by Ian Thomas
“We should’ve known,” Eddie said. “You are the Pack Lord after all.”
“Who spent the past four or so weeks in his boxers cutting himself off from the rest of the world,” Matteo explained. “They probably tried to contact me but well, you all know how that went.”
“Oh we’re actually talking about this, huh?” Eddie asked, playing catch up.
“Pretty much figure we’ve all been low, done things we’re not entirely proud of, better to face up to those and move forward,” Matteo explained.
“Not m–”
“Oh?” Matteo asked, cutting Eddie off. “I seem to remember a horrible break up in the early nineties. Lucilla wasn’t it. And suddenly you had dreadlocks.”
“Dreads are one thing, living in your own filth for four weeks and being an asshole is something else.”
McLachlan drew in a sharp breath. “I dunno. Dreads’re pretty douchey if you’re not black.”
“Oh you want a go?”
“Nope, I’m owning my shit these days. Demon stain and sarcasm included.”
“Gentlemen,” Matteo said, cutting them off. “Much as I like being back amid the banter – time and place. We’ll have guests soon. Less than welcome ones.”
“Along with all the other joys of our lives,” Eddie said.
“Quite. And I’m not too proud to say, I’m not at my best yet.”
McLachlan and Eddie looked at each other concerned then back to Matteo.
“You didn’t think a couple of good speeches and a shower were gonna erase what happened, did you? Mask it some but you both have to know I was in a pretty dark place.”
While McLachlan hadn’t managed to tell Eddie about Illyana, the gravity in Matteo’s voice spoke volumes.
“Still probably got a foot there still. So having Blackthorne and his boys in town’re is not going to be easy for me.”
“Well he is your least favorite thorn,” McLachlan said.
“You mean he’s a prick,” Eddie spat.
“Something like that,” Matteo sighed. There were still shadows around him. McLachlan could tell. He felt the familiarity of it all. In the days after he found his voice, the option to retreat back into silence haunted him. Not that it was easier or even what he wanted. Hardly. Just the familiarity of it, the routine, the behavior. He knew that life and how to operate within it. Being in the open, being exposed, being vocal. All of that was good but frightening.
“Then leave them to me,” Eddie said. “War Wolves made me their diplomat for a reason. Can’t see why I can’t use it to run interference.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Matteo replied. “I’ll be present, just not sure how much I can take his questions.”
“I’ll get Proctor on board as well.”
“Good. I need to meet with him later too. Reassure him of my situation. Don’t need him cozying up to Blackthorne.”
Eddie cringed at the prospect. McLachlan cared little of the inter-wolf relationships. He was happy he had his friend back.
“One thing though. Kinda important,” Eddie said after a moment.
“What’s that?” Matteo asked, an edge of alarm in his speech.
“Rowan? Kinda think she should be here for this.”
“And if I showed more cleavage I would’ve been,” she declared, bustling into the room. “Damn taxis.”
Stopping, she looked at Matteo. He swallowed hard, his eyes burning as he felt the recriminations radiate from her. Like a stoic mother, she gestured at him. Sheepishly, the quincentenarian Pack Lord went to her. Winter lasted longer than McLachlan expected of her but soon enough she thawed and opened her arms to Matteo.
“Totally thought you were gonna hit him.” Eddie said, ruining the moment to cover the emotional pull he felt. In all honesty McLachlan had thought the same thing. So he wasn’t surprised when she stepped back and slugged Matteo on his upper arm.
“Ever since Ben turned coat, you two have started hanging out more,” she said accusingly to McLachlan and Eddie. “This can’t be good.”
“Seriously,” Matteo agreed. “Full on banter earlier. Quite unsettling.”
“And this is why we don’t double date.” McLachlan muttered.
“What?!” Eddie demanded. “You always said you and Bex were busy.”
“Oh…sure…yeah, no we were.”
“Boys!” Rowan said. “Much as I do like the sound of fun and laughter – or in your cases ego and sarcasm – back in our lives we do have matters to discuss.”
