“It’s all been really good, Mrs. Camomescro,” Paul said helping himself to four more sausages and a couple spoonfuls of eggs. “You’re an amazing cook.”
“With three wolves in the house, I have to be.” She smiled at Paul. “Thank you.”
“Did you enjoy your evening out, lover?” Cian asked. He applied antibiotic ointment to the bites on Corin’s neck and shoulders.
“Let me eat, elf,” Corin grumbled without anger. He kissed Cian to take the sting from the rebuff. “You can flutter over me when I’m done. You have a shop to open.”
“Not until noon.” Cian smeared the ointment on Corin’s left arm, the one holding his fifth biscuit.
“Corin, you’re welcome here any full moon,” Grandfather said. “Pack territory is--” He froze, his breath catching in his chest. He toppled forward slowly into his empty plate.
“Father!” Zoltan said.
“Grandfather!” Dan was on his feet, searching for a pulse or eye movement.
“Good mate, boy,” Grandfather whispered and his eyes closed.
Paul was on his cell to 911. “We’ve got an emergency. Adult male, age eighty, collapsed at breakfast.” He gave the address and directions to the farm.
“It’s no good, BB.” Dan’s eyes were too bright. “He’s gone.” He glared at his uncle. “Your fault. You overtaxed him.”
Zoltan snarled and shot a glance at the guests. “His own fault. He allowed strangers on our territory.” He loomed over Dan. “And there are going to be changes around here, little faggot.”
Dan folded Grandfather’s hands on his chest. “I’m still going to Wisconsin in December.” He was careful to keep his voice neutral.
“Good.” He turned on Corin and Cian. “What of you two?” The menace in his voice made Corin snarl reflexively.
Cian spoke up, as if he didn’t trust his mate not to say something that might get them all killed here over the breakfast table. “Our lease is up in a year. I think we’ll find other climes less chilly at the shank of summer.” He turned and looked at Dan. “Lad, you’re welcome at our place if you’d like.” He suddenly seemed taller, more powerful. His hair shone and a pale nimbus surrounded him. His eyes were more silver than blue. “Zoltan Camomescro, you may have all the land around for yourself, Wolf. We’ll trouble you no more. I wish you the joy of it.” He diminished, leaving the weres wondering what they had just seen.
Corin shook hands with the young wolves and the Camomescros. He had only a scowl for Zoltan. “My mate is fine-spoken. I say piss on your territory and piss on you too. Grandfather had the right idea to bury you like the turd you are. A curse between us, Zoltan Camomescro.” He spat and forked the horns at Zoltan.
Cian dragged Corin bodily out of the house. If the werewolf had had his tail on, it would have been twitching.
***
The ambulance was just arriving. Paul and Dan gave their statements. The paramedics ruled it a cerebral accident and called it at the scene. They asked of the scratches on his body and arms.
“We were out clearing brush.” Paul showed his own scratches. “We all got a little banged up.”
They nodded and said the coroner would be by soon. They left instructions not to move the body.
Dan kissed his mother and father. “I have to go. I still have classes to teach. I’ll be back
tonight.”
“No, you won’t.” Zoltan caught his arm as he was leaving. “You and your so-called mate aren’t welcome on pack-territory.”
“Much joy of your territory,” Dan began, his hands forming the sign of a gypsy curse. “Much joy of your pack leadership. And may your breeder bitch never deliver a wolf in the line.” He stalked out, Paul in his wake.
The drive to the apartment was quiet, the anger having suppressed Dan’s grief. Paul sat quietly on the battered green chair as Dan gathered his books and papers for his classes. Halfway out the door, he turned back for a kiss that turned into weeping on Paul’s shoulder.
Paul stroked his hair. “Call it out, lover. Death in the family is a legitimate reason.”
Dan nodded and recovered himself enough to make the call. The department secretary promised to spread the word and cancel all his classes for the week. His hands were shaking as he hung up the phone and he was breathing too deeply. The outbound breaths sounded almost like howls.
Paul made out the futon and took him to bed. He curled around Dan protectively, letting his love sob as much as he needed to. He nuzzled Dan until the crying subsided. They were both still close enough to the wolf that nuzzling turned to licks. Paul licked Dan’s neck and ear. Dan whimpered and licked him back.
“Easy pup. Let it out. That’s what your big bad mate is for.”
Dan half smiled. “Oh, BB.” He nestled close, burying his face in Paul’s chest. The sobs came again, wracking him.
By early afternoon, Dan had cried himself into exhaustion. Paul left him sleeping on the futon and slipped out to the Young Avenue Deli. The menu was amazing and the jukebox was loud on his sensitive wolfish ears. He was only glad he wasn’t fighting the Festival crowd or a live band.
