* * *
"Mr. Winkler is staying in the house Marcie and Jason had," Adele said at breakfast the following morning. Trace had arrived moments earlier and was now sitting at the breakfast bar, having a plate of food with Adele and Ashe. Trajan winked at Ashe as he settled on a barstool to eat breakfast.
"Trajan, Ace and I are staying in the house with Winkler; the others are moving into the empty house next door. We lost Gene on St. Joseph Island," Trace mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Gabe, too," Trace added before sipping coffee. Ashe nodded. He'd liked Gene, Gabe and Spencer. They'd always treated him well, unlike other werewolves under Winkler's command. But Jimmy, Winkler's werewolf cook—Ashe would miss him most of all. "Mom, did they have a service for them? For Jimmy, too?"
"There was a nice service held in Shirley's groves, for all the fallen. Only the werewolves know where they're buried. To keep their secrets, you know, since some died as wolves." Adele settled at the island with a cup of coffee.
"Yeah. I understand that. What about Dominic Pruitt—Jackson's dad?"
"Dead, too. They buried the rogues at sea. Marcie identified him, since he died as wolf."
"He got his own son killed." Ashe had trouble accepting that. "Just signed right up with Tanner and his rogues. He was going to force Jackson to work as a drug runner."
"People do terrible things every day, Ashe. We can only do as much as we can do to stop all of it." Winkler walked in with Ace and Trajan. "We've got the weight and exercise room set up at the school. And I haven't let you go, yet. You still work for me," Winkler ruffled Ashe's hair. "Andy could use your help, most likely."
"How did you get in here?" Adele gave Winkler a speculative glare.
"Master key." Winkler held up the key in question. "Sorry. Won't happen again. We just heard you talking and came on in so you wouldn't have to walk to the front door."
"Once is okay. Twice and I'll bomb you from overhead," Adele shook a finger at Winkler.
"Fair enough," he laughed.
"Feeling better today?" Trajan asked Ashe.
"A little. Want breakfast? We have enough eggs to serve everybody, I think."
"Yeah." Winkler and the others settled in at the island. Ashe helped his mother make bacon, eggs and toast for all of them. Adele poured coffee while they waited for food to cook.
"If you'll do breakfast most mornings, Adele, I'll pay," Winkler munched on crispy bacon.
"That's fine, what time?"
"Seven okay?"
"It's when we usually get up and around," she said. "That shouldn't be a problem. What do you like, so I can shop?"
"I'll make a list," Winkler replied. Adele handed over a pad of paper and Winkler pulled a pen from his pocket. "There'll be two more coming, too."
"I'll pull in an extra couple of chairs."
The doorbell rang, so Ashe got up to answer it. "Check who it is, first," Adele called after him. It was Sali. Ashe opened the door.
"Dude," Sali stood with hands in the pockets of his frayed shorts.
"Dude," Ashe said and stood back so Sali could come in. "Happy Birthday. Want breakfast?"
"Sure." Sali walked in, nodded to Winkler and his crew and accepted a plate of food from Adele.
"Nathan's thinking about opening a fishing business. He may hire Jonas and a few others to work with him. He'll still guard the community at night, but others can handle the business for him," Adele said.
"Really?" Ashe was surprised. The Star Cove community really was digging in its heels.
"Then I may have a proposition," Winkler grinned. "How about we take one of those lots where a house burned down and build a restaurant there? You could run it, Adele, with no trouble."
"Well, there's an idea." Adele poured more coffee for Winkler.
"And if you hired the people who cook for the school, you could provide lunches for the kids," Winkler added. "That will free up space at the school for a gym. It wouldn't be a hardship for the kids to walk to a restaurant nearby, now would it?"
"No. Not at all," Adele agreed. One of the burned houses was next door to the community center-turned-schoolhouse. "And it might be nice for them to get away from school for an hour."
"And their parents could have lunch with them, if they wanted," Trace teased. Sali blinked, a horrified expression crossing his features.
"Kidding," Trace held up a hand.
"We'll have a werewolf work crew in here, clearing the debris from the burned buildings and working to rebuild," Winkler went on, pointedly ignoring Trace. "That will mean more business for the restaurant. I'll put up the money, Adele, and you can run the place. If you want."
