by J. P. Rice
“To be honest, I would think you’re in the Burgh because of all the whispers about Lugh’s Spear.” He raised his eyebrows.
I drank some water and moistened my parched throat. “Then you would be wrong. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in what happened to it. I just won’t be the one going after it.” I didn’t want to reveal the rumors about Loki and the Spear.
Even if Tyr didn’t spend a lot of time with Loki anymore, they used to be good friends and the relationship was his only connection to his former pantheon. I didn’t need Tyr getting pissed off at Loki for not telling him about it, and trying to start a war like Jonathan. Plus, I hadn’t verified the Loki clue yet.
“What do you know about it?” I asked.
Tyr broke his molasses roll in half and grabbed the butter plate. “Not much. I know that I’ve heard this kind of talk hundreds of times before. Honestly, I feel that the Spear is still at the bottom of the Atlantic. And all these rumors are just to get people like you and me fired up.”
He was right. We’d been through this song and dance before, jumped through the same hoops and eventually come up empty. The process was tiresome. After I had thrown it in the sea, the first whispers started back up in the late 50s, and as the years went on, they only intensified. It was always a friend of a friend of a guy we used to know saw the Spear. Or something in a similar vein. Never anything concrete.
Poseidon was the only one who could have possibly found it. With the vastness of the ocean, even that was a longshot possibility.
“I agree. I’m actually focusing on bringing peace to the brewing wolf-vampire war. Have you heard anything about that?” I caught myself getting lost in his eyes and turned to the side, pretending to watch the basketball game on the TV for a second.
Tyr chewed his roll, swallowed and said, “Oh yeah. I heard that vampire friend of yours, Jonathan is starting all kinds of shit.”
I watched as he dabbed his lips with the white napkin. “What are you talking about? He said the wolves jumped one of his guys in a safe zone.” I grabbed a plantain chip dusted with powdered sugar out of the basket.
Tyr laughed and squeezed his lemon wedge garnish into his water. “Oh, June. Don’t believe everything you hear out of someone’s mouth. He basically executed the ‘thropes working security at some lawyer’s house. Mathias something or other. Then he went after the Larimores for some strange reason. The guy started a war with the most powerful group of shifters and his own vampires across the state. He’s toxic. I’d stay the hell away from him if I were you.”
This certainly put me in an awkward spot. I wasn’t sure whom to believe. “I’m going to talk to Octavius on his behalf. It’s already set up. Is there anything I should know about Octavius?”
Tyr answered immediately, “Yeah, he’s a downright lunatic anymore.”
“Whoa, quite the reaction.” I hadn’t believed Jonathan because of his grudge with Ocatavius, but apparently I had to be careful around the alpha wolf.
He shrugged, peered around the room and set down his buttered roll. He rested his elbows on the table, set his chin on his fists and leaned forward. In a low, husky tone, he said, “You know how some of the wolves need medication so they don’t go crazy on society. Well, he’s not taking his pills and he’s hyper aggressive, ready to start a fight at the drop of a hat. I hate to say it, but this was bound to erupt. Jonathan was the sensible one for the past decade, but if neither is willing to back down, what are you supposed to do?”
I backed up from the table as I caught myself being drawn to Tyr’s words. “First, I just want to hear both sides. Considering Jonathan wants Octavius’ head as retribution for what he thinks was an assassination of one of his men, my confidence level isn’t very high on this. This isn’t my specialty. I’m better at demolition, not clean up.”
Tyr laughed. “Aren’t we all. I still can’t get over how amazing you look. How amazing we look together.” He threw just enough flattery around to remind me that I was still desirable. Even though I was still committed to my husband, it felt good to be wanted by a sexy God.
He said, “Tell you what. When are you going to see Octavius? I’ll meet you there to make sure he doesn’t try anything shady. And if you get there first, tread lightly about being there on behalf of Jonathan. That will make him highly suspicious.”
How gentlemanly. It appeared Tyr had turned over a new leaf. I said, “I’m going to the house at five o’clock today. Do you really want to meet me there?”
