CHAPTER ONE

On Patient Werewolves & Exploding Kitsune

“Barker!” The shout cut through Maximillian Barker’s eardrum, making him jump. He hit his rickety desk with the tops of his thighs. Of course it wobbled, scattering paperwork everywhere.

“What?” he asked the ear-bud.

“Get your scrawny ass down to the parking lot.”

Max put the form he’d been frowning over down on his now messy desk. Werewolves. Why did I have to get the werewolves for processing?

“Barker, you lazy fuck, move,” the ear-bud squawked again. His boss wasn’t known for her patience.

“I’m moving. I’m moving. You lick your girlfriend’s ass with that tongue?” Max was in the hall and heading toward the parking lot. Coworkers lunged out of his way. He refused to run. Max was tall with a propensity to gangle, meaning that him moving at speed looked unstable and might cause a panic. But he did scowl. Well, scowl more than usual.

“Why? You offering to sub in, you useless waste of space?”

Speaking of useless. “What the hell you need me for, boss? You never need me.”

“You’re the only Placer we got on staff.”

Max picked up his pace. He was the only Placer on staff because no one ever needed a Placer. Not in this government-mandated paper-pushing hellhole. So if they actually did need a Placer, it was likely to be bad. Really bad.

“What’s the damage type?”

“Shifter.”

Of course it is. “Tell me more.”

The muttering over Max’s ear-bud was embarrassed. “Not a civilian, one of ours.”

“Crap. Do we know the expected consequence?”

“Fire.”

“Oh shit.” Max began to sprint. Let everyone start panicking. He was.

* * *

“Bryan Ignacio Frederiksen the Fourth, you will get your ass down to DURPS and deal with this. I’m not asking you again. In fact, I’m not asking you at all. I’m ordering you. Do I need to use VOICE? You I know I hate doing that.”

Biff stared at his younger brother. Oh man, he’s serious. “Why me?”

Alec, the brother-in-question, glared at him.

Marvin, the brother-in-question’s boyfriend, clapped a hand over plump lips to hide his smile. “My love, I do believe your Beta is whining. Six foot four, two hundred and twenty pounds of badass werewolf, and he’s whining.”

“I hate lines.” Biff tried to convert his whine into a manly grumble.

“Of course you do, sweet-cheeks.” Marvin’s tone was all syrupy and mocking. “DURPS is worse than the DMV. But you’re the only pack member who can take it and not get riled. Alec’s got interviews. I’ve got work. And the others are, well, the others. You just stand in line, fill out the forms, sit tight, all big and menacing, and glower. Yes, honey, exactly like you are now. Good boy. Good with the practicing of the glower. Good little werewolf.”

Biff curled his top lip back and showed canines. Not at Marvin – he wasn’t that stupid. Just at the floor.

Alec quirked an eyebrow at him.

Biff instantly stopped.

Alec was a tolerant and easygoing Alpha…except when someone threatened his mate. His gorgeous, blond, charming, annoying-as-hell mate.

Marvin continued, oblivious to the wolf posturing occurring right under his nose. “You’ll be out of there in, oh, I don’t know, three hours?”

Biff swore.

Marvin and Alec laughed.

Biff tried one last desperate bid to save his morning. “Send the enforcers. They talk.”

Alec shook his head and went back to his laptop, tinkering with the formatting of his CV. “We are trying to make a good impression, brother dear. I’m not sending my enforcers to the much-vaunted Department of Unnatural Registration and Processing of Shifters. That’s asking for trouble. Next thing you know, some cat shifter gives them the side eye and they bust up the place just for shits and giggles.”

“Or cock a leg and pee in a corner.” Biff could see his brother’s point.

“Who’s peeing in Alec’s corner?” Judd wanted to know, wandering in shirtless and yawning. The enforcer smelled of sleep and the bloody remnants of last night’s hunt.

Mmm, thought Biff happily at the memory. Rabbit. California bunnies were fat, sassy, and tasty.

