by Lish McBride
“I set up the meeting. And I ordered your new furniture.” He said all this without looking away from the screen. He was damn near mesmerized.
I squinted at the TV. “Um, are you watching Murder, She Wrote?”
“I find it to be … soothing.”
I laughed, turning it into a cough when James turned to glare at me. Pounding my chest, I made an apologetic face. “Sorry, something in my throat.”
The glare intensified. “Go ahead, get it out.”
I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Nothing from this party.”
Ramon sauntered in eating an apple. “Is that what I think it is?”
James sighed and released his pillow. “Do I need to hang a no-trespassing sign on my door?”
Ramon ignored him and sat next to me. “It’s cool, I just didn’t realize you were an eighty-year-old woman. Hey, that’s Tom Selleck! Is this a crossover episode? He looks all Magnum, P.I.”
“It is.”
“Sweet. My mom loves Magnum. She has all the seasons.” Ramon stretched out on the bed, and we watched the rest of the episode in silence. At first I think our presence annoyed James, but eventually he relaxed. I realized that he’d probably never learned how to hang out with a group of people before. Until my hostile takeover, it had been just him and Douglas. And, occasionally, a psychotic werewolf named Michael, and I couldn’t really see him appreciating Jessica Fletcher and her exploits. I think Michael’s only hobbies had been weightlifting and admiring his “guns.” It would be hard for James to adapt to having a legion of people in the house after that.
Once the credits rolled, James morphed back into kitty form while I went over things so I could figure out how his phone calls had gone and how to prepare for the meeting. Surprisingly, Ramon insisted on going with me.
“I don’t need to go to the actual meeting, but I want to go with you to the Den afterward.” He hesitated, which was unlike him. “I think you could use the extra muscle right now. Your cat here is impressive, but the more the merrier on this one.”
“Technically,” James said, standing up and arching his back, “I am a pukis, not a cat, but I agree.”
Ramon threw his apple core into a trash can. “The pack is mass confusion right now, Sammy, and I think we should do what we can to avoid … incidents.”
“Incidents.” I laughed. “What a nice euphemism for ‘let’s see if we can keep them from ripping off Sam’s arm and beating him to death with it.’”
I was hoping they’d argue, that they’d insist I was being overly dramatic. They didn’t. Instead, both of them eyed me levelly, and I knew they were thinking exactly that. I ignored the leaden feeling those looks caused in my stomach and got up.
“All right,” I said. “That makes sense. Let’s dress to impress, then, fellas.”
14
TURN AND FACE THE STRANGE (CH-CH-CHANGES)
The Tongue & Buckle had just opened up for the early crowd when I walked in. Zeke patted us down, waving us in one by one as he finished. The meeting wasn’t due to start yet, so I pulled up a stool at the bar with James and Ramon flanking me. Aengus plopped a stout in front of James before getting requests from Ramon and me. I was just surprised to see James drinking something that wasn’t tea or water.
We sat in the quiet of the bar for a few moments. There were only a couple of other patrons, so the murmur of voices was low. I decided to practice a little while I waited. Dropping my head so it looked like I was staring at my coaster, I closed my eyes and let my mind open up. I still wasn’t really used to the sensation. It feels kind of like your skull dissolves and your mind flows out over the room—a freaky cerebral version of echolocation. I took in the Tongue & Buckle and the people in it.
“What do you see?” I heard James say softly.
“Magic. Lots of it. And it’s … old.” I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but that’s how it felt to me. The Tongue & Buckle pulsed with it. The magic had seeped into the very wood.
“The customers?”
“The one by the door, he’s human. I can tell by the coloring of, well, his aura, for lack of a better word. The two in the corner…” I frowned. I didn’t recognize their coloring, but it was different enough for me to know that they weren’t human. “I don’t know what they are.”
I heard the soft whoosh of James scenting the air. “Fey of some sort. Not sure which, exactly.”
