Bayou Blues

by Sierra Dean

  The whole time he spoke he continued to smile, making him appear more and more like a sociopath with each passing second.

  “To prove to you I am a man of my word, I have brought a member of your pack to my compound.” The camera shifted, and instead of focusing on a plain white wall there was a row of squat metal cages, though the bars were much thicker than one would expect on a kennel.

  My breath came up short, like my lungs were being squeezed by a vise and getting air in and out was a Herculean effort. I’d never been caged, but I had seen the outcome of captivity and what it did to animals and humans alike. No one deserved to be locked up in a cage that size. Or any size.

  Shaky camera work made the scene jerk and become unfocused as we followed Timothy across the space. Briefly we were shown nothing but a concrete floor, and just as suddenly the camera panned back up and focused on one cage close up, Timothy squatting in front of it, out of arms reach.

  It took me a minute to realize what we were looking at, but Wilder got there first.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Dirty and disheveled was nothing new for Hank Shaw. In my few personal interactions with him—none of which I remembered fondly—he had smelled as bad as he looked. But once I understood I was seeing a man I knew crammed inside one of those too-small cages, I resisted the natural reaction to vomit all over the laptop.

  Fighting a wave of bile in my throat before I was able to speak, I muttered, “Oh my God.” It was the only thing I could think to add to the conversation. No words of comfort sprang to mind.

  He was more unshaven than usual, with perhaps a week’s worth of beard on his face. Aging facial hair on a werewolf was difficult because they could often grow hair much faster than the average man. But I had a good sense of Hank’s standard appearance, and he was hairier and rougher than was his norm.

  Callum was as impassive as ever, and Ben seemed only casually interested, the way someone might be if they were driving past a car accident. I knew no one liked Hank, myself included, but their lack of empathy surprised me. I could write it off in Callum’s case since he’d already watched the video and there were no surprises here for him, but Ben should have shown at least some emotion. I couldn’t decide if I was more stunned or disappointed by the lack.

  Timothy must have been allowing a dramatic pause for reaction because he hadn’t spoken the entire time we drank in the scene. This guy was a born showman, making me wonder why the Church wasn’t using him on a more regular basis. He had the kind of inoffensive handsomeness that lured people in en masse and invited trust where none was deserved.

  Kind of like Ted Bundy.

  I chewed my thumbnail and waited to see what he’d say.

  “I would have preferred someone with a more camera-ready face to show how easily you monsters blend in, but we took what we could get.” He gave a shrug and smiled. A chill ran through me as I recalled the car that had attempted to drive me off the road only hours earlier. I’d suspected it might be the Church, and now I wondered how close I’d come to being in the cage next to Hank. I was already a public face for the pack. Werewolf Princess Goes to College was the most prominent headline that came to mind. Was kidnapping me another part of the Church’s plan? I’d thought they wanted to hurt me, but I was starting to think they wanted something much, much worse.

  “This is not a ransom demand,” Timothy went on. “We want nothing from you. We want nothing to do with you except to see your whole species wiped out. We merely present this creature to you so you can understand the lengths we are willing to go to. And soon the whole world will know them as well. You may think we are afraid of making enemies of you. We are not.”

  Someone off screen handed Timothy a long pole. On the end were two prongs. I didn’t have time to think about what it was before he jammed the prongs into Hank, and a loud zap rang out. Cattle prod. Hank screamed, and his body jerked, limbs dancing at awkward angles with a mind of their own. My heart broke to watch a man I knew get treated like an animal.

  This was why we’d hidden in the shadows and why our secrecy had meant so much to us. It was our worst fears about human nature coming true. I’d long believed we could live in peace with humans even if they knew us for what we really were, but since the veil had been lifted I was realizing how naïve my hope had been.

  Seeing Timothy torture Hank the way a future serial killer might assault a cat made me sick to my stomach. It didn’t matter that Hank was a bigot who hated almost everyone he met. He was pack. Pack was family.

  My sickness turned to rage in my belly.