He nodded confidently, his firm chin rocking up and down. “Sure. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Chapter 7
I navigated up the winding driveway to the Wolf House, my red Jeep Wrangler weaving through a maze of snow-dusted pine trees. I hooked a sharp right and the big log cabin appeared in front of me. The cabin rivaled Jonathan’s mansion in size but carried a rustic look. Tucked away in a little nook of Fox Chapel, the cabin housed almost all of Octavius’ pack. I parked off to the side of the house and got out. The stink of wet dog hung heavy in the thin winter air as I strolled toward the door.
The alpha named Octavius was the Seventh Son of Lycaon, which meant he was one of the most powerful wolves in the world. Everyone in the Pittsburgh Wolf Pack came from Octavius of the Tainted Blood. I didn’t know his exact age. After a long period of bachelorhood, he had started a family one hundred and forty years ago. He had stolen his wife from a pack in France because he wanted his family to be pure werewolves, not a watered-down hybrid.
The family had increased in size over the years and now had over a hundred members. They had bred incestuously and run into birth complications that had set them back, but they were a powerful force in Pittsburgh.
Rumors had swirled for years that Octavius had thrown the babies with birth defects out to the wild. Well, the wild lost. And apparently the mutant wolves had formed a family of their own. They were like Bigfoot, though. Nobody had a clear picture or video, but plenty of people had reported werewolf sightings in the woods around Pittsburgh.
Werewolves had a heightened sense of smell and night vision, faster speed, more strength and longer stamina. Basically, supercharged humans with an unquenchable thirst for killing. Once they achieved full body maturity, they remained ageless from the constant regeneration of their physical tissues.
They were susceptible to enchanted weapons and some magic spells, especially those involving wolfsbane. Destruction of the heart or brain was the only way to kill them without magic, but that didn’t always work. Silver bullets and daggers were the best bet. However, an associate had told me that an assassin had shot Octavius in the heart with a silver bullet. Not sure whether I believed it or not.
Octavius’ family ran an investment firm for supernaturals, which kept them rolling in the cash. As I walked up the stone steps, I noticed new additions on the cabin and several out-buildings I hadn’t seen before.
A wolf in human form stood at attention near the arched front door. He was wearing a gray suit with a black tie and eyeballing me suspiciously as I approached. “Do you have an appointment, ma’am?” he asked, shuffling a few papers in his hands.
I didn’t recognize the younger-looking man with a pencil mustache and a stenciled beard. He didn’t have the classic werewolf in human form look. And when I zeroed in on him, I noticed he had blue eyes. I’d only seen wolves with brown eyes before. “I’m here to see Octavius.”
“I did not ask who you were here to see. I asked if you had an appointment.” He spoke properly, unlike most of the rugged wolves I’d dealt with before.
And he was a smartass. Two could play that game. I climbed up two more steps and looked him in the eyes. “And I told you I’m here to see Octavius. You want me to come back and we can try this again. I don’t need an appointment. Now hustle your ass inside and tell Octavius that Gale is here to see him.”
“I don’t like your attitude, ma’am. I am thinking maybe you should leave,” he said, deepening his voi
ce.
If I showed any sign of weakness with a wolf, he or she would exploit it to no end. I knew I sounded like a pompous asshole, but that was how you had to deal with lycanthropes. I gestured with my thumb toward the enormous door behind him. “Just go ask him. Stop wasting my time, you blue-eyed freak.”
He clenched his fist, and I readied to dodge his punch. I was about to whoop this wolf’s ass right outside his own damn house. The guard drew his arm back, and the corners of my mouth curled up.
The giant front door flung open and startled both of us. A lumberjack-sized wolf wearing a white suit and black bow tie a la James Bond emerged through the jamb. Then an eye-watering wave of his cologne and body odor hit me. He had the classic, burly, hirsute appearance you would expect from a werewolf with chest hair poking through his dress shirt.