"I'll do it. But I may make time to take a night class or two in marine biology," Adele smiled at Ashe. Ashe shrugged at his mother, giving her a smile in return.
"You can take the early shift and knock off around three or four, as soon as lunch is over. Let somebody else handle dinner. The place can shut down around nine. That gets everybody home at a decent hour."
"Sounds good. I'll work it out with the others," Adele agreed. "It'll be good to have a business so close to home."
"I can get you hooked up with my sister's husband and father-in-law for fresh vegetables. They grow tomatoes, avocados, potatoes and other things to sell locally. The citrus they ship out."
"That will be perfect," Adele said. "Can I get a number?"
"Sure." Winkler wrote it down and handed it to her. "Just tell them who you are and that you talked to me about it."
"Are we going to meet your sister?" Ashe asked, curious. He'd seen Sam Sheridan twice but hadn't seen Winkler's sister.
"Whitney is pregnant, so Sam is overly protective," Winkler grinned. "I'm gonna be an uncle."
"A new Winkler?" Sali asked.
"Well, Sheridan, but it's almost the same thing. If we hurry on the restaurant, I'll bring her here for dinner."
"That will be so nice," Adele said. "We haven't seen a new one on the way for a while."
"Ashe, do you need to help clean the kitchen before we haul you to the dojo?" Trajan asked.
"He can go today, I'll clean up," Adele said.
"Good. Are you coming willingly, or do we have to put you in a headlock?" Trajan grinned. Ashe was glad that nothing seemed to have changed with Winkler's Second. Sali had barely said anything to him since walking inside the house.
"I'll come," Ashe said.
"Sali, you and Marco should come tomorrow—I'll start working with both of you," Trajan said. "We need all the muscle we can get."
"Really? I can?" Sali sounded excited.
"It's hard work," Trajan said. "But you'll be better off. You don't get out of running, either. We'll work on getting a track sorted out."
"I'll be there," Sali promised.
"Good. See you tomorrow, kid. Come on, indentured servant," Trajan pulled Ashe off his seat.
"You actually know what indentured servant means?" Ashe lifted an eyebrow.
"Ashe says stuff like that all the time," Sali grinned. "He even counts the syllables in my words."
"Then I'll employ the vast vocabulary," Trajan said. "Come on." He herded Ashe toward the front door.
"Vocabulary—five syllables," Sali laughed.
* * *
"Sit down, Ashe," Winkler had an office set up already in the house Marcie and Jason had lived in for such a short while. Ashe marveled at how quickly Winkler was able to get things done. Ashe slid onto one of Winkler's guest chairs.
"Now, you probably know as well as I do that it wasn't any accident this community was located so quickly," Winkler began. "There's a leak somewhere, and it's possible that even with all the killing, we still didn't eliminate it. I want you to put your mind to that, whenever you're not doing anything else. Find the traitor for me. It's possible he's still here inside the community. If that's the case, he could sell us out again." Winkler's hands tightened into fists. Ashe knew what that meant, all right. Winkler wanted the spy. And he wanted him dead.
Chapter
3
"Have you shown those things to your parents?" Trajan nodded to the gold medallions wrapping Ashe's left upper arm.
"Not yet," Ashe grunted, lifting two hundred ten pounds. He'd taken his shirt off and now lifted weights dressed only in shorts and athletic shoes. "I don't know what Dad will say. Especially since I have no idea what they are or how they got there."
"Damnedest thing," Trajan muttered. "At least they're not ugly. And they might attract women."
"Doubt it," Ashe huffed, pushing the weights up. "You see how Dori slapped me and all. I guess it was doomed from the start. She wants Sali."
"For real?" Trajan settled in to talk.
"Yeah. I thought she was gonna have a fit when Sali started dating Wynn."
"Don't sell yourself short, Ashe."
"Why not? There's not much here," he said. "And since I'm back from the dead, well, they won't remember anything except the bat pretty soon. Sali's a wolf. That's more attractive than a measly bat."
"You think they'll modify memories again?"
"Story of my life. Nobody needs to know. So they don't."
"Kid, I don't know how you deal with it," Trajan said softly. Ashe's acute hearing caught the words anyway.
