by Alex Kidwell
“I am,” Randall said very simply. “I know what you are, Mr. Reed. And you are exactly who I need. You are of Filtiarn. And you are the only one whom the Gray Lady will speak with.”
“The whosa-whatsit now?” Jed was scowling at, well, fucking everyone. Goddamn people with their goddamn problems. “We aren’t going to talk to any of your freaky furry people. We’re going fishing. Both of us. Together.” There was a meow from the couch, and Jed added, without missing a beat or lightening up his frown one bit, “All three of us.” Damn fucking right they were.
Victor gave a low sigh. “Jed, will you at least let Randall talk? He wouldn’t be coming to Redford if the matter wasn’t serious.”
“Office hours are between eight and nine every fourth Wednesday,” Jed returned. “And you must have missed the big ‘fuck off, gone fishing’ sign I put on the door, so why don’t you just see yourselves out.”
“Jed.” Redford’s voice was low. “I know we want to go fishing, but we should at least take five minutes to hear them out. The fish won’t go away if we’re five minutes late.”
Jed closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Fine,” he growled. But he pointed his finger at both Randall and Victor. “Five minutes. Redford is going to get a vacation if I have to build an ocean, and I don’t care what you have to say about it. Five goddamn minutes.”
“You’d do that for me?” Redford looked utterly charmed.
“No, he wouldn’t. It’s quite impossible,” Victor said archly, impatient. “He—”
“If Red said he wanted the moon, I’d ride Buzz fucking Aldrin up there and get it myself,” he told Victor in a calm tone, arms folded. “He wants an ocean? I’ll flood the streets until he can swim. Impossible’s got nothing to do with it. Besides,” Jed snorted, “you can too build an ocean. What, you think Jaws was real?” Clearly a fake ocean. And a fake shark. And possibly fake boobs.
Victor fell silent with an annoyed little grimace, giving Randall a chance to speak. Randall sighed, sitting, hands folded tightly in his lap. “My brother is dying,” he told Redford simply.
And just like that, Jed shut the fuck up.
He’d gotten a lot of jobs in his life. Most of them didn’t matter. Powerful men wanting more power, rich men wanting more of whatever made them rich. War, all of it, only this time the enemies weren’t clear at all. Jed wasn’t a superhero. He wasn’t even a good guy. No one had ever come to him like this. Of course, the first time it happened, it was for Redford.
“We’re wolves, like you,” Randall continued. “It’s just me and my two brothers, and Anthony is dying. You’re the only one who can help. Will you?” After a beat, he cut a glance over at Jed. “I believe that was less than five minutes.”
“How am I the only one that can help?” Redford looked confused. He glanced at Jed quickly, seeking help, before looking back at Randall again. “I’m not a doctor. If he’s dying, you should go to the hospital, shouldn’t you?”
“Ah.” There was a wry twist of Randall’s lips. “That, I’m afraid, will take much longer than five minutes to explain.”
Jed hesitated before heaving a sigh. He already knew how this was going to end. Some wolf, some bright-eyed kid, comes to Redford claiming he needs help saving a dying brother? Yeah, they weren’t going fishing. Maybe he’d known that since they opened the door. All his bitching and moaning, all his talk of leaving, he’d hoped that Victor and Randall would give their polite excuses and be gone.
It never worked out that way.
Jed scooped up Knievel, unbuckled the life vest, and set it aside. “Okay,” he said, the cat prancing off his lap over to Randall, sniffing him curiously before sneezing at him and heading back to Redford. “So talk. Apparently we’ve got all day.”
Randall sagged back a bit. Even Jed hadn’t noticed how tightly wound the guy was until his shoulders eased and some of that tense worry lining his face relaxed. Randall nodded at him, glancing again at Victor. If it was for reassurance, Jed was pretty sure he was looking in the wrong place. Victor just looked satisfied that they hadn’t gotten kicked out.
“In order to understand what’s happening, you have to know why my family is rather unique among the wolf world,” Randall started, taking off his glasses to clean them. “Most wolves, true wolves, are parts of a pack.”
