The Lunatic Cafe

9



The night was a hard, cold darkness. Two o'clock is a forsaken time of night, no matter what the season. In mid-December two o'clock is the frozen heart of eternal night. Or maybe I was just discouraged. The light over the stairs leading up to my apartment shone like a captured moon. All the lights had a frosted, swimming quality. Slightly unreal. There was a haze in the air, like an infant fog.



Titus had asked me to stick around in case they found someone in the area. I was their best bet for figuring out if the person was a lycanthrope or some innocent schmuck. Beat the heck out of cutting off a hand to see if there was fur on the inside of the body. If you were wrong, what did you do, apologize?



There had been some lycanthrope tracks leading up to the murder scene. Plaster casts had been made, and at my suggestion, copies were being sent to the biology department at Washington University. I had almost addressed it to Dr. Louis Fane. He taught biology at Wash U. He was one of Richard's best friends. A nice guy. A wererat. A deep, dark secret that might be jeopardized if I started addressing lycanthrope paw prints to him. Addressing it to the entire department pretty much guaranteed Louie would see it.



That had been my greatest contribution of the night. They were still searching when I drove off. I had my beeper on. If they found a naked human in the snow, they could call. Though if my beeper went off before I got some sleep, I was going to be pissed.



When I shut my car door, there was an echo. A second car door slammed shut. I was tired, but it was automatic to search the small parking lot for that second car. Irving Griswold stood four cars down, bundled in a Day-Glo orange parka with a striped muffler trailing around his neck. His brown hair formed a frizzy halo to his bald spot. Tiny round glasses perched on a button nose. He looked jolly and harmless, and was a werewolf, too. Seemed to be my night for it.



Irving was a reporter on the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.Any story about me and Animators, Inc., usually had his byline on it. He smiled as he walked towards me. Just your friendly neighborhood reporter. Yeah, right.



"What do you want, Irving?"



"Is that any way to greet someone who has spent the last three hours in his car waiting for you?"



"What do you want, Irving?" Maybe if I just kept repeating the question over and over, I'd wear him down.



The smile faded from his round little face. He looked solemn and worried. "We've got to talk, Anita."



"Will this be a long story?"



He seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded. "Could be."



"Then come upstairs. I'll fix us both some real coffee."



"Real coffee as opposed to fake coffee?" he asked.



I started for the stairs. "I'll fix you a cup of java that'll put hair on your chest."



He laughed.



I realized I'd made a pun and hadn't meant to. I know Irving is a shapeshifter. I've even seen his wolf form. But I forget. He's a friend and doesn't seem the least preternatural in human form.



We sat at the small kitchenette table, sipping vanilla nut creme coffee. My suit jacket was draped over the back of the kitchen chair. It left my gun and shoulder holster exposed. "I thought you were on a date tonight, Blake."



"I was."



"Some date."



"A girl can never be too careful."



Irving blew on his cup, sipping it delicately. His eyes had flicked from side to side, taking in everything. Days from now he'd be able to describe the room completely, down to the Nike Airs and jogging socks in front of the couch.



"What's up, Irving?"



"Great coffee." He wouldn't meet my eyes. It was a bad sign.



"What's wrong?"



"Has Richard told you anything about Marcus?"



"Your pack leader, right?"



Irving looked surprised. "He told you?"



"I found out tonight that your alpha is named Marcus. There's a battle of succession going on. Marcus wants Richard dead. Richard says he won't fight him."



"Oh, he fought him, all right," Irving said.



It was my turn to be surprised. "Then why isn't Richard pack leader?"



"Richard got squeamish. He had him, Blake, claws at Marcus's throat." Irving shook his head. "He thought when Marcus recovered they could talk, compromise." He made a rude sound. "Your boyfriend is an idealist."



Idealist. It was almost the same thing as fool. Jean-Claude and Irving agreed. They didn't agree on much.



"Explain."



"You can move up in the pack hierarchy by fighting. You win, you go up a notch. You lose, you stay where you are." He took a long sip of coffee, eyes closed as if drinking in the warmth. "Until you fight for pack leader."



"Let me guess. It's a fight to the death."



"No killie, no new leader," he said.



I shook my head, coffee sitting untouched in front of me. "Why are you telling me all this, Irving? Why now?"



"Marcus wants to meet you."



"Why didn't Richard tell me that himself?"



"Richard doesn't want you involved."



"Why not?" Irving kept answering my questions, but the answers weren't helping much.



Irving shrugged. "Richard won't give Marcus a freaking inch. If Marcus said black, Richard would say white."



"Why does Marcus want to see me?"



"I don't know," Irving said.



"Yeah, right."



