by Beverly Rae
Another silent pause. “Um, I don’t make house calls.”
Yet something in Madame Medusala’s tone gave him encouragement. “I’d make it worth your while. Say, double your usual fee?” Skeller held his breath and waited.
“Make it triple.”
He’d have gone ten times the rate. “Agreed. You’ll come right now?” He hurried to give her his address.
“I’ll be there on the wings of a dove. Get your checkbook ready, sugar.”
The call disconnected, yet Skeller held the phone a little longer, giving him a moment before he had to confront Miriam. Even though he wanted to protect her, he couldn’t keep this from her a minute more. Like a man about to embark on the longest walk of his life, he met his wife’s worried look dead-on.
“Griswold, you’d better tell me what’s going on right this second.” Her level tone was a lot scarier than the serious expression on her face. Normally a calm and collected person in any situation, Miriam grew even calmer when she was upset. Deadly calm and ready to skin a bear.
“Now stay calm, Miriam. I’ve got help on the way. I’m handling this.”
Her tone lowered and grew almost monotone. “Help for Sydney? What kind of help are we talking about?”
“She needs help to return to the way she’s supposed to be. To the way she was born.” He tried to step past her, but she blocked his way. Instead, he stayed in his place and wished for a miracle. He figured he’d end up wishing for several miracles before the night was over.
“You lied to me, didn’t you? She’s in the basement, isn’t she?” She wheeled around and he lunged to take her arm.
“Miriam, don’t. I don’t want you to see her. Not the way she is.” He saw the alarm in her eyes, but knew she fought to retain her calm outward appearance.
“See her what way?” She took his hand and pried it off her arm. “You’re keeping something from me and I won’t have it. Speak up or I’m going to see for myself.”
All the pain and horror ripped through him, draining him of the little strength he had left. He leaned against the counter to keep his body upright and tucked his chin to his chest in defeat. “She’s been changed, Miriam. One of those animals bit our sweet little girl and changed her into one of his kind.”
Her brief silence was almost worse than her composed voice. “What’re you saying? Are you trying to tell me Sydney’s a shifter? Do you know she’s a lycan?”
He glanced up at her, confused by her lack of emotion. Sure, she’d always handled a crisis well, but this was incredible. He nodded, unable to verbally answer her questions.
“This Madame Medusala. You think she’s going to help Sydney revert to human form?”
Again, he nodded, amazed and more than a little proud of his wife’s personal fortitude.
“Why would you believe such nonsense?”
Did she mean about Sydney’s transformation? Or about the medium? “Which nonsense? I mean, neither one is nonsense.”
She scoffed at him and paced to the other side of the kitchen. “One. Your daughter will always be your daughter no matter what shape or form she’s in.” She glared at him until he nodded his agreement. “Two. Why would you think a medium could do anything of the sort?”
Had she understood what he’d told her? Didn’t she care about her daughter morphing into a shifter? “Did you hear me, Miriam? She’s gone over. She’s one of them. That Jason creature made her into one.”
“I understood you. You don’t need to yell at me. But you didn’t explain about the medium. Where did you get the idea that a medium could change a person?”
The flame of embarrassment traveled up his neck and into his face. “I, uh, remembered one of the guys telling a story about this woman. How she’d removed the evil from someone who’d been bitten by a werewolf. He said she could perform wonders.” A skeptical eyebrow hiked up. “Miriam, we have to try something. Anything. Even this.”
“You could try acceptance.”
He choked on nothing. Or was it possibly the sound of her words moving through his ears and down his throat? She wasn’t serious, was she? Accept that his daughter was now a shifter? Was she insane? “Acceptance? You mean like welcoming her and her werewolf lover into my home? You want me to forget they’re a couple of shifters?”
She approached him and took his hands. “Griswold, I’m talking about loving your daughter no matter what she is, no matter who she’s with. Didn’t we promise her unconditional love when she came into our lives?”
How could she compare the day he’d first held Sydney in his arms to this dreadful day? Maybe she was in denial? After all, it had taken him awhile to accept the truth. Maybe if she saw Sydney she’d believe him? “Go, Miriam. Go see your daughter in the basement. Then talk to me about acceptance.”
