Scratch the Surface (Wolf Within)

by Amy Lee Burgess

  Pack were nearly always cremated. We took the ashes of our dead and scattered them in the woods where we’d all run together as wolves.

  It had been summer when I’d scattered Grey’s and Elena’s ashes in the woods of the Devil’s Hopyard, a state park in the same small town as the funeral home. Riverglow had loved to run there at night together. We knew every square inch of the eight-mile stretch of woods and fields, brooks and bridges. We’d be scattering Grandfather Tobias’s ashes there too.

  I stole a glance at Murphy and wondered if he were thinking about scattering Sorcha’s ashes somewhere in the green hills of Ireland. He probably was. It was a natural association.

  He had the faintest ghost of a bruise on his cheek and a little split in his lower lip that was only noticeable if I was close to him—the only outward signs of the after dinner fiasco of the other night. The inward signs and scars were legion though, and not so easily healed, I suspected.

  Silence crackled between us. I kept my head down and my hands clenched together in my lap.

  Sometimes we hadn’t talked, Murphy and I, when we’d been on the road visiting cities between Houston and Boston. But the silence then had been restful and easy. He’d concentrated on driving or the song on the CD and I’d watched the trees and fields blur past as the road unspooled beneath us. Everything had been magical because most of our lives were on hold and we were free.

  Well, we weren’t free now and our lives were most definitely not on hold. It occurred to me that maybe Murphy and I existed best in the spaces between time, between responsibility and day to day living. Maybe we would never figure out how to relate when time mattered and life was not one big road trip and instead little bites of reality and pain.

  The car slowed as Murphy took the exit for East Haddam. We flashed down a road crowded by a rocky hillside, across a shining silver bridge that spanned the Connecticut River, past the Goodspeed Opera House with its gables and widow’s walk and into the heart of the town.

  There wasn’t as much snow piled up in the yards and sidewalks here because we were close to the shore, but there was still quite a bit of accumulation.

  The Rosewood Funeral Home was also gabled and had a widow’s walk, just like the opera house. It was on the riverbank and had tall, forbidding dark windows and a shiny black front door with an imperious lion’s head knocker.

  Three cars were already in the small parking lot. Murphy parked between Kathy Manning’s Jaguar and a gold Toyota Camry. I was out onto the carefully sanded asphalt before he could take the keys out of the ignition and hurried to stand with Allerton and Kathy Manning, squinting against the sun reflected off the snow.

  We waited for Murphy to join us then Allerton strode to the imposing black door and opened it.

  The scent of flowers, chemicals and death wafted out and I wanted to gag. I squeezed my eyes shut and kept moving.

  Murphy struggled against the smell too. Allerton and Kathy Manning seemed impervious to it. Or maybe they were just older and better equipped to block out strong scents.

  It was cold as ice inside the front foyer, which wasn’t surprising since the floor was Italian tile and the fireplace was ornamental only.

  Several occasional tables were crowned with huge arrangements of funeral flowers and beneath the bow window was a long sea foam green sofa. Callie, Vaughn, Peter and Nora sat on it, all dressed in black, with their coats on, huddled against the cold.

  Jonathan stood beneath a portrait of one of the founding fathers of the funeral home—a dour gentleman with improbable side whiskers and a paunch. Jonathan studied the man’s belly as if it were a personal affront and when he heard our footsteps on the Italian tile, he turned around.

  The instant he saw me, his face turned black with wrath. His eyes were red rimmed and very dark. An unwanted surge of sympathy washed over me but before I could say anything, he stabbed a finger in my direction. “You!” he screamed, choleric with rage. His voice was so loud it hurt my ears and the Italian tiles gave it an acoustic boost it did not need. I was sure the whole state of Connecticut heard him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get out of here, you little hypocritical bitch!”

  He swung around to face his pack mates, nearly dancing with fury.

  “What the fuck is this? You knew she was coming and you didn’t bother to tell me? Fuck you. I may not be Alpha anymore but I damn sure count more than that bitch over there. I deserve a little bit of respect. He was my grandfather, for Christ’s sake, and this is how you treat me? Fuck you. Fuck all of you!”

