She left and I prepared for my next and final client of the day, wondering if Henriette was right. If things up on Heartbreak Mountain came to a head, and the werewolves went to war, would it be for the best? Would a brief war allow us to settle into the sort of peace we’d had before?
The loss of lives wouldn’t be worth less fighting in town, though. Something needed to happen to bring about peace. I just didn’t see violence as the solution.
But what was the solution?
My next client was a werewolf, but not one I could ask about the situation on the mountain, at least not about current happenings. Stanley had been a spy for Clinton, remaining in Dallas’s compound. He’d been aware of the sabotage of Bronwyn’s truck and Clinton’s efforts to pin that whole mess on Dallas. He’d gone to Bronwyn and Hadur and let them know what was happening, thus betraying both the werewolf packs on the mountain. Dallas and Clinton would have killed him for that, but he’d become a lone wolf, living in town under our protection and completely ostracized by both packs, just like Shelby.
Unlike Shelby, he didn’t have someone he loved to help ease the loss of everything he’d ever known in his life. Stanley was lonely, depressed, and I worried he might do something drastic. I was glad when he’d taken me up on my offer of therapy, and I breathed a sigh of relief every time he showed up to one of our appointments.
The door chimed, and Stanley walked in, clutching the amulet that allowed him to come and go from my office undetected. He was seventyish, which made him middle-aged for a werewolf. He looked like a forty-year-old construction worker with his dusty jeans, worn t-shirt, and leathery tanned skin. There were lines in the corners of his eyes from squinting, and a thick scar ran from his left cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. Werewolves had amazing healing. I didn’t want to contemplate how terrible that injury must have been to have left a scar.
Stanley held out a hand to shake mine. His fingers were clean and calloused, with black-stained cuticles. Petunia had hired him to help with his auto-repair business and seeing the stained fingers gave me hope that Stanley would find some comfort and happiness in his new job.
“Hoping you weren’t at work when things went down the other day at Petunia’s between Melvin and Bart,” I commented.
A sad expression flickered across his face before he twisted his lips in an ironic smile. “Yeah, I was there. Just kept out of the way. It’s not like Melvin or Bart were going to talk to me or even acknowledge my existence. When a werewolf comes in to pick up bait and beer or to get his truck fixed, someone else always needs to help them. They won’t even look me in the face.”
A mixture of sorrow and fury stirred in my chest. This bullshit totally had to stop. It wasn’t just the two packs ready to kill each other off. It wasn’t just the werewolves coming into town and starting fights. It wasn’t just their taking justice into their own hands. Stanley had done the right thing and in doing so, he’d lost everything. That was so unfair. But what could I do about it? I couldn’t force werewolves to be nice to Stanley.
“Sit.” I gestured to the comfy, pillow-strewn client chairs. “Tea? Or coffee?”
Stanley sat and gave me a sheepish grin. “Tea, please. Do you have that berry blend herbal?”
I smiled and handed him a wooden box with all my teas, then poured him a steaming mug of water from the kettle. Setting it down on the table beside him, I took a seat.
“How are things?” I grimaced. “I’m so sorry I had to cancel the last two weeks.”
He plopped his tea bag into the mug and smiled. “I heard. Glad you’re okay, Sylvie. Getting electrocuted is no fun. Good thing you’re a luck witch or you might not be here now.”
I shivered, then tried to push the fears and memories into the back corner of my mind. “Yes, I was very lucky. So…last time we met, our goals were around work, making your house a home, and finding some potential non-werewolf friends. Let’s talk about work first.”
“I like working for Petunia. He’s a shifter, so he gets me in a way lots of other people in town don’t. He’s got some of the same issues since he’s the only boar shifter in town. I like working with my hands. I’ve always enjoyed fixing things. Money’s good and Petunia’s a fair boss.”
I smiled. “That’s great, Stanley! I believe that having fulfilling work is so important to personal happiness. Do you think you’re feeling better now that you’ve got a job and you’re liking the work and the environment?”
