by Tanya Huff
“You didn’t ask him?”
“I didn’t get the chance. Look,” she sagged against the wall, “let’s just assume that the farm is under a state of siege and act accordingly. Okay?”
“You’re asking me to do this for your peace of mind?”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had no right to ask him such a thing for such a reason.
“Yes.”
“All right. I’ll sit quietly in the kitchen and work on an outline for my next book.”
“Thank you. And keep the wer in the house. Even if you have to nail the doors shut.” She slid a finger and thumb up under the edge of her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I mean, how many times do I have to tell them to stay out of those fields?”
“An enemy they can’t see or smell isn’t very real to them.”
She snorted. “Well, death is. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Count on it. Vicki? Is he likely to be difficult?”
She shot another glance at Celluci, who was attempting to cover a massive yawn. “He excels at being difficult, but I can usually make him see reason if I thump him hard enough.”
After she hung up, she rested her head for a few seconds on the cool plastic top of the phone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted to sleep this badly.
“Come on.” Celluci pulled her arm through his and steered her out into the parking lot where the heat hit them like a moist and semi-solid wall. “I know a cheap, clean motel out by the airport where they don’t care what time you show up as long as you pay cash.”
“How the hell did you find a place like that?” The yawn threatened to split her head in two and the pain came down on her bruised temple with hobnailed boots. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She slid into the car and let her head fall back against the seat. “I know you’re dying to begin the interrogation—why don’t I just start at the beginning and tell it in my own words?” If she had a nickel for every time she’d said that to a witness, she’d be a rich woman.
Eyes closed, she started with Rose and Peter in Henry’s condo. She finished, with Donald being shot, as they pulled in at the motel. The only thing she left out was Henry’s actual nature. That wasn’t her story to tell.
To her surprise, Celluci’s only response was, “Wait in the car. I’ll go get us a room.”
As she had no intention of moving farther or more often than she had to, she ignored his tone and waited. Fortunately, the keys he returned with were to a room on the ground floor. At this point, she doubted her ability to climb stairs.
“Why so quiet?” she asked at last, easing herself gently down on one of the double beds. “I was expecting another fine set of Italian hysterics at the very least.”
“I’m thinking.” He sat on the other bed, unbuckled his holster, and laid it carefully on the bedside table. “A concept I know you’re unfamiliar with.”
Except he didn’t know what he was thinking. There were a number of things Vicki wasn’t telling him and exhaustion had distanced the events of the night so they felt as though they’d happened to someone else. He couldn’t believe he’d actually pulled his gun. It was easier to believe in werewolves.
“Werewolves,” he muttered. “What next?”
“Sleep?” Vicki suggested hopefully, her voice slurred.
“Does this have anything to do with what happened last spring?”
“Sleeping?” Something about that didn’t make sense but she couldn’t quite get her brain around it.
“Never mind.” He pulled her glasses off her face and set them down beside his gun, then quickly undressed her. She let him. She hated sleeping in her clothes and didn’t have the energy to get rid of them herself.
“Good night, Vicki.”
“Night, Mike. Don’t worry.” She fought with her mouth to get the last words out. “It’ll all make sense in the morning.”
He leaned over and pulled the sheet up around her shoulders. “Somehow, I doubt it,” he told her softly, although he suspected she could no longer hear him.
Henry stood and stared up at the night, trying to decide how he felt. Jealousy was an emotion his kind learned to deal with early on or they didn’t survive long. You are mine! sounded very dramatic, especially when accompanied by a swirling cape and ominous music, but real life just didn’t work that way.
The trouble, therefore, had to be Celluci. “The man throws his life out like a challenge,” Henry muttered. He wasn’t at all surprised Stuart had attacked the detective—dominant males usually came to blows. His continuing presence probably hadn’t helped. Although he had a special status within the family, while he was around Stuart remained on edge, instincts demanding that one of them submit. It was the alpha male’s responsibility to protect the pack and his frustration at having to call in outside help had no doubt destabilized Stuart further.
Given Celluci’s attitude and Stuart’s state of mind, a fight had been inevitable. Storm’s intervention, on the other hand, had been a complete surprise to everyone involved, including Storm. Cloud must be getting very close for her twin to be behaving so irrationally.
Which brought them back around, more or less, to Vicki.
Henry grinned. If Celluci was a wer, he’d piss a circle around her, telling the world, This is mine! And then Vicki would get up and walk out of it.
“I’m not jealous of him,” he told the night, aware as he spoke that it was almost a lie.
“Can we love?” The process had begun although the final change had not yet been made.
Christina turned to him, dark eyes veiled behind the ebony fan of her lashes. “Do you doubt it?” she asked, and came into his arms.
He had loved half a dozen times in the centuries since and each time it had shone like a beacon in the long darkness of his life.
Was it happening again? He wasn’t sure. He only knew he wanted to tell Mike Celluci, “The day is yours, but the night is mine. ”
Celluci would be as unlikely to agree to such a division as Vicki would.
