by C. Gockel
“And leaving shifters unaligned in my territory will be considered a weakness?”
“Outsiders will see it that way. They won’t consider your preferences. All they’ll see is a pack unable to exert control over its territory. They will nibble around the edges, trying to erode the borders. They do it now and always have. It will get worse for a time as you set your own pack in order.”
He turned to Ronnie. “You agree?”
She nodded.
“And you?”
Lawrence nodded as well. “Challenge and counter is a way of life for us as individuals, but it’s true of things in general too. Vampires do it and call it the Game of Houses. Outside of LA it’s a way of life for them and not questioned. Actually, they probably enjoy it. They look at us here in LA and want to take us over, but they’re also puzzled by us because of the way we live together. We have our moments, but not like what you’ll find outside our borders.”
“Understatement of the millennium,” Stephen said dryly. “And he’s right, we do enjoy The Game. Not much else can hold our attention for centuries or millennia. The four Houses of LA are unusual in that we do not play against each other, but we do still play against the rest of the Republic. We have little choice when outsiders insist upon coming here and trying to establish themselves. We keep their Houses out of our combined territories, and police the occasional individual who is either too stupid or new to know why he should stay away. House Lochlain is especially important in that area. Gavin’s reputation and age is a strong deterrent.”
“This challenge and counter thing extends to packs?” he asked already guessing that it would. It would make his vague plans harder if it did, so of course that would be the reality. “There’s no way around it?”
“None,” Ronnie said.
“There’s conclave,” Lawrence disagreed. “Challenge and counter is part of The Way, but conclave is a counter too. War is banned in LA and enforced by all members of the conclave not just the shifters. We still have our feuds over the borders—little skirmishes kept out of sight of humans—but wars? Absolutely not; not anymore.”
Stephen nodded at that.
No war was a good thing, and it might open a way for his idea to work. He considered revealing it now, knowing Ronnie would ridicule him for it, but she had to know eventually. Besides, she wasn’t just going to be his future mate, she was co-ruler of their pack too.
“You said at the meeting you would release everyone from your service to join my pack.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I did.”
“I don’t want you to do that. Their loyalty to you is extraordinary. At least it seems that way to me. I’m new, I know that, but looking around I haven’t seen devotion like it anywhere else.”
“I’m gratified you think so, but I’m not sure I see the purpose in perpetuating a fiction.”
David frowned uncertainly. “A fiction?”
“A pretence then. Why pretend they remain in my service, when in fact they will be in yours from now on?”
“I don’t want anything to change at the club, and I have some ideas that I want to try.”
“Such as?”
“I want to set up an NPO for shifters,” he said and Stephen’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “Survival isn’t enough. I don’t want to live from one day to the next wondering if I’ll still be breathing tomorrow.”
“It’s his damned crusade,” Ronnie said and sneered. “The pack is all that matters; the pack and survival.”
Lawrence nodded.
“And I told you that day I don’t believe that. I will change it.”
“There’s no changing it. You’re a fool to think otherwise. We’ve lived this way since the first of us turned furry. Ask the elves, ask the dwarves or even the dragons. They’ll tell you there’s no way to change the fundamental nature of things. We are what we are.”
“I’m a man first.”
Ronnie’s voice lowered and she said almost kindly, “Don’t lie to yourself, David. I felt you while I fought in the arena. I felt what you were feeling.”
He flushed and faltered under her knowing gaze. He glanced at Lawrence and received a sympathetic grimace and a nod. Stephen smiled and nodded as well. Well... damn! So they felt him getting off on Ronnie’s fight. Big deal. It didn’t make his idea unworkable. Maybe it needed refinement, maybe there were things he hadn’t thought through, but he had time to fix snags.
“I still want to try.”
“Exactly what are you proposing?” Stephen asked. “You don’t want things to change at the club; I have no objections to that. It makes things for Edward infinitely easier if he continues overseeing my interests as before, but what about this NPO? What purpose will it serve?”
“I want to create something a bit like the Y,” he said and flushed as Ronnie burst out laughing. “Shut it,” he growled, his voice deepening and his eyes flaring to amber in the dark of the car’s interior.
Ronnie’s eyes flared golden, but she did quit laughing.
Taking an interest now are you? About time you got with the program!
Our She tests her boundaries, Mist said with pride and approval clear in his thoughts. We must let her run, but not too far or fast. We are Alpha to her as well as the pack. She must respect us, as we must respect her.
He could agree with that at least.
“You want to create a YMCA for shifters,” Stephen said carefully, not laughing but obviously wanting to. “And you feel this would be beneficial, why?”
“I do. I even know what to call it.”
“Oh?”
“NSPCL. It stands for the National Society for the Protection and Conservation of Lycanthropes.”
“National? Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you?”
“No point in thinking small. Obviously I can’t roll this out nationwide overnight, but I can start here in LA and fold other cities into the network over time.”
“And start a war with those cities in the process,” Stephen pointed out. “The packs won’t let you get this idea off the ground.”
