by Tara Lain
Jazz almost yelled, “But why? What do they want?”
BeBop scratched his short hair. “It could be that if you pass all their tests, they’ll want you.” He shrugged. “Maybe whatever you are is rare, and this person wants to, you know, collect you.”
“Collect me?” His heart slammed against his ribs.
“Or make you work for him. Maybe you’re the only one of your kind or—” His face lit up. “—or maybe you’re their kind, and they can’t figure out how you got here. You’re adopted, right?”
Jazz swallowed and nodded.
“Maybe they think you belong to them.”
Everything in Jazz turned to ice.
The room went silent.
If Jazz had been able to think, he’d have guessed who’d talk next.
“Bulllllshit!” Carla jumped up, her hands on her hips. “Jazz belongs to the Vanessens—and to us. Right, Jazz?”
Jazz nodded. He didn’t dare say anything for fear he’d laugh… or cry.
She pointed at BeBop. “So put that twenty-four-carat brain to work on figuring out how we find out who this asshole is and how we beat him.”
“Carla, it’s very easy to understand why you are Jazz’s best friend. You are supernaturally brave,” Khadija said softly.
Carla’s cheeks turned pink. “Thanks, Dij.”
“And she’s right,” BeBop agreed. “What do we know about this dude that might lead us to him?”
“Or her,” Carla added.
Jazz frowned. “I don’t think it’s a her. If I’m right, I’ve actually seen this guy. Twice.”
“When?” Carla sat back on the edge of her chair.
“It’s hard to explain, but it was like a vision or something.”
“Actually, I think Jazz saw someone who was presenting invisibly,” Dash clarified. “Nobody else could see him, but he was actually there.”
Carla turned to stare at him. “Okay, I’m suspending disbelief here, and that’s only because I trust you. So you saw this invisible dude and he was a… dude?”
“Right.”
“Okay, what else?”
“A couple times you talked about something weird happening, you mentioned, uh, people like you being involved. Right? When you were followed. Last night. The waiters,” Dash said, prompting him.
Jazz looked up at Dash. Damn. He’s right. “Yeah. And there were people like me around when I saw the vision thing the first time too.”
BeBop glanced back and forth between them. “So you’re thinking our bad guy is whatever you are?”
“Maybe. Just maybe.” Jazz tried to calm his stormy brain.
“The guy you had the date with, last night. He’s whatever you are, right?” Carla used air quotes and a snarky expression.
But it worked! “Wait, I asked Wyn what his uncle would do if I didn’t agree to, you know, take over their leadership. He said it had something to do with stock. I happen to know that his uncle owns a boatload of stock in Vanessen Enterprises.”
Carla crossed her arms. “This isn’t sounding very supernatural all of a sudden.”
BeBop got back to arm waving. “But remember what we said. If somebody wants Jazz, they’ve got to know that the best way to make him do what they want is to threaten his family. So maybe this bad dude told the uncle of the dinner date what to do? Does the uncle have a boss?”
“Not that I know of.” Jazz gazed at the carpet. “Still, I’ve been thinking we’re dealing with three different things.” He held up a finger. “The arranged relationship.” Another finger. “The threat to Pop-Pop and Vanessen.” The third finger went up. “And somebody trying to kidnap me.”
“But maybe they’re all mixed up together?” Dash said.
“The statistical probability that three separate threats would arise in your otherwise nonthreatening life simultaneously is low, baby,” BeBop said. “Let’s go with what explains the most, and that’s the likelihood that one person has a hand in all the events.”
Jazz nodded slowly. “In that case, I know where to start. Tomorrow, I’ll go talk to Wyn’s uncle. He’s got to be upset by what happened to Wyn. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Good, because we can’t fight a threat when we don’t know what it is.” Carla folded her arms.
“We do have work tomorrow,” Dij added.
“I’ll go home early and talk to my family. They need to know what’s happening.” Jazz looked at his smartwatch and blew out a long breath. “It’s already early.”
Dash nodded. “Yeah, we all need to get some sleep.”
“Unless supernaturals don’t need to sleep,” Carla said. “I mean, maybe some of you are vampires or something. If anybody starts sparkling, I’m out.” But she grinned.
They all laughed, a little uneasily.
“Hey, I think we need a name,” BeBop said.
Carla snorted.
“Seriously. All four of us are committed to seeing this thing through. Let’s make it official.”
“Like what, the Jazz Vanessen Protection League.” Carla grinned.
But BeBop took her seriously. “Why don’t we make the name bigger than our current task? In case our protection extends to some other individual or group in the process?” He created an imaginary headline in the air. “What about something like… the Supernatural League.”
Carla scowled. “No fair, you guys. Some of us are just ordinary.”
BeBop nodded. “True, plus the word league is overused.”
Dij came to the rescue. “We are of differing skills and quite loosely organized. May I suggest society?”
BeBop nodded. “Society’s nice. It doesn’t sound like we’re a bunch of ninjas.” He executed a couple of karate chops in the air.
