Bite Me

by Shelly Laurenston

  “Stand her up for me,” Jocelyn ordered.

  Shen did, making sure to turn Melly away from him. Although he realized that might not actually save him.

  Jocelyn stared at her cousin for several moments before pulling back her hand and slapping Melly in the face. The first time did nothing, but the second slap had Melly swinging fists and cursing.

  “Melly. Melly!”

  The honey badger stopped. “Hey, Jocelyn. What’s going on?”

  “We need you to work for a little while.”

  “I don’t feel like it.” Melly searched her dress, which had no pockets. For her phone, Shen guessed. “I don’t understand how he can’t love me.”

  Jake looked at Shen and rolled his eyes.

  “We’ll have to worry about that later, sweetie. Because I really need you to handle this right now.”

  “Handle what?”

  Jocelyn held up a poster of an old Matisse painting that had been stolen from a Belgian art museum nearly ten years ago and never recovered.

  “Ohhh,” Melly drunkenly sighed. “Matisse. I love Matisse.”

  “I know you do.” Jocelyn nodded her head at Shen, and he released Melly’s shoulders. Jocelyn began to walk backward, holding the painting up and Melly stumbled after her. “Only you can do this, Melly. You know that, right?”

  “Yep. I know.” She waved her hand at Jocelyn. “Pin it. Pin it.”

  Jocelyn pinned the poster to an easel and Melly stood in front of it. She stood. She stared. She weaved a little.

  With a finger to her lips, Jocelyn gestured for the men to leave. Together, the three walked out, Jake silently shutting the door behind them.

  Shen started to say something, but Jocelyn shook her head and indicated for them to walk down the stairs. Once they were on another floor, Shen asked, “Are you sure we should leave her alone? She looks about to pass out again.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Jocelyn said with absolutely no concern in her voice.

  Shen wasn’t so sure but . . . he wasn’t about to go back and risk getting hit with all manner of disgusting things. He just hoped the family knew what they were doing since a lot of what they were planning hinged on a bipolar honey badger female with an obvious drinking problem.

  Toni watched Vic open another jar of honey, put a spoon into it, and hand it to Livy. “The cinnamon-infused.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to go watch TV with Shen.”

  “Ball game on? Maybe a little hockey?”

  “No. Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon.”

  “Of course.”

  Vic kissed her cheek and walked out, leaving the two females alone in the kitchen. They sat on the island, their feet hanging over the side.

  “Honey?” Livy offered.

  “I hate honey.”

  “What kind of demon hates honey?”

  “So, how long before you admit to Vic that you love him, too?”

  “Why don’t you shut the fuck up?”

  Toni laughed. “Oh my God. This is the best. I actually have something to torture you with. This is like heaven on earth.”

  “Shut. Up.”

  Livy’s mother pulled the sliding glass door open and walked into the kitchen. She’d clearly been shopping, her hands filled with bags from stores like Chanel, Coach, and Saks Fifth Avenue. She stopped, though, when she saw Toni sitting next to Livy.

  “Oh. Antonella. How nice,” her mother practically sneered.

  “Chuntao,” Toni said, always knowing how much Livy’s mother hated when Toni and Jacqueline called her by her given name. She’d worked hard to be Joan Kowalski, and she didn’t appreciate being called out by “those artistic snobs.” “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine. Just fine. Thanks.”

  Joan cut across the kitchen.

  “Love the mink,” Toni lied. “It’s always nice to wear the fur of a dead animal on your back.”

  Joan paused by the doorway that led to the hall. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Antonella dear.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled so that the pair could easily see her fangs. “It’s so hard these days to find a good friend.”

  Once Joan was gone, Toni asked Livy, “Your mother really does hate me, doesn’t she?”

  “I think she hates your mother much more. But you are a close second.”

  Toni gave a dismissive wave. “Then my job here is done.”

  Sitting at the dining table, a glass of red wine nearby, Semenova chewed on elk jerky, flipped through a copy of Russian Vogue, and watched honey badgers skitter around. They probably didn’t see themselves as “skittering,” but that was how it seemed to Semenova. They moved quickly, stopped, listened, moved again.

  Watching them made her want to go on a hunting-killing spree, but she knew her son wouldn’t appreciate that. So she focused on her magazine and her elk jerky instead.

  She heard bickering and glanced through the big glass windows that looked out on the backyard. It was that Olivia Kowalski and her mother Chuntao “Joan” Yang.

  Semenova knew Joan Yang. Not personally, but anyone in her line of work made it their business to know the Yangs and the Kowalskis, as well as all the Mongolian Chinbats, the Russian Popovs, the African Owusu, the Albanian Dushku, the American Phillips . . . good God, the list of honey badger families went on and on.

  The honey badgers, however, had always been unique among shifters. They dealt mostly with full-humans and didn’t involve themselves in shifter politics. They did, however, involve themselves in full-human politics because it amused them to do so. It amused honey badgers to fuck with people. It amused them to steal, torment, and toy with those who weren’t part of their families. They bred many to ensure their strength among the shifter nation, in general, and other honey badger families specifically.

