Chapter Nine

As he bumped the refrigerator door closed with his hip, Blue turned the half-dollar-sized coin over in his hand. Heavy thing. He’d never seen anything like it, at least not in person. When he’d spotted it on the dresser, he’d thought it was one of those arcade tokens kids used at certain game centers, but he’d picked it up and found that it was metal, not plastic. The embossing on the back was of a pastoral scene—a shepherd and his flock.

On the front was the classic profile of a man with a thick mass of wavy hair, on top of which was a crown of laurel leaves. A sun made a halo, of sorts, behind his head.

The print at the bottom must have worn away, but what little Blue could see looked like Greek.

He slid it into his pocket to research later. He was pretty sure he’d seen that shepherd scene before in one of the research books he’d kept after completing his master’s thesis, but the book was in his house back in Vegas. He’d have to guess which one it was and see if he could find a scan of the page online.

He grabbed the orange juice he’d poured from the counter and carried it to the hall.

Willa was still hunched and rocking. The scent of her sweat was acrid in his nose. That was fear. He knew the scent well enough because it was the same smell he whiffed whenever he faced down one of his weaker opponents.

He didn’t know what had set her off, but he did know that if he didn’t get her to slow down her breathing soon, she was probably going to pass out. That wasn’t the way he liked to see a woman swoon. He would have preferred having a little something to do with their faint state.

“I’ve got some orange juice for you,” he said. “I thought about pouring a splash of gin into it, but I couldn’t find any. You must keep the good stuff hidden.”

No response.

“Take a little sip for me?”

No response. More rocking.

He was pretty sure she’d heard him. Every time he talked, her shoulders would jerk upward a bit as though the sound of his voice was grating to her ears.

The volume, maybe?

Again, he knew fuck all about the woman, but he’d made the rookie mistake of trying to treat her like she was normal. She wasn’t normal, and neither was he. He’d never met a supernatural being who didn’t have some neuroses, but Willa probably had heaps more than a person with a standard life expectancy.

He didn’t know what she’d been through. It seemed finding out would be a good start if he were ever going to make sense of her—if they were ever going to be able to cooperate.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, making his voice as quiet as he could. “If you take one good sip of this juice, I’ll go away.”

Kind of a lie.

The thought of leaving her like that twisted a violent knot into his gut. She made his life way harder than it needed to be, but he didn’t want her to hurt. He didn’t get off on seeing people like that.

He knelt beside her.

Her eyes were red and wet. The hair at the sides of her head was slick with sweat. He wondered then why she cut it so short. He’d known plenty of women with pixie cuts, but their styles had been professionally shorn and capably trimmed as needed. He knew next to nothing about women’s hairstyles, but to him, Willa’s hair seemed like it’d been ruthlessly shorn without an end goal in mind, besides the hair just being gone. As though she’d put a guard on a pair of clippers and hacked it all off to the same length whenever she got a mind to.

Why do you do that, woman?

Even if she didn’t care about fashion or primping, most people at least tried not to present themselves in ways that made people stare with the wrong kind of curiosity. Maybe she didn’t notice.

“I swear,” he whispered. “This juice is a hundred percent pure. I didn’t even lick the rim of the glass.”

At that, Willa stopped rocking.

Stupid shit’s what you need? Okay, then.

He shrugged.

“You know, I think the raccoons under your Jeep are hungry. When I walked by on the way to the front door, they were thrusting those little black hands out at me from the running boards. It was like something out of a horror movie. I don’t know. I just feel a certain kind of way about critters that have such dexterous fingers. Can you imagine the trouble shapeshifters would get into if we had paws like that when we’re in our animal forms? Hell, the Lamarrs alone could keep us on the chase, cleaning up their messes for the rest of our natural lives. By the way, when I tossed Billy into the basement, he whimpered for his mommy. Who is his mother, anyway?”

Willa pulled in a shuddering breath and said, almost too quiet to hear, “Mary Lamarr. She . . . left ages ago.”

Ah!

His tactic had some potential. He inched forward a bit, still trying to give her space, but needing to acclimate her to his presence. He might have insinuated that he’d leave her alone, but he wasn’t going anywhere. There were too many mysteries in her for him to unravel, and he liked a good mystery.

“Why’d she leave?” he asked.

“Same reason the women always do. They were afraid of losing their minds.”

