by Ian Thomas
“Why’re we doing this again?” Matteo asked under his breath.
“You’re gonna have to speak up,” Eddie replied. “Rowan cast an anti-eavesdropping spell earlier.”
“Why’re we doing this again?” Matteo repeated.
“Because if I had to spend one more evening alone with Blackthorne and the rest of Downton Shabby I would have swallowed some silver.”
“When is the right time to ask when they’re leaving?”
“When you book the cab to the airport.”
“Thought so.” Matteo looked around at the guests. “All this in a couple of days? Wow, Hayley is quite something.”
“Yes she is,” Eddie said, catching a glimpse of her nearby. A tendril of hair was hanging loose at the nape of her neck. He wanted to brush it back for her, feel the warmth of her skin, press his lips there and slide his hands around her waist.
“What is the appropriate length of time to stay at one of these things?”
“You mean when you’re the guest of honor? The whole reason this thing is even happening? Not to mention the reigning Pack Lord?” Eddie countered.
“I was looking for a number not a guilt trip.”
“You’ve faced far worse than this. Can you just relax?”
The word was barely past his lips before he caught Hayley’s eye. She’d heard him, the languid tilt of her eyebrow reminding him of how she’d found him a couple of hours earlier.
“While you may have an underwear model’s body you’re gonna need to put clothes on,” Hayley had said, bustling out of the lift and into the loft, a garment bag slung over her shoulder.
“I know that,” Eddie said, suddenly aware he was only wearing a shirt, briefs, one sock and struggling with a cufflink at his wrist.
“Then perhaps you might want to do something about it.” She’d barreled into the spare bedroom and pushed the door closed. “The caterer’ll be here any minute. As will the mixologists. God, I hate that word. You’re a bartender. Accept your station in life and get me a damn drink.”
“What would you like?”
“I was venting. Not asking. But thanks,” she replied, opening the door. Gone were the jeans and sweater. In their place was a green sheath dress with a gold lace overlay that looked familiar. From the Dove. The night they first met. Hayley had captivated him then as she did now. She looked him up and down. He’d made little progress in getting fully dressed.
“Not sure this was a good idea,” he said, aware that in his current state of undress any and all forms of arousal would have betrayed him.
“I’ve seen worse but I guess you mean tonight.”
“Are we capitalizing ‘tonight’ as in To-night? Just, ya know for my future memoirs.”
“No,” she laughed, leading him into his bedroom. The sight of the bed gave them both pause. Recovering, Hayley entered his closet and started working her way through the racks. In no time she’d laid a suit on the bed along with a tie and belt. “There. I trust you can pick your own shoes?”
“Yeah,” he replied unconvincingly.
The buzzer at the front door sounded.
“That’ll be the caterer,” she said. “Time to go to work. Just relax. Everything’s taken care of.” She went to leave but saw the panic on his face. “Seriously. I’ve got this. Relax.”
“This modern obsession of telling people to relax is possibly the first sign of humanity’s downfall,” Matteo said, snapping Eddie out of the memory. “Quite possibly the least calming words in human history.”
“Yes Dad,” Eddie sighed. “Now stop talking to me and go be social.”
“Yes son,” Matteo said with a smile, clapping Eddie on the shoulder and heading into the room. Immediately, people flocked to him including a couple of witches and even Proctor, who’d managed to look a lot less dour than usual.
Truthfully, the evening was more for Matteo than anyone else. That was the reason after all why Eddie made the suggestion. He needed to engage with the world again. Sure, he’d taken a serious hit. The loss of Ben was still being felt by all of them. The number of times Eddie unconsciously started a text to his sire or brought him up in his contacts over the past month wasn’t worth admitting publicly.
“Holy shit, you wore a black suit too?” Mouth called out. “This is criminal. How can we possibly be seen at the same event wearing the exact same outfit? Travesty, a travesty I tell you!”
“Mine’s Hugo Boss,” Eddie said, stepping back to model the suit.
“Mine’s Jason’s,” Mouth replied, pulling a similar maneuver. “Figured it might make him angry enough to show up.”
