Sumage Solution GL Carriger

by G. L. Carriger

  “Exactly. We exist in a liminal state. Your Max is one of us. One of the lost and ignored.”

  Biff gave her a look. You don’t need to tell me. “Yet you grant him so little compassion.”

  Mana finished her green drink, looking both guilty and frustrated. “It’s just…” She sighed. “How can he turn away from something that could do so much good? We are never handed power! We have always had to fight for it, tooth and nail, fang and claw. How dare he? How else do we make up for chronic disenfranchisement except to seize those rare gifts when they are offered?”

  Biff paused to wonder at this woman trapped for hundreds of years in a man’s body. What kind of life she must have led through the ages. Her Alpha nature under siege by her own identity. Of course, Max’s rejecting Magistar would sit like a stone in her craw.

  Biff didn’t want to be put in the position of defending the mate who’d rejected him, but he couldn’t stand for anyone to think so ill of Max. “He’s afraid of turning into his father.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Biff felt a sad small smile creep over his face. “No. You’re probably afraid of turning into your mother.”

  “Very cute.”

  Biff scrabbled to explain. “He refuses to be what’s expected of him. It’s an attempt at vengeance.”

  “For what?”

  “His own existence.”

  “And what about you, Stud Muffin?” Mana rinsed her empty glass and came to stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Well, shoulder to rib, as she was a great deal shorter.

  Biff found it easier to talk when she wasn’t staring at him. “No one expected anything of me.”

  “Do you seek vengeance for that?”

  “No. I only wanted love.” He shrugged. “Almost the same thing.”

  The kitsune smiled. He caught it out of the corner of his eye. “Is there a poet hidden in all that gruffness?”

  Biff snorted. “Now you’re just being rude.” He paused, inhaling her power and tilting his head to examine the improbable beauty of a woman who couldn’t be. “And you, Mana, what do you want?”

  “The impossible.”

  “Ah. You want love too, then?”

  “Cheeky young fucker, aren’t you?” But she nudged his side in a companionable way, which felt like, if not friendship, at least understanding.

  Mana said, by way of explanation, “Did you know, before Super-Saturation, when quintessence was confined to the Sphere, and mages only existed in nascent form, that Victorian scientists called the possibility of power excess soul? Quintessence was different then. Rarer, harder to find, more confined. They called it aether.”

  “Your point?”

  “It could be argued that a Magistar and his familiar share a soul. If you subscribed to the old ways. That’s what makes it so unusual and so rare. How many mages, do you think, would be willing to share their souls with another? Not exactly part of the personality profile.”

  “Well, ours happened by accident.”

  “No, I don’t think it did.”

  “And he is unwilling.”

  “Perhaps that’s the key. He must be made to understand that in rejecting your half of his soul, he is acting just like them. It is in not becoming a Magistar that he is like his father. Because Magistar is something no Surge could ever be. Magistars must share power. That very idea is an anathema to a Surge.”

  Biff only grunted. As if Max could be made to do anything, least of all understand.

  * * *

  Friday afternoon, Gladiola and Ms Trickle visited Max in his lair. This was unexpected on many levels, not the least of which being he’d no idea that either one knew where he lived.

  “What?” he said, opening the door a crack. He might have left it closed and sulked, but he was tired of everything, including his own company. He’d barely eaten. He wanted to complain to someone.

  And Gladiola held two paper cups.

  “I suppose you got this address from my DURPS employee forms? I’m sure that’s illegal.”

  The little kitsune wiggled one of the cups at him. “I come bearing stupid coffee drink thingy with too much sugar. You know you want it.”

  “What flavor?” asked Max suspiciously.

  “Vanilla, of course.”

  He opened the door just enough to snatch the latte out of her tiny hand. “Gimme.”

  “Well, hello, sunshine!” His former boss pushed the door wide. She was kelpie and very strong – he didn’t bother to protest.

  Both women barged in.

  “This place is a dump,” pronounced Ms Trickle.

  “It’s exactly what I imagined.” Gladiola looked around with fox-bright eyes. “Although it does stink. Stale sex with wolf overtones, old sweat and despondency. Charming.” She began circling the apartment, opening every window as wide as it would go. Then she started stripping the bed.