“The Teenage Protection Society,” Carla suggested.
BeBop shook his head. “You guys won’t be teenagers in a couple years, and we don’t want to have to rename the group, right?”
“You think we’re still gonna be a society in a couple years?”
BeBop gazed into the heavens. “As long as human beings are in need of protection and rescue, the fearless society—”
Carla waved her hands. “Yeah, yeah. Spare me.” But she laughed.
Dash’s voice was soft but filled the room. “Superordinary.”
Carla looked at him. “Is that a thing?”
“Yes, it means exactly what the name implies. Outside or beyond the ordinary.” He held up a finger. “That’s even better than beyond the natural, don’t you think?”
“Wow.”
Khadija spoke with her quiet authority. “Superordinary Society.”
BeBop fell back in his chair. “Baby, now that’s a name.” He punched the air.
Chapter Twenty-Six
HE MIGHT be superordinary, but he was tired. Rubbing his eyes, Jazz sat in the dining room as his family assembled.
Winter walked in and started loading ham on his plate. “You look like twelve miles of bad road, son.”
“Thanks a bunch. Are Cole and Paris here?”
He shook his head. “Nope. They’re hibernating in their house in the woods. You need them?”
Damn, he’d kind of hoped Paris might have heard something about the Marketo stock, but it was pretty unlikely. “No.”
“So what’s up?”
“Let’s wait until everybody gets here.”
Jazz poured himself more coffee and packed his plate with ham, bacon, and a little pile of scrambled eggs. His mom came in and he kissed her. Pop-Pop followed with a cell phone to his ear.
Damon, Lindsey, Seth, Matt, and Jason all wandered in and filled plates. When they were all sitting and Pop-Pop had hung up, his mom said, “Are you okay? When Carla called, she said you hadn’t liked your date but you were fine and staying with her. What happened?”
“Okay, bigger story.” He inhaled slowly. Here he was again, faced with telling people he cared about only a part of the story. He didn’t have the right to reveal anything about Dash, Lysandra, K
hadija, or anybody else for that matter. “I told you I’d been followed a couple times, right? And you know about this so-called evidence Evenride has showing the Vanessens are devil worshippers. And you know Marketo’s trying to manipulate me to get me to agree to stand for alpha of his pack, which is why I had the date with Wyn.”
“Yep. You’ve got drama on all sides, baby brother,” Winter said.
“Wyn and I were drugged last night at the restaurant, and a couple of werewolves tried to grab me. They would have succeeded, except my friends were worried and came to check on me.”
The power level in the room rose exponentially, and Winter’s eyes flashed.
Jazz held up a hand. “Cool it. I’ve talked with my friends, and we all think these events are related. So I’m trying to discover who’s behind it. I need permission to skip work this morning to see Merced Marketo.”
Damon frowned. “You don’t think Merced’s behind it, do you?” They weren’t close, but they were brothers.
“No, sir. I don’t think he knows anything about the botched abduction, but maybe he has information that could lead me to the bad guy.”
“So you want me to go with you?”
Tempting. “No, but thank you. He wants something from me, so I know he’ll talk to me. Besides, Wyn got drugged too. No one tried to kidnap him, but I’m guessing Merced might be pissed enough to help me.”
“Call me if you need help.”
Pop-Pop gazed at Jazz. “So you think that the devil-worship campaign is related to the Marketos attempt to make you alpha?”
“Indirectly, sir. I think the devil-worship business is a threat, as is the idea that Merced might vote against you if I don’t do what he says. I think someone is threatening you and the family as a way of getting to me.”
Lindsey frowned. “Why?”
Jazz felt the icy shiver snake up his spine. “A really smart friend of mine believes it’s because somebody out there wants me and is trying to get me back. They think I’m one of their kind.”
Lindsey said the words Jazz didn’t want to even think. “Your blood family.”
Jazz nodded.
Seth scowled, always a scary sight. “Fuck that! Where the hell have they been? It’s not like we’ve been hiding you for five years.”
“Maybe Jazz has just come into his own, and that’s attracted others like him,” Pop-Pop suggested.
“Like him?” Seth said.
“Jazz has been trying to tell us that he feels different. I think his word is weird. We keep coming up with reasons for that, but maybe he really is different, and his people have finally discovered that he’s here.”
“But I don’t care who’s out there. I’m a Vanessen, and I want to stay with you,” Jazz wailed.
“Don’t worry, little brother, nobody’s getting their hands on you. Nobody,” Winter snarled.
Seth spat, “Amen, brother.”
Lindsey took a sip of coffee. “May I ask whose theory it is that your blood relatives are trying to get you back?”
“BeBop.” Jazz glanced at the others. “Benjamin Bopherson. He’s one of our interns and kind of scarily smart.”
“Who else knows about the things that are going on?”
Jazz softly exhaled. “The other interns—Dash, Khadija, and, of course, Carla. Don’t worry. I’ve been careful what I’ve said.”
His mom grasped his hand. “Of course you have. But the fact that someone tried to abduct you is frightening. We need you to be careful and not put yourself in harm’s way.”