“He’s not coming?”
“Pretty sure your coffee shop is killing him.”
“Now that this is over, I’ll try and sort him out.” When Mouth looked disparagingly at him, Eddie added. “I promise.”
“Good luck with that,” Mouth muttered, then saw a server with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Oooh, food.”
Before Eddie could press him about Jason, the elevator opened and more guests arrived.
●●●
Staring dismally at the small offerings on the proffered tray, Mouth felt his stomach rumble. As he reached for a tiny ladle of tuna ceviche he wondered if anyone would notice him slip out for a burrito. A scan of the room confirmed his prospects were good in that cause.
Then his eyes fell on her.
A petite brunette with delicate features.
She was on her own by the windows looking down into the street.
Without his wingman, Mouth decided this was going to be touch and go.
“Hey, it’s Ash right?” he asked, offering her a glass of champagne.
“Hi, yes, hey, and you’re Mou-se?” she asked, stumbling on his name.
“Mouth. Or Steven. I answer to either.”
She laughed, the sound unguarded and simply delightful. “How does the whole Steven-Mouth thing work?”
“It doesn’t. It’s Mouth. I was just…it’s a nickname really. So I’ve seen you around.”
“Uh?” she asked taken aback.
“Around campus. NYU. I–You–We go there.”
“Right yes, sorry, god, yes, that’s right you’re not one of…” her voice trailed off as she glanced at the rest of the room.
“No, not. So not. Just regular human and all. That’s me. Mouth.”
“I didn’t mean.”
“No and neither did I. God, that must’ve come out kinda racist. I’m not. Racist. Just, yeah, so you know Jason?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, delighted to find a mutually safe topic. “How is he? Haven’t seen him in ages. Have the best book for him.”
“He’s real busy with work. And projects. And the gym. Yup, he joined the gym.”
“Jason?” she asked shocked.
“I know, right? And it wasn’t even code for him going to some bath-house and getting it regular if you know what I mean?” Stop. Stop talking, he told himself. Just hope that some werewolf loses his shit over the thumbnail-sized food and puts an end to this awkward slow death. Or a witch uses some time-travel spell and erases this poor excuse for human interaction. Both were far likelier scenarios than Jason showing up and rescuing him. Or this being salvageable.
“Maybe I could drop the book off with you?” she asked.
“Uh…”
“Well don’t you scrub up nicely?” Rowan said, breaking up his loss for words. She hugged Ash and kissed her cheek. Mouth realized these two were good friends. “So good to see you. Nice to see you this side of the bridge.”
“Any excuse to get all fancy. Love your dress,” Ash replied, her eyes sparkling.
“Oh you have a drink,” a man with dark hair and an equally dark expression said quietly, two champagne flutes in his hand.
“Yeah, sorry,” Ash said, touching his arm. “Mous–uh, Mouth got me one.”
“Have you two met?” Rowan asked.
“N-no,” Mouth stammered, sizing up the other man. He looked to be in his early
twenties, stoic features, brown eyes and a tattoo poking out from beneath his cuff.
“I’m Max,” he said, extending a hand to Mouth. Ash plucked the glass from his hand.
“Mouth. Nice to meet you.”
“You another bookworm?” he asked.
“Me? God no. Not enough pictures for my liking,” Mouth said dismissively.
“Mouth pretty much knows all there is to know about pop culture,” Rowan said proudly. “And not in some lame way. You name it. He knows it. Comics, film, TV, pop music – the whole crazy lot.”
Max looked at him silently for a moment. Wishing Rowan hadn’t said anything, he knew what was coming next. Most guys dismissed his interests as pathetic and childish. Yes, even in the era of the geek, nerd, fanboy and fangirl. It really should be fan-person, Mouth thought, expecting Max to macho up and scoff at him.
“Best X-Men Siege Perilous storyline?” Max asked, shocking Mouth even more. Not a scoff, but a test.