  “Jonathan, calm down,” said Callie in a very soft voice.

  Nora, beside her, looked like she might burst into terrified tears. Her eyes were glazed, and once again, from several feet away, I could smell the booze on her breath and soaking through her skin. Being drunk at your bond mate’s grandfather’s funeral was not good. I felt another horrible surge of pity for Jonathan and wondered why they all sat together and he stood alone and isolated.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down, Callie, goddamn you!” Jonathan shouted. “She’s a hypocrite for coming here, can’t you see that? He’s not even a pack mate of hers. What’s she doing here?”

  “We’re not pack mates of his either,” Vaughn pointed out grimly and that only made Jonathan more furious.

  “Technically we are. It’s not your birthday yet, it wouldn’t have been official until your birthday!” Little flecks of saliva dotted Jonathan’s mouth and he swiped at his eyes with his coat sleeve.

  To my horror I realized he was crying, he was so upset.

  “He killed her bond mates. She has no reason to be here!”

  “He killed our pack mates and we’re still here,” said Vaughn, his eyes dark and hard. “Sit down, Jonathan, and stop being such an asshole. You barely spoke to the old man when he was alive. All this melodramatic pseudo grief now that he’s dead is the real hypocrisy, if you ask me.”

  Stunned, Jonathan stared at him. He looked like a little puppy who’d been kicked into a corner. More tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

  “He’s feeling guilty he didn’t pay the old man more attention,” Vaughn said to us all. Angry and disgusted, he drove a hand through his hair. “We don’t have to put up with his crap, today of all days. Sit down, Stanzie. Alfred’s down in the crematorium getting the ashes and we’re all going to go to the Devil’s Hopyard and scatter them together. And there’s not going to be any bullshit scenes, Jonathan, you understand? Or I will kick your ass.”

  Jonathan swallowed so hard, his throat clicked audibly.

  He looked around the room for allies and found none. Abruptly, he lunged for the door and was gone.

  “Motherfucker,” muttered Vaughn, getting to his feet. “I warned him.”

  “No,” I spoke up. He froze. “Tobias was his blood relation and his pack mate, Vaughn.”

  “You know firsthand how he ignored the old man, Stanzie,” Vaughn argued with me, his mouth tight. “You were more of a grandchild to that man than Jonathan ever was. This is a joke, this parade of grief. It’s guilt, just like I said.”

  “So it’s guilt more than grief,” I said. “At least he’s feeling something.”

  “I’ll go get him.” Peter started to get up, but I stopped him too.

  “Let me try,” I said and they all gaped at me.

  “He might take a swing at you, Stanzie, better bring your bond mate. Maybe he can take the first shot,” Vaughn suggested and both Murphy and I paled at the insult.

  “I can take care of myself,” I snapped.

  Vaughn snorted. “Against Jonathan? I’m sure you can. Be my guest, but if he does manage to actually hit you, don’t come crying to me.”

  “Nobody will come crying to you, you cold unfeeling bastard,” Nora snarled at him. Then she took a silver flask from her black purse and guzzled from it.

  “Jesus,” said Vaughn half under his breath. “Welcome to our dysfunctional little pack, Councilors.” He gave Allerton and Kathy Manning a sarcas
tic grin but I didn’t wait to hear if either of them replied.

  Outside in the cold parking lot, Jonathan was hunched over the hood of the Camry, sobbing. I didn’t know what to do.

  Murphy, who was dogging my footsteps, nearly barreled into me when I stopped dead halfway across the lot.

  Car doors slammed nearby and a moment later Colin Hunter, with Devon Talbot beside him, approached us.

  “Need some help?” He looked between us and the sobbing Jonathan and sounded sincere. He and Murphy were careful not to make eye contact but Devon and I did and we both held our breaths.

  “I think we’ve got it,” Murphy said. His gaze flicked in Hunter’s direction.

  I looked at Colin Hunter too and saw that he had a faded black eye courtesy of Murphy’s fist. Otherwise he was perfect, from his crisply curling hair to his Kenneth Cole boots.