"Honest, Blake, I don't know what's going on. Something big is up, and no one's talking to me."



"Why not? You're a shapeshifter."



"I'm also a reporter. I made the mistake years back of printing an article. The lycanthrope I talked to lied, said he never gave me permission to quote him. He lost his job. Some of the others wanted to out me, too, let me lose my job." He huddled around his coffee mug. Eyes distant with remembering. "Marcus said no, said I was more valuable to them as a reporter. No one's really trusted me since."



"Not a forgiving bunch," I said. I sipped my coffee and found it cooling. If I drank it fast enough, it would be drinkable, barely.



"They never forgive and they never forget," Irving said.



Sounds like a bad character trait, but it's one of my founding principles, so I couldn't complain much. "So Marcus sent you out here to talk to me. About what?"



"He wants to meet you. To talk some kind of business."



I got up and refilled my mug. A little less sugar this time. I was beginning to wake up just from frustration. "Let him make an appointment to come to my office."



Irving shook his head. "Marcus is some hotshot surgeon. You know what would happen if even a hint of what he is got out?"



I could understand that. You might get away with being a shapeshifter on some jobs. Doctor was not one of them. There was still the dentist in Texas that was being sued by a patient. Said she contracted lycanthropy from him. Nonsense. You didn't get it from having human hands in your mouth. But the case hadn't been thrown out. People didn't have a lot of sympathy for fur balls treating their kid's sparkling teeth.



"Okay, send someone else to the office. Surely, Marcus must trust someone."



"Richard has forbidden anyone to contact you."



I just looked at him. "Forbidden?"



Irving nodded. "Anyone lower in the pack order contacts you at their peril."



I started to smile and stopped. He was serious. "You're not kidding."



He raised a three-fingered salute. "Scout's honor."



"So how come you're here? You looking to move up in the pack?"



He paled. Honest to God, he paled. "Me? Fight Richard? Hell no."



"Then Richard won't mind you talking to me?"



"Oh, he'll mind."



I frowned. "Is Marcus going to protect you?"



"Richard gave a specific order. Marcus can't interfere."



"But he ordered you to come see me," I said.



"Yep."



"What's to stop Richard from busting your chops about this?"



Irving grinned. "I thought you'd protect me."



I laughed. "You son of a bitch."



"Maybe, but I know you, Blake. You won't like that Richard's been keeping things from you. You certainly won't like him protecting you. Besides, I've been your friend for years. I don't think you'll stand by while your boyfriend beats the hell out of me."



Irving knew me better than Richard did. It was not a comforting thought. Had I been fooled by a handsome face, a nice sense of humor? Had I not seen the real Richard? I shook my head. Could I be fooled that completely? I hoped not.



"Do I have your protection?" He was still smiling, but there was something in his eyes. Fear, maybe.



"You need me to say it out loud for it to be official?"



"Yeah."



"That a rule in the lycanthrope underground?"



"One of them," he said.



"You have my protection, but I want information in return."



"I told you I don't know anything, Blake."



"Tell me what it's like to be a lycanthrope, Irving. Richard seems determined to keep me in the dark. I don't like being in the dark."



Irving smiled. "I heard that."



"You be my guide to the world of the furry, and I'll keep Richard off your back."



"Agreed."



"When does Marcus want to meet?"



"Tonight." Irving had the grace to look embarrassed.



I shook my head. "No way. I'm going to bed. I'll meet with Marcus tomorrow, but not tonight."



He looked down into his coffee, fingertips touching the mug. "He wants it to be tonight." He looked up at me. "Why do you think I've been camped out in my car?"



"I am not at the beck and call of every monster in town. I don't even know what Fur Face wants to meet about." I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. "No way am I going out tonight to play with shapeshifters."



Irving squirmed in his chair, rotating the coffee cup slowly on the table. He wouldn't meet my eyes again.



"What's wrong now?"



"Marcus told me to set up a meeting with you. If I refused, he'd have me... punished. If I come here, Richard gets pissed. I'm trapped between two alpha males, and I ain't up to it."



"Are you asking me to protect you from Marcus, as well as Richard?"



"No," he said, shaking his head, "no. You're good, Blake, but you aren't in Marcus's league."



"Glad to hear it," I said.



"Will you meet with Marcus tonight?"



"If I say no, do you get in trouble?"



He stared into his coffee. "Would you believe no?"



"Nope."



He looked at me, brown eyes very serious. "He'll get mad, but I'll live."



"But he'll make you hurt." It wasn't a question.



"Yeah." That one word so soft, so tentative. It wasn't like Irving.



"I'll see him on one condition. That you're present at the meeting."