He strode ahead of her, unlocked the basement door and waved her inside. The sudden knocking on the front door kept him from following her, leaving Miriam to face the horror in the basement alone.
Skeller prayed the help he sought stood on the other side and, after taking a big breath, he opened the door. The smile he’d plastered on his face froze in place.
A large woman threw out her arms in a flamboyant wave and cried, “Here I am, sugar. Your own personal, beautiful cavalry to the rescue.”
ƒ
Why hasn’t the rest of me changed? Syd held up the cracked mirror she’d found lying on a group of boxes and examined her smooth, unblemished, unfurred skin. Frowning, she scrunched up her features and squeezed her eyes closed. She caught her breath and pushed for the hundredth time since her father had left her in the basement. Perhaps pushed was the wrong word because the harder she willed her body to shift, the more it seemed like all she accomplished was to make her face redder. Or make her feel like she was sitting on a toilet trying to do a constipated Number Two.
Not being the type to give up, she tried again. She shut her eyes and concentrated, determined to make something happen.
Wait. Is there something on my forehead? Do I have more fur poking through my skin? Exhilarated, she peeked at her reflection. Where is it? Something moved underneath her bangs and she held her breath and mentally crossed her fingers. Reaching up, she ran her fingertips under the hair and found…perspiration. A sweat drop trickled down to her nose, leaving no doubt she’d mistaken sweat for fur.
“Great. Other werewolves can shift in mere seconds and grow yards of fur, but not me. Oh, no, not me. All I do is break out into a sweat.” She glared at her reflection and patted the two patches lingering on her chin. “I bet it’s the hunter blood in me.”
“No, it’s not hunter blood that’s keeping you from changing.”
Syd fumbled with the mirror, almost dropping it before she managed to set it on top of the boxes. “Shit, Mom, you startled me.”
Her mother crossed over to take her face in her hands. “Language, young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Syd tried to cover the tuffs of fur, but her mother slapped her hands away, reminding her of the time she’d tried to hide the hickies Bobby Miller had left on her neck.
“Sydney Skeller, you know you shouldn’t try to hide anything from your mother.” Intense lake-blue eyes chased her darting ones until they trapped them. “I always find out.”
“I’m not hiding anything. You already know what Jason is. And what I am, too.”
She nodded and sighed at the same time. “Yes, but I didn’t know you’d started changing. Still, it was only a matter of time.” Her mother ran a hand through her hair. “I know I’ve asked this before, but I have to ask again. Are you sure you love him, Sydney?”
“I do love him, Mom, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. We talked about this, remember? In my apartment when you found us together?”
Her mother glanced up the stairs. “Yes, I know. I guess I’d hoped to keep things between us. I’ve stuck my head in the sand for too long”—again she checked the stairs—“and now your father knows.”
“Yeah and he�
�s gone into a wacked-out Father Knows Best routine. Except his is more like Father Knows Best and Locks Daughter in the Basement Until She Changes What Can’t Be Changed routine.” Syd sat on one of the sturdier boxes. “Well, I’ve got news for him. He’s going to have to learn to accept what’s happened. He’ll have to accept me and Jason.” At least, she hoped he would. The alternative was too sad to think about, yet she had to voice it anyway. “If not, I’ll have to leave and never come home.” Her mother’s hurt expression slashed regret through her, yet she knew she couldn’t back down on her threat. She’d meant every word she’d said.
“I knew this day would come.”
“Which day? The day I actually shifted? Or the day I finally stood up to my father? I am an adult, Mom. Don’t you think it’s about time?”
“No, honey. I’m talking about the day I’d have to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” Syd moved to take her mother’s hands in hers.
“Miriam? Are you still down there? Is Sydney all right? The help I hired is here.”
Her father led a large woman down the steps into the basement. The woman wore a hideous flowered dress covering her from head to toe and emphasizing her gigantic bosom.
Syd gaped at the medium. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Madame Medusala did a double take. “Oh, my. What happened to you? Beauty cream nightmare?” She scrunched up her face. “Do I know you, sweetie?”
