The Black Wolves of Boston, page 21
Decker could lose control and that would be “bad.” When and how were probably important questions. Joshua underlined the “loses control” part. Triggers would be good things to know.
He had run out of facts that he actually knew about Decker and detoured into myths. Decker didn’t need an invitation to enter a public place, didn’t seem to have trouble with garlic (they passed a bin of it in Target’s grocery section), and so far hadn’t reacted to a holy symbol (the cashier wore a cross). No reflection. Joshua circled that one with exclamation points because that one defied everything he knew about the universe.
Decker might be gay—maybe. Decker liked him.
Joshua had put lots of question marks next to the last one because he wasn’t sure how much Decker liked him. Or in what way. Under it, he’d written, “He smells good” but scratched it out just in case Decker ever got hold of the list.
That was just about it. He knew next to nothing about the person he was living with. He didn’t even know what Decker’s favorite color was, just that the vampire was agreeable to painting the walls green if that was what Joshua wanted. And Joshua wasn’t sure if it was the real Joshua that liked green or if it was the new improved werewolf part that was talking.
The blare of a car horn made him jump. He’d stepped out in front of a car. He jerked back onto the curb, blushing furiously. He probably should be paying attention to where he was going. There was a lot more traffic in Cambridge and the drivers all seemed homicidal. He really didn’t want to put “werewolves are nearly impossible to kill” to the test. Especially since Decker said it would still hurt a lot.
Which reminded him. He flipped to the page titled “Things I Know about Werewolves for sure” and wrote “It still hurts even if it doesn’t kill you.” The list was depressingly short. Most of the things on it only raised questions instead of giving him answers. Things like: Ferals are bad. Pack wolves are good. I’m a pack wolf. That seemed to indicate then he was part of a pack. What pack? Winnie had said that the Boston werewolves were all dead. What pack did the werewolf that changed him belong to? Where were they? Not back home. He would have noticed a BMW i8 tooling around Sauquoit.
Joshua stopped cold as he suddenly remembered seeing the sleek black car.
* * *
They had planned to open the haunted house an hour after sunset. Shortly before people were supposed to start arriving, Joshua had to go pee. There was no bathroom or outhouse at the barn. All the corn had been cut down and the field was open to the sky, brightly lit by the rising moon. The only place for privacy was the trees that edged both sides of the cornfield. The road ran along the east property line, so he’d walked across the rough field to the other set. He was in mid-stream when the BMW growled slowly up the road, turn signal blinking, as the driver looked for the narrow break through the trees that marked the access road. When he found it, he pulled in and stopped, blocking the opening.
“Idiot,” Joshua whispered. He was still peeing and didn’t want to draw attention by shouting “Don’t park there.”
It was obvious later that the werewolf had deliberately blocked the escape, but at the time Joshua couldn’t decide if the driver was just stupid or a self-centered prick.
A big African-American man unfolded himself out of the car, flexing as if stiff from a long drive. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it in through the open window. His business shirt, shoes and slacks followed.
“What the hell?” Joshua whispered as he zipped up. He couldn’t even guess at what was coming.
Joshua watched in confusion as the man crouched on the ground, nearly naked. Then he stood, mouth open, too scared to move, as the man turned into a big grey wolf. It only took a few seconds. The transformation had taken just long enough to know that there weren’t two beings moving through the moonlit night, that the man had changed to beast.
The memory fragmented. Bits and pieces followed.
There had been knives. They were like Elise’s twin blades. They gleamed in the moonlight. Frank Cahill had them first, calling orders as if he was quarterbacking the fight. The linebackers piled onto the werewolf, trying to tackle it to the ground. Daphne kept screaming “Kill it! Kill it!” which sounded insane to Joshua. The wolf hadn’t actually hurt anyone yet.
“Just run!” He’d planned to cover the retreat. “Get to the cars!”
Daphne pointed in Joshua’s direction. “Cut him!”
