Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V

by Buffi BeCraft

  “What of your topside contacts? Surely you’ve kept up with the changing times, Calimn.”

  The fairy’s eyes flared in indignation that he barely swallowed. Bradley could smell the simmering frustration beneath the fairy’s obeisance. How he kept his head bowed only far enough, out of deference for what Morgan could give him. His nails scratched against the tiles hard, sending a shiver up Calimn and his cronies’ spines. The fairy dog yipped, thinking itself fearsome.

  Morgan reached out to tap Bradley on the head. The fairy dog ducked, thinking the admonishment was for it. “Mind the floor. The artists crafted it out of deference to a friendship long dead.” He turned his attention back to his ‘guests’. “Why should I help you and yours, Calimn of Airdra, when your people are too lazy to help themselves?”

  “The times change fast, lord. How are we expected to keep slaves and villages these days? The humans have become jaded. They do not revere us any longer. When we come topside, many times we find the way blocked by foul fields of tar and rock poured over grids of iron. Or buildings with foundations of iron.”

  “I am tired of this conversation,” Morgan stood, walking away from the group to pick up a glass of fragrant wine that appeared on a table. “Melina!” The fairy dog watched Morgan but settled closer to Bradley, as if trying to slip under him. The dry wipe of its leaf tongue swiped against Bradley’s leg.

  Bradley growled keeping himself between them as the outsiders tried to close the distance. “Lord Morighan. Your mercy is legendary.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Pretty, elfin Melina posed in a barely there robe of dusky rose. Her long midnight and silver hair flowed over her shoulders to sweep the floor. Her overlarge almond eyes and tiny frame drew the others appreciation. Her gaze touched on Bradley before she turned her delicate nose up. “What does my lord desire?”

  “See to Airdra’s representatives. They have sanctuary for twenty-four hours.” He turned his back, tipping the elaborate chalice. The interview was obviously over and Melina expertly herded them toward the exit. When they were alone, Morgan set the cup down in mid-air where it hung as if on an invisible shelf. The cup disappeared as the fairy lord changed his hair to shoulder length and his clothes to a less showy tunic, jeans, and boots. He glanced over Bradley’s silent glowering visage, his injured body, and let out a sigh.

  “You said she was locked away,” he’d wanted the words to be angry. Instead they came out confused. Picking up on his mood, the little fairy dog whimpered until Bradley picked it up, cradling the creature against his chest.

  Morgan shook his head. “No, I never told you that. I took your willing service, dampening the unwilling hold she had over you. I’d hoped you would have more time to heal.” Suddenly, the fairy lord looked tired. He walked with slow steps to the ever-changing tapestry that hung on one wall.

  Bradley followed, scratching the fairy dog behind the ears while thinking back over that night that he’d pledged his service. He’d been desperate to reach Mark, even more desperate to shake Nicole’s hold on his soul and his loyalty. He’d accepted, wanting to believe Morgan had the power to banish the demon forever.

  “You know I cannot banish her. You called her to you. You must be the one to dismiss her. If she has escaped from her temporary imprisonment, then her goal will be to win back what was lost at all costs. The energy that makes up your soul is precious in so many ways. It’s an amazing thing, the soul.” Morgan waved a hand, changing the landscape of the tapestry. Bradley didn’t follow the designs’ movements, just like he didn’t follow a lot of what Morgan said.

  He disliked the tapestry in general and Morgan talked in circles all of the time. His future was not a thing he wanted to know about. He’d rather make his own, thank you very much. Besides, so far his future sucked the big one.

  How in the hell was he supposed to dismiss Nicole, when she was reality in his dreams? All he had to do was take a nap and she had him at her mercy, begging her to do what she wanted to him. God he was sick.

  Morgan shook his head again and sighed the long-suffering sound that he made when his underlings were acting stupid. “You know the answer wolf. You see it manifest in your Pack every day.” He also hated that mind reading thing of Morgan’s.

