Mr. Wolfe

by Llewellyn, A. J.

"Okay," she said. "Sorry about that, Mr. Wolfe. Geez...Zara said you wouldn't even notice."

  Ambrosio could hear the cringe in her voice. He almost felt sorry for her except that he knew what havoc those pixies would cause if they didn't have their demands met.

  They could hear the fighting and shouting from outside the warehouse doors as they pulled up.

  "What the--" Wolfie said and made a mad dash for the building.

  Ambrosio fretted at the anxiety flooding his husband's handsome features and waited for the barrage of insults common from the pixies in their company. They all fell silent however as the two men walked in and turned on the lights.

  The pixies stood still in their positions.

  Ambrosio almost laughed when he saw the shocked looks on their tiny faces.

  He'd never met a pixie before he'd fallen in love with Wolfie and learned that he worked with these underground creatures because they had the most perfect, delicate hand stitching.

  That was the good side of pixies. Well, one of them. There were three. No, four. They did work hard and could lift very heavy objects without any apparent effort. They were admittedly loyal and were willing to work for accommodations and unlimited supplies of maple syrup. Pure maple syrup harvested in the spring, that is. Not imitation crap.

  Ambrosio couldn't think of a single other positive thing about this motley crew of magical misfits.

  They were all androgynous-looking and very similar in appearance. Pale blond hair, sometimes light red. Big green eyes. They all had prickly temperaments and breath like skunk spray. They also preferred to work in the nude. In fact it was damned hard to make pixies keep their clothes on. There was another thing, too. They could punch each other like heavyweight prize fighters over ridiculous things and their regular feuds could be impossible, not to mention painful, to break up.

  Wolfie exuded a presence though. He didn't need to yell or threaten physical harm. They all cowered under the glare of his disapproval and began to silently put their clothes on. A few even began to cry. The truth was, pixies, like so many other magical creatures had been displaced over the centuries.

  They had few real friends and uncertain futures thanks to lawn mowers, dogs, cats, and snail repellant, which was highly toxic to garden pixies.

  Few people in the magical world gave work to the pixies. They didn't have the cache or charm of fairies, nor the allure of angels. They lived only twenty years, reaching sexual maturity at two. They fucked one another indiscriminately and with such frequency it was the usual cause of fights.

  The only remedy to keep them happy and productive was maple syrup.

  They were, in short, a bit of a nightmare really.

  "Sorry, Wolfie," said Adorabelle, the leader of the bunch. She was twenty-two and had already outlived her life expectancy but was the most immature of them all. She tended to pick on her three daughters, Nyx, Sable, and Dolly the most.

  "We're sorry," the others all said in turn.

  Ambrosio resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. Pixies were sensitive, plus they had wicked, sharp bites. He'd learned that from experience.

  "What started it?" Wolfie asked.

  The pixies all swiveled their gazes at Adorabelle, but nobody said a word.

  "Oh, for corn's sake," said Frosty, a rare Welsh fir darrig. His pixie people had been known through the centuries to be practical jokers. Poor Frosty, who couldn't hold his morning dew on the occasions he was allowed to imbibe, often found the joke to be on him. When snockered, he had the unfortunate habit of trying to eat other's people's shoes. Humans, as well as pixie folk.

  "It's her wot started it." Frosty pointed to an indignant-looking Adorabelle.

  "Why did you start it, Belle?" Wolfie was so kind and patient, hunkering down to the floor to get closer to the pesky pixie.

  She responded the way she always did when her temper had gotten the better of her and she had no good response for her bad behavior; she started to cry.

  "There, there." Wolfie hated to see anybody cry. He might have been further swayed by her pathetic attempts at gaining his pity had he not caught a glimpse of a shredded gown tossed along the floor.

  "Who did this?"

  Ambrosio had never known Wolfie's tone to be so cold and fearsome.

  "She did!" Frosty hopped up and down on one foot now, trying to get his shoes back on his feet. "Adorabelle just had to try it on."

  "You will work late tonight fixing it," Wolfie said. "Lucky for you I know your work is flawless."

  "Yes, Mr. Wolfe." She glared at Frosty. "Tattletale!"

