by Naomi Clark
“He’s my son and this is my pub and I make the rules!” A new voice, raspy and exasperated. “You don’t like it, Vince, that’s tough.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
I jumped as a barmaid slid into my line of sight and I pulled back from the bar, flushed. “Uh, yeah, just a coke, please. And a steak sandwich with extra chips.”
She smiled sweetly. “Take a seat and I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.”
I cornered a table by the huge brick fireplace. It was lit, the flames dancing low in the grate. I watched the patterns they cast on the pale brickwork, entranced, until Vince stormed out from the kitchen and threw himself into the chair next to mine.
“Bloody twat,” he muttered rebelliously, glaring at the tabletop. He picked up a coaster and began shredding it. “Why do I work here, Ayla?”
“Because you like giving me discounted drinks?”
“We’re not allowed to do that anymore. Greg’s clamping down. We’re not even allowed to drink here when we’re off shift anymore,” he said distractedly. “God!”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, pulling a few scraps of coaster from him and tossing them in the fire. “I’ve never heard you yell like that.”
“A few of the bar staff have been calling in sick a lot, Oscar included. He hasn’t been in since Lupercali. It’s getting ridiculous and it means the rest of us have to fill in for them. I’m not a bloody waiter, Ayla, I’m a chef. I don’t want to be pulling pints and serving food. I don’t get paid for that.”
“So why doesn’t Greg just sack them?” I wondered aloud. “There’s always going to be kids after waiting jobs.”
“Because he’s an idiot.” Vince slumped down in his seat, resting his arms on the table. “They’re off getting stoned on their bloody freaky cigarettes and leaving the rest of us to pick up the slack. You can’t run a business like that. Oscar’s the worst of the bunch—he used to be such a nice kid, too. You saw him on Sunday night and he was fine, wasn’t he? And this morning he’s ringing in sick and swearing at people when they call him on it.”
Silver Kiss. I was starting to feel like I was missing out. Lawrence lazed around on his breaks, puffing on the stuff and extolling its soothing virtues. Calvin frowned on it, but then Calvin also frowned on drinking, gambling and watching porn. Silver Kiss seemed harmless enough to me and Lawrence certainly wasn’t acting stoned. “He did seem fine at Lupercali,” I said. “A bit spacey, but…”
“He’s turned into a complete little shit,” Vince said. “He—” He stopped himself when the barmaid appeared with my sandwich, then carried on in a lower tone as she left. “He’s got really aggressive and nasty lately. When he’s here, I mean.”
I ate without really tasting my sandwich. “I don’t suppose he’s friends with a girl called Molly Brady, is he?”
Vince straightened up, expression suddenly sharp. “Brady? Like Tina Brady?”
I nodded, mouth full of chips and mayonnaise.
“Wasn’t she made outcast a few years ago?” he mused, helping himself to my chips. “I remember the alphas putting the word around.”
“What did she do?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. So, what, Molly’s her kid? Why do you ask? Is this Shannon’s new case? Something to do with the Bradys?” His eyes gleamed. “I smell scandal, Ayla.”
“Client confidentiality, Vince. I can’t reveal any information.”
“She’s not your client though, is she? Come on, if you’re going to pump me for information, you’ve got to tell me.” He nudged me. “Is Molly in trouble? What is it, drugs? Prostitution? Arms dealing?”
I shook my head and took a bite of the sandwich. Steak and onion prevented me from answering him. While I chewed, the door to the pub opened, bringing a gust of cold wind with it that sent the flames rippling around the hearth. Oscar sauntered in, the heavy odor of cloves rolling off him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair greasy and the sight of him raised my hackles. My wolf snarled inside me, pawing to get out. Surprised at my own reaction, I elbowed Vince and pointed at Oscar.
Vince curled his lip in his own silent snarl. “Look at him. I can’t believe his dad thinks this is okay.”
Oscar went to the bar, shoving other people aside and thumped his fist down on the wood. “Hey! Can I get a drink already? Fuck’s sake, my dad owns this fucking place!”