  He thought about it. Apparently, Morgan could only do so much here. Adam couldn’t save him from this one. Diana couldn’t make it better with a hug. Bradley would have to save himself this time. “I don’t get it.” The fairy dog whined, placing one little twig paw on his chest while it batted its petal lashes at him. Stupid little creature. It would never survive in the harsh reality of Bradley’s world.

  Morgan sighed again. “Love, my wolf. Don’t you read your fairy tales? Love conquers all.”

  “You think love is going to keep those Airdra idiots from double-crossing you?” Bradley was grumpy enough to point out Morgan’s own unhealthy generosity.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, the fairy lord turned his thoughts inward. Bradley didn’t expect an answer, but the one given was pure Morgan. “No, love will not keep Calimn or his followers from spying on us. It will not keep Airdra’s men from attempting to kill me.” His voice softened with a tinge of sadness. “But it will keep the innocents of Airdra Keeping from starvation for a little while.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brandon’s car turned out to be a side-step, extended cab truck that allowed Matthew to load the most expensive and necessary of his welding paraphernalia. Consequently, Matthew’s ‘five minutes to get ready’ turned into two hours. With his new strength and that of Brandon’s, the job of loading went by fast. At the last minute, he decided to add several pieces of sculpture, including the Big Ben clock, to the already heavy load. His welding machine had its own trailer that it was permanently mounted on and attached nicely to the hitch.

  Inside Morrow and Nathan were both dressed in whatever they could find in Matthew’s closet. Nathan, smaller than the old Matthew, was able to find loose fitting jeans and shirt. Morrow, on the other hand, was slightly broader, but able to make do.

  Matthew thought Naomi looked pretty cute in his old drawstring shorts. In fact, in his too tight t-shirt, sweats, and flip-flops, they were a matched pair. He wisely kept his mouth shut, leaving her to the task of coaxing Ramses into the pet carrier. Outside, Nathan balanced the cooler loaded down with food stuff Naomi had brought from the kitchen. The panther whistled at how low the truck rode. “That is one heavy load.”

  Matthew peered into the bed, noting several toolboxes that had been added after he’d finished. Brandon shrugged off any thanks well before Matthew could say anything and then climbed into the driver’s side cab. Naomi shoved the pet carrier in and climbed into the passenger side beside Brandon. She shut the door before Matthew could help.

  “You are in so much trouble,” Nathan smirked at him as he opened the smaller back passenger door.

  Morrow was right behind the werepanther, shaking his head. “Leo, she is so mad at you that she’s not speaking to anything male.” He leaned out the door before closing it. “Flowers probably won’t do the trick.”

  Going around the truck, Matthew took his seat and braced himself for the two-hour trip to Palestine, Texas and the uncertain reunion with his mother and sister. Two hours of Nathan’s constant chatter and teasing. He could hardly wait.

  Then again, Matthew realized that in the last eighteen hours or so, he’d become closer to these guys than he’d been with anyone since high school. Yesterday, if anyone had asked him for his closest friend, then Matthew would have said Doyle Locke, from the security firm. But that was business, not friendship.

  Today, he had real friends. People who wanted him around. That meant a great deal. “Nathan, I’d lay off talking about Naomi as if she weren’t up there debating on whether to bash you with the pet carrier or not.”

  No! You wouldn’t throw me, would you Lia? I am a temple cat, remember? Precious and innocent. You said so. Nathan paused, eyeing her tightly clenched hand on the handle and Ra
mses’ worried green eyes as he peered out of the air holes in the side.

  “It’s only because I wouldn’t do that to such a sweet thing as you, Ramses,” she cooed into the carrier.

  The truck groaned at the weight it was being forced to haul. Brandon switched gears, and laughed freely. “Sweet? Whatever that cat is conning you into Lia, you better think twice about.”

  Naomi’s mouth dropped and she glanced back at Matthew, who settled more comfortably against the door to enjoy the byplay. “But…you can’t hear him.”

  “I figure that being a cat, he only wants to talk to others like himself. Or can’t. Either way, a talking cat is still a talking cat, even if he doesn’t talk to the only wolf in the group.” Brandon glanced over. “I’ve got a nephew who is the cutest, most adorable puppy you will ever meet. And he’s as much trouble as my brother, Mark ever was.” Naomi frowned.