Syd touched a small furry area on her chin. Maybe the only thing bigger than Medusala’s bosoms was her curious nose. “Uh, ye-ah. Don’t you remember me?”
Medusala glanced from Syd to her father and wrung her hands. “I-I’m not sure. Should I?”
“Again. Uh, ye-ah.” Was the woman out to scam her parents? But how did her parents know about Madame Medusala? She hadn’t told them anything about going to see a psychic, much less about her fainting. “I visited you with my friend, Charlie. Remember?” When the medium still didn’t respond, she added, “Maybe you’ll remember me this way.” She stretched out on the cement floor, closed her eyes, and flung her arms wide. “Ring a bell now?”
Recognition lit up the medium’s face. She planted a huge fist over her mouth and pointed at her with her other hand. “Oh, my goodness. I’ll be damned. I do know you. I didn’t recognize you with all the, uh, additions to your face. How’ve you been, sweetie?”
“Wait a minute. You two know each other?”
“Never mind that, Griswold. I want to know why she went to a medium.”
Syd scrambled to her feet. “I meant to tell you, Mom, but other things started happening and I forgot.”
“Your daughter and her friend came to me for a reading.” Medusala batted her mascara-coated eyelashes. “Sort of.”
Hadn’t her eyes been turquoise the first time they’d met? And she’d swear the medium had had black hair instead of the flippy, bright green hairdo. But did her parents—especially her father—know the medium was a man? “Nothing happened. Right, Madame Medusala?” She crossed her fingers and waited for Medusala to catch her I-won’t-tell-if-you-won’t-tell hint.
But the medium missed her throw and rattled on. “Nothing happened? Surely you jest. You passed out, sweetie.” She tisked and turned her attention to Miriam. “Yes, ma’am, she conked right out. If her friend hadn’t grabbed her, she’d have knocked a knot in her curly-topped noggin. I know you must remember or you wouldn’t have gotten down on the floor to help jog my rusty ole brain.” She took a breath and motioned at Syd while addressing Skeller. “You do know I’m not a doctor, right? I can’t cure her, uh…rash. If I were her, I’d head for the nearest dermatologist. Or maybe a laser hair removal clinic.”
Her mom’s reaction was predictable. “You passed out? Sydney, why didn’t you tell me? Do you know why you passed out? Were you ill? Are you ill?”
Damn, I should’ve thought before I spread out on the floor. Now I’ll have to tell them everything. “Calm down, Mom. I was fine. I was fine then and I’m fine now.”
Her mother’s whisper held an odd mix of worry and delight. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Uh, nooo. Not pregnant.” At least, not yet. Maybe soon, though, if she had her way. The concept of having Jason’s baby—er, pups? as in litter?—gave her a pleasant tingle in her abdomen.
Medusala’s fingers-on-the-blackboard titter tightened Syd’s already screwed-up spine. “Oh, no, sugar. She and her friend wanted me to tell them their futures. You know. The usual stuff. She passed out when I called on the spirits to help me.”
Great. Keep on blabbing my secrets, lady. Syd crossed her arms and glared.
At her mother’s expression, Medusala expanded her explanation. “I heard your daughter’s friend say she’d worked out too hard at the gym. If her passing out hadn’t scared me to death, the sight of her howling like a dog would have been downright hilarious.”
If I could reach over and throttle the big lug, I would. “I don’t remember you laughing when we talked about money.”
“Well excuse me, but I did my best to accommodate you. Plus, I never charged you or your friend.”
Syd watched the blood drain from her father’s face. “Sydney. You howled? Were you already a shifter?”
Madame Medusala’s head swiveled toward her father so fast, her green wig slipped to the side. She straightened it and confronted him. “A shifter? What are you talking about? She’s a shifter? As in fur-all-over-the-body, werewolf-type shifter?”
Damn, where’s the sock to shove in her—his—mouth? “Yes and no. I mean, yes I howled—or at least, Charlie said I did—and no, I wasn’t a shifter at the time. I met Jason later and he was everything I’d ever dreamed of.”