“You know about Blackthorne?” Matteo asked.
“No, but I spent the weekend at the Clan chapter house and they’re mighty interested in the state of the accords.”
“Oh those,” Eddie said dismissively.
“Yes those!” everyone in the room said at once.
Before Rowan could divulge her trip north, the doorbell rang. All of them looked at each other. McLachlan thought it would have been comical if they hadn’t known who was on the doorstep.
“And this is why you need a butler,” Eddie groaned when all eyes settled on him.
“Is this such a good look?” McLachlan asked. “Given everything that motivated Ben, to have a wiccan and whatever the hell I am here when these guys show up?”
“Good call,” Rowan said.
“I can be astute.”
“I was meaning this new self-awareness but sure the other thing too.”
“You’re staying,” Matteo said, firmly. He strode toward the entry hall. “I need my family.”
Following the commotion of welcomes at the door, Eddie led four men into the entry hall. The most severe looking was Rhys Blackthorne. Dark hair, dark eyes, and dark mood. Handsome in a hard way with a deeply lined, square face that belied his thirty-something countenance showing the centuries he’d lived. To his right was an intense man with shaved head, equally hard features that bordered on cruel. The other two men were much younger, one auburn haired the other dark. Both had similar handsome angular features and blue eyes they could have been brothers. Eddie was unspooling a steady stream of prattle about very little in particular.
“My lord,” Blackthorne said, cutting Eddie off and dropping to one knee respectfully. His men followed suit.
“Enough of such protocol my friends,” Matteo said warmly and walked forward. He took Blackthorne’s hand in both of his and smiled at the man. “Welcome to my city. To my home.”
“We tried contacting–”
“As you can imagine this has been a trying time,” Matteo said. Wincing, McLachlan wished his friend hadn’t cut the other man off. “But enough of that. Come let us eat and talk. Will, it’s good to see you again. And Liam, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Your grace,” said the auburn-haired man in a thick Scottish accent, dipping his head once more.
“My pleasure. And you must be…”
“James,” said the last man in an Irish accent. So not brothers, McLachlan thought not really wanting to play the ‘they all look alike’ card.
“A fine sire-line,” Matteo said. “Come, you must be hungry after your travels.”
While vampires had more protocol in their little fingers than werewolves did in their entire packs, xenia was crucial to them. The act of welcoming guests as friends into the host’s care and guardianship stemmed from the Ancient Greek rite. For wolves it was the hope of dissuading rival wolves from harmful intent.
Matteo led them to the dining room where a spread awaited them. Having pretty much run through the nearest Whole Foods with Matteo’s credit card and reasonably loose instructions, McLachlan had thrown the feast together in the time it took Eddie to cancel his date with Hayley and head downtown. The prospect of serving up the occasional leftover scrap of pizza or what peanut butter Matteo hadn’t managed to scrape out of a jar had the potential of starting a second Pack War.
To McLachlan’s relief, Blackthorne and his men preferred tea to coffee and Eddie wasn’t stuck behind the machine in the kitchen, literally leaving Matteo to
the wolves in the dining room. Namely Blackthorne and Will whose stony expressions were hard to read. Prepared to be ignored for the duration, Rowan and McLachlan stayed away from the table. They knew their place amid wolf politics. Only James seemed to acknowledge their existence.
“D’ya think one o’ ya could take me to Saint Paddy’s sometime? Don’ wanna be a bother or nuttin’, jus’ ya know’ bit of a pilgrimage ‘sall.” He looked hopefully at McLachlan.
“Uh,” McLachlan glanced at Rowan unsure what to do. “Pretty sure Eddie’s gonna be your tour guide. Official designation and all.”
“Besides what he doesn’t know about this city is not worth knowing,” Rowan chimed in helpfully.
