by Anne Bishop
* * *
* * *
Jana walked into Virgil’s office, set a small roasting pan on his desk, and lifted the lid. When the Wolf said nothing and did nothing except stare at the contents of the pan, she said, “It’s an apology.”
“It looks like meat.”
“It is meat. I figured you would like that more than chocolates or flowers.”
“I do.” Now, finally, he looked at her. “Why are you apologizing?”
“This is my first job as a deputy. I’m going to make mistakes.”
He nodded. “The meat is an apology for which mistake?”
She’d made more than one? Darn it! “The woman’s death upset me.”
“But not the male’s death?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see him. I did see her. And because she killed herself, I accepted her version of events as she related them to Mr. Skye. I should have asked if any of the terra indigene had seen anything. I should have been more respectful when I tried to explain why I felt those people should have been apprehended rather than killed. I was thinking with my feelings instead of my head.”
Her last statement seemed to confuse him until he took a deep breath. Then he focused on the meat sitting right in front of him and licked his lips.
“You want to rejoin the police pack?” he asked.
“Yes. Sir. Yes, sir.”
He stared at her. “All right. You can rejoin the pack. Just remember that there are enemies among the humans living in this town.”
“I’ll remember.” She kept her eyes focused on the desk. Submissive. Offering no challenge.
“Get to work,” Virgil said.
Jana dashed for the door. Before she crossed the threshold, he added, “Tobias Walker might want to kiss your furless ass, but if you challenge me again, I will discipline you like any other member of the pack and you will feel my teeth. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Back at her own desk, she turned on the computer and set the pen and pad of paper beside the phone to take the day’s messages—and noticed how her hands shook. With relief. Yes. Her hands shook with relief that she didn’t have to handle human conflicts on her own.
She would keep telling herself that until she believed it. But that other thing?
Kiss her furless ass. Right. She should have known Yuri or the Hawk would tell Virgil what she’d said. And, if asked, because one of them was bound to ask, she could tell them that Tobias hadn’t kissed her ass.
Of course, this morning he might have gotten around to doing more than kissing her senseless if Barb hadn’t wandered into the kitchen half asleep and screamed the whole street awake when she flipped on the lights and found a strange Wolf munching on a large heart.
That sure had gotten the blood pumping in a different kind of way.
Barb had tried to apologize for screaming, tried to say she knew the Wolf had to be a friend of Virgil’s and she’d only screamed because she was sleepy and startled and she hadn’t meant to disturb him while he was eating his breakfast, but the Wolf just snarled at her. It might have been a nasty standoff if Tobias hadn’t unlocked the back door and held it open so the Wolf could grab the rest of the heart and enjoy his meal in the backyard.
After Tobias explained who Morgan was and why he’d been in the kitchen, there hadn’t been time for her to do more than thank him before she hurried to get ready for work.
But thinking about the kiss they’d shared in her bedroom before all the hoo-haw in the kitchen had her feeling fluttery in a good way.
She called the number for Tobias’s mobile phone. “I’ve been accepted back in the police pack.”
“Good for you.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “You have any errands you can run while you’re here?”
“I might have one or two. Why?”
“I wasn’t sure how things would work out with Virgil, so I left Rusty at home. I was going to take an early lunch break to let her out. And Barb will still be working.”
“You don’t say. Well, maybe I could come by, drop off some lunch.”
Jana smiled. “Maybe you could. I’ll call when I’m heading to the house.”
When Virgil came out of his office, she gave him her best and brightest smile. He gave her that Wolf stare for a moment or two, then walked out without saying a word.
* * *
* * *
Parlan checked the labels on the bottles behind the bar. Then he looked around again.
Neighborhood bar. Local watering hole. Almost everything on the very short menu he’d found was food cooked in grease. A quick look in the preparation area had him backing away from the rotted or moldy food. The salvage company either had missed this place or hadn’t reached this street.
Parlan selected a bottle of whiskey, used a clean handkerchief to wipe the dust off a glass, and poured himself a healthy measure. Not rotgut but not the best. This wasn’t the kind of place that would serve the finest blends.
There was a separate room for parties or meetings. High-stakes games could be conducted back there. But . . .
Parlan sipped the whiskey and thought he still tasted the dust until he looked at the floor. Maybe it was the smell of mouse turds that interfered with the taste of the whiskey.
It would take a lot of work to make this place presentable—more work than he wanted to put in, especially when there was that saloon on the town square that was already up and running and had exactly the kind of ambiance he wanted, and his persona of a frontier gambler would slide right into that place. Of course, once he challenged Tolya and won the fight for control of the town, he’d have to keep the gambling low profile in public and he might have to find someone to manage the place along with Lawry. Not that Other with the strange hair. She had to go. And he might need to make other changes in personnel.