“And you’re a true wolf?” Jed asked, frowning. He was standing next to the wall, leaning against it, arms folded, looking almost lazy and half-asleep. His gaze, though, kept cutting between the three other men, trying to figure this out. It hit him then, all at once—he was the only human being in the room. Now that was a goddamn trip. “Which is different from a werewolf… how, exactly?” He knew the basics, but Jed figured more information couldn’t hurt.
Randall gave him a slight smile, shrugging. “How is a Homo erectus different from Homo sapiens?”
Jed burst out with a laugh, rubbing a hand across his mouth in a very failed attempt to hide his smirk. “One of them sounds like a very personal problem?” he guessed, grinning. “Or a porn title. I’ve got a little homo erection going on right here.”
Randall just gave him a vaguely bemused look. “I was more referring to the fact one of them shat in caves and drew on walls, and the other created the Louvre.”
“The former sounds exactly like Jed,” Victor mused idly. “Perhaps we have history standing across the room from us.”
Randall laughed at that, low and husky, grin crinkling up the corners of his eyes. Jed had no fucking idea what was so funny, but he glowered at them both anyway. “Okay, homo nerd-us,” he shot back. Even Redford had a small smile on his face. “How about you use non-prissy-professor language for ten minutes.”
“My apologies,” Randall said. He didn’t look sorry, though. “My point was that the werewolves are a decidedly less evolved version of a true wolf, or Cano, as named in the old Gaelic. They are the result of the Cano mixing our blood with humans.”
“But Fil was trying to fix that,” Jed said, eyes going to Redford. “Shooting them up with his blood.” Turning werewolves, who were probably lesser in the eyes of someone like Fil, constrained by the moon cycles, unable to hold their own minds, into wolves that could turn when they wanted to. And Redford, without the full dose of whatever freaky mojo, was stuck in between. He could shift to furry form when he liked, but not without pain. And his instincts were all haywire. Hell, even a shrink couldn’t seem to make that part of it better.
“That is what I gather from what Victor has told me, yes.” Randall nodded. He turned back to Redford. “And that is why you can help. My parents left their pack when my mother found out she was pregnant with my eldest brother, Anthony. They never told us exactly why, but my father talked about disagreeing with the direction the pack leaders were going in. The Gray Lady is the mother of us all, the eldest of all the packs, and she was the one in leadership when my mother and father decided to leave.”
“You realize that none of that makes sense, right?” Jed was frowning, looking over at Victor for a moment. Maybe this was more smart-people gobbledygook. “Gray Lady?”
Redford was looking intent, leaning forward on the couch. “You mean she’s the actual mother of all wolves? Was she the first? She must be incredibly old.”
A very faint smile touched Randall’s lips. “It depends on who you ask. If you study the texts, the old stories of the Cano, it talks of a pair of wolves who were the first. Filtiarn and Liadan. They brought forth the first wolves. They started the first pack. But Liadan and her mate fought, and Filtiarn was cast out, taking his favored pack mates with him.”
“And Líadan means gray lady in old Gaelic,” Victor injected helpfully.
Now, Jed wasn’t much good at math. But even he knew that anyone claiming to have started the whole wolf line was getting far more than the senior’s discount at Denny’s. “That’s impossible,” he told them both bluntly. “It’s a scam, or someone who just really likes the name. But what you’re saying is that—”
&n
bsp; “What I’m saying,” Randall interjected mildly, “is that we are not human. And our lifespans are not yours. It’s impossible for you, yes, but I think you’d agree that the world is rather a lot bigger than what you’re assuming.”
Baby goddamn Jesus. Jed sat then, trying to wrap his brain around everything. So, vampires were real, they didn’t die with garlic or silver knives, crazy ass wolves did die with silver knives, and both of them apparently could live forever. That was kind of a lot more than he’d been ready to handle today. Or ever.
“You’re quiet, babe,” he murmured, nudging Redford with his foot. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”
“Just absorbing new information,” Redford said lowly. He nudged Jed’s knee with his own, a silent let Randall keep talking.