“Dat’s fair,” James replied, seeming to taken the suggestion more as a rebuff. “Tis grand to be fin’ly meetin’–”
He was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Both McLachlan and Rowan offered to get it but he was the first out of the kitchen and charging to the door. Even the sight of Isaac’s perpetually dour expression with his hooded, impassive eyes was a welcome relief than making small talk with the enemy.
“Thank you,” Proctor said, stepping past Isaac and McLachlan into the house proper. The rest of the War Wolves moved past him, mostly ignoring him as was their manner. Only Flynn and Jackson paid him any awareness, the former shaking his hand while the younger black man discretely fist-bumped him.
With so many in the dining room, McLachlan could tell Matteo was drowning. But he hadn’t mouthed the word ‘cinnamon’ so maybe he was going to cope after all.
“Proctor,” Blackthorne said, a broad smile creasing his features. It lacked warmth however as he stood and shook hands across the table. “Good to see you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, if unexpected.”
“But welcome,” Matteo said, wanting to keep any hostility from the table. “I’ve been remiss in keeping ties.”
“Understandable,” Proctor replied.
“True, this Ben travesty must have been rather devastating,” Blackthorne said.
“I meant how you stood against us in the Pack War,” Proctor replied, still standing. The room fell silent.
“A regrettable matter,” Blackthorne dismissed stiffly.
“Regr–” Hale barked, but Isaac caught him before he launched across the table. Will started to rise, his eyes gold and black. His sire waved him down.
“Out of respect for those who died perhaps it would be best not to speak of the War. Especially when it comes across as offensive,” Matteo rebuked.
“My apologies,” Blackthorne said though whether he was being genuine or not was inscrutable. “And not to challenge you but a concern relating to the Pack War is what brings us here.”
“An’ da well-bein’ o’ da Pack Lord o’ course,” James said trying to be helpful but apparently speaking out of turn given the severe look Will directed his way.
“The accords,” Matteo said. Some eyes turned to McLachlan, others remained intent on the elders at the table. “Your concern is shared.”
“But unfounded?” Blackthorne asked.
Whether Matteo paused for effect was unclear, however it did send a ripple of tension around the room. “That remains to be seen.”
Several started arguing at once. Raising a hand calmly, Matteo silenced them.
“At present, a vampire has killed two people in the city. Whether this is a rogue blood unaware of Gracchus’ court or some act of dissension, we don’t know. However, two deaths out of all the vampires in the world is hardly sign of the accords breaking.”
Hale shifted angrily at the comment.
“Two ‘at ya know off,” Will grumbled, his London accent thick. Gracchus had said there were more. Did they also know as much?
“This may be true but we have to respect the vampires are abiding. As are we. As is the wiccan community.”
“How do you know?” Blackthorne asked. McLachlan put a hand on Rowan’s arm as she tensed beside him.
“Respect,” Matteo lied. “Transparency. Keeping open channels of communication between the leaders.”
“An’ when was the last time you spoke to Gracchus? To Yael?” This was an interrogation, McLachlan realized, Matteo’s hospitality being tested.
“Uh, not so long ago. McLachlan saw Gracchus last evening. As for Yael…”
“Perhaps not since the betrayal?” Blackthorne asked, but his gaze was directed at McLachlan.
“That’s enough,” Proctor growled.
“Is it?” Blackthorne countered. “The greatest act of peace in the history of wolf, witch, and vampire is under threat and we’re not able to ask a couple of simple questions?”
“They’re not under threat,” Matteo replied.
“They’re not simple questions,” McLachlan said, breaking his silence. The room turned to him, most regarding him coldly. “Sure, this is my deal. And sure it was my ordeal that’s bringing this back into focus. But you’re going about this wrong. You sh–”
“Ben’s in London,” Blackthorne said, cutting McLachlan off. A few in the room shifted uncomfortably. One of which, McLachlan noted, was the young Irishman. Whether it was due Ben’s name being said or the Englishman interrupting McLachlan. “I have dispatched wolves to watch him. They’ll let me know his movements.”
“I appreciate that” Matteo said, the prolonged interaction wearing him down. “And I appreciate the visit. It’s been too long.”