In human form, his shaggy beard rose high up his cheeks and stopped just below the puffy bags under his eyes. The wild brown mop on top of his head looked like he had just rolled out of bed, applied an overwhelming amount of cologne and thrown on the perfectly pressed suit. His dark eyes lit up and he smiled at me as he ran a black comb through his greasy hair.
“Hello, Caesar. Been a while,” I said. Caesar was Octavius’ firstborn son and right-hand man.
I patted his biceps because I didn’t hug wolves either. Nice and firm. He stated, “I was about to say the same. Several decades have fallen off the calendar since I’ve seen you. Glad you’re not dead. What brings you here?”
“I came to talk to Octavius, but this derelict won’t let me in,” I said, pointing my finger an inch from the young guard’s face.
Caesar tucked the comb in his chest pocket. He came down another step and stood in between the guard and me. He awkwardly put his hand on my cheek and turned my face toward the bouncer. “You see this face? If she ever shows up at the door, you let her right in.”
The guard retorted in a snotty tone, “But Augustus told me...”
Caesar cut him off, “No. Stop right there, Justinian. Mind your elder. No excuses. She’s an old friend. She gets right in. You’d be wise to stop with all the backtalk too. Don’t forget how lucky you are.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard pouted and turned away, acting busy with his papers.
Caesar said, “That’s right. I’ll take her to see Octavius.”
I passed the guard and said, “So how’d that work out for you, tough guy?” Unsurprisingly, he stewed silently and tore a piece of paper in half.
Caesar and I went inside and exchanged numbers, which was fine with me. I preferred to deal with him rather than Octavius.
As we walked down the rustic hardwood hallway, Caesar turned to me and said, “Be gentle around Octavius.” He stopped me, looked around and made sure we were alone. He whispered, “We all think he’s going mad. He can go off over nothing at all.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please. I beg you. Don’t anger him.”
I wasn’t trying to anger Octavius, but I also wouldn’t put on kid gloves for him. He was the alpha, for fook sake.
Caesar warned, “He just sits in a room all day, taking meetings and growing irritated as the hours pass.”
We approached a door on the right side and Caesar pounded on it with his giant fist. “Octavius. We have a special visitor here to see you.”
The door creaked as Caesar pushed it open, revealing a dark and musty room. Caesar reached inside, and I heard a loud click. A dull yellow flash of electricity sparked in a wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It barely illuminated the room enough to see the alpha of the pack, sitting on a leather couch that had shredded claw tracks in several places.
In the middle of the room, under the chandelier, was an old high school desk with the seat attached to the tabletop. Not exactly the high-profile meeting room you would expect from the outside of the house. I was hip to Octavius’ negotiating tricks. He tried to make his guests uncomfortable, thus giving him the upper hand. He even had the interrogation light right above the desk. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t spook too easy.
The leader didn’t stand up or even speak upon seeing me. He simply pointed to the desk with his hairy hoagie-shaped finger.
I sat down as the door slammed shut. My head jerked to the left and Caesar was gone, leaving me alone with the most powerful werewolf in Pittsburgh. I could tell he wouldn’t start the conversation, so I said, “Hello, old friend.”
He grunted and scratched his shoulder. I shifted around in the small desk trying to get a better look at him. Dressed in a tan suit, he appeared confused. Staring off into the abyss as if he was searching for something. Just enough electricity poured down from the chandelier to show that Octavius’ once flowing mane was now balding. He’d tried the comb over technique, but he was losing the battle badly.
I’d bet his rage pills were causing the baldness. And I’d bet he stopped taking them. Being in a constant state of rage had likely aided in the madness everyone had warned me about. When werewolves started to lose their hair, it meant they were losing their powers. The alpha needed to maintain the respect of his pack, his allies and enemies alike. All three would try to exploit any sign of weakness.
His dark eyes opened wide when he noticed me staring, and he smoothed his hand over the top of his scalp, pulling the few remaining wisps of dark brown hair across his head. He’d forgotten to mask his weakness and his face reddened as a look of terror ran through his eyes. Apparently, my unexpected visit had taken him by surprise.