“I apologize,” Randall was saying, a frown pinching the corners of his lips. “This is a lot, I know. If I had anywhere else to go, I would.”
“The history lesson is fascinating and all, but I’m still missing the part where you need to involve Red,” Jed said gruffly, eyes still on Redford.
“Ah. Yes.” Randall shifted a bit, leaning forward. “I need to get help for Anthony. I need to get him back to the pack. The problem is, I don’t think the Gray Lady will let us in, because our parents left. There are rumors, though, that she is gathering up the remnants of Filtiarn’s pack, giving them refuge. While she won’t talk to me, I know she will talk to you. And you can be our ticket in to see her.”
Redford shifted slightly, and Jed took care not to say anything to interrupt—the guy needed at least two seconds of silence to indicate that it was okay for him to talk. “Earlier, you said you’d explain why you couldn’t take Anthony to a hospital,” Redford pointed out. “That’s where most people go when they’re dying, isn’t it?”
“Redford,” Randall started softly, before fading off into a sigh. “We’re not people,” he pointed out, deep-brown eyes flicking up to Redford before falling again. “Anthony has signs of Parkinson’s disease. The canine version.”
Oh. Well, yeah, that probably would be fucking difficult to explain to your average Doogie Howser. Jed snorted softly, but he didn’t speak. He just reached out to take Redford’s hand, a silent show of support. This was his gig, his play. Jed was going to let him decide what they did.
“So you want a ticket into the Gray Lady’s pack,” Redford said. “Because they have a hospital there for them? Or because you think they’ll know what to do?”
Randall fidgeted a bit, hands fiddling with the side seam of his pants before he deliberately folded them together, trying to maintain his composure. “We weren’t raised in that pack,” he explained. “Some years after our parents left the pack, they were killed by hunters, when I was young. Anthony took care of us. I don’t know how to help him, what to do, if this is curable, anything. I’m only sure that a human hospital would be a death sentence. If I can just speak to the Gray Lady, if I can plead our case, I know I can make her understand and I can get information on how to help Anthony. But I need to be let into the pack in order to do so. That’s what I need you for.”
Randall fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. It looked rather anemic from where Jed was sitting. “This is everything I have. It’s not much, but I can figure out how to get more. Please.” Randall’s gaze was on Redford’s face, begging. This wasn’t a guy trying to pull one over on them. He genuinely thought he was pleading for his brother’s life. “Just tell me how much more you need and I’ll find a way. I promise.”
Redford had a thoughtful look as he studied the envelope. “Actually,” he remarked, “I don’t think there’d even be a budget on this one. It’s not like we need supplies or ammo or—”
“But the retainer fee,” Jed jumped in smoothly, shooting Redford a wide-eyed what are you doing look. They did not work for free. Ever. That was practically rule number one. “Half up front. Figure two days’ work at five thousand a day.”
“Really, Jed?” Victor gave him a withering look. “Randall is not exactly swimming in money.”
Randall’s cheeks flushed at that, his shoulders bunching up in shame. “I’m fine, Victor,” he said shortly, pulling himself up to his full height as he searched his pockets. He was a proud guy, though apparently Victor didn’t get that. “I, uh, have half of your required fee there. I can get more. There’s some things I can sell. I only require time.”
“No, that’s ridiculous,” Victor said firmly. “You are not selling your possessions. Journey Walker, you give Randall a discount, and you give it to him right now.”
“Victor,” Randall snapped, eyes darkening. “I am not a charity case. This is what it will cost, and I’ll pay it. I don’t need favors. You’ve all saved my life once. I’m hardly going to beg.”
“Um.” Redford tried to cut in, his shoulders a little hunched at the raised voices flying around the room. “We can knock off a thousand per day, because we won’t be needing things like explosives or a place to stay. If we go, we’ll be able to stay with the pack, right?” He looked like the idea terrified him a little, but he stood firm, trying to mediate the argument and make things easier for Randall all at once.