  As Hank’s body went limp, the camera faded to black.

  “Is he dead?” My voice came out higher than I’d expected, bordering on hysterical.

  Beside me, Wilder shook his head. “No, that much voltage wouldn’t kill him.”

  “Our guess is they’re preparing to do something much more public. Something they can use to show the whole world they mean what they say.” Callum’s words were steady and empty of feeling, but I knew my uncle well enough to hear what wasn’t there. He was as angry about this as I was.

  “We have to do something. Can’t we release the video to the press?” I sounded less manic this time, trying to mimic Callum’s tone. He gave me a sad smile and sat back in his chair.

  “If we could, I’d have done it already. In his email Deerling made it clear that if this video gets made public, so do the names and addresses of every wolf in three states. Mutually assured destruction. And if we attack them, as I’m sure they want us to, they’ll use it as evidence we are the animals they claim.” Before I could interject he added, “But I don’t plan on sitting idly by.”

  Wilder got to his feet. “I’ll go get him.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Ben spat, his tone conveying all the venom I’d seen outside. Even after we’d watched Wilder’s brother tortured, he still hated the family. That was some deep-rooted anger, and I promised myself I’d get to the bottom of it, but not now.

  Callum waved his hand to silence Ben, and in turn we all went still. Something about my uncle made me feel more like a little girl than a woman. He intimidated with no effort. It was part of what made him a good leader and an imposing parental figure.

  “Mr. Shaw, sit down please.”

  Wilder hesitated before returning to his seat. He didn’t appear pleased about obeying, but he also didn’t argue. Smart man. He wouldn’t make it far in the pack if he crossed Callum with the same vehemence as he locked horns with Ben.

  “You will not go after your brother on your own, am I understood?”

  Wilder didn’t speak, clearly debating what he could say that would allow him to rescue Hank without lying to his king outright.

  “Fine,” he grumbled at last. He sounded angry about it, and I couldn’t blame him. As much as Ben and I tended to disagree, if anyone had taken him, I would have crawled on my belly through the fires of hell to get him back.

  “I assure you, I’m taking this threat very seriously,” Callum said.

  I saw the fire in Wilder’s eyes and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it before he could say anything he might regret. Whatever reply he was about to use died on his lips, and he turned his attention from Callum to me. Glancing down at my hand on his forearm, he seemed to realize what it was I’d done, and instead of jerking his arm away, he gave me a nod.

  Things could have gone downhill fast if Wilder had issued anything challenge-like to Callum. Kings hated to be questioned, and they liked it even less when people spat in the face of their authority. I wasn’t sure if Wilder had been a part of a different pack before returning to St. Francisville, but it appeared like he had a lot to learn about dealing with werewolf royalty.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.” Wilder’s teeth were almost gritted together as he struggled to stay polite.

  “Of course. And, again, we are in your debt for bringing Eugenia home to us.”

  Wilder didn
’t bother looking at Callum. He was staring right at me, and the sharp focus of his attention made me uncomfortable and exhilarated all at once.

  “I was glad to do it,” he said, getting back to his feet. This time no one stopped him from going, but my hand felt empty without the warmth of his skin.

  Callum turned to Amelia, who had remained silent through the whole revelation. “Have someone keep an eye on the younger Shaw. I’m not sure I believe he’s ready to put all his trust in us just yet.”

  Amelia nodded and exited the room, leaving Ben and me alone with Callum.

  “Are you all right?” my uncle asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “When I asked Amelia to call you home, I thought it was for your own safety. I never would have put you at risk if I’d imagined you might be hurt.”

  I wasn’t even sure how he knew the details of what had happened to me on the road. I hadn’t called ahead because I didn’t want to worry him. So either Wilder had spilled the beans at some point, or the driver of the van wasn’t as human as he seemed.

  Sometimes I forgot how deep the roots of my uncle’s power went in this town.

  “I’m fine,” I assured him, and was surprised to find it was true. In spite of how scary the ordeal on the highway had been, and the following unpleasantness of the video, I felt safer being back with my family than I had in months.