“You cannot resent what they do in the daylight hours. ” Christina laid his head upon her breast and lightly stroked his hair. “For if you do, it will fester in your heart and twist your nature and you will become one of those creatures of darkness they are right to fear. Fear is what kills us.”
Perhaps, when the wer were safe, he would ask her, “Will you give me your nights?”
Perhaps.
He wanted to touch her, hold her . . . no . . . he wanted to catch her up and throw her down and reestablish his claim on her. The intensity of his desire frightened him, stopped him. Confused, he sat on the edge of his bed, watching her sleep, listening to the soft sound of her breathing play a counterpoint to the helicopter roar of cheap air-conditioning.
They’d never had an exclusive relationship. They’d both had other lovers. She’d had other lovers.
Mike Celluci forced his hands to relax against his bare thighs and took a deep breath of the chilled air. Nothing had changed between him and Vicki since Henry Fitzroy came on the scene.
Suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about the first eight months after she’d left the force. They’d had one last bitter fight and then no contact at all as the days dragged into weeks and the world had become more and more impossible to deal with. Until she was gone, he hadn’t realized how important a part of his life she’d been. And it wasn’t the sex he’d missed. He’d missed conversations and arguments—even considering that most of their conversations became arguments—and just having someone around who’d get the joke. He’d lost his best friend and had barely learned to live with the loss when fate had thrown them together again.
No one should have to go through that twice.
But Fitzroy wasn’t taking her anywhere.
Was he?
“Look, if you think that after last night I’m going meekly back to Toronto, think again. I’m driving you back to the farm. Get in the car.”
Vicki s
ighed and surrendered. She recognized Celluci’s “There’s more going on here than meets the eye and I’m going to get to the bottom of it regardless of how you feel” tone, and it was just too hot to keep arguing. Besides, if he didn’t drive her, someone would have to come out from the farm to get her and that didn’t seem entirely fair.
And he already knew about the wer, so what harm would it do with Henry safely locked away?
“So,” he started the engine and flipped the air-conditioning on full, “what are the odds your furry friend is going to go for my throat again?”
“Depends. What are the odds you’re going to act like a jackass?”
He frowned. “Did I?”
Vicki shook her head. Just when you think he has no redeeming characteristics. . . . “Well,” she said aloud, “you did challenge Stuart’s authority in his own house.”
“I was a little upset, werewolves are a new concept for me. I wasn’t myself.”
“You were definitively yourself,” Vicki corrected with a smile. “But I think that under normal circumstances Stuart will be able to deal with that.”
They stopped for breakfast at a hotel down the road and Vicki allowed Celluci to pump her about the case while they ate, giving the waitress only one bad moment when Vicki exclaimed, “. . . and to blow the top of his head off from that distance was one hell of a shot!” just as she put the plates down. If Celluci noticed she talked around Henry’s involvement, he didn’t mention it. She couldn’t decide if he was being tactful or deep.
“You do realize,” Celluci said, mashing the last of his hash browns into the leftover yoke on his plate, “that there’re two of them out there? One with a shotgun and one with a rifle?”
She shook her head, setting down her empty coffee mug with just a little too much force. “I don’t think so; this has all the earmarks of being a one-person setup. I know, I know,” she raised her hand and cut off his protest, “Henry got shot at twice.” Henry’s injuries had been considerably downplayed over the course of the conversation. “But one man can operate two guns and up until now there’s been no evidence of a second player.”
Celluci snorted. “There’s been bugger all evidence, period.”
“But the tracks, the tree, the type of shot, all point to a single obsessed personality. I think he,” she spread her hands as Celluci’s brows went up, “or she, just kept the shotgun handy in case anyone got too close.”
“Like your writer friend.” His tone made it perfectly clear what he thought about both Henry and Henry wandering around in the woods playing the great detective.
“Henry Fitzroy can take care of himself.”
“Oh, obviously.” He stood and tossed a twenty down on the table. “That’s why he got shot. Twice. Still, I’m amazed you let an amateur wander around out there at night, considering the danger.”
“I didn’t know about the shotgun,” she protested as they left the coffee shop, then wished she could recall the words the moment they left her mouth. “Henry’s a grown man,” she muttered getting into the car. “I didn’t let him do anything.”
“That’s a surprise.”
“I’m not going to discuss him with you.”
“Did I say I wanted to?” He pulled out of the parking lot and headed north. “You’ve gotten yourself involved with a pack of werewolves, Vicki. For the moment, that makes organized crime seem just a little tame.”
“Henry is not involved in organized crime.”
“All right. Fine. It makes whatever he is involved with seem just a little tame.”