His face bloomed into a grin that spread from pole to pole. "You are a true friend, Blake." All the sadness was gone, washed away in the rosy glow of finding out what the hell was going on. Even ass deep in alligators, Irving was a reporter. It was who and what he was, more than the lycanthropy.



The smile alone was worth a meeting. Besides, I wanted to know if Richard was really in danger. Meeting the man who was threatening him was the only real way to find out. Also, I didn't really care for someone threatening one of my friends. Silver-plated bullets only slowed down a vampire, unless you can take out the head and heart. Silver bullets will kill a werewolf, no second chances, no healing, just dead.



Marcus might remember that. If he pushed it, I might even remind him.



10



Irving had called Marcus from my apartment. Again Irving didn't know why, all he did know was Marcus said to call before we came. I went into the bedroom. Hung up my dryclean-only suit, and changed clothes. Black jeans, red polo shirt, black Nikes with a blue swoosh, and real socks. I abandoned jogging socks for everyday wear once winter set in.



I reached for the bulky green sweater I had laid out on the bed. I hesitated. It wasn't the fact that the sweater had stylized Christmas trees on it, and it might not be the coolest thing to wear. I didn't give a damn about that. I was debating on whether to carry a second gun. A fashion accessory nearer and dearer to my heart than any piece of clothing.



No lycanthrope had threatened me yet, but ol' Gretchen the vamp had. She might not be a master vampire but she was close. Besides, the memory of the cop taking the Browning away was still fresh. I had too many preternatural enemies to go unarmed. I got out my Uncle Mike's sidekick inner-pants holster. A comfy fit that didn't ruin the line of your jeans unless someone was really looking.



My main backup gun is a Firestar 9mm. Small, light, pretty to look at, and I could wear it at my waist and still be able to sit down. The sweater hung to midthigh. The gun was invisible unless you frisked me. The gun was set in front, ready for a cross-draw. Probably wouldn't need it. Probably.



The sweater bulked up around the straps of the shoulder holster. I've seen people wear shoulder rigs underneath bulky sweaters or sweatshirts, but you lose a few seconds groping under the cloth. I'd rather look less than fashion perfect and live.



The sweater was too long for my leather jacket, so I was back in my black trench coat. Me and Phillip Marlowe. I didn't take any extra ammo. I figured twenty-one rounds was enough for one night. I even left my knives at home. I almost talked myself out of the Firestar. I usually didn't start carrying two guns until after people had tried to kill me. I shrugged. Why wait? If I didn't need it, I'd feel silly tomorrow. If I did need it, I wouldn't feel silly at all.



Irving was waiting for me. Sitting on the couch like a good little boy. He looked like a schoolboy whom the teacher had made stand in the corner.



"What's wrong?"



"Marcus wanted me to just give you directions. He doesn't want me at the meeting. I said, you wouldn't come without me. That you didn't trust him." He looked up at me. "He's pretty pissed."



"But you stood your ground," I said.



"Yeah."



"Why don't you sound happier about that?"



He shrugged. "Marcus in a bad mood is not a pleasant experience, Blake."



"I'll drive, you give directions."



"Marcus said we both should drive. He said that I'd need to stay after the meeting, for a little talk."



"Come on, Irving, I'm driving, you're giving directions, and when I leave, you leave."



"I appreciate the offer, Blake, but you don't want Marcus mad at you."



"If I'm protecting you from Richard, I might as well throw in Marcus."



He shook his head. "No, you follow my car." He held up a hand. "No more arguing, Blake. I am a werewolf. I have to live in the community. I can't afford to make a stand against Marcus, not over one little talk."



I wanted to argue some more, but I didn't. Irving knew his problems better than I did. If fighting Marcus over this would make things worse, then I'd let it go. But I didn't like it.



The Lunatic Cafe was located in University City. Its sign was a glowing crescent moon with the restaurant name done in soft blue neon. Except for the name, and the nifty sign, the place didn't look much different from all the other shops and restaurants in the college district.



It was Friday night and there was no parking. I was beginning to think Marcus would have to come out to my car, when a wine dark Impala pulled out of the two spaces it had been hogging. My Jeep slipped in with room for a second car on one side.



Irving waited in front of the restaurant. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. The ridiculous muffler trailed nearly to the ground. He looked distracted and not a bit happy.



I walked towards him with the trench coat flapping around me like a cape. Even like this, most people wouldn't see the gun. They'd see a small woman with a bright Christmas sweater. People see what they expect to see most of the time. The people that I was wearing the gun for would notice, and know I was armed.



Irving pushed the door in without a word. Irving, quiet? I didn't like seeing him subdued, almost beaten, like a kicked dog. It made me not like Marcus, and I hadn't even met him.



