by J. P. Rice
“So. What do you want?” he asked, holding back his anger and frustration.
I thought for a few moments. That was a damn good question. “I want people to stop chasing after me. I want people to stop trying to kill me. Short of that, I’ll settle for a small trophy.”
He shook his head and raised his voice, “You can’t do this. Octavius will send more men to find out what happened to me.”
I giggled. “Oh, I think you’re giving yourself far too much credit. I remember when Caesar yelled at you like the little twerp that you are. Now, you’re trying to worm your way out of this by having him save you. You were better off begging for death. Much more honorable.”
“Then do it. Kill me, already,” he yelled and wiped the foam from the corners of his mouth.
I turned over my shoulder and looked behind me. “Did you see me pop out of a bottle? I’m not a genie granting wishes over here. You don’t get to select what happens next. Spoiler alert; you’re not dying and you’re not going home. My advice is to enjoy your stay and don’t be an asshole. Be careful, the innkeeper is a bit crazy.”
He shook his head and spoke with disdain, “I can’t wait until my pack shows up and rips you apart. I only hope they save your heart for me to eat.”
I smirked. I normally enjoyed a little repartee or trash talk, but never something that personal. “Ooohhh, those are the kinds of statements you may want to keep to yourself. It’s that kind of stuff that really stirs up the innkeeper. You’d be wise to mind your tongue, young man.”
I squeezed the lock bubble through the front door and pushed the wolf into my living room. Titania zoomed into the room in a dazed state. She loved her naps. “What’s going on here?” She yawned, turned her back on him and whispered, “Who’s the wolf carrying the big package?”
I hadn’t noticed his endowment until she mentioned it. She wasn’t lying. “Actually, I don’t remember if I’ve ever been told. Say, wolf boy, what’s your name?”
He was still in werewolf form and I wondered why he hadn’t shifted back to human form. He said snottily, “Not telling you. In fact, I’m going to drop a stinky deuce on your carpet.” He squatted down to reinforce the threat.
I encouraged him, “Do it up, buttercup. I really think you should. It’ll stay inside that bubble there and we won’t even be able to smell it.”
Contrary to my tough talk, I hoped he wouldn’t do it because I eventually needed to dissolve the shield around him and everything would be exposed. “That’s fine. Titania and I will give you a name then.” I turned to my dragonfly friend. “Got any ideas? I like Teen Wolf.”
“I don’t know. Harry is too obvious. How about Little Big Horn?” she said and sniggered.
I stared at the young wolf, surprised that he wasn’t going crazy. I’d expected more than that short burst of flailing against the shield when we were outside. “No. They all have names that sound like Roman emperors. It’s probably Centurion or I know. Brutus. Et tu, Brute, et tu?”
The wolf rolled his eyes and turned away.
“Were they even emperors?” Titania questioned.
“I was being colorful, all right?” I told her and suggested, “Nero?”
Frustrated, he yelled out, “It’s Justinian. My. Name. Is. Justinian.”
I snapped my fingers. “Damnit, I was close when I said Centurion.” I focused my attention on the newly named wolf. “Here’s what’s going to happen Justinian. You’re going to remain inside that lock bubble until I can go to the pet store in the morning and get a cage suited for a wolf. Then, Titania will stand watch over you. She will decide when or if you eat. I was thinking a nice vegetarian diet.”
He shook his finger in front of his face and threatened, “You’re making a big mistake.” He held his finger still. “I’ll give you one last chance to let me go.”
“Or what? What are you going to do?” I genuinely wanted to know.
“You’ll have to wait and see. It won’t be good.” He spouted the classic ambiguous threat. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the reputation to back that kind of threat.
Titania and I retired to the kitchen because his nonsensical jabbering was getting tiresome. I didn’t know exactly how I would play this. How much value did this junior member of the pack hold? What could I get for him? I wanted to use him to keep Octavius in check. But how?
I leaned toward Titania, lowered my voice and said, “I’m not sure what to do with him. If I tell Octavius that I would kill Justinian if he stepped out of line, he might just tell me to go ahead and do it. Then, any value would be gone.”