  “Your room is just as you left it. I think Lina has started dinner already if you’re hungry.” When he was done, he glanced at Ben and sighed. “That will be all for now.”

  I imagined he had more to discuss with my brother, but nothing he wanted to say in front of me. That could mean any number of things, but I suspected it meant he was going to read Ben the riot act for his earlier behavior towards Wilder. I excused myself and left the room. Being in Callum’s office made me feel uneasy, and I needed to go somewhere that would remind me of the comfort and security of home.

  Otherwise, why had I bothered coming?

  Chapter Seven

  The mansion’s kitchen took up the entire back half of the first floor. Huge picture windows let in all the warm, yellow afternoon light, giving the creamy-white walls and cupboards a homey, inviting feel.

  Two large islands sat in the center of the room, one with two glass stovetops and the other a large butcher block for cutting food and preparing meals. All the appliances were restaurant quality, and there were two of almost everything. Two fridges, two double range ovens and two huge basin sinks. The only solitary appliances were the microwave and the dishwasher, both of which were hardly ever used.

  Catalina Flores had her back to me when I entered the kitchen, but it would take more than quiet footsteps to get by her keen ears. Lina was a plump, cheerful woman in her early sixties, and she’d been with the pack since my grandfather Elmore’s era. She wasn’t a werewolf—necessity demanded someone human be around to make food for after pack runs—but she wasn’t altogether normal, either. I hadn’t yet sussed out what she was, and it seemed rude to ask, so I’d spent much of my life around Lina in a state of mystery.

  What I knew with a hundred percent certainty was she was the best cook within two hundred miles of New Orleans, and that was saying something.

  The smell of roasting meat hit me as soon as I was through the door. Herbs and lemon mingled with the distinctive aroma of chicken. Given the appetite of the pack members, she must have been roasting at least four whole birds.

  She turned towards me, carrying a huge metal soup pot filled with water, and beamed at me. Her once-dark hair was streaked through with silver, and there were lines around her eyes and mouth, but it was easy to see what a knockout she’d been in her youth.

  “Genie, my beautiful darlin’. You’ve been gone too long.” She set the pot on an already red element and pointed me towards a jar on the counter filled with ladles, spatulas and spoons. “Get yourself something to stir with and you can mind my grits while I start the bread.” Lina refused to let Callum buy a bread machine for her. She firmly believed everything tasted better fresh and made by hand.

  I obeyed her directions and grabbed a wooden spoon from the jar, returning to the island to stand next to her. Werewolves didn’t wear perfume because our sense of smell was too strong, and we’d be overwhelmed by the scent all day long. But for as long as I’d known her, Lina wore a perfume that smelled of lemons and sugar. I leaned against her, breathing her in, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  For a little girl growing up with no mother and only Amelia to turn to inside the pack, having Lina around had been a godsend. She was the mother I’d never had, kissing my scrapes better before I had werewolf healing power, making sure I ate right—her number-one priority for everyone in the pack—and helping me grow up to be a good woman.

  I owed a lot of what was normal about me to Lina.

  Passing me a heavy bag of corn grits, she held up four fingers to indicate four cups needed to be added to the pot. I fumbled around for the one-cup measure, then waited for the water to start bubbling. All the while Lina was moving around with the grace of a much smaller, much younger woman. She added flour and a half dozen other ingredients to an old ceramic bowl and mixed them until they were dough, then set about kneading the bread on the big slab counter. As she worked she hummed old show tunes from Singin’ in the Rain and Damn Yankees. “Whatever Lola Wants (Lola Gets)” had been our unofficial theme song when I was younger, when I had no idea what the suggestive lyrics meant.

  The pot began to steam and bubble, reminding me of a very different maternal figure, my great-grandmother. I wondered if she was out in the bayou right now cooking up some sort of potion. Seemed like her idea of a fun weeknight activity.

