Hell and Hexes
Page 13
“Call in sick,” he urged, pulling me to him as I grabbed my purse and keys.
“I called in sick for two weeks while I was on Cassie’s couch,” I told him, pushing his roving hands from my breasts. “I need to be at work, especially today. Aren’t you expected somewhere as well?”
Didn’t the demon have work he was supposed to be doing? He’d been in and out of Cassie’s place several times a day delivering and receiving messages, so I assumed he had messages to deliver to the wrong person.
“I’ve got some communications to take to heaven, then a few that need to go to the third circle. It can wait.” He leaned in nibble my earlobe. “They can wait forever for all I care.”
The guy had no work ethic, but honestly, this seemed to be the way all the denizens of hell acted. Lucien had pretty much ignored whatever duties he had until Hadur had given him shit for being a spoiled, entitled, lazy brat. And it’s not like I’d seen Hadur do anything since he got out of that summoning circle. Two hundred years trapped in there and you would think the guy would have a huge backlog of wars or something to get going on, but no. Instead, he was forging knives to sell at one of the hunting stores in town. And I was pretty sure Lucien’s recent bluster over his job was a load of bull and just busywork to make him look important. It seemed to me that hell pretty much just ran on its own without all this intervention, and I got the idea heaven was the same. So maybe those messages for Eshu really could wait for a few hours. Or days.
But my work couldn’t. So, I kept pushing his hands away, gave him a quick kiss that almost convinced me to cancel my first appointment, then headed out to my office before I changed my mind.
I saw two clients, ate lunch, saw one more, then walked back to my house to get in my car and drive to the neutral zone Cassie had chosen for this meeting. It was outside the town wards at a McDonald’s by the mall. There were quite a few humans in line, ordering late lunches or drinks. I got a soda and went through the door into the kids’ area where clusters of tables and chairs surrounded a play structure with slides and padded platforms to climb on. A bored mom sat reading a book off to the side while two little girls shrieked and crawled through the tubes connecting the slides.
It was perfect. We were outside the safety of the town wards, so the werewolves would feel exposed. Add to that the fact that we were in a very public place, and in a room where children played, and the whole venue ensured the werewolves would be on their best behavior. Normally I’d think this was too much as I liked clients to have the freedom to express frustration and emotion, but with werewolves, frustration and emotion quickly led to flying fists and broken bottles as weapons. A children’s play area in a fast food restaurant would keep that all under control.
I walked around the room, putting the button charms at each of the four corners. I could feel their energy, their power, reaching out to fill the room and beyond. It made me smile to think that these were a combination of both Eshu and me, a reminder of how very well we seemed to mesh together.
I liked him. I more than liked him. I liked him in my bed, in my life, in my house. I liked him at Sunday family dinner, and my game, and just lounging around. He made me happy.
Done with the charms, I headed back to the table I’d picked out for us and arranged the chairs, sitting down with my soda and my notebooks. I’d just gotten organized when Dallas and Clinton entered the room, bringing so much tension with them that the mother looked up from her book and sent them a wary glance.
I’ll admit it was incredibly amusing to see the werewolves sitting on the too-small, brightly colored, plastic chairs. They each had a bag with burgers and fries and a drink in hand—all to look like they belonged here in the McDonald’s, if not in the kids’ play area. Werewolves loved eating just as much as they loved winning stuff in raffles, so both Dallas and Clinton pulled the food out of the bags the moment they sat down.
“Damn it, I said no pickles,” Clinton grumbled as he picked them off his burger and set them aside.
“You did. I heard you.” Dallas inspected his own sandwich. “She got mine right at least. No pickles. No onions.”
“Humans.” Clinton sighed and reassembled his sandwich sans pickles. “This kinda thing is the reason I don’t like to go outside the wards. I’m gonna end up with indigestion from those things.”
“Better get used to things outside the wards, because you’re soon gonna be living here… or be dead,” Dallas replied.
“Excellent segue into the topic at hand,” I jumped in before Clinton could reply and escalate the situation. “You guys eat while I sum things up and go over some rules, then we’ll start the discussion.”