“Do you want anything from Octavius?” she asked so quietly that I could barely hear her.
I tossed my head around, debating. “Not really.”
Her eyes widened as if a huge brainwave had just occurred. She said enthusiastically, “I think I might know a way to keep him under control.”
“How is that?” I asked, intrigued.
“You tell Octavius that you have Justinian.”
That was her great idea? “I just told you that could blow up in my face.”
Titania held her hand out as she hovered in front of my face. “Patience, darling. Allow me to finish. You tell Octavius that you will turn Justinian over to Jonathan if he steps out of line. Nothing will enrage the werewolf more than the threat of the vampires desecrating the body of his offspring.”
I lifted my eyebrows and the corner of my mouth twisted up. “Now you’re on to something. I don’t think I’ll say anything just yet, but this is a nice card to have in the back pocket.”
Titania tilted her head to the side. “Just trying to help out the team.”
Yes. This flew in the face of the new leaf I was trying to turn over. The damn wind always seemed to blow that leaf back over. Every. Single. Time.
Sure, kidnapping a werewolf sounded bad on its face, but there were certain nuances to the situation. This was a classic reversal of fortune, since he was initially trying to kidnap my friend to hold over my head. Besides, I planned to get him a nice cage.
I went over to the cabinet and pulled out a precious item. “Hey, Titania. I had Owen put something together for you.”
I held up the specially designed burgundy sports bra that Owen had made for her. He had stitched the capital letter T into it with golden thread. It was bigger than just a bra, more like a tight shirt with extra features. Owen had worked two hidden pockets into it too. Best of all, it had a superhero costume feel to it.
Choked up, Titania said, “That’s for me?”
“Sure is. Here. Let me help you get it on.”
Titania landed on my counter and I helped get the stretchy material over her big head and down onto her thorax. She pushed her arms and legs through as I tucked her big old boobies into the cups and pulled the snug shirt down to the bottom of her thorax.
“Try it out. See how it feels.”
Her wings began beating and she zipped across the room and smashed into the wall.
“Son of a bitch,” she exclaimed as she peeled herself off the ground. She jumped up and started shadow boxing. “This is amazing. They don’t weigh me down or ripple in the wind. I can go even faster now.”
She zipped around the kitchen a few times, and as she hovered in front of me, she did look like a tiny superhero.
Chapter 3
AS I ENTERED DIETCH’S Bar and Grille in Blawnox, a blast of cigarette smoke hit me in the face. I peered around the foggy room and counted seven people, including the bartender. All smoking. The small one-room bar with tables, a dartboard, a foosball table and two TVs didn’t have working heat. Testing the theory, I blew out a big breath cloud.
Space heaters had been placed on both ends of the long hardwood bar and in several spots around the room. Signed pictures of the Steelers, Penguins and Pirates sent a rush of nostalgia through me, reminding me of the great teams from the 70s. I located Mike Merlino, waving at me from the back corner near the dartboard.
He was wearing a Penguins w
inter jacket and the famous Steelers Polka winter hat with a big golden tassel. It appeared the tiny space heater on the windowsill near the table wasn’t pushing out too much warmth. Every few seconds, a rush of breath clouds shot from Mike’s nostrils, giving him the appearance of an angry bull.
The bartender, swathed in ski pants and a thick wool jacket, didn’t even turn around as I strolled past the bar. She was leaning against the end of the bar, staring at the weather on the TV, and didn’t turn to greet the new patron.
As I sat down, I said snidely, “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you without Brighid’s arms wrapped around you.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “I don’t recognize you either. Gale, right? Or is it something different today?”
I swallowed and went to explain, but he waved me off and continued, “I still don’t understand why you blasted her. At first, I thought you were coming after me. It was a pretty solid punch, I guess, but why would you be mad about her hugging me?”
I’d nearly forgotten that he didn’t know Brighid was my mother. “Let’s just say, we have a bit of a past.”
