about Octavius?”
Tyr answered immediately, “Yeah, he’s a downright lunatic anymore.”
“Whoa, quite the reaction.” I hadn’t believed Jonathan because of his grudge with Ocatavius, but apparently I had to be careful around the alpha wolf.
He shrugged, peered around the room and set down his buttered roll. He rested his elbows on the table, set his chin on his fists and leaned forward. In a low, husky tone, he said, “You know how some of the wolves need medication so they don’t go crazy on society. Well, he’s not taking his pills and he’s hyper aggressive, ready to start a fight at the drop of a hat. I hate to say it, but this was bound to erupt. Jonathan was the sensible one for the past decade, but if neither is willing to back down, what are you supposed to do?”
I backed up from the table as I caught myself being drawn to Tyr’s words. “First, I just want to hear both sides. Considering Jonathan wants Octavius’ head as retribution for what he thinks was an assassination of one of his men, my confidence level isn’t very high on this. This isn’t my specialty. I’m better at demolition, not clean up.”
Tyr laughed. “Aren’t we all. I still can’t get over how amazing you look. How amazing we look together.” He threw just enough flattery around to remind me that I was still desirable. Even though I was still committed to my husband, it felt good to be wanted by a sexy God.
He said, “Tell you what. When are you going to see Octavius? I’ll meet you there to make sure he doesn’t try anything shady. And if you get there first, tread lightly about being there on behalf of Jonathan. That will make him highly suspicious.”
How gentlemanly. It appeared Tyr had turned over a new leaf. I said, “I’m going to the house at five o’clock today. Do you really want to meet me there?”
He nodded confidently, his firm chin rocking up and down. “Sure. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Chapter 7
I navigated up the winding driveway to the Wolf House, my red Jeep Wrangler weaving through a maze of snow-dusted pine trees. I hooked a sharp right and the big log cabin appeared in front of me. The cabin rivaled Jonathan’s mansion in size but carried a rustic look. Tucked away in a little nook of Fox Chapel, the cabin housed almost all of Octavius’ pack. I parked off to the side of the house and got out. The stink of wet dog hung heavy in the thin winter air as I strolled toward the door.
The alpha named Octavius was the Seventh Son of Lycaon, which meant he was one of the most powerful wolves in the world. Everyone in the Pittsburgh Wolf Pack came from Octavius of the Tainted Blood. I didn’t know his exact age. After a long period of bachelorhood, he had started a family one hundred and forty years ago. He had stolen his wife from a pack in France because he wanted his family to be pure werewolves, not a watered-down hybrid.
The family had increased in size over the years and now had over a hundred members. They had bred incestuously and run into birth complications that had set them back, but they were a powerful force in Pittsburgh.
Rumors had swirled for years that Octavius had thrown the babies with birth defects out to the wild. Well, the wild lost. And apparently the mutant wolves had formed a family of their own. They were like Bigfoot, though. Nobody had a clear picture or video, but plenty of people had reported werewolf sightings in the woods around Pittsburgh.
Werewolves had a heightened sense of smell and night vision, faster speed, more strength and longer stamina. Basically, supercharged humans with an unquenchable thirst for killing. Once they achieved full body maturity, they remained ageless from the constant regeneration of their physical tissues.
They were susceptible to enchanted weapons and some magic spells, especially those involving wolfsbane. Destruction of the heart or brain was the only way to kill them without magic, but that didn’t always work. Silver bullets and daggers were the best bet. However, an associate had told me that an assassin had shot Octavius in the heart with a silver bullet. Not sure whether I believed it or not.
Octavius’ family ran an investment firm for supernaturals, which kept them rolling in the cash. As I walked up the stone steps, I noticed new additions on the cabin and several out-buildings I hadn’t seen before.
A wolf in human form stood at attention near the arched front door. He was wearing a gray suit with a black tie and eyeballing me suspiciously as I approached. “Do you have an appointment, ma’am?” he asked, shuffling a few papers in his hands.
I didn’t recognize the younger-looking man with a pencil mustache and a stenciled beard. He didn’t have the classic werewolf in human form look. And when I zeroed in on him, I noticed he had blue eyes. I’d only seen wolves with brown eyes before. “I’m here to see Octavius.”