Octavius leaned over and searched frantically for something next to him, his arm diving into the cushions of the couch. The erratic motion nearly causing him to fall to the ground. He braced his other hand on the coffee table and straightened, still searching angrily for something.
The wolf in human form started to shake uncontrollably and let out a few bassy grunts. Just as he seemed about to snap, he produced a black fedora from the cushions. He punched the inside of the flattened hat and it expanded back to its normal shape.
Octavius groaned as he slid the fedora over his balding head. Long brown hair still grew below the bald ring on top of his head and hung to his shoulders. In this poorly lit room, his full beard and the hat covering the top of his head hid his secret well. I felt bad for him because he had to be scared shitless that he could lose his pack. He was in a horrible position, stuck inside a tightening vise grip.
“You say a word about this and I’ll kill you myself,” he threatened predictably.
I held up an open hand. “It goes without saying.”
“What you doing here? The Spear?” he asked curtly, his voice hoarse.
“I came to see you. How are you?” It never hurt to use a little flattery.
Octavius grabbed a gold goblet off the coffee table in front of his couch and gulped it a few times. As he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, he said, “Cut the shit, June. I’ll save you a lot of trouble. I haven’t heard anything about Darabond.”
He leaned forward and set the goblet down. The black fedora began to slide off his head and he scrambled to hold it in place. He spoke over his heavy breathing, “Look, we been friends, if you choose to call it that, for a long time. We don’t call each other on our birthdays. You don’t come to family parties. We’re associates. Nothing more. Nothing less. And that’s a beautiful thing. I help you out if I can and you do the same. So I ask you again. What are you doing here?”
So much for flattery or pretending I had come to check on my husband. “I’m here on behalf of Jonathan.”
Octavius jumped up from the leather couch, and within a heartbeat, he was standing in front of me, hovering over the desk, foamy slobber building up in the corners of his mouth. His chest heaved in and out with his panting. He tilted his head, his voice guttural, and asked, “Should I kill you right now, then?”
His stank, stale onion breath almost knocked me out. I pushed myself back to avoid the smell and the legs of the desk shrieked harshly against the floor. “Relax. Sit down. I’m here as a peacemaker. An
honest broker.”
He didn’t sit down. In fact, he started to shift. The magic emanating from him smelled like burnt meat with a hint of gaminess. His body bulged, and the tan jacket’s seams gave way. A silver button from the collar of his shirt broke loose and shot past my head. He continued expanding as his suit frayed and tore, falling from his body in scraps.
Hair grew over the top of his balding scalp and his face became elongated and took on the classic wolf look. He grew taller and wider until an eight-foot werewolf with the muscles of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger stood in front of me. I could smell his rotten breath from a few feet away as his chest pumped in and out, pushing the funk toward me in a steady stream.
He lowered his tone, sounding like a man who had smoked fifty cigars a day for a thousand years straight, “June, you are a great many things and I’ve called you most of them. Peacemaker and honest broker are not on that list.”
I got up from the desk and moved to the side to avoid his breath. “I’m changing my ways. Trying to mend fences now. Maybe it will put me in the good graces of the Gods.”
As he walked back to his couch, he said, “You’re still pining away about that? You know the only thing better than being a God?”
I closed one eye, wondering what he was getting at. “What’s that?”
Octavius paused for a moment as he covered himself with a blanket and sat back down. “Killing a God. Maybe you should focus on that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure, I’ll just rush Clara Spiritus, magic blazing and lay waste to as many Gods as I can.”
Octavius struggled to keep his expanded werewolf body covered with the blanket. “At least you’ll die with a smile on your face.”
I got back to the point of my visit. “What do you want to end this little spat?”
“Little spat?” He sat up straight and leaned forward, his eyes bugging out. “June, I believe you are mistaken. Those vampires executed three members of my pack. My pack. Every time one of them dies, part of me dies too. I’m supposed to protect them. If I can’t protect them, then I’m not the alpha. I’m nothing. An utter disgrace that deserves to be put to death is all.”