Demon Accords 10: Rogues

by John Conroe

  Four big round dining tables were placed at the right end of the room, and as she moved further into the room, she could see a big rectangular pass-through window into a commercial-sized kitchen.

  Three men, lodge guests based on their relaxed demeanor and casual dress, were playing cards at one of the dining tables, a mix of beer and highball glasses around them, and a small, middle-aged woman bustled about the kitchen. Shorty appeared at the top of the stairs as everyone else stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Lisa.

  Two of the card players had salt-and-pepper hair, looking to be in their fifties or sixties. The third was younger, maybe late thirties, with a handsome face and slicked-back black hair. The two by the television fell somewhere in between, maybe mid-forties to early fifties. All five studied her like a prime steak newly presented on the butcher’s counter.

  “Lisa, if you wanna come up here, I got your room ready,” Shorty’s gruff voice said into the silence, causing a few eyebrows to raise and a couple of glances to be exchanged between the other guests.

  She met each of their gazes, letting her eyes slide over theirs without pause as she headed across the floor toward the staircase. First rule of dealing with predators, four-legged or two, was to not look like prey.

  She turned her attention on her host as she climbed to the second floor. He glanced around the room below and behind her before coming back to hers. He shifted from foot to foot, nervous, until his attention locked onto the case in her right hand.

  “We, ah, normally rack all our guns downstairs,” he said, starting off firmly but ending with uncertainty.

  “This one needs to stay with me, Mr. Kane,” she said.

  “Ah, it’s Shorty or John,” he corrected, a little absently as he visibly twitched, looking decidedly undecided. “Ah, that’s not our usual hunter policy.”

  “I’m not your usual hunter. My quarry could be in the building, looking to hunt me back,” she replied.

  He went pale, his weather-darkened skin turning almost white.

  “You mean…” he asked.

  “Could be one of your guests,” she said.

  He froze, eyes large. “Wouldn’t you know?” he asked.

  “Maybe. I think it very unlikely right now, but I don’t take chances,” she said, bending the truth a bit. “Rogues are very dangerous.”

  He blinked at her and she could see him realize something, the flicker of a thought passing across his expression. Then he nodded. “Right. Come this way,” he said, turning on his heel and leading her around the balcony. There were seven numbered doors spaced around the L-shaped balcony, two on the end by the staircase and five down the length of the room. Hers was number four, which put her over the kitchen.

  The room was decorated in mountain rustic, with Native American pattern rugs over more wide pine planking, antique snowshoes on one paneled wall, a painting of a moose in a lake on another, a log frame bed with a red and black Pendleton blanket and green flannel pillows, a matching log chair and ottoman, and most importantly, in her estimation, a door leading to its own bathroom.

  “They don’t all have their own facilities, but I didn’t think you’d want to be sharing the common shower room,” Shorty said, one hand shifting his black watch cap enough to scratch underneath it.

  “Which I completely appreciate,” she said with a smile.

  He nodded, looking a little nervous. “Dinner is at six-thirty tonight. Nothing fancy. Roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and rolls. With gravy. But we do have strawberry-rhubarb pie for dissert,” he said.

  “Sounds great,” she said, meaning it as she set down her duffle and propped the gun case against the wall near the bed.

  “Ah, I was wondering… how should I introduce you to our hunters?” he asked.

  He’d mentioned that they were all on edge from the slaughter of one of their own. On the one hand, telling them she was a werewolf expert might keep them from hitting on her, although, in her experience, almost nothing stopped the male drive for conquest. On the other, it might drive Shorty’s hunters away, hurting his business, and he had been very decent to her so far.

  “You can tell them I’m a carnivore expert from Columbia University,” she said.

  “What if they Google you?” he asked.

  “You have Wi-fi?”

  “Yes, and satellite TV. The password is trophy,” he said.

  She glanced at her phone. It was somehow already signed into the lodge’s network. She wasn’t surprised. Technology, a previously unreliable companion, seemed to be totally on her side lately. Ever since certain events of early summer. She had more then a few suspicions as to why.

  “You know what? Let’s just take our chances. I have a feeling it’ll be alright,” she said. Might be an interesting test, and if the hunters called her bluff, she’d just tell them the truth.

  He looked at her, unconvinced, then shook his head. “You’re probably right. They’re going to want to tell you all about themselves anyway. Prepare yourself for some world class bulls… ah, bragging,” he said, flushing slightly.

  “Shorty, my dad was an Airborne Ranger and my uncle is a state trooper. You have no chance of shocking me with your language,” she said.

  “Right. Still, it doesn’t seem hardly right. You settle in and I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, backing out of the room and pulling the door shut.