“How often does that happen?” He nudged her naked wrist with the bottom of the juice glass.

Her fingers relaxed from the straining fist she’d been making.

“We’ve . . . lost . . . one or two each year for the past ten years, maybe.”

“Pack seems pretty balanced, though, male to female.”

She closed her eyes and dragged her arm across them. “A lot of the women currently in the pack came in from other groups, one in Oklahoma particularly. Also one in South Dakota.”

“Why there?”

“The old alpha had installed a sort of motorcycle culture into the pack. He used to organize road trips. They’d all go and raise hell for a week and come back with swapped mates.”

“That’s not normal.” In fact, Blue had never heard of any shit like that. For the most part, Coyotes found mates in the same way other predator shapeshifters did. Trial and error, or else “arrangements.”

Given his personal circumstances, Blue wasn’t fond of “arrangements.”

“Kept them from getting bored, I guess,” Willa said.

“That’s not how relationships are supposed to work.”

She let out a resounding sigh. “You’re the expert?”

“Touché.” He tapped her wrist with the bottom of the glass again. “Just because I’m stalling a bit with a relationship in my life doesn’t mean I don’t understand people. My situation isn’t a gold star example of what a relationship is supposed to be. Hell, I’ve never even heard the woman talk, and trust me, I’m not afraid to make phone calls. You can’t judge me by what you see. I know what relationships are supposed to look like and what folks can potentially get out of them.”

“Why are you marrying her if you really don’t want to?”

“Because I don’t have a choice. What I have here is just an illusion of freedom.”

“But you’re an alpha. Your father shouldn’t be able to tell you what to do.”

“I’m an alpha with an asterisk. I’m still attached to Sparks.” He chuckled, but he didn’t really feel like laughing. “I could get recalled at any time. As soon as my would-be father-in-law gets tired of waiting, probably. You may be getting rid of me sooner than you think.”

Willa picked up her head and laid her left cheek atop her knee. Her eyes were still wet and bloodshot. Puffy bags hung beneath them.

What triggered her?

He was going to be endlessly pondering that. Unanswered questions gave him heartburn. He gave her another tap with the juice.

She took it. Didn’t take a sip, though. Just knit her eyebrows and stared at the glass. “I don’t know if you were aware of this, but . . . Mason Foye’s older son is half-Coyote.”

“You serious? I had no idea.”

She nodded. “His name’s Nick. I think he’s three or four now. His mother, Jill, was from a pack in New York State. She came out here as a teen to visit cousins and ended up staying. She finally went back because her mind broke, and I guess she didn’t want Nick to see her like that.”

“Oh hell.” Cringing, Blue passed a hand through his hair. “Where’s the kid now? New York?”

“No. He lives in Maria. Or, rather, out in the unincorporated area nearby. He lives with Mason. Mason has full custody.”

“That’s not normal.”

Willa’s eyebrows inched up. In the low light, they had a bronze glint to them when they moved. Another thing that seemed out of place in a way he couldn’t quite conceptualize. “Define normal.”

“Good point.” He drummed his fingers against his thighs and rolled his gaze up to the ceiling, thinking.

Technically, it was his right as the Coyote pack’s alpha to demand that Nick be returned to the pack. Blue’s father would have made such a demand, but Blue didn’t know if he wanted to open that can of worms. He didn’t want to bleed out any more pack members, but at the same time, he didn’t want to gain any that would bring a war with them.

“Leave him be,” Willa said, as though she were dwelling in his head and could hear every thought. “Except in rare instances, Cougar genetics prevail. Because Nick’s father is a Cougar and Jill wasn’t Mason’s true mate, Nick’s never going to be a shapeshifter, neither cat nor canine. There’s no good reason to drag him back into this pack. He’d just get picked on.”

Knowing the pack as he did, Blue didn’t doubt that. “Are Mason and Jill cordial?”

Bringing the juice closer to her lips, Willa nodded. “More so now than when she was here. I rely on gossip mostly, but I care about Nick so I make sure to ask folks who can find out for me.”

“Like kids in the band?”

She gave a bashful shrug. “They see right through me, but they’re pretty mature kids. They don’t tattle.”

He flicked the bottom of the juice glass with his nails. “Drink that.”

In spite of the scolding look she gave him, she did at least take a sip.

Good.

For some reason, that little bit of trust made him happier than when his Apple stock surged.