“Psylocke as Lady Mandarin. Hands-down the best!” Mouth said enthusiastically. And now he couldn’t hate Max. Ash’s boyfriend. The reluctant werewolf as Mouth had heard him described. He’s a nice guy with similar interests. Including a certain petite brunette with delicate features. Damn him, Mouth thought, struggling to not let it show. “And the artwork.”
“And they’re gone,” Ash said, pulling Rowan away as the two men set to discussing the whys and wherefores of late 80s X-Men comics. “Did I see Michael here?”
●●●
Rowan scanned the room. Soon enough her eyes fell on Michael at the bar, his aura pulsing angrily.
One of Blackthorne’s wolves, Will, was standing close to Michael, his face in a mean scowl as he spoke.
“Fought there was a guest list? Didn’t realize this here shindig was open to any old stray. But then Matteo does like his charity cases.”
Michael was silent.
“What’s that?” Will demanded, leaning in menacingly. Michael’s shirt tightened as his bulk grew. Rowan saw his claws start to extend, but there seemed like a billion people between her and him.
“Gents, cannae say this is the time nor the place,” the Scottish wolf said, stepping between them. “Seems a waste to be wearing such fancy threads only to shred them.”
“Why don’t you fuck off, you little twat,” Will growled at Liam. “Me and Mikey here were having a civil wee chat.”
“The only thing civil you know is war,” Michael said flatly.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“More like an observation. An astute one at that.”
“Like I said,” Will turned to Liam, voice rising. “Piss off.”
“Gentlemen,” Rowan said, finally getting through the crowd to them. “I’m sure you’re aware there are a lot of people in here who won’t take well to a fight. Between the War Wolves, the Pack Lord, the Wiccan Guard and other interested parties, starting anything would be incredibly foolish.”
Will was silent, his jaw clenching repeatedly. He took a step back. For a second Rowan thought Will was still going to hit Michael. Or worse wolf out.
“Fuckin’ mongrels. Shoulda put you down when we had the chance. Least we got your bastard sire.”
A keening growl escaped Michael. Liam stepped forward, a hand on his chest. “Easy mate.”
“Michael?” Rowan called softly.
But he was already moving, shoving past both Liam and Will. Anger in check, he stalked through the crowd to the stairwell.
“Prick!” Rowan spat at Will, following him. The Brit smiled cruelly at her, enjoying his moment. A hollow victory, Rowan saw as Liam seemed offended by the scene as much as she was.
By the time she found Michael on the street, he’d already vomited. His eyes were red and he was shaking.
“Hey, hey,” she soothed. “You’re good. You’re safe. He just wanted to hurt you.”
“Chalk one up for the away team.”
“You can’t let him – any of them – get to you. Dominic was one of the most respected wolves in history. Will’s still smarting from what went down.”
“Him?!” Michael cried. “He needs to fucking rot in hell for what he did.”
Rubbing his back, unsure if he was going to be sick again, Rowan let the silence hang between them. Words weren’t going to ease his pain. And they weren’t going to bring back Dominic.
While the conflict in New York had been the last of the Pack War it was not the bloodiest. Under the full moon in the favelas of Rio hundreds upon hundreds of men transformed. Though unskilled and uninitiated their number threatened the resistance. For the most part the tide turned in their favor until Will and his new Pack Lord cornered Michael along with thirty or so new wolves. Dominic fell saving him. Will taking pleasure in the kill with his new acolytes.
“And one day he will,” she said softly, still stroking his back. “You gotta realize we have a friend in that department. Gonna come in real handy someday.”
Michael managed a laugh. He looked at her, the love in his eyes dispelling the rest of the world. Turning, he slipped an arm around her and drew her close.
“Ya know I’d totally mack you if I hadn’t just blown chunks,” he said.”
“And I appreciate that. No really I do.”
“Let’s bail. This party’s a wash out.”
“And let him win?” she asked. The sudden firm set to his jaw provided the answer and he started to move to the door as a car pulled up. Stopping, they looked back as people got out of the large black truck.