“You are, apparently,” said Marvin. Little punk loved to make trouble. He thought he was hilarious.

Judd could “yes and” as good as the next pack member. “Which corner?” He looked around, reaching for the top of his sweats. “Lovejoy’s been in the bathroom for an hour.”

“Wanker,” said Biff.

“More likely wanking.” Judd poured himself some coffee, splashing the counter.

“Oh my god, clean that up!” Alec threw his hands in the air. “We are guests here. Behave. All of you!”

“Tell that to the man who left sand in the bathtub,” said Lovejoy, ambling into the kitchen, hair wet, wearing a rather fetching silk kimono that barely covered him. No doubt it was their absent hostess’s robe. Biff worried for its seams.

Lovejoy never worried about anything. “That coffee I smell? Boooyah.”

Alec looked at his boyfriend. “Marvin! Really? You couldn’t rinse the sand off outside? There’s a hose for a reason.”

The merman looked faintly embarrassed. “Sorry, babe, I forgot.”

The Alpha’s attention moved quickly on. “Lovejoy, go away and put on proper clothing. You can’t just borrow a drag queen’s kimono. You’ll be hung, drawn, and quartered. And not in a nice way.”

Lovejoy leered. “I know about the hung part.”

Alec stood. He was a not very prepossessing six feet or so, lean and almost pretty rather than handsome. Nevertheless, the act of standing cowed all the other wolves in the room. Alec might not have looked it, but he was Alpha to the bone.

Lovejoy gave a snort, put his mug down, and shambled back the way he’d come.

While he was gone, Judd began to saturate Lovejoy’s coffee with sugar. Biff gave him a little headshake of disapproval but Judd pretended not to see. Well, it would be funny – Lovejoy hated sweets.

From the other room they could hear him singing. “Gonna give you the moon, baby! Gonna make you swoon, baby! Awough awoughah.”

“Oh my god,” said Alec, “I am surrounded by idiots. Light of my life, save me.” He sat and leaned against Marvin, who petted him absently. The merman was proofreading Alec’s CV.

Judd winced. “I hate country music.”

“But this is werewolf country!” yelled back Lovejoy, his werewolf hearing easily picking up Judd’s slur. “We got us a bona fide celebrity now. We owe our support.” He sang louder.

“Lovejoy,” said the calm voice of their youngest pack member, “I don’t think your singing constitutes support.”

“Exactly. Thank you.” Judd ruffled the newcomer’s hair.

Colin tried not to flinch away from the undemanding affection.

Judd instantly withdrew his hand, looking pained.

Biff, sensitive to the undercurrents of the pack, kept the topic rolling, ignoring Colin’s awkwardness. “Any louder and the locals will organize a protest.”

Judd agreed. “I think it’s safe to say no one in San Francisco likes country-western.”

Colin poured himself coffee.

Biff watched Colin from under his lashes. Alec was doing the same. They worried about him. Colin was shy about touch, and that wasn’t healthy in a werewolf. He was a small, darling boy, with a killer brain and a gentle disposition. They were both pretty sure that his brother, a top Boston enforcer, had joined their dumb little pack expressly to get Colin away from his family. As bad as Biff’s dad had been about Alec being gay, Colin’s family was worse.

Alec, however, being an Alpha, could help Colin heal in many different ways. Today, he did it by showing how much the young man was needed.

“Colin, help me with this thing? Every time I try to justify the doc, it just bongs at me. Make it stop with the bonging. Please?”

Colin, who was a bit of a computer whiz (or possibly just young enough by comparison to the other pack members to seem that way) came immediately over to see what his Alpha was complaining about.

Lovejoy came back in wearing board shorts instead of the kimono. “Eggs, guys? Or pancakes?”

“Both,” they all agreed.

Lovejoy had been a decent line cook back east and so took on breakfast detail. Everyone was on their own for lunch and they usually subsisted on takeout for dinner. But Alec believed in proper breakfasts, so Lovejoy was conscripted to prepare them.