He nodded. “Days off and evenings are tough, though. When I’m at work, I’m busy and happy, but as soon as I go home, it all feels like a load of rocks crashing down on my head.”
“Then let’s talk about making your house a home.”
The hour went fast, and in the end, I had a horrible feeling that Stanley might not make it. He had a job he loved, but couldn’t seem to connect with anyone in town, and his depression hit hard every night when he got home. He hadn’t shifted into his wolf form in three weeks, hadn’t hunted in four weeks. He brushed off my suggestions of connecting with Shelby, saying they hadn’t been friendly before and he couldn’t see how getting together with her would help at all.
Just before he left, Stanley turned to me and once more voiced his wish that he wasn’t shunned.
“They don’t have to accept me back into either pack,” he said. “I just wish they’d nod to me on the street. I wish they’d talk to me, maybe join me for a beer or something now and then. I miss my kind. I think if I could just connect with one werewolf now and then, I’d be okay. It’s the total isolation that’s killing me, Sylvie.”
I struggled to keep tears in check at his confession and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Was there someone in the pack you were particularly close to? A best friend? A potential mate you were wooing?”
He laughed. “No potential mate. But Bart and I were good friends.”
I blinked. “Bart Dickskin? The same Bart Dickskin that got stabbed with a screwdriver at Petunia’s the other day?”
He nodded. “Nothing hurt more than having him come in and act like I was a stranger. Not even a stranger. He acted like I wasn’t even there. And when he got stabbed with that screwdriver and there was that huge fight, I went over to see if he was okay, and he didn’t even look at me.”
I swallowed hard, knowing how gutted I’d be if I’d been in this werewolf’s situation. “Please hang in there, Stanley. You call me if you need to talk, okay? Enjoy work. Do the things we discussed. And we’ll talk more next week.”
He smiled and patted my hand, then turned to leave. I milled about my office, cleaning up the tea mugs, turning off the kettle, locking my papers away. It was just after noon. I was hungry and feeling the exhaustion I’d not been able to fully conquer since my accident. I needed to go home, eat a sandwich, drink Glenda’s smoothie, and take a nap.
Instead, I walked home, got in my car, and drove up to Heartbreak Mountain.
Chapter 5
Sylvie
The werewolves were on high alert, following me up the mountain to the compound and announcing my arrival with barks and howls. I parked and exited my car to see half a dozen werewolves in human form and three in wolf form, all clustered around my vehicle and eyeing me uneasily.
“Relax,” I told them. “I’m not here to burn anyone’s beard off or anything. I just wanted to talk to Bart.”
They all exchanged glances. “That fight at Petunia’s wasn’t his fault,” an older female wolf told me. “Bart didn’t start it. Melvin stabbed him with a screwdriver. He’s the one you need to be arresting.”
I held out my hands. “Do I look like I’m arresting anyone? I just want to talk to Bart.”
They eyed me suspiciously. “What do ya need him for?” the older female finally asked.
Obviously, I couldn’t tell them the real reason I wanted to speak to Bart. Luckily, I’d been secretly providing counseling sessions to werewolves for years, and I’d learned a lot about their culture. Basically, I knew what their weaknesses were, an
d I felt no regret at all about using them right now.
“He was one of the winners in the firehouse raffle.”
I could practically feel the excitement running through the nine werewolves in front of me. One of the ones in wolf form licked his muzzle and did a four-legged happy dance.
“What did he win?” the older female squealed, clapping her hands together.
Werewolves weren’t the only beings in Accident that adored games, but they especially liked ones where there was a prize to the winner. Didn’t matter if it was a ball of yarn or a scrap of paper, they’d brag and show it off to everyone like they’d just won a dragon’s hoard.
“I’m only telling Bart.” That announcement ratcheted up the excitement considerably, and two of the four-legged werewolves raced off. I was sure they were going to find Bart.
“Was it the latch-hook rug with the birds on it?” the older woman asked. “The bread maker? The month’s supply of gluten-free avocado toast?”