“That’s what you think,” Jed sighed, staring up at the ceiling, twirling a pen between his fingers. In his experience, there was always a need for explosives. But he relented, cutting a glance over at Randall. “Fine. I’ll waive my normal rate. Redford can decide how much he wants to charge. It’s his job; he’s the boss.” Jed clambered to his feet, dropping a kiss to the top of Redford’s head. “You set the fee, babe, and get half. I’m going to make some coffee.”
“I’m the boss?” Redford looked even more terrified at that.
“Damn straight.” Jed paused in the doorway to the kitchen to give him a positively wicked leer. “Don’t worry. We’ll practice tonight in bed. Start thinking of all those orders you want to give me.” With one last wink, he moved to start up the coffeepot, leaving Redford to finish the negotiations.
For a while now, Redford had been doing the business side of things—budgets and invoicing and keeping the books. All shit Jed was terrible at. As much as Jed didn’t really like this job, it was Redford’s. He got to take point. Normally, giving up his control would send Jed into fits, but this was for Redford. It’d be good for him, to plan his own op, to be the one calling the shots. It might just show him what Jed had known for a while: Redford was smart and capable and more than ready to do something on his own.
Also, it was hot as hell. So basically this was a win-win.
“We’ll take the job,” he heard Redford say. “I’ll need a few minutes to figure out the budget, and I’ll need information like where we’re going and what we’re expected to do.” Redford paused and added, a little defensively, as if he expected to be denied, “Jed is coming too. I’m not doing a job without him.”
A smile crept across Jed’s face, and he ducked his head, fussing with the mugs. Maybe that was predictable. Still nice to hear, though.
“That’s perfectly fine,” Randall was saying, and Jed came back around the corner to find Randall holding out his hand for Redford to shake. “Why don’t you come to our house tomorrow night? That will give you and Mr. Walker time to discuss matters, and you can prepare your proposal. We can talk over details then. I’m afraid I don’t know the location of the pack offhand, but there are a few different ways you might go about getting that information.”
Redford looked surprised. “It’s that well hidden? How big is the pack, do you know?”
Shrugging, Randall absently pushed his glasses farther up onto his nose. “I honestly have no idea. Could be dozens. Could be hundreds. Liadan is notoriously secretive, and the pack’s location is jealously guarded. There are other, smaller packs, obviously, but if anyone will know how to help Anthony, it will be her.”
He hoped. That subtext was miles deep. Putting your hopes into some possibly mummified old chick with a dubious background and no real info was, in Jed�
�s mind, just begging to be let down. But rule number three was don’t goddamn argue with the basic premise of the hire. If someone wanted Jed to stand guard over a pile of dirt, for enough cash, he’d do it. Same went here. So what if this was probably a fool’s errand. If Redford wanted to take the job, Jed sure as hell wasn’t going to point it out.
“Okay.” Redford nodded, beginning to look a bit more confident about the prospect of leading a job. “Is Victor coming too?”
“I’m sure Victor has far more important things to do.” Kicking back on the couch, giving Victor a shit-eating grin, Jed lifted his mug of coffee in salute. “What was it, princess? Lucky night at the senior home?”
Victor didn’t seem to get the joke. “I’ll thank you not to pry into my personal life, Jed,” he replied. “It’s not particularly pertinent right now.”
“I mean, I am assuming you wore his clothes this morning by mistake. Because even you can’t think that a plaid jacket is anything but tragic.” Jed smirked widely. “Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t do a little bump and run last night. I can see it all over you.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Victor rolled his eyes heavenward, as if asking for patience. “Fine. Yes, I had sex last night with a man whose name I don’t recall. It was satisfactory. Are you done?”
Jed gave Victor a golf clap, wiping away a fake tear of pride. “Our little baby’s all grown up,” he told Redford, voice teasingly thick. “I just… get the camera. I want to make sure we remember this moment.” At Victor’s withering look, Jed couldn’t stop the laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. Now that I will have to brain-bleach tonight for any hope of a nightmareless sleep, we hauling your ass out to wolf-ville with us or not?”