by Karen Ranney
The room was masculine, decorated in shades of emerald green with a tartan pattern here and there. My grandfather would've approved.
My father’s hand on the small of my back gently guided me to the conversation area in the corner. Two oval shaped couches, both in emerald, curved around a glass coffee table on which sat a modernistic tea set in silver. Just the place to celebrate good news or share the bad stuff.
I sat on one of the couches, folded my hands at my waist, and wondered if I should have worn something more apropos to the occasion, like a skirt and heels. Nope. Blue jeans and sneakers were my style and if my father wanted me to be more like my sister, Sandy, he was doomed to disappointment.
Better not get his hopes up.
This visit was different from the beginning. First of all, I didn't have to wait. Secondly, I hadn't approached my father's inner sanctum with dread, knowing I was going to get yelled at or have to hear a lecture about how I’d disappointed him.
On the contrary, he was smiling at me now as if I had done something particularly brilliant. After the past day, I appreciated the sentiment. At the same time, I hated to burst his bubble. I hadn’t done anything to warrant his beaming approval.
I'd probably be asked to leave if he knew I'd been fired. Although the proper terminology wasn't fired, exactly. It was more along the lines of: “We have come to an amicable arrangement and decided to part company.”
No, I thought I would keep that information to myself, along with the fact that his mother had become an ottoman.
"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee, a soda?”
I had never known my father to be solicitous. Normally he called in his secretary/assistant and she would ask me those questions.
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
Before he could ask why I was here, I blurted out my first question.
"You said something about vampires and Weres having an understanding," I said. "Can you explain to me what that is? Even more important, is there a way to control Maddock, the master vampire?”
My father sat opposite me, his pose changing from one of relaxation to wariness. I could almost feel the tension flowing off his body.
His eyes didn't move from my face as the silent seconds ticked past.
"Is he bothering you?”
In his tone was a protectiveness I honestly hadn't heard in a while. I wanted to thank him for that and the instant warm feeling I got.
“I’m asking for a friend,” I said. “Maybe if I understand the relationship we have with vampires I can convince Maddock to leave her alone.”
He sat back, his hands flat on the cushions on other side of him, an open pose he didn't often assume.
"That information is normally saved for alphas only, Torrance. We don't want to concern our clan with the responsibility.”
I nodded, half expecting that he would say that exact thing. Still, I had to ask.
"It dates back to the Treaty of Glasgow in 1526," he said.
Now that was a surprise. Not that I was ignorant of the Treaty of Glasgow — which I was — but that he hadn’t clammed up entirely. I was most definitely not an alpha. Nor would I ever be, as a female.
"Up until then, vampires and Weres had waged a silent battle that only rarely involved the human population. We managed to cover up most of the skirmishes in Scotland by claiming that it was a Scottish hatred of all things English.” He smiled. “English vampires, that is.”
I wasn't going to say a word while he was waxing eloquent, but I wondered how much of my grandfather’s effort to record Boyd history had something to do with vampires. Maybe a more in-depth examination of the armory was in my immediate future.
“The Treaty was finally ironed out between the Celtic Clan and Vitelli, the reigning master vampire. We basically agreed not to kill each other.”
"Did vampires originate in Italy?" I asked, remembering Maddock’s first name. Niccolò. That was Italian, wasn't it?
"On the whole, yes," he said smiling at me again. Evidently, that had been a perceptive question.
"We’d managed to decimate their numbers in Scotland, but they were able to expand their ranks by turning unsuspecting humans. They had not yet agreed to any kind of human law, which meant that they posed a problem for us. That’s why we agreed to the treaty. The terms are onerous, Torrance. Whichever side breaks it agrees to sacrifice five hundred of their members. The vampires will expose their members to sunlight and finalize their deaths by having their heads lopped off.”
“And us? Are we prepared to kill five hundred of our fellow Weres?”
“No,” he said. “We agreed to give them to the vampires.”
So, we would just turn five hundred Furries into vampires.
“But only if we break the treaty,” I said. “What constitutes breaking the treaty?”
“Killing a vampire.”
“Does everyone know this?” I asked, my voice rising. I had never heard of the Treaty of Glasgow. Hell, I might have accidentally broken the treaty if I’d taken Maddock’s head. I would have been responsible for the death of five hundred Furries. Or their transformation.
Why would anyone agree to something like that?
I must have revealed my thoughts on my face because my father smiled again.
“You’re thinking it's an idiotic treaty," he said. "On the face of it, I agree with you.”
“What I don’t understand is why the vampires agreed to it. Or why we did.”
“There’s another part of the Treaty, something few people know about. There are rumors about it, of course, which is probably what keeps everyone in their own boundaries.”
He had totally lost me now.
"You've heard of the Stone of Scone?”
I had. It was an historic stone that rested under the throne whenever a Scottish King was crowned. The English had appropriated it for a few hundred years and had finally returned it to Scotland.
"It's not what you think it is," he said.