Someone walked in front of me, and whoever it was, I was impressed. “Wow.”
A palm slammed down on the wood before me, and my eyes snapped open.
“Cut it out,” Aengus said.
“Holy crap, Aengus, what are you?” Aengus was the only member of the Council who remained a mystery to me, at least as far as his creepy-crawly status was concerned. I knew he was powerful, of course, but I hadn’t had a real grasp of what that meant until now.
“An irritated bartender. Now, mind my customers’ privacy, will you?”
My cheeks burned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He just grunted and walked away.
Ramon sniggered. “Great start.”
“Shut up.” I tried to imagine a day when I was so integrated into my new world that I’d stop making horrible faux pas, but it was a hard day to picture.
“James, when you can, I’d like you to stop by my mom’s house and check their security.”
He didn’t look up, just swished his half-full pint glass in a lazy circle. “Why?”
I explained what had happened as briefly as I could. “I’m just worried about them—and I know how good you are with security. You keep me alive, at any rate.” I didn’t add that he seemed to like my family a hell of a lot more than he liked me. I was pretty positive he’d protect them based solely on that affection and not so much on my request.
He stopped his swishing to take a long drink, and I swear for a brief moment his face looked mournful. Before I could be certain, the look was gone, and he was back to stone-faced James. “Of course,” he said, his voice soft.
No sharp words or verbal jabs. Huh. I considered asking about that, but felt it might be best to just leave a good thing alone.
The other Council members filtered in, but I stayed where I was. There was someone I had to meet first, but before that someone could show up, the last person I wanted to see entered the room. She was also the first person I wanted to see. Ah, the inconsistencies of human emotion. Brid came over and stood near me awkwardly, obviously not sure if she should hug me or just say hi. I nodded at her, suddenly bone weary.
“I didn’t expect you here,” I said.
Brid shoved her hands into her pockets. She was dressed up for the meeting, charcoal lightweight slacks I’d helped her pick out, the emerald of her tank top making me notice the green flecks in her hazel eyes, even though she had a sort of 1930s paperboy cap on. And of course, combat boots, the better to walk on my heart with, damn it. I wiped my face with one hand.
“Can you at least have the decency to look like crap for a while? I feel like you’re making this harder on me than necessary.”
Her lips twisted into a soft half smile. “As long as you do the same.”
Next to me, James snorted. “Don’t think you’ll have much of a problem there.”
I elbowed him.
Brid leaned in, her eyes closing, her nostrils flaring. When you date a girl who spends a lot of time as a wolf, you get used to being scented. I guess it might be weird for some, but I thought it was kind of cute.
She sighed, her eyes opening. “This is hard,” she whispered. “I wasn’t ready to see you, I guess.” She leaned over, nudging me with her side, brushing up against me, a very wolflike mannerism.
I wrapped one arm around her, pulling her into a sideways hug and planting a quick kiss on her forehead. “Yeah, most people aren’t forced to have meetings with their exes only hours after dumping them. But I had to call it. You understand why. Couldn’t you squeak out of this one?”
“Maybe,” she said
, resting her chin on my shoulder. “But it would be easy to let things slip, and even easier for someone to challenge me for my spot if I didn’t immediately come in and establish dominance.”
She seemed so tired and worn. It was hard to look at her, knowing I couldn’t do anything to help. And knowing she wasn’t really mine to help anymore. No, that wasn’t right. It sucked, don’t get me wrong, and I wanted nothing more than to try to talk her into forgetting our whole breakup conversation earlier, but … first and foremost, she was my friend. And you help your friends, even if it fucking breaks your heart to do so.
“I’ll try to keep it short,” I said. Then I sent her on in while I waited for the detective and thought about how much of a pain in the ass it is to be a good person sometimes.
Dunaway was just how I remembered him. Short brown hair, clean jaw, and somehow able to look both good-natured and like someone you wouldn’t want to tussle with at the same time. He seemed bigger than he actually was. I wish I could project that much authority, but I just don’t have it in me. In fact, I think I actually look smaller than I am.