He did it cheerfully enough, banging about the kitchen, getting out supplies.

“Thank you, Lovejoy,” said Alec, because he was also a gentleman.

Lovejoy blushed at recognition from his Alpha.

Alec muttered something about getting a schedule together to better distribute housework. They were house-sitting the San Francisco apartment on the basis of goodwill and old friendships, neither of which started with werewolves. Alec and Biff’s household ghost back home had made the arrangements. Thus, Alec was being obsessively careful with his pack’s messy tendencies. Not only did he not want to upset their hostess, a very important local drag queen, but their ghost could get vicious…even from thousands of miles away.

Biff didn’t want to remind Alec that chore distribution would have to wait until they got regular jobs and predictable schedules. Because that would remind Alec that they didn’t have either. Their situation was precarious. A pack as small as theirs was best living together, at least to start. It’d help them bond and keep the costs down. But finding a place large enough for seven guys in the Bay Area? Not easy. Besides, they weren’t even sure the local government would allow them to stay.

Bah. I suppose first step is to get us registered with DURPS. Then we can tap the local shifter forums for housing recommendations. Would help with the job hunting, too.

Lovejoy clattered bowls, scattering flour everywhere, and started singing again.

Alec glared at the flour splotches.

Then Lovejoy took a big gulp of coffee and promptly spat it out. “Holy sugar, wolfman!”

Judd rumbled his amusement at a prank well executed. Biff gave him another glare. Judd ignored him.

Alec panicked. “Really? Really! This is a nice apartment. Or it was before we came to stay. We’ve been here three days and it looks like a war zone!”

Catching his urgency, the pack settled. Lovejoy cleaned up his spill and the flour. Judd tidied the living room. Colin fussed with Alec’s CV, making it all pretty. With seven werewolves (and a merman) staying in a two-bedroom apartment, there wasn’t a lot they could do about the crowding, but no one liked the stress in their Alpha’s voice.

Lovejoy tried to lighten the mood. “What shall we do for dinner tonight?

“Colin was saying there’s this Mongolian place, supposed to be good. We could order from them?” Marvin looked to his mate for support.

Colin clicked over on Alec’s computer and called up the listing.

“Looks like it’s all noodles and dumplings,” grumbled Alec.

“Sounds like Judd’s sex life,” said Lovejoy.

“I wish,” Judd shot back.

Marvin gave an amused gurgle. Alec petted his mate fondly.

Still, Biff felt his Alpha’s anxiety in his bones – as Beta, this drove him into a state of unease. He wasn’t surprised when his brother rounded on him. Whether he realized it or not, Alec shifted focus to his Beta because concentrating on Biff was calming.

“It has to be you, bro. Please, I need you at DURPS.”

There it was. Biff could no more resist a plea from his Alpha then he could a VOICE command. Plus, much as he loved his pack, the apartment was awfully chaotic. At least this was an excuse to get out for a while.

So he nodded and typed “Department of Unnatural Registration and Processing of Shifters” into his map app. The main office of DURPS was at the Marin Civic Center. A picture of the iconic building with its circular windows, salmon archways, and round blue roof popped up.

Alec let out a sigh of gratitude at Biff’s voiceless acquiescence.

Biff loved the surge of pride this gave him. He didn’t let the smile show on his face, though. He had a grumpy-motherfucker image to maintain.

“Sunscreen,” ordered Alec. Thus annoying Biff back into genuine grumpiness. As if Biff weren’t the elder. As if Biff hadn’t been applying 100 proof sunscreen every day of his adult life like the good responsible werewolf he was. As if he didn’t roll out of bed and slather that slimy shit on.

I need a job. Best way to avoid my brother’s nagging on the regular. Which I guess means we better register our pack.

Biff picked up his helmet and left the apartment, without further comment – or breakfast.