The barmaid who’d served me shot him a dark look. “Oscar,” she warned. “Don’t start.” She glanced around the busy pub. People were trying not to stare, but a horrible tension had fallen over the room.
“I’ve already started.” He thumped the bar again. “Come on, give me a beer, Mel. You can follow that with a vodka.”
“You’re not old enough,” Mel said, sounding impressively calm. I’d have smacked him already. Then again, she was human, so staying calm in the face of an angry adolescent werewolf was really her only choice.
“It’s my dad’s fucking pub!” Oscar roared. People were watching openly now, no longer pretending to ignore the scene. Oscar leaned across the bar, jabbing his finger in Mel’s face. “Give me a fucking drink before I come round there and give you a slap.”
My wolf howled inside me, outraged. I leapt to my feet. Vince did the same, pushing me back as he stormed over to Oscar.
“That’s enough,” he said through clenched teeth, grabbing the boy by the shoulder and dragging him into the kitchen. Oscar struggled, but Vince had a good foot on him in height and an adult wolf’s strength. I followed, but Vince slammed the kitchen door in my face, leaving me fuming and wild. I sucked in a deep breath and turned to Mel, who was clutching the bar, knuckles white.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
She gave me a strained smile. “Kids these days!” She managed a laugh that was apparently good enough to assure the other customers. With Oscar out of sight, they returned to their drinks and meals and the tension ebbed away.
“I can’t believe that!” I said. “I met him at Lupercali and he seemed really nice!” My wolf growled, telling me again that there was just something plain wrong with Oscar. “He threatened to hit you!”
Mel released her death grip on the bar and sighed. “Spoilt,” she said with a shrug. “My son knows better than to talk like that to his parents. But Greg’s soft—Oscar’s his only son.”
I wasn’t sure that was an excuse. Wolves didn’t bear children easily so there was a tendency to indulge them. But that didn’t explain Oscar’s behavior. That wasn’t a spoilt child having a tantrum. That was a near fully-grown werewolf on a rampage. I glanced to the closed kitchen door, listening for Vince or Greg. It was Oscar I heard though.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t push me around—I practically own this fucking place!”
I winced, trying once again to reconcile this furious, foul-mouthed wolf with the mellow one I’d met just two nights ago. I just couldn’t mesh the images.
Glancing at my watch, I told myself it was none of my business. I had to be back at work soon. I finished up my sandwich, which was now cold, the bread soggy with steak juice and threw some money on the bar. I wanted to check that Vince was okay before I left, but judging from the now hushed but still angry voices in the kitchen, he wasn’t coming out any time soon.
Telling myself more firmly it was nothing to do with me, I headed back to work.
I managed to put the whole scene out of my mind and spent the rest of the day getting a terse lesson in the basics of piercing from Kaye. By the time we closed up, I was worn out from fending off snide comments and firing back my own. I had a sneaking suspicion Calvin had paired us off in an attempt to make us bond. It hadn’t worked.
I’d just left Inked when Lawrence strolled out to walk with me.
“Fancy a drink?” he asked. “I’ve been stuck in that bloody basement all day. I need some human company!”
“Why not?” I said, feeling I deserved a drink for not throttling Kaye. “Let me call Shannon and see if she’s up for it.”
> “Sure.” He released me to light up a cigarette while I called Shannon. She sounded tired and frustrated and readily agreed to a drink.
“See you at Silks in half an hour?” she suggested. “I need to finish up some paperwork.”
“Silks?” I said to Lawrence.
“Yeah, alright.” He zipped up his jacket and blew a stream of smoke into the air. “Never been to a gay werewolf bar before.”
“Your sexuality is safe with me,” I assured him.
We ambled to the club, chatting idly. He was wondering if dying his beard would make him less manly. “Too many grey hairs, nowadays,” he said, stroking it. “I know lots of men do it, but it doesn’t feel right to me.”
“I need to dye my hair soon,” I said, running my hands through my spiky mop. My natural mousy blonde roots were starting to show. “I had it blue once, but blue wolves look a bit weird.”