“They will. When they see the benefits the Society will bring to all shifters. I’m not interested in empire building, or creating a super-sized pack. This will be an entirely opt in, not for profit organisation. Like a guild.”
Lawrence snorted. “Your experience with guilds differs from mine then. They’re definitely in it for profit. Political profit, financial profit, but profit.”
“Hmmm,” Stephen agreed. “I can’t think of a single guild that doesn’t require paid membership.”
“The Society will tithe,” he said reluctantly. “But the books will balance to keep its NPO status. The income will be redistributed to members as loans and used to provide the services they need like cheap insurance, medical, and other stuff. There will be some overhead. No way around that but I’ll employ non-humans to run most of it, so that’s employment for quite a few people.”
“Fine. Let’s say you do this. What is your goal?”
“Helping shifters and making their lives better,” he said and Ronnie rolled her eyes. He pushed on. “We can’t get loans, we can’t get decent insurance, we can’t start businesses without either one. Most companies can’t or won’t employ us, and those who do take advantage of us with low pay and bad conditions. I want to change that.”
“A noble goal, but hard to achieve. Shifters have few rights, and my people have none,” Stephen said. “How do you intend to address that?”
“Politics isn’t on my agenda.”
“Then you will fail. As long as it’s legal to discriminate against non-humans nothing will change. The law as it stands supports those who take advantage of us. What will your society do for us on a practical level?”
“Start businesses and employ shifters, offer loans to them to start their own. I want a chapter of NSPCL in every major city in the Republic eventually. There will be a call centre and free advice. Representation provided by us in the courts and attorneys to si
t in interview when the cops hassle us. Did you know the guilds won’t accept non-humans? If you’re in one already and then catch lycanthropy they kick you out without compensation!”
“I was aware of that, yes,” Stephen said dryly.
“So if the cops arrest me, I can’t even have a guild rep in with me. The attorneys they offer us on their so generous preferred credit terms are sub-par shysters in it for the consultation fees.”
“Lawyers are the lowest form of life,” Stephen agreed sombrely. “Demons in human form.”
David frowned. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you? You think I’m being stupid.”
“Not stupid. Naive. You don’t think we know how badly we’re treated? You go on as if you’re the first person to realise our inequality and are revealing it to us! I can’t vote or own a business in my own name. I can’t instigate a lawsuit or protect myself from one. After all, dead men can’t own property, can they? Without proxies and front men like Edward, I would have nothing in this world. You think I haven’t dreamed of changing that? Of course I have. I would give almost anything to change it!”
“Then help me.”
“We are allies. Of course I will help you, but I must know what form that help is to take. You need money? Not a problem. You need influence with the Mayor? Definitely a problem.”
Ronnie snorted.
“There’s nothing anyone can do to stop us. The Mayor, the cops, the state government... none of them can legally prevent anyone from setting up an NPO. It’s the lack of funds and insurance that really hurts shifters, and causes their businesses to fail.”
“And a lack of customers,” Lawrence pointed out.
“That won’t be an issue. If we do this right, our customers will be the non-humans that everyone currently rips off. If we offer fair dealing, they will flock to us. Stephen is known for it. With him backing the Society no one will doubt us.”
“I’m so glad my reputation will be useful to you,” Stephen said dryly.
David flushed. “I didn’t mean for it to sound so cold-blooded, but you have to admit my reasoning is sound.”
“It is sound. This project is long term you realise? It will take years. Before you can start, you’ll need to take matters in hand at the club with your own pack and then expand rapidly with the unaligned shifters in the city. We must secure the borders and my power-base, or I won’t be around for my reputation to be of help to you.”
He nodded and turned to Ronnie. “Who are you considering as candidate for your second?”
“Martina.”
That would have been his guess, but why hadn’t Ronnie simply named her at the conclave? “You’re not sure she’ll want the position?”
“She challenged me and lost. My guess is that she’ll fight the others for it, and try me again. After I kick her butt a second time, she’ll settle down as my second.”
“Oookay,” he said, wanting to protest yet another fight, but he was wise enough not to voice it. She would ignore him anyway. “So we’ll have a lot of agitated wolves to deal with when we get home.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Lawrence agreed.
“Have you got your link on you?”
Lawrence nodded.
“Call ahead and tell them what’s happened.”
“Is that wise?” Stephen said.
“I would rather arrive after they’ve settled on who will challenge us. I don’t want to fight them all one by one.”
Ronnie grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a shifter.”
“No,” Stephen disagreed. “He’s thinking like an Alpha. Very well-reasoned, David. I’m impressed.”