The door opened. Two men swaggered up to the bar.
The taller one said, “Set ’em up, barkeep.”
“Frank.” Parlan took two glasses from under the bar and didn’t bother to wipe them off before pouring the whiskey. He set a glass in front of Frank and the other in front of the shorter, younger man. “Eli.”
Frank and Eli Bonney were outlaws in the truest frontier sense of the word. They loved to steal. They weren’t Intuits, didn’t have that special sense, but they were damn good at their work. They were also just a touch crazy, which made them too impulsive for subtle jobs. Since there wasn’t going to be anything subtle about taking over leadership of the town, and since killing things was the boys’ second-favorite activity, Parlan had agreed with Judd about dealing them in for this takeover. If the impulsiveness and the touch of crazy made them difficult to handle later, then Judd would take care of them.
“You planning to set up here, Parlan?” Frank downed the whiskey and looked around. “I would have thought you’d be aiming for that fancy place in the center of town.”
“I am. But I have to appear to be looking at what is available so that nobody thinks too much about me staying around.”
“That fancy place have any girls?” Eli asked.
“Teases,” Parlan replied. “None that do more than that. And don’t go thinking you can use any sharp persuasion to get one to oblige you. Last man didn’t do more than talk that game and still ended up dead.”
“Whorehouse?” Frank asked.
Parlan shook his head. “A handful of Sanguinati and a couple of Wolves run this town, and they don’t appreciate why that’s a necessary business.”
“Ma can get one set up quick and do it right,” Eli said. “She has a knack for that sort of thing.”
“Where are you boys staying?” Parlan asked.
“Set up in a house on the south side of town,” Frank replied. “McCall said there are plenty of empty houses that still have food, and we should lay low until everyone arrives. Speak
ing of arrivals, Ma and Daddy should have been here by now. You hear anything?”
“No.” Parlan poured them all another whiskey. “You arranged to meet?”
“Had some business a ways south of here. Met up at a crossroads and did a car swap. They should have been a couple of hours behind us unless the car crapped out on them.”
“Shouldn’t have,” Eli said. “And they should have enough gas in the tank to get here.”
Parlan’s hands suddenly felt cold, his tell when something wasn’t right. “Let’s head over to the Bird Cage Saloon. It’s one of the best places in town to pick up gossip. If your folks had to stop at a ranch for any reason, one of the bartenders would know.”
* * *
* * *
I love doing crochet. It’s a calming activity, and you end up with something pretty and useful. I could teach you.
Scythe stared at the instructions Lila Gold had so helpfully left on her desk. If bouncy Lila was the end result of a calming activity, Scythe didn’t see the point. Besides, she was calm. Mostly. She hadn’t harvested anyone since she arrived. Sipped, yes, but she hadn’t feasted. Even the Sanguinati discreetly fed on the humans who lived in the town.
Then again, performing a human activity and discussing that activity would help her blend in. Perhaps she would accept Lila’s offer and go with her to the store where the yarn was sold. If nothing else, visiting the store would be an excuse for prowling the streets. There were strangers in town that Tolya and Virgil didn’t trust. And a human who wasn’t trusted was really nothing more than prey.
She removed a file folder from a desk drawer, opened it, and reviewed the work schedule for the rest of the week to confirm when Lila would be working. Slipping the folder back in the drawer, she left her office to talk to Yuri, who was working behind the bar. As the owner of the saloon, she felt it was important to talk to the other predators who worked there. Since she didn’t think Yuri would be interested in crochet and he’d already inquired about Yellow Bird when he came in that morning, she couldn’t think of anything else to talk about except the work schedule.
She’d gone behind the bar, and Yuri had turned toward her when Virgil walked in. They could both talk to Virgil, and then she wouldn’t appear foolish asking Yuri about schedules.
“Did you let Deputy Jana rejoin the police pack?” Yuri asked.
“She brought good meat as an apology,” Virgil growled.
Yuri grinned, showing his fangs. “And by letting her rejoin the pack, you get to play with the puppy again.”
Virgil bared his teeth and showed his fangs.
Scythe tensed.
Yuri looked at her hair and said, “This is banter, teasing. Showing fangs is not always a threat.”
Scythe looked in the mirror behind the bar. Blue hair with broad streaks of red, starting to curl. So many things she struggled to understand. But the Harvester who lived in the Lakeside Courtyard had had to learn these things too.
“Showing fangs when someone is . . . teasing . . . is not a threat?” she asked, wanting clarification.
“Not between us.” Yuri made a circle with one hand that included her as well as Virgil. “If those words were said by someone who was not considered a friend . . .”
“My teeth would have been on his throat,” Virgil finished.
“Ah.” Scythe relaxed.
“The wolverine did wrong and needed to learn,” Virgil said.