I got up and shook his hand and smiled. I couldn’t help it. For some reason, I liked Dunaway, despite the fact that he’d once threatened to lock me up and toss the key in a lake.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure why I’m here.”
My grin turned sheepish. “You might be here on a wasted errand, but I had to try. I’m going to go in there and talk to some people.”
“People like you?”
“Sort of. If all goes well, I’ll be back out to get you in a moment. If not, I’ll buy you a drink for your troubles.”
Dunaway shoved his hands into his pockets. How was he wearing jeans in this heat? Then again, I was wearing a suit jacket and slacks. Summer weight, sure, but still not the best for this temperature. It was a little scary how quickly I was getting used to being dressed up all the time. Well, all the time in comparison to before, when it was never.
“I’m not guaranteeing that I’ll do … whatever it is you think I’ll do.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”
He agreed, and I pointed him to the empty stool between James and Ramon. I saw the detective shake hands with Ramon and introduce himself to James as I walked into the back. It was amazing how comfortable he looked there.
*
I’d never addressed the Council before, having only been to a few meetings. I still didn’t really feel like I belonged. I was younger than everyone in just about every way possible. You know how occasionally there are ten-year-old geniuses so smart that they jump ahead to college? Imagine that kid’s first week on campus, and I think the feeling is pretty similar. Except minus the genius part. I’m more like an idiot savant, really.
We didn’t have a podium or anything, but standing in front of everyone made me wish we did so I’d have something to hide behind. No use thinking about it now. I ignored my sweaty hands and tried to address the group with what I hoped sounded a little like confidence.
“Am I correct in assuming that we all know what has happened to Brannoc Blackthorn?”
Everyone nodded to varying degrees, but I gave them a sketch anyway, because they might be missing some key facts. It was hard to do, especially since my eyes kept being drawn to Brid sitting in Brannoc’s chair. I tried to just give them the details, black and white, because if I thought about it too much, I’d choke up. We sat in silence after I finished, all of us lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I cleared my throat and shifted nervously. This is where it was going to get tricky.
“I think we can all agree that Brannoc went above and beyond for the Council.” I smiled self-consciously. “Even I could tell that, and I’m new.”
Kell chuckled, and a few others nodded.
Best get to the hard part. “To that end, I want the pack to know that we’re doing everything possible to figure out what happened. I brought someone here today, someone I think can help us. But … he’s human.”
Pello laughed, and I got raised eyebrows from Kell and Ariana. Aengus kept a blank face. I couldn’t tell what Ione was thinking—she was hiding behind her hair again.
Kell tapped a finger to his lips in a thoughtful way, then leaned forward slightly. “Explain.”
I summoned in Brooke, thinking it might be best if they heard about him from two sources, even if those sources were connected. I told them how Dunaway had handled Brooke’s case and how he hadn’t tried to destroy me even after he saw Brooke’s talking severed head. Brooke went over Dunaway’s presence at her “reinterment ceremony” (as she put it) and how he had listened to her carefully, even though it had to have been the first time he’d talked to a reanimated head.
“Look, I know this is a big leap of faith, but he knows about our world already, and he hasn’t tried to kill me in my sleep yet or tell any tabloids,” I said.
“He could be biding his time.” Ariana leaned back in her chair as she said this, all coiled, deadly grace. She was beautiful in an I-can-literally-rip-out-your-still-beating-heart kind of way.
I shook my head. “He strikes me as the type who would face things head-on if he wanted to. I have no doubt that if he thought I really was responsible for Brooke’s murder, I’d be in jail by now. He’d find a way.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. At least they were thinking about it and not laughing my idea away immediately. “Look, I know this is a big risk, to all of you, but I think he can help, and … I let the pack down. They asked for assistance, and I failed—I know that. Please help me do something to set that right.”