  Of all shifters, Semenova always felt that the honey badgers were the ones who could take over the world . . . they simply never felt like it. Instead, they managed to keep the balance. They kept the world from ending, but they never allowed things to become perfect.

  Perfection was a curse. Perfection was boredom—and badgers hated boredom.

  So they served their purpose in the world, but she still treated badgers as the criminals most of them were. Especially in Eastern Europe and Mongolia, where Semenova and her mate worked long and hard helping law enforcement keep control.

  What could Semenova say? She and her Vladik were very good at what they did. Her Vladik was the sweet-talker, negotiating with everyone, from mobsters to pirates to government rulers.

  Semenova, however, was . . . what did her son call it? Ah, yes. She was “The Bad Cop.” She’d been trained by her mother, who had been Soviet Secret Police. Not because she’d been forced to or recruited, but because she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed it greatly.

  Just as Semenova enjoyed what she did . . . greatly.

  A sudden banging on the table had Semenova looking up from her magazine. An old Asian She-badger stared down at her. An old She-badger she knew.

  “Hello, feline,” the badger greeted.

  “Ancient rat.”

  The badger smirked. “Ratel . . . but you know that.” She pulled out one of the dining chairs and slowly sat down. Every bone creaked as she did. How old was this woman? Semenova had seen at least six birth certificates. Some from China, others from the States. One from Paris. And she looked anywhere from seventy to eighty to ninety.

  “Tell me, ratel,” Semenova asked with a smile, “how many of your . . . what’s the English word? Kin, is it? How many of your kin have I had put away? At least two daughters, a son . . . that third husband of yours.”

  “I liked him. He was young. Very handsome. Good amount of insurance on him. Tragically died in Qincheng Prison.” She pressed a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. “Broke my heart.”

  Semenova laughed. “It’s fun to pretend that either of us has one.”

  The badger, grinning, reached into her large handbag with the atroc
ious flower pattern and pulled out a bottle of the best vodka that Russia had ever produced.

  She slammed the bottle onto the table. “Let’s drink, feline. Drink . . . and chat.”

  The bottle slid across the table and into Semenova’s outstretched hand.

  Curious and desiring a taste of home, Semenova opened the bottle and took a deep drink. “Yes, old woman. Let us chat.”

  Vic glanced away from the TV to see Livy walk into the living room. She sat down on the floor near his legs and stretched a large towel out.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Jake stopped by my office and picked up my camera.” She placed the damaged equipment on the towel. “I’m going to see if I can fix it.”

  “You know how to fix cameras?”

  “I’ve restored cameras. Fixed a few minor problems.” But never had the inside of a camera been in so many pieces before. She looked at Vic. “If I hadn’t already killed those bears . . . I’d totally kill them again. Because this”—she held up her damaged camera body that still made those very disheartening rattling sounds—“is just wrong.”

  Shen leaned forward so he could see around Vic. “Are you crying?”

  Tears fell down her cheeks. “Because this is so wrong!”

  “But . . . they shot you and you didn’t cry. You found your father’s body stuffed and in a woman’s apartment and you didn’t cry. But the bears break your camera and . . . you’re weeping.”

  “I don’t understand your point.”

  “Okay.” Shen leaned back into the couch, nodded at Vic. “I’m done.”

  Livy cleaned up her tears and worked on her camera until an elderly honey badger with a vicious long scar running down one side of her neck slowly made her way past the living room archway, her walking stick tapping against the marble flooring.

  “Great-Aunt Li-Li?”

  “Don’t mind me.”

  “I don’t mind you,” Livy replied. “I just didn’t know you were still here.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Livy.”

  “What?”

  “Be nice.” Vic leaned in and whispered, “She’s old.”

  “Yes. And that doesn’t make her any less mean. So, Aunt Li-Li—” Livy stopped talking, and Vic realized that her great-aunt had disappeared.

  “Where did she go?” Shen asked.

  Vic shook his head. “Something tells me we probably don’t want to know.”

  “We don’t,” Livy promised. “You don’t get to be one step below matriarch of the Yang family without some . . . let’s just call it edge.”

  “One step below?”

  “Until her mother dies, she’ll be one step below.”

  “Her mother is still alive?”

  “Oh yeah. She’s outlived eight husbands, too.” Livy glanced at Vic. “Some of them even died naturally.”

  “You know,” Shen said low to Vic, “you really need to stop asking her questions about her family.”

  “You’re right, because the answers continue to freak me the heck out.”

  Livy walked into the room she shared with Vic. He was in bed, reading a Star Wars novel.

  “Exactly how high is your geek level?” she asked.

  “Pretty high. Is that a problem for you?”

  “I just like to know what I’m getting into here.”

  Livy walked over to the garbage can in the room and dropped the towel filled with what was left of her digital camera into it.

  “Just giving up?”

  “Sometimes you have to.” She started toward the bed. “My camera’s fucked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It could have been worse. They could have done this to my Hasselblad. Then, of course, I would have had to destroy the entire bear nation and all of Russia.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my Hasselblad rig cost more than your SUV when you bought it new.”