I went over the usual—no interrupting, everyone has a chance to respond in turn. By the time I’d summed up the situation, the werewolves were done with their late lunch and sipping their sodas.
“Clinton, I want you to go first. I want you to say what you want in terms of your pack. Your ideal situation.”
He took a long slurp of his soda and sat back. “I want a pack with different rules than what Dallas has. I want enough territory on Heartbreak Mountain for us to live and farm and hunt. I want my pack members to be able to come and go, to visit their friends and family in Dallas’s compound.”
I turned to the other werewolf. “And you, Dallas?”
“I want him dead and in the ground,” he shot back.
I held up a hand for Clinton to remain silent and spoke to Dallas. “Really? Your son? The man you raised from a pup, who you watched grow? Your strong, assertive, take-no-shit son? You truly want him dead?”
Clinton wasn’t a model son by human terms. Dallas had had to bail him out of the Accident jail any number of times for getting into fights in town, but as much as he’d complained, the werewolf alpha had been proud of his son’s rabble-rousing ways. Werewolves liked troublemakers, as long as they were making trouble outside the pack. I knew that Dallas loved and admired his son, and that it would pain him terribly to see him dead. And I was counting on that to help him to bend a little, just a little, and compromise here today.
Dallas glared over at his son. “You shoulda challenged me. That’s how it’s done. That’s how we always do it. Then I would be respecting you and not dealing with the embarrassment of my only pup being a cowardly traitor. And being accused of being weak and soft because I didn’t go take you out that first week and nip this in the bud.”
“I’da been dead if I’da challenged you,” Clinton shot back. “You’re stronger than me. Even on your deathbed you’ll probably be stronger than me. My goal wasn’t to end up bleeding out on the ground, it was to lead, to make a place where things were different for werewolves who wanted a different sort of pack, not to die by your hands for nothing.”
“At least that way your death would have had meaning,” Dallas growled. “It would have been honorable, according to our traditions. Now you’ll die a coward and a traitor. That’s not what I wanted for you. That’s not what I wanted for my son.”
“You might kill me, and you might kill my pack, but the damage has been done and there’s no going back,” Clinton snapped. “Twenty wolves risked their lives to go with me rather than continue to follow you, and there’s plenty more in your pack that are on the fence. Kill me and my pack and maybe you’ll get peace for another year or two, but things are going to change whether you want them to or not, old man.”
The two little girls in the play equipment squealed with laughter over something. The door suddenly opened and in poured a dozen children, all wearing party hats and shouting as they tore off their shoes, threw them at the cubby, and raced for the slides. Three adults followed them in, carrying boxes of cupcakes and handfuls of presents.
What. The. Heck. Cassie had told me she’d ensured there wouldn’t be any parties going on during our meeting. The manager had said they wouldn’t be able to reserve the room because it had to be available to patrons, but that there were no scheduled parties, and that this day and time usually foun
d the play area empty or with only one or two kids.
I eyed the luck charms in the corners, thinking that two weeks ago, this sort of thing wouldn’t have happened.
The loud chaos of the excited kids did break the tension, though. The werewolves shifted in their ridiculously small seats, eyeing the partygoers nervously. It was a reminder that here, outside the wards, they were vulnerable and subject to human laws that wouldn’t take their culture into consideration when deciding the fate of what humans saw as monsters.
“Dallas, I’m going to ask again—in an ideal world, what would you want? If you could turn back time, have things different, wave a magic wand over the whole situation, what would you want? Because I doubt it’s your son dead.”
The werewolf took a few deep breaths then glanced over at the children once more before meeting my gaze. “I’d want Clinton to come back to my pack and endure punishment for what he did. I want him to be a good and reasonably obedient wolf. To uphold our culture and traditions. When I get too old to be running things, he’d act in my stead, honoring me and respecting my leadership status. Then when I’m dead, he’ll take over as alpha and keep with our customs.”
These two were still miles apart, but at least I’d gotten Dallas to back off his war-chant.