For a moment, everyone went still and stared toward Joshua.
“Ilya!” the wolf shouted.
Joshua looked behind him, hoping that there was someone standing behind him. When he glanced back, the entire chaotic tangle of bodies was surging toward him. Joshua backpedaled, shouting wordlessly.
* * *
His memory tattered at that point. He remembered Chris swinging a knife at him as he grappled with D.J. The blade had hit with shocking force and blood rushed down his forearm. He clearly remembered thinking that he was going to die.
Joshua stopped on the busy Cambridge street corner. As college students brushed past him, he pushed up his sleeve. A long thin scar ran from his wrist to his elbow. He had a lot of scars; he’d lived a rough and tumble childhood. He knew all his old wounds and where he’d gotten them. This one was new.
Chris and D.J. had tried to kill him. He’d known them both since kindergarten. D.J. had held him down and Chris sliced open his arm to the bone. He should have bled out long before the paramedics arrived. They’d tried to kill him.
Then the werewolf tore Chris’s head off.
Joshua whimpered. He needed something to eat. Now.
* * *
Fifty dollars bought less pie than he expected. To be fair, it was very good pie. The little café called Pesti Pie offered slices of pie and coffee. The wolf just pointed and paid and it was several slices in before Joshua could regain control. It felt very much like sitting in the backseat of the car, watching someone else drive. He experienced all the sensations but had no control of direction or speed. He managed to pause in the middle of a piece of salted caramel apple pie to establish control. He had already eaten a slice of butternut squash, caramelized onion, Gorgonzola, and walnut (which sounded weird but had tasted amazing) and a bacon, leek and Gruyere pie. Bacon pie. Why hadn’t anyone thought of that before? He still had two pieces of banana chocolate cream to eat. Life was good.
Where was he going? Beyond just getting food? Oh yes, the hardware store. The magical paint formula.
He sat eating pie, watching painting videos and taking notes of things he’d need. He liked lists; they kept life neat and orderly. If it was on a list, it was already halfway conquered. There were lots of videos on YouTube but all of them were fairly boring. It gave new meaning to “watching paint dry.”
Only after the pie was gone, the lists seemed complete, and he hadn’t whimpered or growled for half an hour, did he try thinking about Friday night again.
* * *
He had come to with people lifting the wolf body off him. A female paramedic pressed a hand to his neck and shouted, “I’ve got a pulse!”
That brought a gathering of people looking down at him, all with flashlights that they shone in his face.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Why am I on the ground? What happened?”
“You’re going to be okay,” the paramedic said loudly and then murmured to someone that he couldn’t see, “I can’t tell how much of this blood is his.”
“What?” Joshua cried.
“It’s okay,” she said as she examined his chest and stomach. “We’re going to get you to the hospital.”
A policeman crouched down beside Joshua. “Son, how many kids were here with you?”
“Where is here?” He could tell they were outside and it was night and the ground beneath him was painfully uneven. “Where are we? What happened?”
“He doesn’t have any ID on him,” the paramedic said.
“What’s your name, son?” the policeman asked.
“I-I-I don’t know.”
“He might have a concussion.” The paramedic focused even more light into his eyes. “Do you know what year it is? Who is the president?”
Joshua squinted against all the bright lights focused on him. “Why are you asking me? I don’t even know what’s going on!”
The paramedic turned off her light. “You’ve been hurt. We’re taking you to the hospital.” And then to the policeman, “He’s not going to be able to answer any questions.”
The night became another confusing jumble. Then later, the police came with photographs and questions. Who had been at the barn? Were there only ten kids there? Had he noticed any strangers? How did the animal get there? Did someone bring it? Who had driven the BMW i8?
All those questions, but they’d never mentioned the knives.
Did they not find the knives?
Elise had wanted to know how anyone managed to kill a werewolf. He should call her and tell her.
And go buy paint.