  “I take it he dumped your sorry ass?” Max’s ex-boss ensconced herself on the couch, taking up most of it. She was sipping something that smelled of fish and lawn clippings. Probably clam juice with wheatgrass. There was no accounting for kelpie taste buds – odd things happened when horses went swimming.

  Max wrapped himself in a blanket with great dignity and slumped opposite her in the chair, clutching his drink. “No, actually, I dumped him.”

  Gladdy paused and glanced over. Her hair was lavender today and she wore a fedora, a purple gingham dress, and big boots. “You’re such an idiot.”

  “I know.” Max took bitter slurps of his too-sweet drink. It hit him hard in the teeth and then punched his gut as it went down. It was the first thing he’d put into his body besides water and crackers in days. He set the cup down and glared at it.

  “You look like you’ve been dragged ass-backwards through a swamp. I mean, really bad. Do you need a hospital?” Trickle seemed legitimately worried.

  “I just haven’t eaten much.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Gladiola repeated, finishing with the sheets. “Laundry?”

  “Downstairs in the garage, but you don’t need to—”

  “Yes, I do. Back in a tick.” She disappeared outside, leaving Max alone with Ms Trickle.

  “Why’d you quit, Max?” she asked. “Broken heart I understand. But you could just eat up your sick and vacation days. I’d hold your job for you. You suck at it, of course. But I’ve gotten accustomed to having your sorry ass around. We all have.”

  “You know I don’t really need a job, right? Never did.”

  “Oh?” She looked around his tiny apartment. It wasn’t bad. Max fancied it was rather tastefully decorated. Modern. Although messy at the moment. It didn’t scream money. It screamed cheap Scandinavian furniture store.

  Max shrugged – he needn’t justify his inheritance to this woman. He didn’t owe her anything.

  “Max. Explain what happened.”

  “Judge Rassolnik didn’t say anything?”

  “I don’t even know the man. Except yesterday, the moment I process your resignation, he comes and tracks me down. Hands me a Geiger counter and tells me to check on you in an official capacity, whatever that means.”

  Max nodded. “Okay.”

  “Max!”

  “We had a bit of a go at each other, over at my dad’s house. The big one, back there.” He waved a listless hand. “There might be radiation involved. You probably should check it. For the sake of the neighborhood or whatever.” He pointed to where his phone sat, untouched and uncharged, near the door. “And that.”

  “So, your resignation has to do with official DURPS business?”

  “Rassolnik thinks so.”

  “Are you being forced to cover up for someone? Is this political?”

  “Christ, I hope not.”

  “Max, you’re a pain in my ass.”

  “I know,” said Max.

  “A sentiment shared by many, I’m sure.” Gladdy returned to add her opinion.

  Max flipped her off.

  The kitsune went into his kit
chen, clearly intending to cook something. The kitchen was more her size than his.

  She rummaged about in the fridge and then levitated herself to look in the cupboards, finally emerging with a can of chicken noodle soup. “I understand this is what humans use for heartbreak.”

  “You hang out with a ton of humans – you should know the drill.” Ms Trickle tried to be supportive.

  Gladdy looked at her, worried. “But you’re married to one, aren’t you? Will this stuff work?” She wiggled the can of soup.

  “On Max? When has Max acted like a normal human?”

  “He has the physiology, doesn’t he? Isn’t chicken soup a prescriptive?”

  “I thought that was for colds? Or chills? Or chilblains? Or something. Max hasn’t caught any of those things. Except perhaps the something.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” said the Max in question.

  Gladdy fumbled around, finding a can opener, plopped the soup into a bowl, and then blasted it in the microwave. She clearly had some level of acumen.

  She passed the tepid mess to Max with such a look of accomplishment, he could do nothing but attempt to eat a few mouthfuls. It was awful, still partly congealed and metallic-tasting, but his stomach growled and he supposed it was simply too melodramatic to starve himself to death over something entirely his own fault.

  The two women sat and watched him eat.