  “For a camera?”

  “The best camera.”

  Livy turned away from the bed and toward the bedroom door when she heard a knock. She opened it and smiled up at Vic’s father.

  “Hello, Vladik.”

  “Hello, beautiful Olivia,” he boomed. The man didn’t seem to have any volume control. “Is my son too busy to see his papa?” He leaned down and said in what he probably thought was a whisper but was still more yelling, “You two were not busy, were you? I hate to interrupt.”

  “Papa.”

  Vladik walked past Livy, not waiting to see if he was interrupting anything. Just lumbering by as bears liked to do.

  “What is the tone?” Vladik asked his son. “I am just glad you found woman. I was a little worried,” he said to Livy. “He is very shy, my handsome son, and his mother and sister coddle him.”

  “Papa, please stop talking.”

  “I only speak truth. But my little girl”—Ira’s little?—“she says she likes you, beautiful Olivia. You are small, but very strong. You will make my son good mate.”

  Vic tossed his book across the bed. “Papa!”

  “Again with tone! Why tone?”

  Vic rubbed his forehead. “Olivia and I are just—”

  “Just? Just what? Why waste time with just?”

  “Papa, do you need something?”

  “We leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Go.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. We have things to do. We came to check to make sure you were safe and that beautiful Olivia had not been killed. You are safe. Olivia is alive. We now go.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe? Chumakov—”

  “Does not worry me. But don’t you be foolish. You see what he will do.”

  “Yeah. All to protect a full-human.”

  Vladik snorted. “He does not protect Whitlan to protect Whitlan.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It is about honor for him. He has given Whitlan his protection. If he can’t protect Whitlan, his precious honor will suffer. That is all he cares about. Remember that. Now we go. Come say good-bye to your mama.”

  Vic slid off the bed while Vladik hugged Livy, which was like being briefly suffocated by a giant.

  “Take care, beautiful Olivia.”

  “Should I go down and say good-bye to Nova?”

  “No,” both males immediately replied.

  “I won’t be long,” Vic added sheepishly.

  He walked out with his father, closing the door behind him. Livy yawned, pulled off her clothes, and naked, stretched out stomach-down on the bed. She picked up the book Vic had tossed and read the back cover. She barely made it halfway through before she rolled her eyes and tossed the book back onto Vic’s side of the bed.

  Vic walked out the front door of Novikov’s house. His mother sat sideways in the rental car, her legs hanging out and crossed at the knees, while she freshened up her lipstick.

  Coming down the stairs, Vic stopped by Livy’s honey badger uncles. “Mind not staring at my mother like that?” he asked, trying desperately to keep in mind they were Livy’s blood relatives.

  “Your mother is very pretty,” Balt remarked, his brothers smiling beside him.

  Vic gave a short roar that managed to shake the house windows and moved the car a few feet.

  The smiling turned to badger sneering. “That is annoying, hybrid,” Balt snarled.

  “We have no time for this.” Vladik grabbed Balt and Gustav from behind and, ignoring the hissing and claws, tossed them toward the front door, quickly followed by Otto and Kamil. He was reaching for David when that badger held up his hands.

  “I can walk, bear. I can walk.”

  “Come.” Vladik moved to the car, remotely releasing the Mercedes-Benz trunk. “Take this.”

  Vic opened the heavy briefcase, looked in, blinked, gazed at his father. “Seriously?”

  “Take it. Use it. You canno
t just sit around all day using your tail inappropriately with that She-badger—”

  “Papa!”

  “—and not do something to help yourselves out of this situation.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Victor,” his mother called out. “Victor, my dear. Come to Mama.”

  Vic closed the briefcase and walked around the car to his mother. He crouched down in front of her since he knew she wasn’t about to stand.

  “Take this,” she said, touching the case. “Use it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Hide it from badgers. They are nothing but thieves.”

  “Mama.”

  “I do not mean your little Olivia. She has no distinct criminal record for at least a decade now. That is good. But her family.” She rolled her eyes. “Good luck protecting your wallet.”

  Before Vic could ask his mother to stop—or just simply repeat “Mama” with tone—she went on. “The thing you must remember is getting this Whitlan person is just part of what you need to do. If you want to protect your badger, you’ll need to ensure Chumakov is made impotent.”

  Vic reared back a bit from his mother. “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure you’re using the right word?”

  “Do not insult me, Victor Barinov. Ungrateful boy!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Be smart. Take care of this.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now kiss me so we can go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To do what we can from our end.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Why do you question me so?” his mother bellowed. “It is like you do not trust me!”

  “I trust you! I trust you!”

  Vic kissed his mother on both cheeks and stood while he was grabbed by his father in one of his all-encompassing hugs, then kissed twice on both cheeks.

  “My brilliant, amazing son!” Vladik boomed. “Do not get yourself killed or my rarely seen rage will be unleashed on the entire world!”

  “I know, Papa.”