* * *

Max approached the distraught kitsune with caution, treating her like the fox-shifting quintessence bomb that she was. The kitsune looked somewhat familiar. But Max wasn’t exactly friendly with his coworkers, and there were a lot of them at the Civic Center.

The little female was positively vibrating. She was wearing a black floaty dress, leather jacket, and ridiculously big boots. Her hair was magenta. Kitsune were powerful but usually the nicest of the shifters – easygoing, flirty. They were fox enough to go all trickster but were rarely malicious or angry. This one looked volatile.

“Name?” he muttered to his ear-bud.

“What you gonna do? Try to talk her down? Don’t be a jackass.” The tiny red flower, draped coquettishly over Max’s right ear, vibrated with his boss’s annoyance. “Just take the hit like a good little sumage. You should be excited, you so rarely get used.”

There was a definite sneer in Trickle’s voice. Like DURPS was getting its money’s worth out of Maximillian Barker at last.

Ain’t my fault I’m Placer. You still hired my sorry ass, Max wanted to protest. Max always wanted to protest, but it’d do no good. Instead he opened his smart mouth and said, “Yeah? Tell that to the stud I had in my bed last night.”

“You sick fuck, I don’t wanna know about your lunch, let alone your sex life.”

“I’m having a nice bratwurst.” Max couldn’t tell for certain, but he was pretty sure his boss was trying not to laugh.

He reached up to the little orange flower. It squeaked at him, “Barker, don’t you dare!” He pulled it off and tucked it over his shirt collar. It cracked at him angrily. He ignored it.

The kitsune looked like a sweet-faced girl of about sixteen. Operative word being looked. Any given shifter could be at least five times that and the rarer old ones…well. A kitsune this powerful had to be at least sixty.

The shifter couldn’t be more than four feet tall – but she was hovering about a foot off the ground, the air around her tinted gray and rippling. Her great big dark eyes were fixed on Max. No one else dared to approach. In fact, anyone with sense had fled the parking lot. Not good. Not good at all.

“What’s your problem, then, little fox?” Max had no doubt his voice showed his irritation, but he tried to be nice. It was first thing in the morning, way too early for quintessence meltdowns in Civic Center parking lots.

“They send a fucking sumage for me?” She said sumage in a way that made it sound even more like sewage than normal. Clearly, nice wasn’t the way to handle her.

Max stopped, slouched at little, tried not to look tall and threatening. Trickle was right. It probably wasn’t a good idea to talk to this fox. Every time Max opened his mouth these days, he pissed someone off.

The kitsune’s too-big eyes glared at him – red-rimmed and full of tears. Just great, emotional fox. This one was going to burst from heartache, not anger. Much harder to talk a woman out of heartache. Not that he was any good with women. Not his area of interest.

Max tried to sound sympathetic. “What happened? Boyfriend troubles? Tail troubles?”

“Now you’re condescending? Lowest rank, most useless of mages, and you talk down to me?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.” Max cast a significant look at her hovering feet well above the uneven pavement. “Well, more than it already is.”

She looked down at herself and shuddered. “Fine, yes, I’m a little overwrought right now. But what good could you possibly…”

Max grumbled, “Placer.”

She was kitsune enough for a flash of sympathy. Then she shook herself. “Like I’d share my personal life with a sumage.” She continued to vibrate.

“At least you know I understand pain.” Max tried to make his expression sympathetic. The ear-bud buzzed at him, petals wiggling. He refused to drape it back on.

Then the fox shifter dropped to earth with a sigh. She slumped and sat, perching on the edge of the curb. “He’s such a shithead.”

Max could sympathize. “Honey, they all are. Now, you gonna blast me to get it out of your system or can I go back to work? I’m not your fucking confessional.”

“You asked me what happened.”

“I was trying to be a nice guy. An aberration, I assure you.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Sweetheart, all men are dicks. The only thing to do is switch teams or see if the next one is less dickish. Haven’t you learned that by now? You’re what, fifty years old or something?”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you! More like ninety.”