  Nathan laughed. “He really is a puppy, Lia. A furry, four-legged, psychic wolf puppy.”

  “Oh. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible,” Naomi murmured.

  Brandon lifted one shoulder and glanced at the cat carrier then turned his attention back to navigating the big truck through the Dallas traffic. “Magic is just science that hasn’t been sufficiently explained. And in its basic definition, magic is simply the manipulation of energy.”

  “You’re using those big words again,” warned Nathan.

  “Buy a dictionary,” Brandon told him, and then fell silent, paying extra attention to the light traffic around them.

  After twenty minutes of the same, as the hairs along Matthew’s skin started to prickle, Ramses began to fidget with his carrier. Before the cat could escape, he reached a hand over the seat to keep the latch on the carrier door from opening. “Hey, I don’t like the seatbelt, but I buckle up for safety.”

  Theoretically, he supposed that he would heal from a car accident pretty fast, but due to a rash of teenage car fatalities in his senior year, Matthew had been a stickler for seatbelt usage. At least half of those senseless deaths could have been avoided had his schoolmates been strapped in while riding in the back seat.

  Ramses growled his discomfort, gripping the folded towel mattress with all four claws. Brandon seemed oblivious to the cat, as he scanned the highway, hyper-aware of the other cars. If it weren’t for the wolven’s magic that Matthew felt dancing along his skin in warning, he might have been more concerned about the possibility of Ramses throwing up. The cat had done that once during a trip to the vet’s and the smell had been unbearable. An hour in the truck with cat puke would not be fun.

  Ramses kept his stomach, but didn’t say a word except to huddle and utter small meowling-growls. Nathan stared out his window, his posture stiff. Morrow fidgeted, keeping a scan on the road ahead.

  After staring at every car that came near them with suspicion, Matthew felt relieved as he heard the tock-tock of the blinker and Brandon eased the truck off the highway and onto the exit ramp. Less than a half mile, he slowed further and pulled into a small gas station.

  Naomi carefully lifted the carrier over the seat. “I have to use the restroom,” she told him quietly, nodding at his urging to be careful. The werecats nodded too and Matthew realized that he’d sent the message through the bond that had been growing steadily since his Change.

  Lifting the cage to his face, he looked in on the unhappy cat. Brandon’s door slammed. Matthew took little note as his brother-in-law pulled out his wallet, in the process of buying gas at the pump. “How about you and me get some fresh air?” he asked the cat. Ramses made a yowl in the back of his throat and turned his back. “You’re not going to be sick are you?” no answer.

  He got out of the truck too, thankful for a chance to stretch his legs. Going to a patch of grass across the parking lot, he opened the latch and wondered at what had them tense. His new feelings bombarded him most of the time, making him choose what to pay attention to and what not, instead of just absorbing the information his senses gave him and sorting it automatically as the others did.

  Ramses huddled inside the crate for a moment then crept out, picking his way through the grass. He froze, peered this way and that, in full cat hunting mode, as he meandered over the patch of grass.

  The overwhelming odors of gasoline and exhaust, so close to the highway, made Matthew’s head ache with the fumes. How did the others stand it? He rubbed the back of his neck. If only he understood the messages his body was giving him.

  Vaguely, he wondered if his dad would miss him, then tossed the idea away. Richard Ridley might miss the convenient crash pad or having someone take the constant insults without getting punched in the face. Who would call the bail bondsman when Richard got himself arrested for whatever stupid thing he said or did while under the influence? Matthew shook his head at his own inability to let go of a man who’d never given anything without major strings attached. Any affection his father gave was immediately followed by a slight. He was close to forty, for God’s sake, Matthew should have developed the balls to cut Richard loose long ago.

  The sound of metal shifting and Brandon wrestling the tipped over Big Ben sculpture pulled him from his self-pity. He picked up the carrier, more confident than he’d ever been taking Ramses out, that the cat wouldn’t run off or get lost.