  They stayed a bit longer, but Max told them nothing more and insisted he wouldn’t return to his job. Trickle checked his phone with her Geiger counter. Nothing. Then she promised to go through the house as well. Max told her it was unlocked and that he didn’t care. They left him, both still worried.

  He couldn’t watch them through the kitchen window. He didn’t want to look at that house one second more than he had to.

  Max dumped the rest of the soup and didn’t hear them drive away. He went to bed, although it was just past noon, only to fall into a funny half-lucid state. Floating there, in between, he saw all the trace lines on his body shift and reform into paw prints.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Something Familiar This Way Cums

  Biff thought of writing Max a letter. Was that too old-fashioned? They’d been apart for over a week. But he was no better with written words than he was with spoken ones. All Biff’s skill was in his touch – the way he curved his arms and the solid reassurance of his body. Without the option of physical affection, he couldn’t communicate properly.

  Alec and the other wolves remained pretty clearly upset about this second rejection. As Biff was a core member of the pack, Max’s behavior had morphed into a rejection of them. Their collective hurt. Biff wasn’t sure if he should be honored that they were trying to share his pain, or insulted that they’d made his love life into their suffering.

  Then Biff walked in, on an evening close to full moon, when emotions tended to ride high, on an amorphous plot to don fur and terrorize Max.

  “We don’t have to hurt him much,” Kev pointed out.

  “Just show him our general disappointment.” Judd’s arms were crossed over his massive chest. “With teeth.”

  Alec was nodding.

  Only Colin and Marvin looked uncomfortable.

  “Babe, I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Marvin nibbled at his lower lip.

  Colin noticed Biff lurking in the doorway. “Uh, guys?”

  “We don’t have to do any real damage,” said Lovejoy.

  Biff ambled into the living room. It was a messy chaos of blankets and angry werewolves.

  He gave a grunt of inquiry.

  Kevin looked guilty. “We aren’t going to kill him or anything serious. Promise.”

  “Just a mild maiming,” growled Judd.

  “Uh, guys!” That was Colin again, seeing something in Biff’s expression that the others, hyped up with the scent of a possible hunt, chose to ignore.

  Without really thinking, Biff took up position in front of the door and began to methodically strip. Once naked, he shifted form and just stood there, four legs braced for impact, teeth bared, growling.

  “What is he doing?” Lovejoy asked.

  Alec looked like he wanted to cry. “Defending his mate. He won’t let any one of us run tonight if he thinks we might go after Max.”

  Tank, who’d been ignoring the whole conversation in favor of a book, looked up in concern. Judd and Kevin were big, and the two of them could take out Biff easy. But it’d be rough and brutal. If pure muscle mass was needed, and gentle insistence required over actual fighting, it’d be Tank’s job. He was kind of like their backup Beta.

  “Oh. My. God. He so isn’t worth it!” That was Kevin. The enforcer threw his arms up in exasperation and flopped back onto one of the bed piles. But he didn’t shift and he didn’t show any inclination to try to follow through on his threats. Neither did any of the others.

  Judd and Lovejoy began looking less angry and more thoughtful.

  The wolf relaxed back onto his haunches. Still in the doorway, still with his teeth bared.

  Colin said, “Look, this isn’t helping. You guys need to swear off Max.”

  Alec growled. “But he hurt our pack mate.”

  “Yeah, but you shouldn’t take that personally, babes.” That was Marvin, who didn’t think like a wolf.

  “He hurt my brother!” Alec practically spat it out. “Who’s always looked after me.”

  Marvin stood and walked to stand next to Biff. He had just enough self-preservation not to try and touch him, and not to try for the door. Not yet.

  Biff tensed.

  Marvin turned and leaned against the wall, as if they were on the same side. He glared at his mate. “Darling, this is not about you.”

  “I’m trying to be a loyal friend and sibling and Alpha.” Alec looked frustrated and confused and angry. And young. His control was in flux.

  Why’s that? wondered the wolf idly. Why isn’t his Beta taking care of him?