“I’ll bet it was the free mani-pedi from Evaline’s,” a young male werewolf said, glancing at his fingernails longingly. “Lucky bastard.”
“Or that pheasant from Dale’s Taxidermy,” another young male added. “I really wanted that.”
The two werewolves in wolf form raced back, yipping and barking. The older female turned to them, then back to me. “Bart’s in his den. He asked if you wouldn’t mind visiting him there since he’s still a little gimpy from getting stabbed yesterday.”
Werewolves were very private about their homes. Outsiders were usually met at the main compound house, or…well, outside. Bart must have been really hurt to still be suffering from the injury enough not to hobble over to the main house.
“No problem.” I followed the two wolf-form werewolves through a maze of alleyways. Other werewolves peeked out from windows and doorways with curiosity. A few of them followed me until one of my escorts turned and growled. Everyone scattered back to their houses, and we continued to the very edge of the row to a small one-story cabin.
At one of my escorts’ scratching, a voice called to come in. I swung the door open and turned to the two wolves.
“No listening,” I told them. “Let Bart be the one to tell everyone what he won. Don’t spoil his surprise.”
They both regarded me with huge brown eyes, then nodded and took off, trotting down the lane. I went in, closing the door behind me and letting my eyes adjust a bit to the dim lighting of Bart’s home.
It was one big main room with a door that I was pretty sure led to the bathroom and another beside it that probably led to a small bedroom. The main room had a kitchenette off to the side with an island-bar type dining area. Two giant cushioned sofas took up most of the room. Bart lay on one, his leg bandaged around the thigh and propped up on a leather ottoman.
“What did I win?” His eyes glowed, the normal brown turning gold with his excitement.
I sat across from him. “Nothing. It was my excuse to get to see you.”
I felt bad at the disappointment in his face. “Really? I was hoping it was that latch-hook rug with the birds on it.”
“Better luck next time,” I told him. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, and I need you to be absolutely honest with me.”
He scowled. “It wasn’t my fault. Melvin stabbed me with a screwdriver.”
I rolled my eyes. “After you elbowed him. But I’m not here to talk to you about that. I’m here to discuss Stanley with you.”
He eyed me uneasily. “Who? Don’t know any Stanley.”
I pulled a charm out of my pocket and set it on the table in front of us. It was a purple rabbit’s foot with lines of glitter on the fur. I’d made a bunch of these early in the year because a witch who was a therapist never knew when she needed to talk to someone in private. The moment I walked in, I’d pinched the rabbit’s foot to activate it. I figured it was a good time to put it in plain view and reassure Bart that just as no one holding one of my charms was seen coming or going from my office, no one lurking outside his cabin would have any idea what the heck we were talking about—even with super-duper werewolf hearing.
“He did the right thing, Bart. And because of that, he was faced with a choice of either being shunned or killed.”
A muscle twitched in the werewolf’s jaw. “He was spying on us for Clinton.”
“And when he realized Clinton was trying to pin something on your pack that you all didn’t do and when he realized my sister was caught in the middle and in danger, he stepped up. That’s a hell of a lot more important to me than preferring one style of leadership over another.”
“It’s more than that. He’s a traitor,” Bart insisted.
“Because he felt it should be okay to have two packs on the mountain? That people should be able to want to live differently and not be exiled and shunned because of that?” I let that sink in for a moment. “You were his friend, Bart. You knew him better than probably anyone else in this pack. Is Stanley a traitor just because Dallas says so or because in your heart you know that to be so?”
He sighed. “I don’t blame him; really, I don’t. But let’s face it, Dallas isn’t going to let this thing with Clinton go. It’s past the point of reconciliation, and it’s embarrassing for him to have his own son snatch a section of territory and form his own pack. I picked my side, and now I gotta stick with it.”
“I don’t fault you for that, Bart. I’m still holding out hope that there can be a peaceful solution here, but I don’t blame you at all for being loyal to your pack. I’m just asking you to consider other loyalties you might have.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Stanley. He’s having a hard time of it. I’m worried that he might think he made the wrong choice when he took exile over death.”