  “How’s that handsome man of yours?” Lina asked as she punched the bread dough.

  I spilled four cupfuls of grits into the pot and immediately began to stir as the water hissed around them. I hadn’t discussed Cash much with anyone in the pack except Lina and Magnolia, Amelia’s daughter. Magnolia and I were about the same age, and I was fairly certain she had her eye set on Ben, but my clueless brother hadn’t noticed.

  Magnolia was interested in gossip about living with a guy, because her life was the epitome of sheltered here with the pack. Lina wanted to know about Cash for entirely different reasons.

  “He’s good,” I replied, not really sure what to say. For the briefest flicker of a moment I wanted to ask Lina what she knew about Wilder, but the older woman was far too astute, and she’d start asking questions I didn’t want to answer. I was only curious.

  Right.

  “Good?” Lina snorted and flipped her dough. “Good is how we describe the weather. Good is a word for a book you liked but kept forgetting to finish. It’s not how you talk about a beautiful man you’re in love with.”

  I’d once shown her a photo of Cash and me on my phone, and she hadn’t stopped calling him handsome since. I was starting to think Lina had a crush on my boyfriend.

  The grits had begun to thicken as I stirred, so I turned the heat down and removed the spoon, going to one fridge to collect the butter and garlic, then getting paprika from the pantry. It was all a stall tactic to keep from talking about things with Cash, but it didn’t matter how long I put it off, Lina would circle back around again like a hungry vulture.

  “He’s been really busy with school, and it’s making him kind of a grouchy dick,” I announced finally.

  In spite of my being twenty-one, I half-expected Lina to scold me for my language. When she didn’t smack me with a spatula, I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Is he still treatin’ you good?”

  “Good enough. He isn’t being mean to me or anything. Just aloof and short-tempered. I don’t think all this recent werewolf media attention is helping.”

  Lina made a thoughtful mumbling sound. “You think he’s bothered by it?”

  “I’m not sure.” I sliced cubes of butter into the thickened grits and seasoned them with some nea
rby Australian pink river salt. Only the best ingredients in Lina’s kitchen. As I was stirring in the paprika, I said, “I think me being a public figure bothers him. We used to joke about the whole princess thing a lot, make fun of it. But I think he’s started to realize I am a princess and the whole world knows it.” Returning the butter to the fridge, I grabbed some aged white cheddar and found the cheese grater on a hook next to the island.

  “He doesn’t like that you’re powerful?”

  I grated a healthy dose of cheese into the pot, more than she normally might, but I liked my grits cheesy. Sometimes when I made them in the city I’d cheat and use Velveeta because I liked how smooth it was, and I secretly thought grating was a pain in the ass.

  “I think he didn’t know what he was signing up for when he started dating a werewolf. Now he’s learning what it really entails, and he’s not such a big fan of having an exotic supernatural girlfriend.” I bit my lip. This was the first time I’d said what I was feeling out loud, and voicing my concerns felt like a betrayal to Cash.

  “Maybe he’s under a lot of stress. With law school.” Lina was playing devil’s advocate. She would probably never tell me outright to end things with Cash, especially considering how long he and I had been living in sin together. I think she was hoping we’d get married and she’d be able to babysit our adorable mixed-race, potentially werewolf children.

  That was something he and I had never discussed. He’d teased me a few times about the idea of getting married, but we hadn’t once had a serious sit-down discussion about it. I knew he wanted kids since he was from a big family, and I did too, but if we ever planned on having any, we’d need to talk about the possibility of them having werewolf genetic markers.

  Not just anyone could be turned into a wolf, in spite of what horror movies had led the world to believe. A person needed to meet certain genetic requirements in order for them to become a werewolf after being bitten by one. Children with two werewolf parents were guaranteed to carry the DNA, but it wasn’t always a sure bet with only one parent. It happened more often than not, but not in every case. Rarer still were the outliers, the people with no werewolf family connections at all who carried the right DNA. Those ones were the odd cases who became weres after being bitten by a rogue, or by accident.