He chortled. “I caught that from the whispers after you left the reception. So you’re mad at me?”
I looked around the dive bar making sure no one was eavesdropping. Convinced we were safe, I said, “No. I couldn’t care less about you. It has nothing to do with you. She knows what she did. She screwed me over on something and she knew I would get back at her. I probably could have handled it better, I suppose. How pissed are the Gods?”
Mike thought for a moment, scratching the peach fuzz on his chin. “I can’t speak for all of them, but they weren’t jumping for joy about it. To be honest, about an hour after you left, people stopped talking about it and just had a good time.”
That didn’t surprise me in the least. Apparently, I was easily forgotten. By my mother, by my husband and by the Gods. The fact that doing the right thing had put me further away from my induction into the pantheon of Gods made it difficult to keep choosing the righteous path.
“So how come you two don’t like each other?” Mike asked, his eyes suddenly coming to life.
Apparently, everyone liked gossip. I was relieved he hadn’t figured out that Brighid was my mother. Or had he? The less he knew about me, the better. I lied, “We’ve just butted heads over the years and sometimes it spills over.”
Mike squinted, questioning my detail free story. I turned to the left to avoid eye contact and noticed someone approaching.
The bartender walked over with two menus under her arm. “Yinz eatin’?” she asked and pulled a small notepad from her wool coat with a mitten-covered hand. She hopped up and down trying to stay warm as she struggled to grab a pen out of her coat pocket.
Copper blond hair poked out of the bottom of her gray winter hat, hanging just past her shoulders. Her full lips trembled from the chill, her blue eyes staring intently at Mike with her pen at the ready. I looked closely at her nametag, which said Queen Yinzer. Pardon me. I hadn’t realized we were among royalty.
“I’ll have the fried fish sammitch.” Mike ordered the Pittsburgh classic with an oversized, breaded filet hanging out of the bun.
“Fries and cold slaw good on ‘at?” the full-figured woman asked, and yes, she’d called it cold slaw. In her defense, the shredded cabbage side dish was always served cold.
“Yep. And could I get some ketchup and a Coke too, please?” Mike requested politely.
“Coke. Got it. Ketchup. Got it.” She wrote down the order, cupped her hands and blew into the opening of the wool mittens. She turned to me. “Whatta yinz wanna eat?”
It surprised me that they were taking orders under the frosty conditions. “I’m not eating or staying long for that matter.” Taking into consideration the grunginess of the bar, I didn’t think they knew how to make a Sazerac. “Could I just get a shot of Jameson, please?”
The bartender’s natural frown melted upward, curling into a grin of admiration at my drink choice as she jotted it down. “I can definitely do that. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as the bartender cleared earshot, Mike leaned forward and said, “Have you heard about people randomly dropping dead?”
That was one hell of a way to start a conversation. “Not specifically.”
Mike grabbed the space heater from the windowsill and set it on our table. The stretched cord pulled it back a few inches. Mike leaned over and made sure it was still plugged in. He straightened into his seat, his face red from the blood rushing to his head. “Crazy stuff is happening. In our city. Three people last night. Witnesses say one victim just dropped over dead and a 3-D image got up from the body and flew away.”
“The soul is flying away,” I said and leaned back in shock. How could normal people see the souls? And where were the confused souls going?
Mike arched his eyebrows and nodded. “I know. But that’s all I know. Can you help?”
So the Morrigan wasn’t lying about the death cards. “I might. Let me ask some questions.” I didn’t want to reveal too much to this kid.
He opined, “I think it has to be the death cards.”
In the immortal words of Owen Masterclaw, oh heavens. He knew more than I’d realized. “That was my first guess too, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”
“I plan to go talk to the Morrigan in Clara Spiritus because I’ve seen her with those before. But other than that, I don’t have any leads,” he revealed, which shocked the hell out of me.
It didn’t shock me that he didn’t have any leads. I hadn’t realized he was friendly with the Morrigan. It made sense considering he was the Pony Boy of the Celtic Gods, but I didn’t think she would warm up to him like the rest of the deities.