Bart sat up in alarm, wincing and reaching out to grab his thigh with the motion. “I thought he was doing okay. I mean, I saw him there working at Petunia’s on the cars. He was talking to a couple of mermen about something or another. Didn’t look to me like he was regretting anything.”
So, he had noticed his former friend, all while pretending to ignore him.
“Imagine having to live away from the werewolves you’ve spent your entire existence with. Imagine them not talking to you or even acknowledging your presence. Your friends. Your family. Nobody will even look at you. Shifting into wolf form just makes you feel more alone. You can’t even hunt without missing your pack.” I remembered something Shelby had said. “And at night during the full moon, you sit on your back porch and hear the howls up on the mountain and know that you’ll never be a part of that again.”
Bart swiped a quick hand under his eyes. “Can’t do nothing about that, Sylvie. Dallas forbade us from having any contact with Stanley. Clinton did the same with his pack. If someone caught one of us talking to him or hunting with him, we’d be in big trouble. Maybe even find ourselves exiled as well if Dallas is in a bad mood.”
“What if it wasn’t forbidden? Would you see him then?”
He looked at me as if I were crazy. “Of course I would. He’s my friend. I mean, he was my friend.”
“So, you forgive him for spying on Dallas? For exposing Clinton’s plans?”
Bart squirmed, looking down at his leg. “Him exposing Clinton’s plans is what redeems him in my opinion. I still ain’t happy about him spying on Dallas, but I get how people might want a different sort of leader. There’s just things in place to address that.”
“Challenges. Which are to the death.”
“They’re not always to the death,” Bart protested. Then he met my gaze and lowered his eyes again. “Okay, most of the time they’re to the death. But yeah. If someone wants a different alpha, that’s what they do. It’s the way it’s always been.”
“What if someone wants a different alpha but doesn’t want to be that alpha? Doesn’t the pack have some kind of say in the leader they get? Do you honestly feel the best leadership qualities are whoever can phys
ically beat and kill anyone else in the pack?”
“It’s tradition,” he argued. “And no, it takes more than that. But when it comes down to it, the best at anything else in the world is gonna lose out to the strongest. That’s why the strongest leads.”
“And how long would the strongest lead if one hundred wolves all attacked him at once? Or just left? Let’s say no one wants to have Dallas as an alpha, so they just left, like Clinton did with his pack. Is Dallas going to attack them with the ten or so wolves that remain? He can’t be an alpha or even a force on this mountainside if no one follows him.”
Bart sighed. “Look, Sylvie, I get where you’re going with this, but me standing up against Dallas is only gonna get me killed. Clinton and his pack are probably all going to die in the next month or so anyway, and that will serve as a lesson to anyone who is thinking of doing what you’re saying. Life here ain’t bad. Dallas isn’t a bad alpha. I don’t have any problem with other people leaving. I don’t have any problem with there being two or three packs, or people being lone wolves, or any of that. But I don’t want to be the head on the chopping block if I go against what Dallas says.”
“Someone needs to make a stand, Bart,” I told him. “Stanley was brave enough to risk himself for what he thought was right. Others need to do the same.”
He sighed and rubbed his leg. “Guess I’m just not as brave.”
“I’m not asking you to challenge Dallas or confront him or even leave the pack,” I said. “I just want you to visit Stanley, to give him some of the companionship he needs. I think if you’d still be his friend, he’d be okay.”
Bart was silent for a long time, then slowly shook his head. “Dallas would find out, and I’d get kicked out of the pack.”
“And you’d have a friend in Accident to hunt with, to pal around with,” I told him. “It might happen. Dallas might find out, and although my sisters and I are trying to change things in the pack, I can’t guarantee that you won’t get exiled. But I’ve got an idea to help keep this all secret, to keep it so no one knows. No guarantees, but I think I can fix it so you can hang out with Stanley at least in a private area where you can talk. And I’ll work on something where the pair of you can go hunting on one of the other mountains without getting caught.”
Hell and Hexes Page 4