“I can’t do that, Da.” Clinton’s voice was husky and gruff, barely audible over the delighted screams of the children. “You changed things from the way Old Dog Butch did them. You kept the traditions and customs that you felt truly meant something to our people while changing the things you felt needed changing. Why can’t you accept that I want change too? That I want a pack where things are done differently?”
“Then wait to do that after I’m dead and gone,” Dallas snapped, nervously eyeing one of the parents who was hanging up a birthday banner.
“That’s not fair when we’ve got wolves in our pack that want change now, not in fifty or sixty years. Just because they’re not physically strong enough to kill you in a challenge fight, does that mean their wishes don’t matter? That they shouldn’t have a say in how things are run in the pack?” Clinton scooted his chair in farther, cringing when a nearby child let out a particularly high-pitched squeal.
The older werewolf bristled. “You mean voting and all that shit like they do in town with the mayor? Because that is not the way we werewolves do things.”
“No, I don’t mean voting. I just mean that if a lot of wolves want something different, then maybe they should be heard. Maybe we should be changing things. The alpha is a leader, Da. He’s strong to protect the pack, but he’s also there to serve them and make their lives better.”
“I do that.” Dallas’ eyes glowed an eerie yellow, which thankfully neither the playing children nor their parents seemed to notice. “I take care of my people. I make sure the submissive and weak ones aren’t driven out or killed. I let werewolves choose their own mates and take their time about it. There’s no need to throw our traditions into the trash to do that, though.”
I held up a hand to halt them both. “So, Dallas, you’re not opposed to some change as long as you feel the important traditions and culture of the pack are upheld, right?” I waited for his nod. “Then let’s hear what changes Clinton feels need to happen right now and discuss them.”
Clinton nodded, shifting uneasily as a boy ran past him. “I think we need our pups to all attend the schools in Accident so they learn how to act around those who aren’t werewolves and maybe make some friends outside the pack.”
“That’s a choice I’m not gonna take away from parents.” Dallas glared at his son. “Some werewolves think their pups will pick up bad habits in those schools, that they’ll end up disrespecting pack traditions and maybe even wind up like that Shelby, screwing a troll and leaving her pack behind.”
“Plenty of werewolves went to those schools and didn’t shack up with a troll. Parlay went to school in Accident from kindergarten through high school, and she’s a loyal pack member, mated to Beaker and having his pup.”
“That’s gotta be a choice for the parents, though.”
“Then make it an obvious choice. Financial incentives. Other pack incentives. Make it so parents want to send their pups to school in town because we need to start getting used to being with others that ain’t werewolves. I mean, look at us, Da.” Clinton waved a hand around. “We’re sitting here at the edge of our seats, nervous as all heck around humans, terrified of a bunch of children. Two hundred years of near isolation hasn’t done us any good.”
“I ain’t scared of the children,” Dallas shot back. Then he proceeded to give those same children an anxious glance.
“It’s not just schools, though. We need to re-think our traditions of fated mates.”
“You’re going too far now, boy,” Dallas roared. Actually, it was a soft, almost whispered roar because he clearly didn’t want to upset the kids and have them cry or draw the attention of the parents who were beginning to eye us suspiciously. “We’re werewolves. Our inner wolves bond to our fated mates, and we join with them for life, outside of a few exceptions.”
Clinton rolled his eyes. “And then the men screw around like crazy. How is that supportive of a ‘fated mate’ marriage? We’re not a huge pack. What if someone doesn’t find their fated mate? What if they just settle and choose a mate because they need one and want pups? Like you and my mother?”
Dallas bristled, and I once again held out a hand. “What are you proposing, Clinton? Do you want an easier path to divorce? Rules around fidelity for both partners? What?”
He fidgeted with his soda cup a bit before responding. “I still think the whole thing with Shelby and that troll is disgusting and abnormal. When she was found out, I’d agreed that she should have been locked in the compound and maybe even forced to mate with a proper werewolf. But…there’s no fated mate for me in the pack, Da. I know every female werewolf in Accident. I’ve slept with darned near every female wolf in Accident. None of them is my mate. None. What if my fated mate is out here, beyond the wards? What if she’s not even a werewolf?”