Vicki pushed her glasses up her nose and slouched down in the seat. That’s all you know, she thought. She recognized the set of Celluci’s jaw and knew that although he might be temporarily distracted by the wer, he wasn’t going to let his suspicions about Henry drop. Fine. Henry can deal with it. In four hundred odd years, this can’t be the first time. While she had no intention of getting caught in the cross fire, she would be perfectly willing to bash their heads together if it became necessary.
“Look,” she said just before they reached Highbury Avenue, “if you’re going to hang around, you might as well make yourself useful.”
He scowled suspiciously. “Doing what?”
“Turn right. You’re going to pay a visit to the OPP for me.”
She had to give him credit for brains, he understood the reason for the visit immediately.
“You haven’t got the firearms registration list, have you? Why the hell not?”
“Well . . .” Vicki flicked the air-conditioner vents back and forth a time or two. “The OPP and I had a little misunderstanding.” She hated admitting even that much, knowing that Celluci would blow it all out of proportion.
“I’ll bet,” he grunted and, to her surprise, let it drop.
Twenty minutes later when he came out of the station, he made up for his silence.
“A little misunderstanding?” He slammed the car door and twisted around to glare at her. “Vicki, you may have destroyed any chance of provincial cooperation with local police forces for now and for always. What the hell did you say?”
She told him.
He shook his head. “I’m amazed the Duty Sergeant let you leave the building alive.”
“I take it then that you didn’t get the list.”
“Dead on, Sherlock, but I did get an earful concerning proper police procedure.”
“Damn it! I need that list.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you made the crack about his mother.” Celluci stopped the car at the parking lot exit. “Which way?”
“Left.” Vicki waited until he’d maneuvered the car around the turn and into traffic before she added. “I want you to pick up a membership list from the Y.”
“Have you alienated them, too?”
She supposed it was a legitimate question, all things considered. “No, but I have no right to ask them for the list and they have no reason to hand it over. You, however, are a cop.” She poked him in the biceps. “Nice people, like those at the Y, are used to trusting the police. If you ask them for their firstborn child, they’ll hand the little nipper over.”
“You want me to lie for you?”
Vicki smiled at him, showing her teeth. “You’re always bragging about how good you are at it.”
The nice people at the YMCA proved fully as cooperative as Vicki had suggested and Celluci threw the membership list of the photography club on her lap as he climbed into the car.
“Anything else,” he grumbled, starting the engine.
“You’re the one who decided to stick around,” Vicki pointed out, scanning the membership for names she recognized. No one looked familiar, so she folded it carefully and put it in her purse. “That’s it for this morning. Let’s head out to the farm, I’m desperate for a change of clothes.” Although she’d had a lovely long shower behind the locked door of the motel bathroom, she was still wearing yesterday’s shorts and shirt and they were both a bit the worse for wear.
“I was wondering what that smell was.”
“Piss off, Celluci. You sure you can find your way out of the city?”
He could. Although he had to start from the police station to do it.
They drove in silence for a while, Vicki half dozing as she stared out the window at the passing fields and trees and trees and fields and. . . .
Suddenly she straightened. “I think you missed the turn.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t remember seeing that ruined schoolhouse before.”
“Just because you didn’t see it. . . .”
“Look, I’ve been out this way three times now. Twice,” she used the word to cut off his next comment, “in the daylight when I could see. I think you missed the turn.”
“You might be right,” he conceded, searching the surrounding farmland for landmarks. “Should we turn around now or cut east at the next opportunity?”
“Well, county roads are usually laid out on a sim
ple grid pattern. As long as we head south at the first opportunity we should be fine.”
“The next east it is, then.”
Vicki slid down in the seat and braced her knees against the dashboard. They both knew it would make more sense to turn around now and look for the correct crossroad, but Vicki was comfortable and relaxed for the first time in days and didn’t think a few extra moments would make a difference. She understood Mike Celluci. He had come to represent the natural in the face of the supernatural, and that meant she could let her guard down in a way she couldn’t with either Henry or the wer. If they turned and went back, the interlude would only be over that much earlier.
She didn’t dare guess what Celluci’s reasons were for driving on.
The side road they turned onto petered out in a farmyard after six kilometers. The farmer, not bothering to hide his amusement, gave them directions while his dog marked a rear tire. They’d driven past the south turnoff, thinking it was only a lane.
“This thing has more potholes than Spadina Avenue,” Vicki grunted, blocking the ceiling’s attempt to smack her in the head. “Do you think maybe you could slow down?”
“Just watch for the red barn.”
The red barn had either fallen or faded; it certainly wasn’t where the farmer had said. They finally turned east on the second crossroad, which after two kilometers swung around a gentle, banked curve and headed due south.
“We’re going to end up back in London at this rate.”
Celluci sighed. “Hasn’t anyone out here ever heard of street signs? There’s a building up ahead. Let’s see if we can get some coherent directions this time.”
They’d turned into the driveway before Vicki recognized the white farm house.
“Lost again, Ms. Nelson?” Carl Biehn approached the passenger side of the car, brushing dirt off his hands.