“I merely asked how a German prefix seemed appropriate for a DIY taxi service?” an older black gentleman asked as the SUV drove away. Next to her, Michael stiffened.
“Isn’t it a preposition?” a somewhat disheveled man countered.
“This, right here, this is the reason we need to get out more,” a red-haired woman said.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Rowan called. Perhaps leaving would have been the better option.
“Rowan,” Siobhan replied, giving her a warm hug. Michael stood silently nearby watching the group, the introductions washing over him as Rowan tried to draw him into the circle.
“Michael,” Somerset said sadly, his voice heavy.
“We should head,” Michael replied coldly. “Least these betties catch a chill.”
Silence and history past between the two men. Were it not for the ring on Somerset’s finger, the near 80-year-old man would look a great deal different. And would have far more in common with his wolf brother than mere geography. Following Dominic’s death, Somerset made no effort to connect with his younger brothers. He’d all but disavowed his wolf heritage some five years after being sired, cutting ties with Dominic and retreating into the libraries of the Clan Delphae.
“Frosty,” Mills muttered as the group moved inside. It fell to Milton, Siobhan, and Rowan to fill any silence with chatter to ease the tension. Truthfully, Rowan wasn’t surprised to see the Clan Delphae in attendance. She’d heard the invites had been scattered far and wide and with Somerset’s interest in the accords, this would have been a perfect opportunity to explore the matter firsthand.
As for Mills. Well, Rowan thought, he looked terrified.
●●●
Wishing he’d taken Milton up on the offer of a pre-cocktail herbal appetizer, Mills felt overwhelmed as the elevator doors opened.
“Daniel,” Milton said, a hand on his shoulder. “Meet the Lions’ Den.”
“Try and behave,” Somerset growled. Yet Milton’s words were the most helpful, Mills realized. While he’d been with the clan for a little over six months, Mills had had very little contact with supernaturals save those at the chapter house. There had been a couple of cases but mostly he’d ridden shotgun and seen very little action. And now here he was stepping into a room full of…them.
The introduction from the host washed over him as he looked about the beautiful loft. It was so…ordinary. Well not in the sense that it was affordable or even vaguely middle class. Soho lofts �
�� especially ones that took up an entire floor –were not within the financial realms of a former cop from the mid-west.
Wiccans and wolves he decided looking around. That was the bulk of the supernaturals present. Kinds he knew something about given his friendship with Siobhan and Somerset respectively. The revelation of the latter’s ‘condition’ still stung. How had he not suspected it, he’d thought for the past week. A fruitless question given the 60-odd year repression the man had maintained.
But this – here – right now – this was the real deal. Wall-to-wall supernaturals, sipping champagne and playing human.
“I don’t feel out of–” he started saying.
“Siobhan!” a woman called from across the room. Before Mills could register Siobhan had swept off in the direction of the woman and her friends, Milton had bolted for the bar and he was left with Somerset and the host.
“It’s been…awhile,” Eddie said self-consciously.
“Too long,” Somerset replied warmly.
“You’re looking we–”
“This is my colleague,” Somerset said, cutting Eddie off and pulling Mills forward. “David Mills.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Eddie smiled, shaking his hand. “Are you enjoying your time with the Clan?”
“It’s…enlightening.”
“It usually is,” Eddie laughed. “Well, come in. Enjoy yourself. Mi casa es su casa.”
“Thanks.” Unable to see either Siobhan or Milton, he wished Chase was there. Ego aside, he was turning out to be a decent friend. And would easily help him navigate an environment like this. Not that he had anything to worry about given the wide berth and closed expressions the other guests gave him and Somerset. He had hoped to arrive, fade into the background, watch the scene with a detective’s eye, and then leave not long after.
Sadly, that was not to be.
“Hey,” Rebecca said slowly with a warm smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.” She embraced Somerset quickly, then Mills. A man stood at her back.
“We happened to be in the city when the invite came in. Decided we’d napped long enough.” His reference to the argument between him and Rowan didn’t have the charming effect he’d intended. “McLachlan, good to see you again.”