  Devon Talbot had very long hair. She’d worn it coiled at the back of her neck the first night I’d met her, but today her hair was long and loosely waved, obviously straightened. Her almond-shaped eyes were full of compassion as she looked toward Jonathan.

  “Good to see you again, Stanzie. I’m only sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” She gave me a subdued smile, squeezed my shoulder and nudged Colin in the direction of the front door.

  He moved forward, gaze still locked with Murphy’s. Devon nudged him again and he reluctantly turned around. Murphy continued to watch him go, his expression unreadable.

  I waited until I was sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid, and walked over to Jonathan.

  “You saw him, didn’t you?” I guessed when I’d drawn close enough to touch him, only I didn’t. “That’s why you yelled at me, isn’t it? Because you saw Grandfather Tobias standing there with me.”

  A fresh gust of tears wracked his body even as he violently shook his head.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Stanzie.”

  “Yes, you do. Grandfather Tobias told me you can see spirits. He could too. So could your mother.”

  “Bullshit.” Jonathan’s voice held no conviction.

  “If you saw him, it’s because of me. Because he can’t rest until I forgive him. He told me he was going to walk until I did.”

  “Then he’s gonna fucking walk a hell of a long time, isn’t he?” Jonathan choked out. “He only killed your bond mates. Why the fuck would you forgive him?” He swung around then, his face streaked with tears, chest heaving. “He’s not going to leave me alone, is he? I paid no attention to him when he was alive and now I won’t be able to escape, will I?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. Typical, selfish Jonathan. Some of my sympathy began to evaporate. He never saw anything but himself. He’d always been his own best friend and worst enemy.

  “I did love him, you know.” He swiped at his eyes again. I reached into my coat pocket and found a clean tissue. When I handed it to him, he took it. “I brought him with me to Riverglow. I didn’t have to. They didn’t even ask me to. I asked.” He drew himself up to his full height and braced himself as if he thought I would argue with him or disbelieve him. “He just...he always lectured me about the old ways and it got boring, Stanzie, you know? Or maybe you don’t because you always listened to him. You probably even liked listening to him, knowing you.”

  I smiled a little. “I did. Don’t you agree with the old ways, Jonathan?”

  Behind me, Murphy came to attention, very interested in the answer, in Jonathan’s very reaction to the question.

  “Oh, I don’t fucking give a shit,” said Jonathan with a petulant sigh. He wiped at his eyes with the tissue and grimaced. “Look at me. I work a dead-end retail job because I never went to college, never mixed with Others unless I had to. And what did it get me? This fucking stupid pack in the ass end of nowhere. But then Elena went to college and had a great job and she ended up here too. So old ways, new ways, what the fuck difference does any of it make? We’re Pack. We go nowhere.” He grimaced again, and I gave him an impulsive hug. He froze in my embrace for a moment, but then hugged me back. He buried his face in my neck and nearly choked on his tears.

  “It fucking kills me you’re the only one who understands.” His eyes were bloodshot and full of baffled grief when he pulled away from me.

  “He was your blood relative. Your only connection,” I said and he nodded.

  “You see,” he said over my shoulder to Murphy. “She does get it.”

  “I know,” said Murphy. “It’s because she lost her connections. She knows how it feels.”

  “Nora may still be bonded with me, but I lost her the second our son died,” said Jonathan, and shook his head. “I took her for granted the same way I took Grandfather Tobias. And now I’ve got shit and it’s just what I probably deserve. Bet you think so, huh?” He gave me a belligerent grin, but there were tears in his eyes.

  I almost told him then, that I’d killed his grandfather. I wanted to comfort him but I didn’t want him to accept my comfort because I was guilty, so guilty. Somehow I kept my damn mouth shut, but it wasn’t easy.

  “If you could get Nora to stop drinking and feeling sorry for herself, you’d get her back,” I predicted and Jonathan made a scoffing sound.