  "You're such a diva." From out of the pack of fluttering pixies came a high, thin voice. Ambrose knew it was Cypress, an Irish forest pixie who would have been an ideal leader except that Adorabelle would have made everybody else's life miserable.

  Cypress began organizing the pixies as Adorabelle kept up her flame-throwing stares at Frosty.

  Ambrosio adored the fir darrig, but didn't quite understand Wolfie's attachment to Adorabelle. He suspected it didn't go much deeper than long-standing loyalty and a deep request for her superb craftmanship. Loyalty was a dying quality these days, in love, and in business. Ambrosio felt a fresh stab of affection for the man he'd married. It would take a lot for Wolfie to turn his back on a friend or colleague.

  "That's enough." Wolfie's voice cut through the storm of twittering arguments.

  His cell phone rang. "Yes, Virginia," he said, pulling a face when he saw her name on the readout.

  Ambrosio heard the crew members pull up in their vehicles.

  "Get back to your mirror," Ambrosio hissed to the scurrying pixies. He ran around picking up the fragments of torn garment. He badly wanted to kiss his agitated husband but knew better. He shoved the ripped dress into one of the desk drawers and flicked a switch on his remote control, reactivating the security cameras. He'd deactivated them remotely once he'd heard from the Swiss pixie, Shae, that a dress was about to be destroyed.

  "Anybody home?" Miguel called from out front.

  Ambrosio took one last look around as Wolfie dealt with Virginia on the phone. The pixies were all back on the mirror, silent and steady, gazing with self-love at their own reflections.

  That was another thing about pixies that Ambrosio couldn't stand.

  They were vainest creatures he had ever met.

  * * * *

  As the morning wore on, Virginia's calls kept coming through as Wolfie and the crew worked hard and fast to start the archival process.

  Trevor took photographs of each piece that was ready for packaging. He made two catalogues. One on Wolfie's laptop, the other via video library.

  Miguel placed plastic covered catalogue cards in each garment bag that he stored in the containers they would load onto the shelves later. On each card he'd written when and where Miss Finley had worn the garment.

  Meanwhile, Wolfie seemed to be having a hard time making Zara see reason, mind you he was talking to her through Virginia, whose job it was, like all Hollywood assistants, to make it impossible to speak directly with their vaunted employers.

  Ambrosio listened to his husband's side of the conversation and wondered if Zara or perhaps even Virginia had pixie blood flowing through their veins.

  "You found the maple syrup? Good! Thank you." Wolfie sounded relieved at last. "Yes, have it sent here. As for the clothing from Sotheby's, I'm glad you see it my way finally. Would you like me to supervise the delivery to the Sunset studio?" A pause, then, "What do you mean there's another storage unit filled with Bobby Beckett's stuff?"

  Oh, my God. How the hell will we get through all this? Ambrosio poised his hammer above the last nail to go in the large cedar drawers lining the east wall and tried not to panic.

  We always worry, then we always make it.

  He banged the nail, wishing it were Zara Finley's head.

  "Where is it? Atlanta, Georgia?" Wolfie's voice rose. "Are you shitting me, Virginia?"

  Ambrosio heard his husband getting angry agai
n. "Of course you'll ship it to California. How do you expect it to get here? Do you think the trunks will grow legs and walk?"

  Miguel and Zev laughed.

  Wolfie let out a loud groan. "No you will not use FedEx. Are you crazy? You'll call Rock-It Cargo." Then, "What do you mean you've never heard of it? It's all we ever use!"

  "Miguel," Ambrosio kept his voice low, pointing his hammer toward Wolfie. "Please go help Mr. Wolfe. You could arrange all the shipping stuff so easily for him."

  "Sure boss, no problem."

  "Oh, and, Miguel, please make sure we get that maple syrup today, yeah?"

  Miguel gave him a thumbs-up and dashed toward Mr. Wolfe.

  He was the only crewmember who'd ever asked about the copious amounts of maple syrup Mr. Wolfe requested on their assignments.

  "Mr. Wolfe likes pancakes," had been Ambrosio's response.

  Miguel hadn't questioned it.

  Ambrosio tried not to think of the enjoyment on his husband's face earlier that morning as he'd sat on Wolfie's lap, watching him demolish his pancakes. His whole body trembled, remembering the possessive way Wolfie had then focused on Ambrosio's ass. He'd devoured him.