“I think it’s interesting that you work with such a diverse cross-section of kids,” he said. “None of the parents are bothered?”

Another sip followed by a thoughtful scowl. “I think they may have been at first, but not anymore. I think everyone’s figured out that I’m harmless, in spite of my affiliations. Although I’ve been in Maria a long time, I only took the school job five years ago. I was mostly in the shadows before then. That’s what long-lived people like me have to do so that folks in town don’t get too suspicious about the fact we don’t age like everyone else. When the school system coughed up enough money to split the band director job into two positions, I sort of put an ear to the ground to find out what it entailed. Before then, there was one teacher who worked at both the high school and the middle school. It was grueling for him, to say the least.”

“Shit. I’d imagine so.” She’d started to set the glass down, so he nudged it back upward.

She sighed.

“That guy still at the high school?”

She raised her brows over the rim of the glass and, after swallowing a sip, said, “No. Retired two years ago. I’d just started getting good and settled into a routine at the middle school, and I didn’t think about applying. I don’t think I have the right constitution for high schoolers. They’re too much like adults in ways that aren’t always so good. So, I’m holding down the fort at MMS. I get the kids musically literate and able to figuratively walk and chew gum at the same time, and then I send them up to ninth grade where they apparently get hazed for a year before they’re even allowed to put the silly plume in their marching band caps.”

“Sounds like there’s no love lost between you and the high school director.”

She drained what was left in the juice glass, grimaced, and relaxed lower against the wall. She wasn’t shaking anymore, a fact that his inner animal appreciated immensely. He wasn’t generally so affected by other people’s nervousness. In fact, Blue didn’t do nervous. He was sure as shit feeling hers, though.

Curious, he massaged at the knot forming at the back of his neck.

Doesn’t make sense.

“I don’t agree with his teaching methods, is all,” she said, pouting. “He treats band like a varsity sport, and that’s unfortunate because there are a handful of kids who graduate from high school not understanding just how talented they are. They’re so caught up in the drills and the formations, and then they get burned out and take the orchestra semester off in spring. Or maybe they’ll only do pep band, playing the same ten songs again and again instead of learning what they’re really capable of.”

“You sure you don’t want to teach high school? Because it sounds to me like you care a little bit.”

Laughing, she closed her eyes. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard her laugh, or if he ever had. “I want to teach high school in the same way I want to be patron of a Coyote pack.”

“Hmm.” Seemed like a good place to redirect the conversation. There were so many burning questions he had, and they kept getting pushed to the back burner in his mind. Willa would have probably been an investigator’s nightmare. They’d never be able to keep track of what they’d asked and what she’d actually answered.

“You said your siblings have packs, too?” he asked.

Her eyelids raised slightly, though didn’t fully open. She appeared to be staring down at her hands. She was tapping out a sequence on her left palm with the opposite four fingers.

“How many instruments do you play?” he asked and immediately groaned at himself.

Here we go again. Distracted.

He still wanted to know, though. She was a brand-new book he couldn’t wait to crack open—one he’d probably have to read twice to make any sense of.

“I . . . I don’t know. I lost track. If there’s an instrument in existence I haven’t seen, I can probably figure out how to make a musical noise with it.” She cast him a shy, upward gaze, which she quickly pulled back. His fault for looking at her, probably. “Obviously, I’m better at teaching the more familiar ones.”

“What was your first one?”

“Hard to remember now which I was drawn to first. There were so many. Something with strings, for certain. I still tend to think of myself as a string player, although I’m a pretty proficient keyboard player, too. I was glad when harpsichords went out of fashion. I couldn’t stand that darned plinking.”

Chuckling, he settled onto his rear end on the opposite wall of the hall from her. “How were you making money before you took the teaching gig?”

“Moving from one orchestra or wind ensemble to the next. Pay isn’t great unless you’re famous, and I can’t seek fame for obvious reasons.”

“You don’t perform at your actual level around others, do you? You never let on how long you’ve been at it.”

She shook her head and let out a long breath. Didn’t sound wistful to him. Just tired. “No. I always got frightened whenever I’d see my name mentioned in particular in a newspaper review about a performance. The last thing I need is for people to try to track me with a trail of newspaper clippings. I haven’t changed my name in thirty years.”

“Willa’s not your real name?”