He grimaced. Why did anything he did that felt wrong or uncomfortable to him impress them? He had a feeling that if he ruthlessly killed everyone who stood in his way they would cheer him on, yet if he talked his way out of trouble they would frown in disapproval. He preferred compromise to violence, but he knew those opposing him would choose violence as their first choice. So be it. He would deal fairly with those who dealt fairly with him, deal peacefully with those who preferred negotiation, but if they chose violence, he would respond in kind. Ronnie was right; he needed to think more like a shifter, but not because he was one. He needed to think like one because he would be leading an entire pack of them. To do that effectively and lead them well, he needed to understand them. He was no psychologist, but by understanding himself he should be able to apply that knowledge to them.
The pack is all. That is all we need to know.
You say that as if it’s literally true, but there’s more to this than a single pack’s welfare. I want to make things better for all packs.
“Make the call,” he ordered and Lawrence pulled out his link.
David settled back and closed his eyes, trying to relax. The trip to Lost Souls would take no more than an hour if that. He wanted to take this time to think. There wouldn’t be much time for it at the club. He listened to Lawrence’s quietly murmured conversation, and tried to ready himself for the fighting to come.
25
Convalescence Sucks
Eleven days into her medical leave had Chris climbing the walls of her apartment. She hated the thought of being desk bound, but she would have preferred that to this torture. Goddess she was bored! She had tried wheedling Cappy into letting her come into Central and work her desk, but he wouldn’t let her, pointing to the regs. She had tried blackmail and promises, no joy there either. She’d been reduced to begging in the end. She hated begging! He’d just laughed her offers off as if she were joking. She hadn’t been, not at all. Her offer to run errands and do reports for the guys, though a horrifying thought to her a few short weeks ago, was looking like a damn fine deal about now.
“I hate this!” she snarled to the empty apartment.
She missed the bustle of a busy department, and she missed the guys. She felt cut off from everything, and no one had time to talk when she called them on her link. She knew how that was. They were busy with their cases while she languished unable even to work her inactive files. Her active cases were an even bigger frustration to her; they had been reassigned. At least John had taken them on with Raz’s help. That was better than giving them to someone who knew nothing about them. John knew as much as she did being her partner, but still. She couldn’t help thinking that only she could handle them exactly right; arrogant to think so. No one was indispensable, but that’s the way she felt.
The regs were screwing her over, and Doctor Carey had not helped with his assessments of her mental stability. As if he knew what stable was. She snorted. No cop she knew could pass his definition of stable! They would all have to be clerics or psychs like him to pass some of his stupid tests.
The medics had been more reasonable. Her heavily scarred neck was still tender under the bandaging, but it was healing well. They said she could undertake light work no problem at all. She considered her desk and maybe interviewing suspects as light. No actual pursuits of course. Chasing bad guys would be bad for her stitches... probably, but interviews and paperwork would have been fine in her opinion.
Carey had vetoed the idea. He said traumatic experiences such as hers mandated eight weeks minimum leave, followed by psyche sessions to evaluate performance once back on the job. Eight flaming weeks! She was barely into her second week and already climbing the walls. On pay or not, it was bloody ridiculous and she was determined upon another opinion. Getting the term cut in half was her minimum goal.
Thwack thwack!
Chris brightened. A visitor... or the mailman. Hopefully a visitor with a distraction. Goddess she needed something to take her mind off her situation, and that was a fact. She answered the door, to find a tussle-haired Baxter in the hall.
“Well well, look what the cat dragged to my door. Road kill.” Baxter grinned at her. He had a manila envelope in his hand but there was no doughnut box in sight. “No sugar?”
“I can give you some sugar,” he said making a kissy face.
&nbs
p; She snorted. “I’m going to tell Mary Pat on you.”
“She knows I’m a lech.”
Chris chuckled. “Don’t stand there like a lump. Come in.”
“I was waiting for the invite,” he said entering the apartment and looking around. “You’re a slob, you know that?”
She looked about blankly and then flushed. She hadn’t tidied in a while, and there were clothes from washday piled on the sofa. Her face reddened when she noticed her panties on display. She grumbled under her breath as she snatched them up to hide them, and Baxter chuckled. She scooped everything up and entered the bedroom. She didn’t bother putting it all away in drawers. She dumped it all on the bed and closed the door firmly. There. She looked about again, and started picking up dirty plates and cups. Baxter helped take them into the kitchen.
“Beer?” she asked as she stuffed everything into the washer.
“Empire?”
“Of course Empire, what else? You’re not in some dive on 104th street now.” The uppity Brits might be a pain in the arse, but they knew how to brew good beer. “Check the refrigerator. Get me one too.”
Baxter collected two bottles of brew and set them down on the island. She handed him the opener and he popped the tops off both. They took up a bottle each and clinked them together before taking a long pull of the nectar. Baxter sat beside her on one of her stools, drinking his beer in silence.
Chris eyed the envelope hungrily where it lay atop the island, but said nothing about it. He hadn’t offered it to her, but he wouldn’t have brought it with him if it didn’t contain something interesting he wanted her to see. Finally, he finished his beer and slid the envelope closer.
“The feds are still sniffing around,” he said without glancing her way. “They’re not satisfied with Ghost being dead.”