When the conversation turned to more personal fair, McLachlan excused himself to the study with Rowan in toe. Jackson and Flynn had taken up guard positions either side of the dining room. Other War Wolves on the inside, watchful of the occupants. A mere five years earlier this group had been enemies, and here they were breaking bread.
“So he’s back,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I am. I just – can he handle Blackthorne on top of everything else?”
There was a time McLachlan would have dismissed the concern easily. Hell, there was a time when Rowan wouldn’t have broached the topic at all. However, Matteo’s resilience wasn’t what it used to be. Not an age thing as much as fatigue.
“I guess we’ll see. Hey, how was the weekend?”
“Good,” Rowan replied slowly. “Wait, haven’t you talked to Rebecca?”
“No,” he said, his infliction rising and shoes suddenly of great interest.
“You do get that this little boy lost thing you resort to doesn’t work when you’re thirty two?”
“What do you mean doesn’t work?”
“Seriously, you haven’t called her? A text even?”
“Little busy with the prodigal Pack Lord. And vampires. And…” He almost blurted Illyana’s name but caught himself in time. “My hair.”
“So you didn’t know Matteo was sleeping with a siren?” Rowan asked.
“Ah, that. Only found out yesterday, but yeah shocked as you on that score.”
“Not shocked so much as hurt. He’d rather risk his life than talk to us.”
“Could be worse.”
“How so?” she asked, stunned.
“He could have made nice with Ben. Just saying, crazier things have happened.”
“Call your girlfriend,” Rowan said. “Leave the crazy out of this. Lord knows we have enough of it to go around.”
Like always, Rowan had a point.
With Blackthorne and his pack in town, McLachlan was persona non grata as far as they were concerned. A matter he’d come to accept. He knew Matteo didn’t see him that way. Well, not now that he’d managed to crawl out of his desolation. So long as he stayed in the world, McLachlan had to hope he was fine.
Walking past the dining room, he saw the mood had relaxed somewhat. Eddie was holding court and making plans for their visit. As he passed, Matteo caught his eye, a subtle nod and smile of thanks.
XXII
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
McLachlan paused chopping the onion fo
r Rebecca’s response.
“Yes, no, kinda, not really.”
“Holy shit, they did break you.” He held up the knife and looked skyward. “Damn you, Clan Delphae and your latent sense of humor.”
“I’m not mad,” she replied, as she resumed chopping. “Just surprised. Was looking forward to seeing you but completely get the Matteo thing. So he’s okay?”
“Yes, no, kinda, not really, too soon to tell.”
“So he broke you huh?”
“Pretty sure I was already broken but no, he’s good.” Sweeping the onion into the pain, it started to sizzle in the hot oil. “Just kinda finding his way back I guess.”
“Maybe you can work some of that same magic on Jason.”
“He still missing in action?”
“Yeah, but apparently he’s joined a gym.”
“Wow, and how’s Mouth taking that?”
“That you have to ask should tell you all you need to know.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Now, is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nope,” he replied. When he did the food run for the wolf summit earlier in the day, McLachlan had the idea of cooking dinner for Rebecca at his place. Just something different for them and a chance to properly talk after the weekend than a crowded restaurant would allow. “Maybe open the wine.”
“That I can manage.”
“Okay so most surprising thing you learned at the Clan?” he asked. They’d already covered the major news items of the weekend – Matteo’s return, Sarah’s visit, and Milton’s poem from the chapter house – but little more had come up.
“Probably that cross-fit is not actually a cult to make super-fit demon soldiers.”
“It could just be too soon to tell.”
“I guess that these accords you set up are quite a big deal.” She had a hand on his back. The contact was nice, natural, something from the other life Mammon had shown him. But he tried to stay anchored well and truly in the moment with her. “What if they fail? What will that mean?”
“Chaos, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria, real wrath of god shit.”
“No, really,” she laughed.
He took a deep breath and thought about it. The reality was not pretty.