Lawrence was a head taller than me, just the right height to examine my hair critically. “So when you shapeshift, you keep whatever hair color you have, even if it’s not natural? That’s awesome. I’d dye my hair some really crazy color if I were you. We should go and get it done together. I’ll get my beard done and you can go multicolored. Like a My Little Pony.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s not really the look I want.”
The inside of Silks was cool and dark, mostly empty at this time of day. Soft music flowed through the club, ambient chill-out stuff instead of the usual jazz. Posters on the wall advertised the various house acts that played throughout the week; a mix of pure jazz and cabaret. Apparently there was going to be a burlesque show this weekend, which peaked my interest. Silks mainly catered to werewolves, although humans were welcome. A werewolf burlesque troupe might be worth seeing.
Lawrence and I propped up the bar, nursing a couple of pints while we waited for Shannon. I was still explaining the reasons why I didn’t want green and yellow hair when she joined us, looking just as harried and fed-up as she’d sounded on the phone.
“Make mine a vodka and coke,” she said when Lawrence offered her a drink. “A double.”
“Hard day?” I asked, catching her hand in mine.
She kissed my cheek and settled on the bar stool next to me. “Just long. I’ve been doing some digging for the Brady case—trying to get in touch with the local police and social workers to see if they can help and it’s like getting blood from stone. They’re just so suspicious of a private eye asking questions. I think they’re expecting something out of a James Ellroy novel.”
There was bitter frustration in her voice and it cut into me. I knew what she was thinking. Back home she had contacts, friends, allies. Here she had nothing. I wondered guiltily if she was starting to regret moving down here. It had been for me, after all, not her. It wasn’t just her reputation and contacts she’d left behind; all her family and friends lived up north too.
I covered my sudden anxiety with a swig of my drink. “Well, we’ll find a way in,” I said. “There’s bound to be somebody who knows somebody who’ll help.”
Lawrence handed Shannon her drink. “So you’re a PI. Pretty funky! Have you ever gone undercover as a gangster’s moll or anything?”
Shannon laughed. “I once went undercover at a Chinese takeaway to prove they had illegal immigrants working for them. Does that count?”
“Only if you had to dress in a sequined gown and sing for it,” he replied, then sighed when she shook her head.
“Did you get a chance to speak to Vince?” she asked me.
I nodded, then shrugged, remembering how abortive the conversation had been. “He recognized Tina Brady’s name but didn’t know anything about her.”
“Oh well.” She dipped her finger in her drink, prodding an ice cube then sucking her finger dry. The movement fascinated me. “I’m not beaten yet. It’s only day one.”
“Can’t you just ask Tina? Clearly she wants her daughter found—isn’t she pretty much obliged to tell you anything useful?” I asked.
“People have funny ideas of what’s useful sometimes.” Shannon plucked the ice cube from her glass and popped it in my mouth, laughing as I flinched at the sharp cold snap on my sensitive gums. “Most people in situations like this are usually afraid of being thought of as bad parents. They keep things back.”
“Have you tried water torture?” Lawrence asked. “Bamboo under the fingernails?”
“Funnily enough, no,” Shannon said.
I crunched my ice cube and turned the problem over in my head. Vince hadn’t known anything about Tina Brady. But my parents might. Mum was always well-informed on Pack gossip and going-ons; once you got her started it was impossible to shut her up. It was a facet of her personality I’d loathed growing up, because it meant the whole Pack knew every argument we ever had over my sexuality—my phase as my parents had called it. Everywhere I went as a teenager, some big-nosed Pack member was there dropping hints and making insinuating comments about my private life. When was I going to just settle down and start a family? Didn’t I know what a disappointment I was to my parents?
Pack gossip could be vicious, devastating. In such a tight-knit community as ours, there was little real privacy and I’d decided early that the best way to deal with that was to leave town. Now I was back and homosexuality was less of a taboo than it had been eight years ago, I might be able to turn the Pack’s penchant for tittle-tattle to my advantage. That would make a nice change.