He ordered the beer-battered onion rings and mushrooms. The battered dill pickles tempted him, but he resisted, if only for a moment. He added them to the order. The Bren, cream cheese and smoked turkey steamed in a pita with mushrooms and onions, a basic reuben, a whole muffuletta and two burgers with everything finished the order. It had been a busy night and even after the enormous breakfast, his stomach was growling. He knew Furball would be hungry too. They wouldn’t let him purchase beer for carry-out. He decided before he left he was going to come back and have a drink or six from their thirty-six item draft beer menu. The bottled beer list was even longer. The Dixie Blackened Voodoo piqued his curiosity.
He walked back to the apartment, the carry-out heavy in its bags. Dan was still asleep. He laid out the food and then sat on the edge of the futon.
He leaned over and kissed Dan. “Furball. Wake up, pup. I have lunch. Then we need to go to the country for the night.”
Dan sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes then ran fingers through his hair making his curls stand up every which way. “You bought half the deli.” He grabbed half the Bren. “My favorite. You try the other half.”
Paul tasted it, but didn’t like the cream cheese. “Sorry, pup, not my thing.” He dove into his half of the muffuletta, having heard of the legendary sandwich but never tasted it. The olive salad and ham was very tasty. They demolished most of the sandwiches and all the appetizers. Dan stuck the end of the muffuletta in the fridge while Paul called Corin.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah. You okay to drive, babe? Cian says he will, or we can follow.”
They took Cian’s offer. The night in the country was quiet. Cian cooked brilliantly, and served large bowls of oatmeal with plenty of raisins and spice, scrambled eggs, scones and pounds of bacon. A china pot poured seemingly endless streams of the best tea either had ever tasted into mugs the size of soup bowls.
“Thanks for everything,” Paul said. “The ride, the place to change, breakfast.”
“Our pleasure, lads. It’s nice to have young blood around.” Cian refilled all the tea-cups.
“Grandfather’s funeral is this afternoon.” Dan took a breath before continuing. “You would be welcome to come.”
“Your uncle might feel different about that.” Corin was buried behind his paper.
“Screw my uncle. I’m going. And you can come along. Being that you’re pack-guests and all.”
The older men nodded and took Paul and Dan back into town. Paul wore his best dark shirt and a tie. He hadn’t planned on a suit.
“It’s okay, lover. You’re there for me. Nobody will say anything.” Dan had a black suit with a black shirt and a grey tie. Paul thought he looked like a miniature mafioso.
On the way to the farm, Paul called work and got a couple more days off. He called the airline and moved his ticket. “I can stay until Thursday, pup.”
/> Dan’s eyes were swimming when they got out of the car. He hugged Paul hard. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s what mates do.” Paul wrapped his arm around Dan’s waist. Dan shrugged it off as they got into view of the farm house.
Grandfather had been cremated. Papa spoke some words before taking a handful of the ashes. Mama spoke some words before doing the same. Dan’s sisters had their words and took their ashes. Dan stepped up.
“Grandfather loved me. He understood me. He looked out for me and taught me what it means to be a werewolf.” He smiled at his parents. “You did your best, but you’re not weres. You raised me, and Grandfather helped.” Dan claimed his handful of ashes. “I’ll take these with me so that there will always be a little piece of home in Wisconsin.”
Zoltan and Rita and their large family were conspicuous by their absence. Paul couldn’t bring himself to care. It made things easier for Dan and that was all that mattered to him.
Back at the apartment, Dan still didn’t feel like doing much of anything. Paul just wrapped himself around his mate and gave what comfort he could. They lazed through the rest of Tuesday and Wednesday, making one short trip down to Faw & O’Brien’s to say good bye before Paul had to leave.
***
Thursday came, and with it departure. They stood at the gate in the airport. Dan tried to look at least sort of cheerful and failed miserably. “I’ll be up for our birthday, BB. Like you said, I don’t own anything, so it shouldn’t be any trouble to move.”
Paul took a deep breath. “This may not be the time to say it, and maybe I’m rushing things here. When you come up, we’re eloping to Canada. Be my mate, not just as a wolf, but as a man too.”
Dan’s face lit up. “Yes.” Heedless of the airport crowds, not caring who saw him, he flung his arms around Paul’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for staying the extra days. And thank you for the promise. My mate.” He kissed Paul there in the airport. “We can do ten weeks apart standing on our heads.”
“Damn straight. Which we aren’t.”
Dan smiled again. “Go on, lover. I’ll see you in December. We have Grandfather’s blessing, remember.”
Paul nodded, stole a quick second kiss and entered the boarding tunnel. When he turned for a final wave, Dan blew him a kiss. He caught it with a wink and a grin. Dan watched the plane taxi out and then went home to start packing for Wisconsin.
seal skin
by kara larson
They buried Kirsten on Saturday afternoon. Sea-haar collected over them and around them until Erlend worried about his newest baby, the little girl who cost Kirsten her life, and if the damp would be too much for her tiny lungs. But the peedie one, as the boys called her since she still had no name, was born of tough Orcadian stock. Almost ten generations of Kirkness men and women were buried in the graveyard overlooking the sea. And now Kirsten, brought to Sandwick as a bride because Orkney sounded romantic to her, would be put to rest here.