I wish I’d taken him up on his offer of something to drink. My mouth was getting dry and I don't think it had anything to do with thirst.
When he didn't say anything, I felt a spurt of irritation. Surely he hadn’t led me this far along on the story only to refuse to give me the punch line?
Chapter Eleven
I really had come close to killing 500 Furries
"What is it?”
“Actually, I think it's a meteor," he said. "A chunk of one. My father had the same idea. Whatever it is or wherever it came from, it affects vampires and Weres the same. If we touch it, we die. Simple as that.”
I blinked at him, several times, trying to put all this together.
"The Stone of Scone is back in its rightful place,” I said.
He nodded.
"Except that it's not the Stone of Scone," I added.
"It looks like the Stone," he said. "But, in reality it isn't. Humans didn't actually know what they had. Therefore, it was considered wise to hide it.”
"So the Weres stole it," I said.
His smile altered character a little, became wry. "Let's just say we appropriated it for a time.”
If that wasn't lawyer speak, I didn't know what was.
“And the vampires know you have it.”
“They suspect,” he said.
“So, it isn’t the Treaty that keeps everyone civil. It's the fact that Weres have the Stone.”
“Partly.”
"Is it here? Here in the United States?”
"I really think it's better if you don't know where it is, Torrance.”
On reflection, I decided that he was probably right.
“Who knows about it?”
He looked to the right and then to the left, then down at his well polished shoes. I wasn't gonna let him off the hook. If he wouldn't tell me where the Stone was — which was his prerogative, of course — then surely he could tell me who knew about it.
“The knowledge resides within our family," he
said finally.
In other words this wasn't a Furry thing. This was a Boyd clan against vampire thing.
Holy crap.
I honestly didn't know what to say to that. Somewhere along the way, somebody should have warned me not to have anything to do with vampires. Or they should have said something like, “Torrance, vampires might hate you, not simply because you're a Furry, but because you’re a Boyd. They fear you and when anyone fears something the anger they feel about it is twice as strong.”
Of course, I hadn't encountered Maddock on my own. It had simply been a coincidence that he’d come to Graystone. But did he know who I was now? I couldn't help but wonder at the reason for Maddock’s screams of frustration. Had he somehow realized that I was a Boyd? Or that he was attacking a Boyd home?
“So what you’re saying is that all I have to do is let the vampires know that I’m a Boyd and they’ll essentially leave me alone.”
“Yes.”
“Will they leave my friends alone?”
He didn’t answer, just regarded me steadily in that way of his. In other words, no.
I eyed my father. Hamish Boyd played things very close to the vest most of the time. If he wanted you to know the information, he imparted it. Evidently, he’d wanted me to know about the Stone. I couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Is the knowledge passed from father to son?" I asked.
I wasn't going to tell my father what Austin had done, but I sure as hell hoped that he wasn't going to pass along the story about the Stone to my brother. Austin wasn't stable. Or he was so close to being a Wolfie — a term I’d come up with to describe ultra Weres — that he might use the information as a weapon.
“Or from father to daughter,” he said.
I stared at him again.
I was digesting everything he’d just said. We’d been at war with the vampires. Check. We had a secret weapon to use against vampires. Check. Except that it can kill us, too. Check.
"How do we handle it if it’s deadly to us, too? Is it radioactive?”
“Very carefully,” he said, still smiling. "As for what it is, no one’s sure. All that I do know is that it's deadly to anyone who’s paranormal. Humans seem to be exempt from its effects.”
That was even more interesting.
There were groups who were opposed to anything paranormal. They were human only and vehement against any kind of relationship between human and Furry or human and a vampire. What they didn't know was that Weres were even more determined not to co-mingle with any other species. Doing so was cause for banishment.
But if the humans knew about something as powerful as the Stone, of course they would use it against Weres. Or vampires. Or any other paranormal being.
A thought crept into my mind, one so odd that it silenced me for a minute. Could I handle the Stone? Would my Pranic blood give me any kind of edge?
I couldn’t ask anyone. Certainly not my father, since I wasn't sure he knew about the transfusion. I wasn't going to tell him if he didn't know. Nor could I ask Marcie. I couldn’t divulge a Furry secret to her.
"So if I had accidentally, let's say, broken the treaty, there is every possibility that the vampires still wouldn't have come after us, because of the Stone.”
"We signed the Treaty of our own accord and we agreed to its terms. If we broke it, we would have been honor bound to pay the price.”
Holy crap, part two.
I really had come close to killing five hundred Furries.
"And you knew that when you came to Graystone that night," I said. "You knew that you couldn't kill any of the vampires.”
“The good news is that they’re difficult to dispatch," he said. "You have to remove their heads.”
I thought of the axe that I had in the car and the scimitar behind the nightstand in my bedroom. I guess I needed to get rid of those and quickly. To be on the safe side maybe I should just walk around with one of those paper stickers on my chest at night. One that read: “Hello, I’m a Boyd.”