16: ELISE
The den of forbidden carnal pleasures came with a “honeymoon breakfast” brought to the room via a room service cart. The hotel made it seem like luxurious by providing a soft boiled egg in a hand-painted china cup and three pancakes. It cut corners by having only one piece of bacon and a single strawberry on each plate. It was not designed to satisfy three people, especially when one was a teenage werewolf who’d skipped two meals the day before.
“Are you sure?” the prince asked before attacking her plate.
“I normally just do a coffee and donut. There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts a few blocks down. I’ll grab something there.” It was almost a lie. Coffee was a must but she normally tried to make something for breakfast every morning. She couldn’t stand cooking dinner just for one; it was too empty a ritual to bear. Healthy dinners were easy to come by eating out. Good breakfasts, on the other hand, were not. She suffered the silent emptiness of her studio apartment to make omelets with graviera cheese and siglino or occasionally trahana with feta cheese.
She could never understand why her mother spent so much time drilling Elise on how to live among other people and never explained how to be happy by herself. Maybe her mother didn’t know. It would explain the hours at Decker’s messy house.
Cabot and the young prince had given her the bed and slept on the floor as wolves. While she was in the shower, they’d changed back to humans. They still ate like wild things, ignoring the silverware to use their hands. They used toast as scoops for the soft boiled eggs and tore the pancakes into quarters. After dunking the wedges into maple syrup, they licked their fingers clean. Obviously, wolves weren’t taught all the basic living skills either.
“You should have some protein.” Cabot held out his piece of bacon. “You didn’t have any of the meat last night either.”
Because she had both hands engaged in toweling dry her hair, she leaned down to eat it from his fingers. He watched her intently with his golden eyes, studying her as if she somehow confounded him. His fingers shone with bacon grease. She resisted the urge to lick them.
Remember: he was a wolf when you walked into the bathroom.
She licked the taste from her lips instead, prolonging the moment in her own mind.
He quirked up his left eyebrow even as he watched the slide of her tongue across her mouth. She blushed and turned away. The blush went hotter as she realized that the prince was watching Cabot watch her.
“I’m going to go get my donut,” she said.
17: SETH
Something weird was going on between Jack and the Grigori. Seth wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what. It made him feel guilty; if it weren’t for him, Jack would be part of the New York pack like all the other Thanes. Wolves weren’t meant to live in isolation.
Seth heard the hotel door close as he stepped into the shower. He realized that Jack had gone after the Grigori. He didn’t want to think about why.
Refusing to think about his cousin, though, left his mind open to wallow in all his other problems. Samuels was dead. Joshua had disappeared without working knowledge on how to be a werewolf. Alexander had blown Seth’s plans for returning to Boston out of the water. His territory needed him; people were dying. The king was right that just he and Jack couldn’t handle the city alone. Seth had hoped Alexander would reassign some of the Thanes to Boston. Seth had already asked Samuels if he would be willing to be part of Seth’s pack.
“Yes, sir,” Samuels had said with his warm Southern drawl. “I’m fixin’ to have your back.”
Seth leaned his head against the shower wall. Grief formed a hard knot in his chest. Samuels had been a good man. He believed that the code of chivalry applied to the Thanes. Samuels had been kind to Seth not because he was a prince but because Seth had been only thirteen when he came to live at the Castle. He was the type of wolf that Boston needed.
Someone pounded on the hotel door.
Had Jack locked himself out of the room?
Seth reached out for his cousin. No. Jack was still down the street.
He turned off the water. The knocking continued. Being that the door was visibly in danger of breaking under the force of the blows, it was simple to guess that it was a werewolf on the other side. The Thanes were too afraid of Seth to beat on his bedroom door. It had to be Isaiah.
“I’m coming!” Seth dressed quickly. He hated being naked around Isaiah. The man was several inches taller than Seth. Isaiah used his height to subtly snub Seth. With no clothes to sacrifice, it was far too tempting to shift to wolf. Even Isaiah wouldn’t play dominance games with him when Seth was a wolf.