They talked about it for a while. Kell made some phone calls, apparently checking with sources on Dunaway’s character. After about twenty minutes, surprisingly, they let me bring Dunaway in.
The detective walked into the Council room like he met supernatural creatures handing out secret missions every day. I introduced him to everyone, not mentioning what they were. If they wanted to tell him, they could, but for now, first names were enough. Dunaway nodded and half smiled until I was done. Then he grabbed an empty chair and flipped it around so he could be right next to the table. He pulled out a pen and a notebook and said, “Now, how can I help you?” When he noticed a few of them staring at the pad and paper, he gave a rueful half smile. “If I decide not to help, or if you guys change your minds, you can rip up my notes, but it doesn’t make sense to not take them and then make everyone repeat themselves later.”
The room relaxed visibly, and I suddenly knew that Dunaway would be helping us. For some reason, it made me feel a whole lot better.
15
TAKE IT EASY, DON’T LET THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN WHEELS MAKE YOU CRAZY
Brid ran through the forest, the warm evening air burning in her lungs as she jumped over rotting logs and ducked under hanging branches. Nothing like the sharp smell of pine and the angry cawing of crows to remind you that you were alive. And yet Brid felt like she was dead. Oh, she knew she wasn’t. Her blood flowed and her breath whistled and her muscles moved, the picture of life and health.
But that wasn’t what told her she was still with the world. She had to look inside for that, past her hollow core, beyond that center of nothingness, to her brittle edges. A bundle of nerve endings exposed to the cold, that was what she felt like. Those disconnected nerves, the pain floating, with nothing to filter or transfer it away. And every time she considered this, she remembered it was because her father was dead, and her heart tore all over again. That was how she knew she was alive. Not the sunshine, not the sound of her feet hitting the ground, but the pain.
She should cry, shouldn’t she? An image of herself bawling while curled up on her bed emerged in her mind. Yes, that seemed right. Maybe curled around a pillow, clutching it painfully to her chest. That was what grief should be. Not this dead thing.
Was this what it was like? Did her father feel this now, this terrible, empty, static space? She couldn’t ask him. Sam had failed her there.
B
rid came to a stream. It was hot enough out that she wouldn’t mind swimming or wading through it, but she didn’t want to slow down. She felt like running. She wanted the earth under her feet, the sound of long grass whispering as she flew by. More than anything, she wanted some part of herself to remember what it was like to move. Not stalled down in negotiations, not stuck handling the grief, and not chasing her tail trying to find her father’s murderer. If she ran, at least her body still had motion, even if her brain was mired under responsibility. Brid turned along the stream and followed it deeper into the trees.
Sweat dripped down her back and along her hairline, but she ignored it, wiping it only when it came close to her eyes. She wasn’t ready. She had to face that fact. When her dad had made her the next in line, it wasn’t meant to happen for years. Instead it had been months. Years—time enough to learn what she was supposed to do and how to handle problems like these. Maybe after her father gracefully stepped down or died from old age. Not like this. Never like this. She could almost hear his voice in her ear. “Things seldom go the way we plan, girl.”
But she didn’t know what to do! And the pack expected results. They wanted blood, and she had nothing to give them. They had scoured the scene and could find no weapon, no sign of any other person, no smell except of forest and of her father’s blood. Nobody had said it out loud yet, but they were all thinking it: it was like a ghost killed him. If there was another explanation, she couldn’t think of one.
Which made Sam’s performance all the more troubling. If it was a ghost, he should know, right? Ghosts must leave … something. She growled in frustration. No one knew. Her father’s gentle voice surfaced again: “You’ve got to give him time, little one. He’s new to this, remember?”
That wasn’t the point, she wanted to argue. But you couldn’t argue with the dead. Unless you were Sam.
How could he have given them nothing? Anger boiled up in that empty place inside her now. The first time she’d counted on Sam in her new role as taoiseach, and he’d let her down. It hurt.