I was still thinking about that when he said, “I need you to attend a family meeting next week.”
He gave me the date and added, “At six thirty. It’s important for you to attend.”
“We never have family meetings,” I said. “Why now?”
Had Austin said something about what he’d done? Or about me being Pranic?
The sudden fear I felt was annoying and it wasn’t the least bit dissipated by my father’s next words.
"I've invited the other two families.”
I sat back against the couch, folded my arms, and stared at him, incredulous. I have no idea what it looked like from his end, but he smiled after a moment.
I couldn't even formulate a question. A male Were did not invite his concubines to come to his primary home. Doing so was one of the worst insults a male could offer his wife. Yet my father was about to do that to my mother.
And he wanted me to come?
“I don’t think so,” I said, managing to push the words through my clenched lips.
“Pity,” he said, standing and moving to his desk. “You’ll be missing quite a scene. And missing meeting your siblings, of course.”
“What kind of scene?”
“You’ll have to show up to see,” he said.
I stood and made my way to the door without saying anything.
He let me go, making no movement to stop me. But he managed to do that anyway with one question.
“Do you want to sue the clinic?”
I turned, my hand on the door handle and looked at him standing behind his impressive desk. The man was impressive, too, with his white hair, handsome face, and piercing eyes that looked like he could see right through to your soul.
“What?”
That’s me, Torrance Boyd, master of the witty comeback.
“Do you want to sue the clinic? For wrongful termination? I’ll assign someone the case if you do.”
“Is it worthless for me to ask how you know?”
“You’re my daughter.”
That was supposed to be that, I suppose. Did he have a spy in the clinic? Just what did he know about my daily life?
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “It was a mutual decision,” I added, and then chastised myself for lying, and to Hamish Boyd. That was a big no-no.
He only smiled as I slipped from the room.
He hadn’t asked me to keep the Stone a secret. He hadn’t sworn me to secrecy about anything he’d divulged. Plus, I’d totally forgotten to ask if we Furries were about to be outed.
All he’d done was confuse the hell out of me.
Chapter Twelve
Truth above all
As I left his office, I realized that my father had just given me another problem: a family reunion.
Oh goody.
Did my mother know? I wouldn't be surprised if my father was springing it on her. Why, then, had he told me?
I hesitated in the middle of the corridor, wondering if I was taking the coward’s way out. I should have confronted him then and there. I should have demanded more answers about this odd family reunion. Plus, how had he known that I'd left the clinic?
Old habits die hard, including those of respecting your father and your alpha. I turned and headed for the way out, well aware that I was being a wuss. I waved to the receptionist and pushed the heavy glass door open. Once I was in the car, I sat there thinking.
My father and I had clashed ever since I was twelve years old and realized what a paternalistic society I’d been born into. He approved of Sandy, because she was the quintessential female Were.
My sister was spending all her time trying to learn how to be a Stepford wife. So far she'd won two baking contests and was running a blog dedicated to homemaking. Only those of us in the Furry community picked up on the fact that it was devoted to Were women. There were clues if you knew how to read them. Articles such as “How to get your husband to stop growling at you," or “Hairstyle tips for that time of the month.” She w
asn’t talking about your period, but about the Hunt.
I'm sure my mother considered herself a failure when it came to me. I wasn’t girly. I hated shopping, and I had absolutely no ability in the kitchen. I honestly didn't have the patience to cook. When I was hungry I wanted to eat. Now. I didn't want to spend an hour stirring something on the top of the stove or waiting for something to bake in the oven. I was just fine opening a package and microwaving it.
My father’s approval was slow in coming but when he did say something nice about me I was pathetically grateful. I wanted his praise for what I’d done with my life so far. Okay, maybe he wouldn't understand the bit about becoming Pranic, but maybe he did about being a vet.
Why had he told me about the Stone of Scone? Why had he given me the responsibility of that knowledge? Why, too, hadn't he sworn me to a vow of secrecy? Was it because he had faith in my ability to know what should be spoken about and what should be withheld?
Was this some sort of test? If so, it was a damn dangerous one.
Up until now I thought I was conversant in Scottish history. A great many people featured in Celtic lore had been Furries. I’d been required to know about them. Sonny had made me memorize certain phrases in Gaelic, but I could only remember a few of them now. One of them was: truth above all.
What was the truth? How had my father known about my termination from the clinic? If he’d known that, what else did he know? Had my father, out of a desire to protect me — or micromanage my life — set up listening devices throughout Graystone? It would certainly explain how he’d managed to arrive in the nick of time two weeks ago.
I pulled out my phone, dialed Mark, and willed him to answer. He didn't, but this time I hung up without leaving a message. I sat there staring through the windshield of my tiny car, realizing that I hated this car almost as much as I did the rest of my life. No, that wasn't true. I didn't hate my life. I was just uncomfortable with the way things were going.
What was really weird was that I was one of the most powerful creatures on the face of the earth.
Yay me.