Dallas paled. “Werewolves outside the wards are wild and undisciplined. They’ve been driven by fear of humans to live alone or in small packs. They’ve lost their traditions and all sense of who they are. They’re nothing more than animals pretending to be human. There’s no fated mate for you out here. And there sure as hell isn’t a fated mate for you among the trolls, or fae, or anyone else in Accident.”
“I think you might have found your fated mate in Tink,” Clinton told his father. “From what I’ve heard, your pairing with her is nothing like it was with my mother. Would you deny me the same? Would you deny those who have risked everything to join my pack the same? You found your love. Why can’t we?”
“You’re just too picky. If you opened your eyes a bit, I’m sure you could find your fated mate in the pack. Or just be unmated. You’ve got plenty of time before I die and you’re alpha. Stay unmated. Screw whoever you like. Mate later.”
“Does that mean you’d truly welcome Clinton and the others back into the pack?” I asked Dallas, envisioning a prodigal son type homecoming. “If you can both come to an agreement on these two things, then perhaps you can reconcile and all be part of one pack again.”
Dallas let out a whoosh of a breath. “I could do that, although I’d need to disown Clinton to save face. Maybe in a few decades I can un-disown him if he’s proven himself to be a dutiful and changed werewolf.”
“No.” Clinton’s voice was firm. “I like leading my own pack. I’m not compromising on these key points and coming back to be a whipping boy, scoffed and jeered at for a few decades. These werewolves took a huge risk to come with me. I’m not going to betray their trust just to come crawling back to you. I’m staying with my pack, live or die.”
Both werewolves stood, and Dallas jabbed a finger at his son. “Then our meeting here is over. Prepare your people because by the end of the week, they’ll all be dead.”
Right on th
e tail of that ominous speech, a little boy tripped over a piece of carpet, sending a cupcake flying into the alpha werewolf’s face. It hit him right on the nose, splatting blue icing and sprinkles all over his skin and dropping down to smear food along the front of his shirt and pants.
Clinton laughed. Dallas stepped forward and drew back to punch the other werewolf, but before I could intervene, he stepped on one of the balls that had escaped the ball pit and fell hard onto the floor.
“Mister? Mister?” Clinton’s laughter died abruptly as he turned to stare in horror at the little boy tugging at his sleeve with a sticky hand. “I gotta poop.”
Clinton jerked his arm free, eyes wide as he spun away from the child. As he stepped back, he tripped over his father and also hit the floor, knocking an entire box of cupcakes over on top of himself. The kids screamed, a few began to cry, and the parents frantically tried to save any remaining cupcakes, glaring at the two werewolves who scrambled to their feet and raced for the door.
I ended up buying cookies and milkshakes for the partygoers in restitution for the smashed cupcakes. Then I collected my charms and headed out. I had thought we were making progress, but perhaps the werewolf situation was more than a luck witch trained in mediation could handle. Sometimes two people wouldn’t budge. I had really hoped that Dallas and Clinton could find common ground, but it hadn’t happened.
I drove over to Cassie’s to give her the bad news. She’d taken to working from home a few days a week, juggling her lawyer job and her responsibilities to the town all at once. I found her with her files spread across the kitchen table, Lucien nowhere in sight. Grabbing a drink from the fridge, I sat down, carefully avoiding looking at the empty spot where the microwave had once stood.
“Looks like there’s war on the mountain,” I told her glumly. “Not just tonight, either. Dallas plans to wipe out Clinton and his pack by the end of the week.”
Cassie shot me a sympathetic glance. “I’m sorry, Sylvie.”
“I really don’t know what more I can do.” I sighed. “Dallas is so stuck on his pride. He claims it’s about holding to their traditions, but I think it’s more that Clinton disappointed and embarrassed him by taking off with a portion of the pack and not even giving him the courtesy of a challenge. He’d let Clinton and the others return, but they don’t want to return. They want to remain autonomous with their own territory. Things got heated, then everything went sideways Three Stooges style, with falling and getting smashed with cupcakes, and kids needing to poop.”