“Mom, I’ve just been doing normal stuff—working, going to a pack meeting, and having dinner—when this crap has happened. I can’t be any more careful and live a normal life. I’ve got to find out who’s doing this and make them stop.”
“But how?” She clutched his hand harder.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out.”
JAZZ STOOD as Merced Marketo walked into the formal living room of the big home. He had a feeling the elegance of the house usually intimidated people, but to Jazz it was a lot less formidable than the estate he lived in—and a lot less comfortable. “Good morning, sir. I’m sorry to bother you so early,” Jazz said.
“It’s fine, Jazz. Please sit.”
Jazz sat on the stiff love seat. “How’s Wyn?”
“He’s doing well, no thanks to this situation,” Merced said. “I was shocked to hear what happened to Baldwyn last night. He finally woke up, terrified that something bad had happened to you, but our pack members who went to get him said that they were assured you were okay.”
“Yes. We were both drugged.” Not strictly true, but close.
“Why, for gods’ sake?”
“It appears, sir, that someone is trying to kidnap me.”
“What?”
“We think whoever it is might be associated with my birth family in some way.”
His eyes widened. “Why would your blood relatives want to abduct you?”
“I don’t know, sir. They must have some reason to think I wouldn’t want to be associated with them willingly.”
“This is just amazing.” He frowned.
“They’re also threatening things important to me.”
“Like what?”
How much should he say? “They’re hinting that they may reveal the existence of werewolves to humans.”
Merced raised his brows. “That’s certainly nothing new for your family, is it, Jazz?”
Jazz shoved the words, Screw you, asshole down his throat. “My guess is that they have a lot more viral dissemination in mind than telling a few invested humans.”
His expression tightened. “That would be bad.”
“Yes, it would.”
“Aren’t they wolves themselves?”
“I assume at least some of them are. Perhaps they feel focusing on the Connecticut packs will let them stay off the radar.”
Marketo pursed his lips.
Jazz slowly inhaled. “Furthermore, these wolves are attempting to manipulate the stock of Vanessen Enterprises by getting stockholders to vote against my grandfather.”
Merced froze, guilt all over his face.
“I’m assuming, sir, that you’ve been approached to vote your large block of stock against Pop-Pop. Is that true?”
He frowned. “That’s pack business. It can’t be discussed with outsiders.”
Jazz met Merced’s gaze and held it. “I believe you know, sir, that I’m one of the most powerful wolves in the New England packs. I think that’s why you’re trying to recruit me.”
He gave a slight nod.
“And the Vanessen pack has all the alpha power in Connecticut.”
Merced cleared his throat.
“Anyone who chooses to vote against Casper Vanessen and my family due to the manipulation of these outsiders will feel the full force of our anger—me, my family, and my friends.” Jazz put a hand on Marketo’s forearm and let a tiny trickle of power release. Whether it was wolf or mage power, he didn’t know. He couldn’t tell which was which. But Marketo’s eyes bugged, and he ripped his arm away. “You can’t begin to imagine how powerful we are.”
Merced swallowed hard. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m threatening anyone who chooses to hurt my family.”
“I’ve always supported Vanessen Enterprises.”
“I know, sir, and it’s been deeply appreciated.”
“Good.”
“That’s why I need you to tell me who’s been talking to you about voting against us.”
He gave a soft gasp.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why this is so important.”
“But what if—” He stopped, looking stunned and reeking fear.
“What if he’s more powerful than we are? I suppose that’s possible, sir. But if it’s true, then Marketo Pack’s toast anyway. You’ll be out of business because he’ll take you over and trample you to dust. So your best chance is with us.”
For a second, it
seemed like he’d never speak again. Then he finally growled, “Nardo. His name is Nardo.”
“He’s an alpha?”
“I think so. I barely know him.”
“Where’s his pack?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen some videos and presentations he’s given on different aspects of pack leadership. The young wolves are very taken with him. If you become an alpha, I’m sure you’ll see them.”
As if. “How did he contact you?”
Marketo’s lips narrowed. He clearly didn’t like answering to Jazz, but it would have been worse if Damon had come too. “I spoke to him at the Packarama, and he followed up with emails.”
“He was at Packarama?” Hell, that explained a lot.
“Yes. I’m surprised you didn’t notice him. He’s very distinguished looking, large and dark.”
“What did he ask you to do?”
“Nothing precise, at the time. He just suggested that he was going to be acquiring some Vanessen stock and would be open to discussing a voting block if there was something either of us wanted to achieve.”
“Like blackmailing my family to give me up for something to someone?”
Merced cleared his throat again. “You weren’t discussed specifically.”
“But he wanted you to vote with him?”
“I received an email to that effect, yes. I don’t know, but I got the impression it would be soon.”
Jazz leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to discourage the headache that wanted to slam into him. He looked up. “You said you don’t know what pack he leads. Do you know where he’s located?”
“I’d be guessing.”
“Guess, then.”
“New York City.”