  “I have tried to keep her away from the booze, Stanz. I’ve dumped more bottles of whiskey down the goddamn drain than I want to think about. She just buys more. And hides them. Every night when she passes out, I go all over the damn house to find her secret stashes but there’s always one I seem to miss. I swear people are going behind my back to give her the shit. I’m paranoid, I know, but I think I’ve found it all and they come over to visit and the next thing I know she’s shitfaced and locked in the bathroom with a bottle of Wild Turkey.”

  “They? All of them?” I wondered. “Or someone specific?”

  Murphy took my elbow and gave it a warning squeeze, I’m sure to tell me not to press so hard.

  “Ah, they come over in pairs mostly, but sometimes all of them. I don’t know if anybody’s giving her stuff. I just said that because I’m paranoid, because I can’t make her stop and right now it’s a toss-up which one dies first, Callie hemorrhaging to death from some miscarriage or Nora choking on her own vomit, drunk and passed out. It’s coming. You hear me? It’s coming.” He stabbed a finger at me as if I doubted him, but I didn’t. He was right on target.

  All at once he stiffened and fixed his attention on something over my shoulder.

  I turned around to see the rest of the pack, the Councilors and a small, balding man with a pointed chin emerge from the front door. Pointy Chin held a small black urn under his arm and when I saw it, I gulped.

  “Can I come to the Devil’s Hopyard, or do you want me to stay away?” I asked Jonathan, turning back to him. “I’ll do what you want, Jonathan, don’t worry about Vaughn.”

  A muscle in Jonathan’s cheek twitched. After Vaughn’s threats inside, he knew he’d be in for trouble if he objected to my attendance at the funeral.

  “You can come,” he allowed. “Do you think you could give me and Nora a ride? I don’t feel like driving and she’s fucking drunk.”

  “Come on.” Murphy took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors to the Prelude.

  Nora stumbled over to us and most of Riverglow watched in absolute shock as she and Jonathan got into the Prelude with me and Murphy and waited for them to get into their cars so we could all go scatter Grandfather Tobias’s ashes.

  Chapter 17

  The interior of the car reeked of gin but it was too cold to put down the window. Murphy cracked his anyway, forcing me to huddle in my coat.

  “Can we make a packy run?” Nora begged. She hiccupped then giggled at herself, while Jonathan silently fumed beside her in the back seat.

  “What in the hell is a packy run?” Murphy had never heard the term before and was curious. He was also suspicious.

  “She means booze. She wants more booze,” snapped Jonathan. He shot Nora a dirty look which she ignored, no
doubt from lots of practice. Flask uncapped, she made a big show of upending it to prove there was nothing inside but a few drops. They dripped onto her black skirt but she didn’t seem to notice. Jonathan did, judging by the tightening of his mouth.

  Nora’s hair needed a good brushing. It crackled around her head full of static electricity. She’d put eye makeup on but forgotten eyeliner on the left while overdoing it on the right. Her lipstick was uneven and her skin was an unhealthy bluish white. Her cheekbones jutted aggressively and I thought if a good wind blew up while we were standing in the state park, she was likely to blow away.

  “You know, Nora,” I remarked, half turning in my bucket seat so I could look at her. “There are much easier ways to kill yourself than drinking yourself to death.”

  “Jesus, Stanz,” objected Jonathan wretchedly. Murphy’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t say anything, so I went on.

  “I thought of at least six different ways when I was in Boston after Grey and Elena died and you guys kicked me out of Riverglow.”

  Jonathan winced, but Nora leaned forward, fascinated.

  “You were all alone there, weren’t you, Stanzie?” she whispered, licking her cracked lips. Most of her lipstick disappeared, which was a good thing.

  “You had family in the area. Your birth pack came from around Boston,” Jonathan declared with an argumentative sneer.

  “I was in exile, Jonathan,” I reminded him sweetly. “You and the rest of Riverglow put me there, remember?”

  “Not for real. The Council voted in your favor. It was a bullshit pack thing.”

  “Yeah, but I took it to heart. You made me feel like shit about myself. After you threw me out, I didn’t have anyone left to turn to.” My voice was too bitter, and I struggled to control it.

  “You had your family. Your mother and father—” Jonathan began and I cut him off with a ruthless smile.