  Wolfie wrestled relentless pleasure out of Ambrosio's body and mind with such dedication, Ambrosio grew hard just thinking about it. They rarely got much sleep, yet both men were seldom tired. Only two things could hamper their zest for life and one another; a lack of blood for Ambrosio and the full moon for Wolfie.

  Ambrosio checked the completed drawers, pleased with his own work. He began lining them with acid-free tissue paper when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

  How do your nipples feel?

  The shock almost made him drop the phone. Wolfie never sent him sexy messages at work. He checked that it was in fact Wolfie texting him. He'd been receiving wholly inappropriate messages from Vez lately. Ambrosio gazed across the expanse of warehouse space at the Croatian carpenter who was finishing up the shelves on the other side.

  Ambrosio was loyal to his husband and would never cheat on him. On the other hand, he didn't want to hurt Wolfie by telling him how heavily Vez had been coming onto him. Ambrosio could handle it.

  My nipples ache for you, he texted. There, Wolfie would love that.

  He grinned as he watched the digital envelope on his cell phone vanish and the word sent appeared on the screen.

  Ambrosio gazed at his husband and caught his lusty eye. He almost came in his pants.

  Wolfie strode to him, sexy as hell in his work pants and boots. Ambrosio could never decide which he preferred, his husband naked, or bent over the most handy object available, his pants shoved down, his black leather boots gleaming as Ambrosio stood between his parted legs and took him from behind.

  "Can you go to the Sotheby's warehouse and supervise the shipment of clothing over to the Sunset warehouse?" Wolfie asked.

  "No problem, boss." Ambrosio's gaze bored into his boss's. He was already trying to think up ways to be the boss in the bedroom as soon as they got home that night.

  "Who do you want to take with you? Vez?"

  Ambrosio couldn't hide his reluctance.

  Wolfie frowned. "Is everything okay?" His voice was barely a whisper..

  Ambrosio nodded. "Nothing I can't handle."

  "If he's a problem, let me know."

  "Sure will." Ambrosio slipped on his dark glasses. In the warehouse he was fine all day. He never usually stepped out in full midday sun, but since he'd met Wolfie, somehow he was able to withstand it better than he had in the past.

  Maybe love does conquer all.

  More than anything, Ambrosio wanted to be an asset to his husband, not a whiny nuisance.

  "Would you ever consider dropping him for Mireille?" Ambrosio asked. The question slipped out before he could stop himself from asking. He missed his sister and knew that her work was impeccable. She would be a wonderful addition to the sewing team. Miguel could be groomed into the heavier work undertaken by Vez.

  Wolfie's inner were flickered in his eyes. His keen sense of Ambrosio's discomfort seemed to kick into gear. It was as if he could sense that Ambrosio couldn't tolerate any more of Vez's impertinent questions or unappreciated overtures.

  "I thought you'd never ask," Wolfie said. "When this assignment is over, consider it done." He frowned. "On second thoughts, ask her to come as soon as possible. We'll get her trained up before we ship out."

  "You're sure?"

  Mr. Wolfe smiled at him. Not his pleased boss smile, but his sexy, loving husband smile. "Very sure. I miss our girl, too." He turned, heading back to his beaded gowns.

  * * * *

  Ambrosio was so ecstatic at the idea of Mireille coming to LA that he barely noticed Vez's ham-fisted efforts to engage him in stupid conversation as they drove to Sotheby's.

  "I Googled Mr. Wolfe," Vez said.

  "And?" Ambrosio lamented that it was twelve thirty-nine P.M. here, but only four thirty-nine in the morning in Japan. He waited at the lights that would let them merge onto the 405 Freeway. He was desperate to call Mireille, who was on a silk-buying trip in the remote mountain provinces of KMshin'etsu.

  "He's supposed to be sixty-two but he looks damned good for his age."

  "Yeah, he does." Ambrosio prided himself on having landed such a hot, hung husband.

  "I thought it might be plastic surgery but I've made a practice of studying him. Not a single tuck behind the ears. Not a tuck to the forehead. Nothing."