She blew a raspberry of amusement. “Oh, not even close. I’ve been Willa something-or-other since I landed in western Europe in the eighteenth century, though. If anyone were to call me by my birth name now, I probably wouldn’t respond. And . . . ” Her mouth hung open for a few silent beats. Her gaze sharpened on him. Then she closed her mouth and shook her head hard. “I . . . have no idea why I’m telling you all this.”

“Because I asked isn’t a good enough reason?” he asked in a tone laced with incredulity. He could practically feel more gray hairs of Willa-induced frustration sprouting on his head.

Her eyebrows darted up as though being asked anything about herself was such a shocking thing.

“I like knowing,” he said. “You gonna tell me your name?”

She snorted and gazed down the hall. “No.”

“Come on. Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

Her head tilted toward him and eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Blue’s not actually your name?”

He shrugged. “Well, it’s part of my government name. Is it my first name? Nope. It was my mother’s maiden name, and she wanted me to have it, too.” And it was the name she snatched back after the nasty divorce. “She came from a pack that tended to have bluer fur compared to the reds and browns you generally see.”

“That’s interesting,” Willa mused softly, staring at the wall in front of her. “How people get their names, I mean.”

“I happen to agree.”

He waited. Wondered in silence.

He still wanted to know her name—wanted to know what identities she’d shed and where she’d shed them. Wanted to know where she’d started and what made her decide to move on from all the places she’d been.

Wanted to know what made her tick.

But she didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, letting out a breath in exasperation.

Keep it movin’, alpha.

“You can tell me about your siblings’ packs instead.” If he found that out, he could probably find out what he needed to know about Willa by researching the people she was related to.

“They’ve been at it longer,” she said sourly. “Three of my half brothers have Wolf packs. They—”

“Uh, Willa?” Diana shouted through the screen door. “You in there?”

Blue threw up his hands. “Of course she’s back now.”

“What’s wrong?” Willa called up as she scrambled to her feet with Blue’s help. “Did something happen with King? He didn’t get off the leash again, did he?”

“Uh. No, I have him. Can you come out for a sec . . . and show this, uh, guy that you’re okay?”

“What guy?” The reckless woman headed down the hall without waiting for an answer.

All Blue could do was shake his head and follow behind her with her abandoned juice glass. He set it on the kitchen table as they passed.

Unlatching the screen door, Willa murmured, “Oh boy,” under her breath and stepped outside onto the stoop.

“Oh boy,” seemed too mild an exclamation to Blue. He’d encountered the wild-eyed citizen on the sidewalk a few times since arriving in Maria. He’d already been warned by the town’s resident elves to avoid him. He was a “sensitive”—he saw things he wasn’t supposed to be able to see and had a knack for being in places at the exact right time to witness paranormal activity that guys like Blue were normally pretty good at keeping secret.

Of course, the Coyote pack in Maria had frequent slipups. There was no way of knowing how much damage they’d already done with local relations.

Willa took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over the short bristles of her hair. “What’s wrong, Carl?”

“He wanted to see you in the flesh,” Diana offered. She was standing on the walkway with King straining on the leash. King wasn’t threatening the guy, precisely, but still trying aggressively to get in his space. King was a powerful, active dog, but Diana had him under control. “Hi, Blue,” she said, grinning knavishly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Yep.” He leaned against the doorframe and put his eyes on the wildcard. The dude needed to be handled. No one—not Blue, not Kenny, not Lance—had been able to figure out a good way to deal with Carl that wouldn’t cause them more problems.

Carl pointed spastically at Diana and Blue and then at half the houses on the street before throwing up his hands and laughing maniacally. “You need to go,” he said to Willa.

“Why?”

Eyes wild, he nodded sagely. “They’re dangerous. I’d mind myself if I were you. You got all kinds of crazies around you. Everywhere you go, they just flock.” He flapped his arms like wings.

Diana’s grin broadened, but somehow she managed not to laugh outright. Normally, she didn’t try. Blue was glad she was trying, because guys like Carl were the ones who tended to have the National Guard on speed dial. The last thing Maria needed was to be put under martial law because a mundane couldn’t get with the program and just pretend he didn’t see the supernatural shit.

“I’m fine. See?” Willa asked calmly. She stepped onto the walkway, hands in pockets, and moved slowly toward him. “And Carl, who’s they?”