“Don’t worry about talking to the Morrigan. I’ll talk to her. You can keep checking around Pittsburgh for more clues. There may be a Death Card thief running around claiming the souls.”
The server came up to the table with Mike’s Coke and my shot of whiskey. She set them on the table. “Your lunch should be ready soon, too. Sorry, new guy down there.” Queen Yinzer shrugged her shoulders and walked back to the bar.
“Back to the death cards.” Mike got right back on task. “I wondered if a merchant of death is selling them to someone who is then going on a killing spree. Or maybe one of the merchants is randomly claiming souls?”
That wasn’t a bad theory. I tapped my shot glass on the table, said my father’s special toast under my breath and downed the Irish whiskey. I spoke in a husky voice as the alcohol was still tickling my throat, “I can see that. However, I can see a hundred other scenarios playing out too. I’ll be sure to mention that to the Morrigan when I talk to her.”
Mike took a big gulp of his Coke and extended his hand forward. Smiling, he asked, “Need a chaser?”
“I’m good. Thanks, though,” I replied, waving him off. He pulled his hand back and set his Coke back on the table.
“So, do you want to work together on this one?” he asked unsteadily.
If I would partner up with anyone, it would be the Morrigan. Although it never hurt to share information with other people. “We don’t have to work hand in hand on this one, but we could definitely put our heads together to figure it out.” I threw the kid a bone, but I had no real plans to work with him. His info could prove valuable, though.
He smiled and leaned back in the chair. “Finally. Was that so hard?”
Actually, it was. I didn’t like working with other people. I had also been finding out I didn’t like living with anyone either. Titania was great, but also messy and constantly wanting to talk about the most mundane subjects, ad nauseam. The past few weeks had made me realize how much of a loner I truly was.
“Have you talked to Jonathan lately?” I asked, trying to feel out the vampire situation.
He nodded and peeked around the bar before he said, “Yeah, I saw him yesterday. He still insists he wants a duel with Octavius, and I hate to say it, but it might be the best option with t
he lowest body count. I didn’t hear it from his mouth, but common sense tells me Octavius will likely send wolves after Jonathan.”
Considering the alpha had already sent one after me, that move seemed natural. “Why did Jonathan try to ransack the Wolf House?” I asked, inching my frozen fingertips closer to the glowing orange heat coming from the space heater.
Mike shrugged as he shook his head and a wave of disbelief ran through his eyes. “I’ve been trying to figure that out. I noticed the men he had sent weren’t exactly the top of the Purple House totem pole. They seemed like expendables.”
The kid made another valid point. I wondered rhetorically, “Why would he further the escalation knowing his men were going to die?”
Mike tapped his drink on the table to chase out the carbonation bubbles. “That’s the part I can’t figure out. Does he want Octavius to send some wolves after him? Is he luring them into a trap? The guy’s been so erratic lately, I can’t put my thumb on it.”
“I haven’t even been to see him since the incidents with Octavius. What did he say about me?” I needed to know.
Mike craned his neck around looking for his food, then focused back on me. “Did you go back to Octavius’s to steal Lugh’s Spear and almost slit the alpha’s throat?”
Damn. I was hoping he hadn’t heard about that. If he knew, that meant it was going around town. The embarrassing story would only enrage Octavius even more. “Where did you hear that?”
“From fucking Jonathan,” he revealed, raising his voice. “So you did go back? I thought you were trying to bring peace to Pittsburgh.”
I defended myself immediately, “I’m trying to bring peace to the world. I tried to rescue the spear from Octavius before he sold it to Arawn and started the destruction of the world. I made a calculated decision for the benefit of mankind.”
“That doesn’t take care of the problem you stirred up around here. I’d watch my ass if I were you,” he warned.
I laughed. If I spent every day worrying about the wolves, the vampires, the Norse, the Bounty Huntress and all the other random enemies coming after me, that would leave little time for anything else. I didn’t like being followed constantly, but I had grown used to it by now. Justinian had come after me. How had that worked out for him?