  He noted the supreme soccer mom SUV parked opposite them on the other side of the gas pumps. Cutesy white cutout stickers of ballerinas, soccer balls, and preppy kids names like, Tiffany and Cameron decorated the windows. A pretty, thirty-ish woman carefully manned her nozzle and jerked her gaze away from Brandon as Matthew approached. Bracelets jangled with her movements. “Hey, need a hand?” he asked, then noticed the big cut decorating the other man’s arm and opened the cab to fish out some paper towels he’d seen under the seat. “Now that is nasty. You’re going to need stitches for that.”

  “Nah. It’ll be fine,” Brandon tugged the sculpture once more then accepted a wad of paper towels to wipe the trailing blood. He showed him the already closing wound. “See? You should try not getting knocked around with the supernatural stuff. Heals much faster.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt?” Stupid question, but he was full of them today.

  Brandon raised one eyebrow, going back to lift the nozzle of the pump and insert into the second tank on the truck. “Yeah. Like a—” he paused and glanced at the soccer mom, who was totally immersed in pulling trash from her vehicle. “Like a son-of-a-gun. But, I’ll live.”

  Dismissing the other motorist as harmless and uninterested, Matthew leaned back against the truck, his eyes on Ramses as the cat stalked a big crow across the retaining wall that separated the side road from the gas station property. He inhaled trying to process past the fumes. He picked up the sharp undertone of metal. The flavor was both acidic and hit his sinuses with a tickle that made him want to sneeze. The scent was a little unnerving. “What’s that smell?”

  “Unleaded Premium?” The pump steadily ticked off the gallons. Matthew had always wanted a big monster of a truck like this one, but he’d never managed to justify the cost of a real work truck. He’d never had a reason to move his equipment until today. As for his gates, Doyle Locke had always sent one of his trucks over to pick up and inspect a completed order.

  “You mean the silver.” Brandon nodded at the bustling woman, still digging under her seats. “She’s wearing a boatload of jewelry. Probably all sterling silver. Pretty, cheap…”

  “And deadly.” Matthew could sense the truth of his words. He flashed back to last night and the knife wounds he still sported. In the background, he noted Naomi still browsing inside the store. A couple of kids exited the building, the younger one laughing and bouncing around while the older one hung back. He didn’t see Nathan or Morrow, but figured the two were either on a restroom break of their own, or just stretching their legs. He didn’t blame them. Matthew had only been kept prisoner a few hours. How would it feel to have been kept in a cage for years? Like prison, he expected, back before prison reform gave the
convicted rights.

  An old Beemer pulled in behind them. As one, they studied the tired looking man that got out and stretched. He too looked like he lived under fluorescent lights. Button-up shirt and slacks. Tired gray and brown hair. The man neither looked nor felt like a threat.

  “Hello.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, he walked over to look at Matthew’s sculptures. “Those are amazing. Especially the Big Ben. Where did you get it?” Brandon wiped at his arm once more and looked pointedly at Matthew.

  “Made it a couple of years ago,” He admitted, noticing the man’s interest in Brandon’s wound. He looked them both over with the same assessment he’d seen in the scientists at BioPet. “I’ll check the fluids,” he said, backing away.

  “You wouldn’t happen to want to sell that would you? My wife and I went to England for our thirtieth anniversary last year. She loved the clock tower.”

  Matthew shook his head; his instincts tingling as he silently urged the pump to finish filling the tank. Brandon looked calm as ever. “No. It’s for my mother.” Lame, but true.

  “Oh. You wouldn’t be accepting commissions, would you?” with a frown, he faced Brandon, pointedly staring at the bloody paper towel. “With that much blood, you should have that looked at.” He stepped forward, pulling the paper towel away before Brandon could do more than growl. The man looked up, surprise and a little excitement showing behind his wire rimmed glasses. “You’re a supernatural, aren’t you? Wonderful.” He beamed at them both, and then bent to look at the wound again. Brandon’s eyes flared with irritation. He chin pointed at the Beemer. Matthew saw the universal medical sign sticker in the back window. Great a doctor with a supernatural fetish. “You both are. Wow. You know, you should still have that looked at even though it’s healing on its own.”