FOUR
I arranged to go to my parents for dinner on Thursday night. Shannon gracefully declined the offer. My parents had made a real effort to accept our relationship but there was still a hint of uneasiness about their interactions, like they still thought I might wake up one day and fancy men. I tried not to let it get to me—and it didn’t get to me as much as it had when I’d been younger. Maybe I’d mellowed with age. Or they’d become less obvious in their disapproval.
Either way, I arrived at my childhood home alone, clutching a bunch of flowers for Mum. The smell of chrysanthemums and daisies wafted around me, mixing with the fatty, buttery aroma of roasting potatoes coming from the house. I paused on the front step, looking around at the neighborhood as I always did. Like me and Shannon, my parents lived on a mixed, but largely human estate, the Oaks. The main reason for their choice was so I could get into Sparrowfield Middle School, the better of the two middle schools in the city. On a werewolf estate, we would have been out of the catchment area.
The main difference between purely wolf estates and mixed ones was the lack of green, open spaces. The Oaks was built like a maze, little twisting streets and passages that seemed to lead to a different place each time you walked down them. There was one small play park at the heart of the estate, but no real room for a wolf to shift and run freely. I suddenly had a renewed appreciation for my little house in Foxglove, which bordered one of the city parks.
Dad opened the door before I could knock, greeting me with a broad smile. “Ayla! Just in time. Your mum’s just dishing up. We’re having your favorite.” He ushered me into the dining room, where Mum was indeed serving up plates heaped with steaming vegetables and generous cuts of roast lamb. My mouth watered as I watched.
“Hello, love,” Mum said, setting a plate down in my place. “Oh, are those for me?” She took the flowers with a sweet smile. “They’re lovely.”
“Yeah.” As always, I couldn’t quite find the words to convey my sentiments. They’re because I love you didn’t feel right, even if it was true. “I thought you’d like them.”
“Sit down, tuck in,” she ordered. “I’ll put these in some water.”
I obeyed, spooning mint sauce onto my lamb. I felt like I’d slipped back in time, reverted to a child. Whatever tensions had—and did—exist between me and my parents, I always felt a little safer here; a little more at home.
“So have you heard from the police yet?” Dad asked.
I shook my head. “Could be another six weeks yet.”
“You’ll get in,�
� he said confidently. “Before you know it you’ll be out on the streets being insulted and spat at by junkies and yobs.”
“Oh Dad, don’t. It’s not going to be like that.”
“Depends where you get sent,” Mum said, sitting down opposite me and smoothing out the checkered tablecloth absently. “The city center is fine, but I wouldn’t want you out on the beat in some of the suburbs.”
“I think I can take care of myself,” I said, spearing a baby carrot. “I doubt they’ll send me after the crack whores and baby killers on my first shift.”
“No, they’ll save that till they’ve broken you in,” Dad said. “How’s Shannon doing?”
“She’s working on a case. Actually, I wanted to ask you about something.” I turned to Mum, figuring she’d be more willing to divulge any scandal than Dad. “Do you know a wolf named Tina Brady?”
Mum frowned, chewing a piece of lamb meditatively. “It rings a bell. Tina Brady… Would that be Christina Markham, do you think?” she asked Dad.
“The wolf that was made outcast?” Dad wore a frown that matched Mum’s exactly. It was cute. I wondered if Shannon and I would develop synchronized expressions over time. “She was married to Robert Markham, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, but they divorced before she was outcast,” Mum said. “She had an affair, I think.”
“I thought he had the affair?”
“Maybe they both had affairs?” I offered. That couldn’t be why she was outcast. Infidelity wasn’t anything like a strong enough reason to exile a Pack member.
“No, it was definitely her,” Mum said. “Because she got pregnant, didn’t she, and that’s why…” She trailed off, staring down at her food.
I prodded, sensing some juicy secret. “Why was she outcast anyway?”
My parents exchanged dark looks, a ripple of disquiet passing between them. Mum was suddenly very occupied with her roast potatoes and Dad took a long chug of his water. I waited patiently while they eyeballed each other.