“Being excluded from her pack was gentle punishment,” Yuri added.
“Being excluded does not always feel gentle,” Scythe said quietly.
They looked at her; then they looked at each other.
“I guess it doesn’t when it goes on too long.” Yuri looked toward the door. “We have customers.”
“I’m not dressed for work.” Scythe took a step back, intending to go up to her suite and change into one of her costumes. Then she saw their customers and stayed behind the bar.
* * *
* * *
Virgil didn’t recognize the two men who came in with Parlan Blackstone and couldn’t catch their scent. Not that it mattered. They moved like predators.
Huh. Well, bringing a gift to a potential mate made sense. But why did Morgan sound uneasy? John wasn’t dominant enough to be a rival, and he . . . No, he wouldn’t consider having another mate while he lived so close to humans. Never again.
Parlan Blackstone approached the bar and nodded at Yuri. “Barkeep.”
“Mr. Blackstone,” Yuri replied. “What would you like?” He smiled, deliberately showing a hint of fang.
“Whiskeys all round from your best bottle,” Blackstone said. He looked at Virgil. “Buy you a drink, Sheriff?”
“I’ll have my usual,” Virgil said.
Yuri poured three whiskeys before setting a shot glass with a golden liquid in front of Virgil.
“What is that?” Parlan asked.
“My usual.” He saw no reason to tell a potential enemy that he liked apple juice. Humans were too fond of poisons.
“Nice place,” Taller Stranger said as he looked around.
“My place,” Scythe said.
She sounded mildly territorial, and anyone who didn’t know the warning signs—the curling hair now equally divided between broad red and blue streaks with a few threads of black—wouldn’t realize she was a long way from calm.
She, too, recognized other predators, regardless of species.
“I was telling Frank and Eli how I’m looking to open one of the neighborhood bars and hope to fix it up even half as nice as this saloon.” Parlan looked at Scythe but didn’t look her in the eyes. “You must have put a fair piece of work into this place when you acquired it.”
“Yes.” She offered nothing more. She looked past all of them.
Tobias Walker entered with Truman Skye, followed by Morgan.
Tobias glanced toward the men at the bar, then put an arm around Truman’s shoulders and tried to hustle the other human to a table near the back of the saloon.
“Couldn’t sleep last night,” Truman said. “I kept seeing that car, kept thinking about—”
“Nothing you could have done,” Tobias said loudly, his hand tightening on Truman’s shoulder so hard the man whimpered.
“What’s this about a car?” Parlan Blackstone asked, looking concerned.
“Car went off the road near the Skye Ranch,” Yuri replied. “Caught on fire. Some of the ranch hands rushed to the site to try to help, but they were too late.”
“What about the people in the car?” the taller one, Frank, asked.
“They died.”
Virgil watched Morgan brush by the two strangers, taking a sniff as he passed. The humans looked like they’d been kicked in the head and didn’t even notice the other Wolf.
Something felt wrong about these humans—more wrong than the other strangers who had come into town. He wanted to tear out their throats and be done with it. Unfortunately, he knew how the wolverine would react to that. She’d say something snippy like “Nobody makes ‘Sorry I Killed You By Mistake’ sympathy cards,” and then he’d have to bite her. And then she wouldn’t let him play with the puppy. And he couldn’t blame Cowboy Bob for the bite because Cowboy Bob didn’t have any teeth.
Reaching that conclusion made him feel sufficiently hostile to humans in general and these males in particular, so he focused on the problem.
Why? There wasn’t any mess to clean up if you killed them outside, and a cell wasn’t large enough for all the predators who would want to feed on the available meat.
To the men, he said, “You finish your drinks, then come across to the sheriff’s office to turn in your weapons.”
“Give up our guns?” the smaller one, Eli, said. “Fuck you.”
Frank clamped a hand on Eli’s right arm. “Why?” he asked Virgil.
“No firearms are allowed within the town’s limits,” Virgil replied. “Turn them in or get out.”
Parlan Blackstone looked pointedly at Tobias Walker. “I don’t see you telling him about that rule.”
“He has special permission to carry a gun.” Virgil didn’t offer an explanation.
Blackstone put money on the bar. “I guess we should go over now, if someone is in the office.”
“I’ll take you over.”
“All by yourself?” Eli shook off Frank’s restraining hand. “Three against one? Those odds don’t worry you?”
Before Virgil could decide how to answer, since humans with guns were a reason to worry, Yuri laughed and said, “Virgil might be the only one you see, but he won’t be the only one escorting you.” Any pretense of humor left the Sanguinati’s face. “If something should happen to Virgil and one of them took offense . . .” He reached under the bar, then held up a book of matches. With deliberate movements, his dark eyes fixed on the humans, he lit one match and used it to light the rest of the matches in the book.