Isaiah waited a minute and started to knock again.
Seth jerked the door open. “What?”
The one advantage to the bed and breakfast room was that it had a private entrance. Isaiah stood on the small wooden porch. He wore a different suit, shirt and tie than last night. The black Italian silk suit was the one Isaiah wore when nobility visited the Castle. It meant Isaiah expected to meet with someone he wanted to impress. It also meant he’d packed before chasing after Seth.
Isaiah stepped back out of striking range. “Give me the keys to the Porsche.”
“No,” Seth answered automatically. He paused to think up a reason. “I need a car to get home.”
“Take the train.” Isaiah held out his hands. “It’s my car. Give me the keys.”
If Seth went looking for Joshua, he’d need the mobility of a car. “It’s a fleet car, just like the Bentleys. They’re all registered to King Property.”
“It’s mine. I went to the dealership and ordered it.”
But Alexander had paid for it, which was why it was registered to the motor pool.
“I’m not going to let you strand me here,” Seth said.
“You can have the Bentley we drove up.” Isaiah tossed keys to him.
Seth caught the keys. Last night, he’d been thinking of the amount of Jack’s blood in the Grigori’s Jeep, not safety protocols. He’d parked the Porsche in the end space; in plain view of the street. One of Alexander’s big black Bentley luxury sedans sat beside the Grigori’s Jeep. Isaiah must have driven around town until he spotted the Porsche.
None of the Thanes were in sight. The Bentley sat five comfortably. The Porsche carried only two. Isaiah made it sound as if they’d only brought one car.
“What else do you have here? One of the other Bentleys? Or one of the Escalades for off-road?”
“What does it matter to you?” Isaiah snapped.
In other words, they’d only brought the Bentley. Isaiah didn’t care that three of the Thanes who came with him would be stranded wherever he’d left them. It meant that Seth should make sure that they weren’t miles from nowhere.
“Where are the others?”
“Waiting at the hotel.” Isaiah didn’t even gesture to indicate where that might may be.
The Grigori stated that she hadn’t been able to get two rooms in Utica since the area’s hotels were overrun by people attending the funerals and big game hunters and the media. It was sad that Seth trusted the Grigori’s word over his foster brother.
“How did you get a room?”
Isaiah snorted. “You call yourself a prince, but all you ever do is pretend you’re a man. If you just let people know what you are, then you wouldn’t be camping with your cousin and a Grigori.” He made a show of leaning forward to sniff the air coming from the hotel room. “You didn’t even get a taste of divine flesh? I would have thought with Cabot’s family history, a ménage à trois would have been on last night’s menu.”
Did Isaiah want to be smacked into the next county?
“I’m married,” Seth said coldly.
“Oh yes, what’s her name?”
Fine. If Isaiah wanted to play petty games, Seth could play petty games. Let Isaiah keep the Bentley and all the responsibilities that came with it.
“I want the Porsche.” Seth tossed the Bentley’s keys back to Isaiah. “Did you find Samuels’ body?”
Isaiah glanced away, refusing to admit failure. “We called the Marquis of Albany. He can find the damn needle in a haystack.”
“Half the humans in the county should know what happened to it. The police. The reporters.”
“The New Hartford police are under Wicker control. We had a long talk with the police chief. The Wickers kept him so focused on the hunt for Cabot that he hasn’t a clue what’s going on under his nose. He didn’t know where Samuels had been taken. He said that normally any dog that bit a human would be taken to the Oneida County Department of Health for rabies testing.”
Seth wondered if the man was still alive after Isaiah “talked” to him. “Rabies?”
“They’re worried that the brat that Samuels changed might have rabies. Apparently, no one thought to start the kid on shots before he disappeared. If the boy had gone feral, rabies would have been the least of their concerns. It took us a while to find someone connected to the Department of Health. The damn thing keeps bankers’ hours.”