Women didn't die in childbirth anymore. Kirsten was transferred from Balfour to the maternity hospital in Aberdeen right before the birth because Dr. Ryrie suspected something was wrong. But even the specialists at Aberdeen weren’t prepared for the postnatal hemorrhaging. Not that there was anything that could be done about it now. Kirsten Mackenzie Kirkness died just a little over a day after her only daughter came into the world, and she left behind a family who wasn't sure what to do without her.
Peedie, in his arms, began to wave her little fists, grizzling a little. He absently stuck his forefinger in her mouth so that the grizzle wouldn't turn into a full-fledged cry. He tried to pay attention to what the minister was saying as he read from his battered prayer book, but the words sounded like an endless drone. Erlend tried to focus on Peedie, fumbling in his jacket until he found the spare bottle his mother had handed him before they left for the service. But the sea-haar seemed to be clouding his head, wrapping him in thick fog that smelled of the sea. Even the sea, just a few steps away down the beach, seemed to be far away.
Peedie's whinging got louder as her small hands waved uselessly in the direction of the bottle. Her small face was clenched, turning a dark red color that only meant that a wail of epic proportions was coming. His sister nudged him none-too-gently in the ribs and he put the bottle nipple to his daughter's lips. The tension in the crowd around him seemed to lessen, but one of the seals lying on the rocks in the bay seemed to think his response was lacking a little. The seal gave him a look of pure disdain. As if a seal, even with his great brown eyes, could know the sorrow of losing a mate. Seal traditions didn't include a ceremony that spoke of not parting until death—something that most people never thought of at twenty years old. Because women didn't die in childbirth in the 20th century. Especially delivering their third child.
The funeral ended, and neighbors and friends came up to give their condolences. Erlend’s two sons stood next to him, both with the same stoic look on their faces. Bryn and Kieran had both inherited his stubborn nature, something his mum said would help them in the days to come. It had been hard enough to get five-year-old Bryn to understand that Mummy really wasn’t coming back from the hospital, even though Peedie had come home three days before.
On the walk back to the farm, Mum offered to take the boys and Peedie—at least, that’s what he thought she said. In any case, he was left alone in the small cottage he and Kirsten had shared at the far edge of the farm. Kirsten hadn’t liked the isolation of the cottage, even if she loved its modern conveniences that some of his sisters’ homes lacked.
Their farm wasn't one of the biggest, or even one of the best, tracts of land on Mainland. The land mostly clung to the cliffs of the western shore, good for beef cattle and sheep and not much else. Mum and Dad supplemented the income from their farm by taking in boarders who wanted to be close to Skara Brae and the other tourist traps nearby. Not that you couldn't cross the northern part of the island in an hour by car anyway, barring the occasional tour bus traffic jam around the main sites.
Mum had exempted him from his normal duties around the farm for a little while. Midsummer vet duties didn’t amount to much, since calving and lambing season was long since past. Five years of veterinary school at the University of Glasgow hadn’t exempted him from the main jobs of the farm, like feeding and mucking, but Mum’s all-encompassing glare at his sibs had assured that he would be spared even this chore for a little while. It wasn't as if Kirsten was still around to watch the little ones. And Kieran and Bryn were still far too small to take care of Peedie, as helpful as they’d tried to be this past week.
But all three children were safely installed at Gran and Gramps' for supper, leaving him time to wander the shore. As much as he appreciated the company of his family, he was still tired of the clucking and the attention and the sympathetic looks. He didn't need another day of questions, of suggestions to hire one of the parish girls to look after the kids. Anna, his formerly favorite sister out of the lot, had the gall to remind him of how often his veterinary duties took him away at night. As if he needed to be reminded of that fact.
Even Peedie offered no comfort. He could already tell she would have Kirsten's blue eyes. The boys looked like the Kirkness side, dark as the seals in the bay, so it was only fair that the child that killed Kirsten would be the child that looked like her.
It was simply hard to care anymore. He and Kirsten met in their first year of university, fallen in love in the prerequisite fairytale way, and he brought her home to the family farm. Her family called her crazy, throwing away what could have been a brilliant academic career to keep house for a poor vet in Orkney. But his wife had loved the romance of life above all things, and she thought it was fitting that the two of them settle down together. He knew she minded, sometimes, being a farmer’s wife. Kirsten was a city girl at heart after all. But she had taken to life on Mainland with the same cheer that she did most things. And now he couldn’t imagine any form of life without her.
Sometimes i
t felt like the sea-haar had invaded his soul. It sounded silly, but it was so hard for him to think and react now. At home, Kieran and Bryn were trying their hardest to be the best boys they could, even if it meant Bryn almost burned down the kitchen trying to make breakfast. Neither boy had an ounce of romance in his soul, which was probably for the best. His sons understood, if anyone did, how easy it would be to break down now, and how hard it would be to pull them all up again.
Shifting Again Page 26