  Chapter 4

  The lock on the door was sturdy and clicked firmly, allowing her to take a deep breath and slump against the wall. She hadn’t realized how tiring it was being someone else. Her hand reached up and grabbed the base of her ponytail, pulling smoothly but firmly, and the whole head of brown hair slipped off, followed immediately by the tight wig cap underneath, revealing short, platinum blonde locks. Oh my God, that feels better. She left her contacts in place and checked in the bathroom mirror to make sure her scar hadn’t slipped around on her cheek. Then, after putting the wig on a collapsible wig stand from her bag, she kicked back on her bed, bouncing a bit to get a feel for its softness. Adequate, she thought.

  She lay back against the pillows, realizing that position gave her an awesome view out the single window. It was pretty dark, but not to her eyes.

  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  How ya doing?

  It was uncanny how he managed to text her just when she was free to converse.

  Pretty good, she wrote back, interested to see what he would say. She hadn’t told him where she was going or why, but she had absolutely no doubt he knew exactly where she was. But would he reveal that knowledge and risk her wrath?

  Good day? He tested.

  Coward. Not going to be that easy, bub.

  Yeah, you know. Same old same old.

  Really? Same old? Seems new to me, he braved.

  Oh? Ya think so? she typed, interested to see how far he’d stick his neck out.

  Well I’m not saying I know a lot about your regular sorta day, but driving to the upper ends of Maine seems a bit irregular.

  Got some brass ones tonight, do we, she thought, half-amused and half-annoyed.

  You tracking me? Stalking me? she wrote back, ready to tear into him.

  Stalking sounds creeper-ish… and suicidal. But I am something of a hacker, you know? Be a real crime if I couldn’t figure out where the important people in my life were, don’t you think?

  The fire of her temper fluttered out at the words “important people.” He was brave enough to admit to keeping tabs on her, and he got points for including her in a very, very short list of names, but he’d stopped short of making any wild juvenile declarations. Extra points to him, although it made her wonder where exactly he did stand. There were times she was rock-solid certain of his feelings, and then there were times she second-guessed herself.

  You must have a spreadsheet of us all? she asked.

  Don’t need a spreadsheet for three people. And one of them hardly leaves her restaurant, he wrote.

  What about Mack and his sis
ter? What about all the wee-otches? What about Caeco?

  If he was being bold, so would she. She knew for a fact that he was, at the very least, friends with that Ryanne witch, who she didn’t like one bit.

  All here at C A. No need to keep an eye on them. And I never track the wee-otches unless they’re up to something.

  Aren’t they always up to something? Like trying to get you to be their baby daddy.

  True. Its kinda wee-otch code to be up to no good, he replied. So whatcha doing up there?

  Thought he’d turn the tables, did he?

  D–corp biz, she typed back.

  Oh good. I thought it might have to do with that dude that got mauled to death by some big ass carnivore. Silly me. I pictured you investigating and tracking down a wayward WW. I wanted to make sure you knew you had backup if you needed it or if you needed any computers hacked, he wrote.

  Made the news did it? She was stalling while she thought about his message. He was too damned sharp for his own good sometimes.

  It’s being labeled as a bear attack, which are really rare, so it popped up on a news collection site I frequent. You will let me know if you need anything, right? That’s what friends do. Seems a friend of mine told me that this past summer.

  Was your friend hot? she asked.

  Like the sun. Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did right there. Counting on my baser instincts, aren’t you? You will let me know if you need any help, right?

  Boys are so easy to distract. You haven’t even asked what I’m wearing.

  Still not answering the question, he wrote back. Then she could see that he was typing again, so she waited. What are you wearing?

  Bingo. Male libido strikes again. Such simple beasts, boys and men.

  Flannel and tactical pants with desert combat boots.

  Mmmmm. Sexy.

  Despite herself, she laughed out loud. Then she took a quick selfie, lying on the bed pretending to be a model, and sent it.

  Powerful stuff. New cover of Sports Illustrated kind of photo. Hey, did you ever make up your mind on SI’s offer?

  Yep, he was thoroughly off topic now. Which was what she wanted. She was warmed by his offer of help, but this was her mission—her chance to get away from corporate headquarters and all the baby and pregnancy foolishness that seemed to never stop. Suddenly, for the first time all day, she found herself thinking of the other him, the other male in her life, and that was a bit of a shock. For the better part of three years, she’d thought of one guy all the time. Now it was five p.m. and she was only now thinking of that guy, and it was in passing, at that. And that one was probably fussing over Miss Preggers. Gag and yack. Whereas the young man on the other end of the texts had crossed her mind several times today. She wasn’t at all certain how she felt about that.