  Ambrosio couldn't believe Vez would say these things to him. His eyes began to burn. It wasn't the sun. He'd had all his windows tinted and his dark glasses were snug on his face.

  No. This was anger, pure and simple, burning up inside him.

  He'd never wanted to kill a human so badly. Not in three hundred years on earth.

  "How do you think he stays so youthful?" Vez asked.

  "I don't know. A painting in the attic?" Ambrosio's attempt at humor seemed to tick off Vez, who responded with, "No, I'm thinking it's all the cock you give him."

  "What?" Ambrosio was so shocked he almost hit a telegraph pole as the lights changed and he barreled onto the freeway entrance.

  Steady now. He's just fishing.

  "Yep. I know you're an item. Everyone knows it. Virginia tells me you two are married."

  The words hovered between them a moment like a stinky fart nobody would lay claim to. Ambrosio almost opened the window to get rid of the imaginary smell.

  "No, she never said that to you." She can't know. We were so careful. Not only that, not a single human was at our wedding!

  "You're right." Vez sounded disappointed. "She didn't. I just thought you might come clean. I've seen the way you two look at each other."

  Ambrosio relaxed a little. "I think the world of him. He's the best boss I ever had. So knock it off with this bullshit, yeah?"

  "Why won't you go out with me?"

  "Because I'm not attracted to you, Vez."

  That seemed to surprise his co-worker. "Ouch," he said.

  When Ambrosio didn't respond, Vez lapsed into silence, save for the irritating drumming he began on the dashboard with his fingertips.

  "You have a boyfriend?" he finally asked after they'd driven in silence for several miles.

  "None of your business." Ambrosio hated being questioned about his love life. Wolfie had good reasons for not wanting to reveal their relationship status to his staff. It had proved catastrophic when Ambrosio first started working with him soon after they met.

  Wolfie had been so good to Vez. He'd sponsored his green card and paid for his trucker driving classes when Vez had met them in Albuquerque a few years ago on another assignment. That had been a weird one. A Western costume museum in the middle of damned nowhere.

  Vez got his license, but then changed his mind. He turned up at the museum one day, saying he wanted to work for Wolfie, who'd encouraged the man after seeing him work.

  Ambrosio tried to tamp down his anger. Vez was the first human Wolfie had h
ired in decades. Miguel, the second. Trevor, a vampire, had been with Wolfie for twenty years. He and the pixies had been their only coworkers invited to their wedding. Ambrosio had always trusted Trevor, but now, Ambrosio wondered.

  Where were all of Vez's questions coming from? He felt very awkward about working with the guy any longer. In his experience, humans never let sleeping dogs lie. They tortured and abused them.

  He knows something. He's not just fishing. Somebody said something.

  But who?

  As they reached their destination, he received a text from Wolfie.

  Vez knows about us. He told Miguel he's got a crush on you and followed you home the other night. Be careful.

  Ambrosio's skin went cold.

  Careful? He'd be more than just that.

  A Rock-It Cargo truck pulled in the laneway beside him.

  "Go help him load up the trunks, please," he said. "I need to call the Sunset warehouse staff and make sure they're waiting for us."

  "No, you're not. You're going to call Wolfie...I mean, Mr. Wolfe, and whisper sweet nothings in his ear."

  Ambrosio swiveled his head toward Vez. If it hadn't been broad daylight and if he hadn't needed the guy to help him on this job, he'd have killed him on the spot.

  He just stared at Vez, who seemed to wilt under his apparent scrutiny.

  "Just kiddin', man," he said, and got out of the SUV.

  He longed to call his husband, but was surprised when his cell phone rang. It was Mireille.

  "I was sleeping," she said, her voice drowsy and low, "And I got the sudden feeling something was wrong. What's going on, Ambrosio?"

  He talked quickly, telling her about Vez and his desire for her to move to LA.

  "Wolfie really said that? That he wants me there, too?"

  "Absolutely, he did. He said he misses you, too."

  "I'm there," she said. "I miss you so much."

  "I miss you too, sweetheart." As they ended their call, Ambrosio decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but keeping his husband safe and happy, keeping his secret, their secrets, intact.

  He missed more than anything the sound of Wolfie's voice. He pushed down the small, shouting voice inside him that tried to tell him it was all about to go to hell in a hand basket.