“Those giants who disappear all the time.” Carl’s eyes were round as flying saucers. “Those women I sold my old shop to on Main Street. Something’s happening in the sheriff’s department, too. Don’t tell me it isn’t. I know at least two of the deputies are up to some funny business. Plus, I keep seeing all these wild animals in town that don’t act quite right. Saw a dog on the roof of Lamarr’s a few days ago when I was riding my bike. Was looking at me reeeeeal funny as I pedaled past.”

“Oh, hell,” Blue murmured. He leaned against the wall beside the front door and clucked his tongue thoughtfully.

Apparently, in addition to a certain thrill-seeking drunk Coyote, Carl had witnessed teleporting angels, elf shenanigans, and was getting a little suspicious about the Cougar-affiliated sheriff’s deputies. Blue had on good authority that the sheriff was perfectly aware that people like them existed, and that was the reason he’d hired them in the first place—mostly to police the troublemaking Coyotes, but also to respond to “weird” calls in general. Apparently, the sheriff had been sweet on Maria’s most eccentric witch for the better part of twenty years. They’d finally gotten their acts together and were cohabiting.

“I don’t know about that one for sure,” Carl said, pointing to Diana, and then Blue. “Something’s definitely wonky about him. He’s got stink lines coming off him.”

“Say what?” Blue asked, indignant. He was probably the best-groomed dog in town, aside from Diana.

Willa turned her back to Carl, pulled her lips in between her teeth as if to suppress a laugh, and after a few seconds said, “You know. Like, squiggle lines in comics that show that there’s some sort of aura radiating off a person.”

Oh hell.

The guy was more dangerous than Blue had thought. He’d compiled a lot of research materials about paranormal recounting while writing his thesis. Sensitives were rare, and sensitives who had awareness of as much as Carl did were like hen’s teeth.

Blue smiled and took a deep breath, trying his hardest to rein in all the energy that belonged to him—trying to make his psychic output smaller. Normally, he didn’t bother when he was around Willa because Coyote energy didn’t seem to affect her much, and as his sister, Diana was immune to him. He was doing the magical equivalent of stuffing a bloated body into a tight pair of leather pants without the assistance of baby powder.

“You feeling all right, Carl?” Blue said after he’d pulled in all the magical bulk that he could. He was afraid to even breathe for fear that some of the energy would leach back out.

Carl tilted his head and scratched it. “I . . . ”

King tugged Diana closer to Carl and put his forepaws up on the top of the fence, long tongue lolling.

On a few seconds’ delay, Carl noticed the big dog there and took a big step back before looking back to Blue. “I . . . You were just . . . ”

“Just what, Carl?” Blue asked soothingly.

Carl looked around again, pointing wildly, before pivoting back to Willa. “I don’t . . . Saw something. It’s gone, but it’ll come back. I swear on my lucky rabbit’s foot it will. You should find somewhere safe to go. Get away from them. I’m looking out for you, you see. I know you don’t have anyone.”

Willa nodded. “I appreciate you caring about me, Carl. I’ll be sure to look into what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, good.” He nodded spastically, gaze flitting from Willa to her house and back. “Got lots of lights on in your house, huh? Maybe you should prune that tree. Better for your electric bill.”

What the hell is this guy talking about?

Didn’t look to Blue like there were any lights on, and judging by Diana’s Huh? expression, she didn’t see them, either.

Glancing at the house, Willa’s gentle smile fell away for a moment, but she recovered quickly, probably before anyone but Blue noticed.

What are they seeing?

“Um. Listen, tell Zach I’ll see him in class tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“And since I have you here, could you remind him to clean his horn tonight? The other trombones have been complaining about the odor.”

“The . . . horn. Yeah. Sure.” Nodding spastically, Carl backed away, gaze shooting from one Coyote to the other.

Diana gave him a finger wave. “Bye, hon.”

Carl took off at a run.

“For crying out loud.” Blue let out a ragged breath, pulled out his phone, and tapped a message to Lance:

 “Oh. My,” came a quiet voice, strained with barely suppressed giggles. And then Willa doubled over with riotous laughter. It was a pure, wholesome sound that washed over him like sweet absolution, and he hadn’t even known he needed it.

The lightness in her tone made him for a moment feel like nothing else mattered but making her happy. Her other state was too worrying.

The demigoddess was starting to ruffle his fur in ways that weren’t all bad. He didn’t know if unraveling the mystery of her was a distraction he needed, but his curiosity certainly couldn’t make things worse.