Impressive. She’d be one of the first born shifters, then. Before Super Saturation, all shifters were made. “Ninety? So why’s my sorry ass giving you love advice?”

“I hate sumages.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Imagine being in my position. Sent out to handle your drama when I got my own to deal with. Stick it to me so we can both get on with our mornings.”

“Bite me.”

“Not my type, sweetheart.”

Impasse.

She was still vibrating, the gray still rippling around her. Max could feel the quintessence tingling against his skin. His trace marks zinged with it. He opened up to take it when she did go off, baring himself wide. He could handle it. He was the only one that could. A sumage, a dud, full of vast abilities to tap quintessence, yet he could only clean up someone else’s mess.

At this juncture, it’d be better for everyone if she’d just let it out. He hadn’t had a good blast to disPlace in months. Could use the practice. It’ll hurt like hell, though. Proper civic mages swore it never hurt when it was your own source of quintessence, but Max would never get to experience that. All he got was loaded down with someone else’s. It would scrape over and under his skin like a wire hairbrush, shooting along his tracers, leaving the smell of hot chemical coolant behind and a burning itchy ache.

“Soooo, this shithead boyfriend of which you speak.” Max sat on the curb a little away from her and stretched his long legs out. He made his voice lilting. “Tell old Maximillian all about it, honey.”

“Cheated, of course. What else would he do?”

“So he cheated, who cares?”

“I care!”

“Bullshit. Few kitsune are monogamous.”

“Oh right, you self-satisfied prick, just because we tend to go poly doesn’t mean a man can’t cheat? Don’t you know anything? There are still rules. Negotiations, lists of what’s allowed and what isn’t. He did…something…that wasn’t allowed.”

Max hid a smile. “Wrong sex?”

She bared tiny perfect teeth at him. “Wrong species. Banged some nahual stud.”

Max blinked. The size difference alone! Male kitsune were usually smaller than females, while a male puma shifter could be two hundred pounds and over six foot. I mean nahuals are hard to resist, we all know that. Heh. Hard. “How on earth did that work?”

The kitsune looked smug. “We can hover, remember, you idiot? And nahual are pretty darn flexible. You know…cat shifters.”

Max waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, that I knew.”

“Oh, but there’s more.”

Max kinda wanted to meet the boyfriend kitsune at this juncture. Oh, not for that! Yech. Just to encounter such a paragon of un-virtue.

“Another nahual?”

“Worse.”

Max blinked. What other shifter would want to bed a tiny-dicked big-eyed…?

“Bakeneko.”

“Of course.” Well, at least the small cat shifter is more compatible size-wise with a kitsune.

“Pretty, tall, long hair, legs for days.”

Max gave her an incredulous look. Conservation of mass being what it was, and most bakeneko being domestic cat shifters, they tended to be as small as kitsune.

“Okay, legs for hours. But he went to her over me!”

“So just invite them all to an orgy and have done with it. Better use of your energy than throwing all the local quintessence at my sad, lonely old face. Some of us are getting jealous here.”

She looked sullen. “It wasn’t negotiated beforehand.”

Max’s ear-bud shivered in an aggressive manner. The processing paperwork on his desk was no doubt piling up. “Look, darling, while I find your sex life fascinating, could we get on to the part where you explode so I can get back to my sorry-ass desk and shit-ass job?”

She barked out a laugh. “Isn’t this also your job?”

“Not often. I’m Placer. We aren’t needed very much except when kitsune with the reputation for burning things start hovering in parking lots.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’d only be needed for Surges otherwise. And Surges never lose control.”

“Sticks too far up their asses.”

The kitsune laughed. “Exactly. You know, you’re not half bad for a sumage.”

“I get that from the discerning types.”

“I’m Gladiola.”

“Maximillian. You can call me Max.”

Things were looking up. Cool, I might not have to…

“Gladdy! I’m sorry, but you’re being so unreasonable.” The boyfriend appeared to have arrived.