  “You can’t solve this.” Marvin glared at the pack, his angelic features fierce. “This is for Max and Biff to fix. Or not fix. I might not be a werewolf, but I know something about family. Our role is to be here for Biff, okay? Do what we can as support. He’s looked after us long enough, it’s our turn to look after him. Even if that means doing nothing.”

  Judd gave a funny sigh and side-eyed Alec. “None of us know how to be Beta.”

  Marvin shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Like any of you are normal in your roles.”

  It was Kevin, surprisingly, who crawled toward Biff, belly down. “Okay, we won’t go after him, not for any reason. We promise.”

  The wolf looked to Judd. The other enforcer, the other protector of the pack. The big black man met his yellow gaze for a long moment, then nodded a curt agreement and tilted his head back to show his neck.

  Colin came over and, shocking everyone, put a tentative hand to Biff’s furry head. Not a caress, just a comfort. “You know I wouldn’t.”

  The wolf knew.

  Lovejoy shrugged. “Whatever, man, it’s your mess.”

  Tank looked back and forth between Biff and Alec, face twisted. “I won’t disobey an order from my Alpha and I can’t avoid VOICE.”

  Alec gave a sigh. “Fine. Max is off the hunting list. But that judge is still fair game.”

  “Not a good idea,” said Marvin, whose childhood in a merfolk pod had left him sensitive to local politics.

  Tank advised, cautiously, “You better leave him with some kind of win, Alpha-mate.”

  The merman snorted. “Fine. Bloody werewolves.”

  Alec came and knelt next to the wolf, putting long, wiry arms around his brother’s massive furry chest. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been without you before. This week, you’ve been here but absent. Turns out I’m a sucky Alpha without you as Beta. Would you try to come back to us?”

  It reminded Biff of those early days, before Alec turned eighteen and took the bite. When Biff was a werewolf and Alec was not. Alec used to hold him, on full moon, whe
n the change was forced and he still cried at the newness of the pain. A skinny, nerdy thirteen-year-old, determined to comfort his big brother. Alec would have already been scared. Knowing that was his future. Knowing he would not survive the bite – until he unexpectedly had. And yet he’d faced up to it every month, to be there, to hold Biff as he writhed.

  No wonder he’s Alpha.

  Biff relaxed finally, his wolf acknowledging that his mate was safe, at least from his own pack. His Alpha. I have neglected him too.

  Sensing this acceptance, the others crowded around, each one touching Biff. Like they were taking a vow over his furry head. Solidarity. Affection. They were there for him, they loved him.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

  I’ll have to learn to let it be enough.

  “All right, boys, too much sentiment,” said Alec at last, letting Biff go. “Shall we?”

  Biff stayed in wolf form. The others moved away to strip and join him for a run. Except Marvin, of course, who said something about catching the latest episode of Top Shifter Scotland. Marvin was fond of kilts.

  Biff didn’t notice that while his brother had promised that the pack would leave Max alone, he hadn’t said anything about avoiding the man himself.

  * * *

  Max wasn’t sure what made him do it. He supposed it was many things. The constant reoccurring dream of his trace lines becoming paw prints. Wolf prints, all over his body pressing into his flesh as they might be pressed into mud. A general sensation of listlessness, of needing to feel something, even pain. Boredom. Restitution.

  So, when he finally left his apartment, it was to visit a tattoo parlor.

  Ask and the internet shall provide. He drove farther than he liked to a highly rated one, because he wasn’t a total idiot. It took longer than he thought it would and hurt more. By the time they finished, it was rush hour, and Max was grumpy. So, he took himself off to see a stupid action movie, and when he got home, it was dark and late and Alec Frederiksen was sitting on his front steps, naked, looking sad and fierce.

  Max got out of his car slowly, dreading everything about the situation. Although he was grateful for the bandage over his new tattoo. No need to explain that. His visitor could likely smell fresh blood and ink, but he didn’t want Alec to see the reason. Max reached up to touch the sore spot on his neck, a reassurance he was sure would become nervous habit if he weren’t careful. He’d wanted it where Bryan always marked him. Sucking up a pattern, a memory of pleasure for Max to admire when they were apart. He forced his hand down and approached the Alpha.