"Not everybody has a vampire for a father," Ashe observed. He didn't add his current fear—that the Council might be dictating his father's compulsion on the community. Surely, they could just order his closest friends not to tell anyone what they knew—that would make things so much easier. Instead, their memories were muted altogether.
Ashe was glad his father couldn't place compulsion on him. At least nobody was attempting to suppress his memories. He worried, though, that the Council might learn of his resistance to compulsion. He also wondered what they might do if they did know. So much mystery surrounded the Vampire Council. His father, too, if he were honest. Would he ever know how old his father was? That was likely a no. His mother didn't know. Why should he?
"Ashe, buddy, you're done. Go do leg presses," Trajan brought him back to the present.
* * *
"Trace, I have to get something for Sali's birthday," Ashe breathed as they ran along the narrow beach near Star Cove.
"Ah, sixteen today," Trace grinned. "I hear Marco took him to Corpus to take the driving test."
"Then I know what I have to buy for him," Ashe said. "I have to find a Cadillac key ring. He's always admired vintage Cadillac convertibles. He used to say that someday I'd have one of those cars and he'd sit in the passenger seat as wolf and ogle people on the highway while I drove." Trace laughed at the image. "Sali likes to hang his head out the window," Ashe said, making Trace laugh louder.
* * *
"Yeah—that one looks good." Ashe accepted the key ring from the salesclerk. Trace had allowed Ashe to hop him to a nearby auto dealership, where a key ring could be purchased. The fob was polished chrome with a gold inset and the Cadillac emblem on it. Handing the cashier his debit card, Ashe watched while the item was placed in a bag.
"If he doesn't pass the test, you'll be in trouble," Trace grinned as they walked out of the dealership.
"He'll just take the test again," Ashe said. They had to find a secluded spot where nobody might see so Ashe could hop them back to Star Cove.
* * *
Everybody stayed out of Zeke Tanner's way. He'd growl (or worse) at the slightest provocation. Two of his wolves sported healing knife wounds after failing to move fast enough. The entire compound was in the process of packing; Zeke had reports from a trusted source regarding the visitors who'd come to call in his absence. Two of those visitors were vampires and he didn't want them invading his territory again. He'd have to move farther south—another compound waited for him there. "Damage any of those heads or the taxidermic animals and you'll join them," he snarled at the hired movers clearing out his trophy room.
Of everything he owned, Zeke was particularly proud of the things he'd killed and stuffed. If he had his way, William Winkler's head, wolf or human, was going to join his collection. He suspected that Winkler was personally responsible for Dom Pruitt's death, and was sure Winkler had called in vampires to help. Tanner had the greater number of wolves and they would have won the battle if Winkler hadn't had several of the vampire filth there to fend off the attack.
"Are you sure it was a good idea, setting Jack Howard adrift in that raft?" Hutch, Zeke's new Second, asked. "He could tell everything he knows about the werewolf race."
"You think I give a damn about that?" Zeke hissed. "Let the Grand Master explain to the whole world that werewolves exist. They're not gonna come down here and ask us about it." Zeke pulled a semiautomatic rifle from a gun cabinet and slung it over a shoulder. "Come on, we're driving to the new location. Now."
* * *
"What can possibly cause rat's hearts to explode?" Randy Smith looked over the reports from the veterinarian. She'd done autopsies on dozens of dead rats from Chicago's old underground narrow gauge rail tunnels. The rat's bodies seemed in good health—except for their exploded hearts.
"No idea. No traces of chemicals or anything else, and those wouldn't cause this kind of damage." Sara Dillon worked for the city animal shelter. She'd been drafted into doing the autopsies after so many piles of dead rats were found in parts of the tunnels. "Honestly, rats are vermin. We should count it as a blessing, unless other animals start dying for the same reason."
"Haven't heard of any," Randy shrugged. Sara was close to thirty, but was very pretty and looked younger. Randy thought about asking her out. Her red hair was cut collar-length and curled riotously about her head. Green eyes and a pretty mouth smiled often. At Randy.
"Well, uh, let me know if you hear anything," Randy stammered uncomfortably. "About other animals dying the same way, that is."