Gladiola stood and instantly began hovering again.

“How could you?” She pointed a tiny trembling hand.

Max stood as well. I’m stuck in the middle of some interspecies soap opera. Wait. Why doesn’t such a thing exist? Hollywood is totally falling down on the job. This is some golden crap.

And then she lost it.

Max knew it was coming the moment the boyfriend showed up.

The quintessence burst out of her in one violent wave. That rare type of discharge, pure energy so huge and unfettered most mages couldn’t even gather that much in order to cast it. Frankly, most shifters weren’t Alpha or ancient enough to control their own shifter natures, let alone harness excess. It took a strong kitsune to pack such a punch.

The invisible tingling blast bowled Max over, threw him backward, slamming him against the side of the closest car, surging into him. It wanted to be fire. Burned with the need.

Max slid down into total bonelessness. Fortunately, being Placer, he could take the massive hit without combusting. He spread it out and up, redirecting energy into matter as a sudden burst of…ear-buds. Or thousands of tiny flowers that looked like ear-buds. They scattered, covering the cars around him in a dusting of small orange petals.

It hurt, though. The trace lines all over Max’s body carried the quintessence as a combined burn, electric shock, and bad case of poison ivy. A mesh of pain flew through him, neck to wrists to ankles. It netted him, turning his skin inside out, shredded and scalded and itchy. It fried his poor ear-bud, turning it into shriveled brown mush.

“Shit, that hurts.” He lay, staring up at the clear blue California sky. He felt his body ought to be smoking, like that of a cartoon character. He was covered in tiny flowers. Far above, a single fluffy cloud floated, giving him the metaphorical finger.

He couldn’t move – the pain was receding but he was weaker than that kitsune boyfriend would have been once the nahual finished with him. How did that work? Well, the boyfriend is here. Maybe I’ll just ask him.

Unluckily for Max, his mouth was still operational. “So Gladdy’s boyfriend – or should I say ex-boyfriend? – that thing with the puma shifter, how’d you and he, you know…fit?”

“Ignore him. Fucking sumage has a total fascination with kitsune sex lives.” Gladiola sounded better. Calm. Controlled. Well, bully for her.

“Hey. Be nice.” Max continued to speak at the insulting cloud, unwilling to try turning his head just yet. “I’ve a fascination with everyone’s sex lives. You’re nothing special. My own is so nonexistent, I gotta get my jollies somewhere.”

“Over-share, Maximillian.” Gladiola sounded like an exasperated maiden aunt.

“Who is this guy?” The boyfriend kitsune came over and looked down at Max. Must be a novel experience for him, looking down at anyone.

Max would have stuck his hand out but he still couldn’t move. Besides, kitsune were so diminutive, did one give them a finger instead of a hand? Which finger? With this lad, if he used the middle one, it’d be taken as an invitation. Max covered a snort of laughter by introducing himself. “Maximillian Barker. Nice to meet you. Why don’t you take your lady friend off for a smoothie at the cafe? Sort this all out in a calm, controlled manner?”

“If only to get away from you?” suggested Gladiola, also coming to look down at him.

“Exactly.”

She laughed. Then bent and patted his cheek with one small hand in a totally patronizing way. “You’re all right, for a sumage. Thanks for taking the hit. Interesting choice of dispersal conversion. Pretty. I always liked scarlet pimpernels. Oop, there they go.”

With a great ricocheting whomp, the flowers all around them returned to quintessence. Just like that, they evaporated back into their preferred immaterial state.

“Next time I’ll try for gladiolas. More symbolic,” said Max, but it was just him and the cloud – the two kitsune had left. “Okay, see if I care, green carnations it shall be, henceforth.”

He heard Gladdy ask, as the two fox shifters moved away, “How’d you get here, honey?”

“Brought the bug.”

Max twisted his head to look over at a mechanical bee the size of a tricycle parked nearby. Kitsune equivalent of a bad-boy motorcycle. Gladdy should have known.