Medusala’s eyes grew wider. “Are you people using less than one percent of your brainpower? You mean you believe in werewolves?”
Syd frowned at the medium. She—he—she was the one who’d told the lady at the gym about her future were-hubby. Was she still denying any involvement?
“Why would anyone want to be with a werewolf?”
Syd hated seeing the disillusionment in her father’s face, but knew the time had come to tell the truth. No matter how hard it hurt. “Dad, I’m sorry if this hurts you, but I’ve never hated shifters like you do.” She paused to silently beseech her mother for help. “In fact, I’ve always had a soft spot for them. At first I thought it was part of the normal rebellion thing against my parents, but as I got older, I realized my attraction to werewolves was real. Especially the one I’ve dreamed about for years. And that one was—is—Jason.”
“Oh, my mercy. Do you mean to say you believe this kookiness? I mean, the lady at the club believing is one thing—she’s certifiable and I simply told her what she wanted to hear—but you, too? I had hoped you and your girlfriend were just kidding around.”
Her mother moved to slip an arm around her father to keep him upright. She whispered something to him and he managed to regain part of his strength. Yet a hard frost settled over his features—a coldness Sydney feared would remain forever.
Skeller pointed at her. “You weren’t already infected when you went to her?”
Obviously, he was having a difficult time accepting the truth. She searched his glazed-over eyes. “I told you. No, I wasn’t infected when I went to the psychic.” Never mind that being a werewolf was not a disease.
“Infected?” Medusala backpedaled a few feet, alarm making her homely face even less attractive. “Do you have some kind of disease? You should have told me about any contagions. I could have worn a gas mask, taken precautions.”
Which would have been a vast improvement to looking at that mug of yours. Syd studied Medusala, noted the strong calloused hands, the way she held her body like a linebacker ready to dart and dodge the offensive team, and the square cut of her jaw. Should I tell them your secret, Mr. Medusala? “Oh, for Pete’s sake, people. Get it through your heads. Lycanthropy is not an illness. And yes, we believe in werewolves.” She shouldn’t h
ave, but she took pleasure when the medium cringed under her glower.
“Look, I don’t care whether you two know each other or not.” Skeller jabbed a finger at a stunned Medusala. “But I’m holding you responsible for this mess. Now shut up and listen.” His flat palm in front of Medusala’s face halted her protest. “My buddy said you could rid a person of the evil in their body.” His voice quivered. “My daughter has an evil in her blood and it’s changing her, turning her into a werewolf.” He broke away from his wife to move even closer to Medusala. “Can you cure her or not? If you can, I’ll write a check for three thousand dollars with your name on it.”
Up until he’d mentioned the money, Medusala had started shaking her head. But at the exact moment she heard the word check, she began nodding instead. “Get your pen ready, Mr. Skeller, because I’m about to wipe that old evil right out of your darlin’ daughter’s body. Or my name isn’t Madame Medusala.”
Chapter Ten
“Will you get your skinny butt in gear?”
Like a dog chasing his tail, Benjy twisted around in a circle to check out his bottom. “Hey, I may have a skinny butt, but it’s a sexy skinny butt. Not that this horrid mirror does it justice. When will you buy decent furniture—like a full-length mirror—for your place?” He gave his ass an affectionate pat, then turned his back on Jason again and his attention to the object in his hand.
“What’re you doing with my phone?” Jason eyed the smaller man and wondered if it was safer not to know.
“I’m sending a text message.”
“This is no time to be calling your love stud, Benjy.” Yet the smaller shifter’s attack on the keyboard made Jason think the message was more serious—and helpful—than any booty call could ever be.
“Ha! Love stud sounds like something I would say. Sheesh, Jay-Jay, I do believe I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Shit, what a thought. And don’t call me Jay-Jay.” Jason hopped and paced, all while trying to tug on his clothes. After escaping from the hunters’ clutches, he was in no mood for his friend’s primping or dalliances. Sydney was with her father and, although Jason didn’t think Skeller would hurt her, he didn’t want to bet her life on it. “Whatever, but make it short. We need to get moving.”