"I will," Sara said brightly. Randy, shy suddenly, let the opportunity go. He waved and walked out of Sara's office, the folder of autopsy reports in his hand.
* * *
"Mom, how can I write an article about this?" Randy sighed. Dawn, his werewolf mother, had come to Chicago to spend a few days before going back to New Mexico. She worked for the Post Office there and had more than enough vacation time saved.
"About what?" Dawn pulled a pan of lasagna from the oven. Homemade lasagna was Randy's favorite meal.
"These autopsies show that the rat's hearts exploded. The vet says she has no idea how that happened."
"Really?" Dawn went to the fridge, pulling out mozzarella cheese to make garlic cheese bread.
Dawn's hair and eyes were a dark brown, while Randy favored his father, Terry Smith, who'd had lighter brown hair and green eyes. His Uncle Ted looked very much like Randy's father, too, and still talked of Terry's murder as if it were three weeks ago instead of three years. Ted had never known of Dawn's heritage—Terry had kept that secret. Protecting the werewolf race was of paramount importance and every human who married a werewolf swore an oath never to reveal the werewolves to other humans. Randy, too, had never mentioned it to his uncle, although he'd lived with Uncle Ted and Aunt Mary while attending the University of Illinois, finishing in three years instead of four.
"I could write a few words about dead rats and the mystery of exploding hearts and put up a few pictures, but what good will that do? We don't have a reason and that might cause people to panic. I can go back to the city and see if they're willing to send more of their work crews down there."
"Sounds good," Dawn replied absently, buttering French bread and spreading cheese over it. She then sprinkled garlic powder and a bit of basil on the top. That went into the oven for a few minutes. "Would you get the plates, Randy?"
Randy sighed and pulled two plates from the cabinet inside his small apartment kitchen, then scrounged for forks. Paper napkins came next. Aunt Mary had cleaned out her cabinets to give him enough dishes to get by until he could afford his own. A junior reporter's pay wasn't that great, after all.
"Too bad somebody can't do anything about the bugs; I saw a huge cockro
ach in the hallway this morning," Dawn muttered.
"I'll call maintenance. They spray once a month," Randy said. "It's not easy getting an apartment in this part of town. I don't have a car and this place is close to the train."
"You could come back to New Mexico with me. Newspapers are published there, too."
Randy didn't answer for a few seconds. They'd had the same conversation several times. In fact, he was sure it was why his mother had come to Chicago in the first place—to talk him into going home with her. New Mexico didn't have anything for him. A position at a Chicago newspaper might get him something better later on. He'd been fortunate to get the job he had.
Besides, if he wanted to move anywhere, he'd go straight back to Texas. He loved spending time with the paranormal community. His mother probably wouldn't stay there, though; New Mexico was home for her. "Mom, let me do this for myself, all right?" Randy pleaded. "Let me make my own way. Besides, Uncle Ted is close if I need anything."
"But your Uncle Ted isn't your father. And Aunt Mary isn't your mother." Dawn sounded hurt.
"Don't you think I know that? I miss Dad every day. And there isn't a day that goes by that I don't curse Paul Harris for killing him."
"Randy, you know not to mention that name to me."
"Yeah. Sorry, Mom. I think the bread is ready." Randy nodded toward the oven. Dawn rushed to get the toasted bread out before it burned.
* * *
"Ashe, I'm sorry Dori hit you. She was upset that you didn't tell her." Cori stood beside Ashe's makeshift desk—he'd fit the tiny thing in a corner of Andy's office. Ashe had spent the day going over accounts for Andy, checking figures for him. The task had turned out to be extremely dull work. It was nearly time to go home, too, when Cori arrived.
"I know," Ashe acknowledged Cori's sympathy as he checked another line of figures against what was written on a page beneath his hand. Ashe knew it was payroll for one of Winkler's businesses. Andy hadn't said anything about it, but Ashe figured he suspected something. Now, Ashe was looking for the sewing implement in the traditional pile of hay. "I'd be mad, too, if somebody did that to me. I know she doesn't want to be together anymore but the truth is, Dori always wanted Sali. I can't do anything about that."
Vendetta (Legend of the Ir'Indicti #4) Page 3