“I did not ask who you were here to see. I asked if you had an appointment.” He spoke properly, unlike most of the rugged wolves I’d dealt with before.
And he was a smartass. Two could play that game. I climbed up two more steps and looked him in the eyes. “And I told you I’m here to see Octavius. You want me to come back and we can try this again. I don’t need an appointment. Now hustle your ass inside and tell Octavius that Gale is here to see him.”
“I don’t like your attitude, ma’am. I am thinking maybe you should leave,” he said, deepening his voice.
If I showed any sign of weakness with a wolf, he or she would exploit it to no end. I knew I sounded like a pompous asshole, but that was how you had to deal with lycanthropes. I gestured with my thumb toward the enormous door behind him. “Just go ask him. Stop wasting my time, you blue-eyed freak.”
He clenched his fist, and I readied to dodge his punch. I was about to whoop this wolf’s ass right outside his own damn house. The guard drew his arm back, and the corners of my mouth curled up.
The giant front door flung open and startled both of us. A lumberjack-sized wolf wearing a white suit and black bow tie a la James Bond emerged through the jamb. Then an eye-watering wave of his cologne and body odor hit me. He had the classic, burly, hirsute appearance you would expect from a werewolf with chest hair poking through his dress shirt.
In human form, his shaggy beard rose high up his cheeks and stopped just below the puffy bags under his eyes. The wild brown mop on top of his head looked like he had just rolled out of bed, applied an overwhelming amount of cologne and thrown on the perfectly pressed suit. His dark eyes lit up and he smiled at me as he ran a black comb through his greasy hair.
“Hello, Caesar. Been a while,” I said. Caesar was Octavius’ firstborn son and right-hand man.
I patted his biceps because I didn’t hug wolves either. Nice and firm. He stated, “I was about to say the same. Several decades have fallen off the calendar since I’ve seen you. Glad you’re not dead. What brings you here?”
“I came to talk to Octavius, but this derelict won’t let me in,” I said, pointing my finger an inch from the young guard’s face.
Caesar tucked the comb in his chest pocket. He came down another step and stood in between the guard and me. He awkwardly put his hand on my cheek and turned my face toward the bouncer. “You see this face? If she ever shows up at the door, you let her right in.”
The guard retorted in a snotty tone, “But Augustus told me...”
Caesar cut him off, “No. Stop right there, Justinian. Mind your elder. No excuses. She’s an old friend. She ge
ts right in. You’d be wise to stop with all the backtalk too. Don’t forget how lucky you are.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard pouted and turned away, acting busy with his papers.
Caesar said, “That’s right. I’ll take her to see Octavius.”
I passed the guard and said, “So how’d that work out for you, tough guy?” Unsurprisingly, he stewed silently and tore a piece of paper in half.
Caesar and I went inside and exchanged numbers, which was fine with me. I preferred to deal with him rather than Octavius.
As we walked down the rustic hardwood hallway, Caesar turned to me and said, “Be gentle around Octavius.” He stopped me, looked around and made sure we were alone. He whispered, “We all think he’s going mad. He can go off over nothing at all.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please. I beg you. Don’t anger him.”
I wasn’t trying to anger Octavius, but I also wouldn’t put on kid gloves for him. He was the alpha, for fook sake.
Caesar warned, “He just sits in a room all day, taking meetings and growing irritated as the hours pass.”
We approached a door on the right side and Caesar pounded on it with his giant fist. “Octavius. We have a special visitor here to see you.”
The door creaked as Caesar pushed it open, revealing a dark and musty room. Caesar reached inside, and I heard a loud click. A dull yellow flash of electricity sparked in a wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It barely illuminated the room enough to see the alpha of the pack, sitting on a leather couch that had shredded claw tracks in several places.
In the middle of the room, under the chandelier, was an old high school desk with the seat attached to the tabletop. Not exactly the high-profile meeting room you would expect from the outside of the house. I was hip to Octavius’ negotiating tricks. He tried to make his guests uncomfortable, thus giving him the upper hand. He even had the interrogation light right above the desk. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t spook too easy.