  Well?

  Oops. Took too long.

  Still contemplating it. It would make things like this even harder than they already are.

  That the reason for the scar on your cheek and the funny color of your eyes? It’s your trademark hair you have to do something about, he wrote.

  She took a picture of the brunette wig on its stand and sent it.

  Oh. Got it. Makes sense, but really Stacia, anyone could see through that. Half the guys here at Arcane wouldn’t be fooled. Of course, they spend hours drooling over your posters. Hey, re-braid the ponytail so it comes out from one side. You’ll look like Deb from Napoleon Dynamite.

  She laughed out loud.

  You are a wiseass in desperate need of a beat down. I don’t think people up here spend anywhere near as much time with all the media crap. So far, I think I’m good, she answered.

  If anyone figures it out, you’ll have a media circus up there. You using the Lisa ID?

  Yes. It seemed to hold up when the local fuzz ran it, she sent.

  Please. You could use it to get a friggin passport. You want a passport in it?

  Interesting how cocky he was getting about his hacking. It reinforced her suspicions.

  You shouldn’t take those risks. What about No Such A-holes? They would object to you monkeying with government systems. Could ruin your programming career, she wrote.

  Not so risky. They have way bigger problems. Probably changing majors anyway.

  That was news. When had he come up with that?

  No friggin way? What would you switch to, and why would you give up your calling?

  I think maybe a business major. Since this summer, I’ve thought Comp Sci might be archaic. We pretty much broke the box on technology.

  Business? With the kind of bank you could make with your tech skills? That makes no sense, she texted.

  Not going to build any more of them. One is enough. And that one makes all the others kinda of obsolete. Hard to sit through Computer Organization 121 when I helped create Omega.

  Ah ha. Now they were exploring those very suspicions of hers. The only known truly quantum computer, which Declan had named Omega, although he had never fully explained why he choose that name. Chris and Tanya would have let him name the damned thing anything he wanted. But she was certain there was more going on then anyone knew. Too many strange tech-related events had occurred.

  There’ll be others created. You could consult, she wrote.

  Not like Omega. But nothing decided yet. Back to your trip… was it a WW?

  She thought about denying it or deflecting. But she hadn’t lied to him yet and it didn’t seem very honest to try for yet another topic change.

  Yes, she wrote back.

  He didn’t answer instantly. Ah… thinking it through. Let’s see where you go with that, she thought.

  Rogue. Will you have to judge—jury—execute?

  More points for assuming she would find the rogue and be able to handle it. Most of her Pack wouldn’t grant her that level of confidence. In fact, only Brock and Afina had done so when they gave her their backing to handle the matter.

  Likely, she wrote.

  It was his or her choice to commit the crime. Let me know if you need to talk about it. And you WILL let me know if you need ANY backup or computer support, right?

  Damn. The kid was on point tonight. Then she amended her thought. He wasn’t a kid. He was only two years younger than she was and he carried enough power to blow a town like Fetter, Maine right off the map.

  Well, class is about to start. Wade’s teaching it. He’s really good, he wrote.

  Do the kids behave for him?

  The wee-otches love him. Get all fluttery at the sight of him. He treats the wolf pack with respect and he’s interesting, he wrote.

  Probably doesn’t hurt that he’s friendly with the Warlock either, does it?

  I guess, he admitted. So humble. Going for a run tonight?

  Maybe. I might recon better that way.

  Be good for you too, he answered.

  Oh yeah? How do you know?

  A third of my class is going for a run tonight. I talk to them about it. Dellwood says things are always better after a run under moonlight.

  So do the rest of the kids stay inside when that happens?

  Most. I usually go out and wander around, listening to the runners, he said.

  That’s dangerous! she typed back.

  Nah. I’ve been trained by the best to handle this sort of thing.

  So cheeky, she thought.

  Plus, they all know me. They usually come running back to check on me as I blunder about in the woods. I can see pretty well, though. New spell I worked out for Wytch War. Call it Wolf vision. Infrared. Uses a WW eyelash.

  She wanted to ask whose eyelash he was using for the spell. Instead, she asked another important question. So if you were here, you’d go out with me while I was running?

  Yup. I’d wander about while you ran down moose and small mammoths, he responded.

  Ummm. Mammoth would taste good about now, she wrote.

  Read they found a frozen one in Alaska. Maybe we could snag you a couple of steaks?

  W
iseass.

  Well, Wade’s talking. I better go. CALL or TEXT if you NEED anything.

  Yes dad, she wrote, knowing he’d absolutely hate that title.

  As long as you admit to who’s your daddy. Sorry, couldn’t resist.