Noise poured around us just inside the door. A murmur of voices so thick it was like ocean noise. Silverware clinked, someone laughed high and bright like a hand rising from the noise, to be swallowed back again and lost. There was a bar along one wall, polished dark wood, old and lovingly cared for. The rest of the room held small, round tables that could comfortably seat about four. Every seat was full, and then some. Three doorways opened up; one beside the bar, one to the right, one in the middle. More tables were shoved into the smaller rooms.



The cafe had started life as someone's home. We were standing in the living room. Through the doorways leading to the other rooms were open archways, as if someone had knocked down a few walls. Even with that, the place was claustrophobic. People were three deep at the bar waiting for a table. The place was jammed to bursting with happy, smiling people.



One of the women behind the bar came around, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into the tie of her apron. She gave a wide, welcoming smile. She had a pair of menus in her one hand.



I started to say, but we don't need... when Irving gripped my arm. Tension vibrated through his hand. He'd grabbed my right arm. I turned to tell him not to do that, but the look on his face stopped me. He was staring at the smiling woman as if she had sprouted a second head. I turned back to the woman, and looked at her. Really looked at her.



She was tall, slender, with long, straight hair. It was a rich, reddish auburn that gleamed under the lights. Her face was a soft triangle, chin maybe a little too pointed, but overall she was lovely. Her eyes were a strange amber-brown that matched her hair perfectly.



Her smile widened, just a lift of lips. I knew what I was looking at. Lycanthrope. One that could pass for human. Like Richard.



I looked out over the room, and realized why it felt so tight. It wasn't just the crowd. A majority of the happy, smiling people were shapeshifters. Their energy burned in the air like the weight of a thunderstorm. I had thought the crowd was boisterous, too loud, but it was the shapeshifters. Their energy boiled and filled the room, masquerading as the energy of any crowd. As I stood there at the door, a face lifted here and there. Human eyes looked at me, but the glance wasn't human.



The glance was considering, testing. How tough was I? How good would I taste? It reminded me of the way Richard had been watching the crowd at the Fox. I felt like a chicken at a coyote convention. I was suddenly glad of the second gun.



"Welcome to the Lunatic Cafe, Ms. Blake," the woman said. "I'm Raina Wallis, proprietor. If you'll follow me. Your party is waiting for you." She said it all with a smile and a warm glow in her eyes. Irving's grip on my arm was nearly painful.



I leaned into him, and whispered, "That's my right arm."



He blinked at me. His eyes flicked to the Browning, and he let go, muttering, "Sorry."



Raina leaned closer. Irving flinched. "I won't bite, Irving, not yet." She gave a low laugh that was rich and bubbling. The kind of laugh that was meant for bedrooms and private jokes. The laugh gave her eyes and body a different look. She suddenly seemed more voluptuous, more sensual than just a second ago. Nicely weird.



"Mustn't keep Marcus waiting." She turned and began threading her way through the tables.



I glanced at Irving. "Something you want to tell me?"



"Raina's our alpha female. If the punishment's going to be really bad, she does it. She's a lot more creative than Marcus."



Raina was motioning to us by the archway near the bar. Her lovely face was frowning, looking a little less lovely, and a lot more bitchy.



I patted his shoulder. "I won't let her hurt you."



"You can't stop it."



"We'll see," I said.



He nodded, but not as if he believed me. He started between the tables. I followed. A woman touched his hand as he walked past. Gave him a smile. She was about my size, and dainty, with straight black hair cut short that framed her face like black lace. Irving squeezed her fingers and kept walking. Her large, dark eyes met mine. The eyes told me nothing. They had smiled at Irving; for me they were neutral. Like the eyes of a wolf I'd seen once in California. I'd walked around a tree and there it had stood. I had never really understood what neutral meant until that moment. Those pale eyes stared at me, waiting. If I threatened it, it would attack. If I left it alone, it would run. My choice. The wolf hadn't given a damn which way it turned out.



I kept walking, but the space between my shoulder blades was itching. I knew if I turned around that nearly every eye would be on me, on us. The weight of their gaze was physical.



I had an urge to whirl and say boo, but fought it off. I had a feeling they were all staring at me with neutral inhuman eyes, and I didn't want to see it.



Raina led us to a closed door at the back of the dining room. She pushed it open and motioned us through with a theatrical wave of her arm. Irving just walked through. I walked through but kept my eyes on her. I was nearly close enough for her to have hugged me. Close enough that with her reflexes she could probably take me.



Lycanthropes are just faster than a normal human. It isn't mind tricks like with vampires. They are just flat out better. I wasn't sure how much better in human form, though. Staring up into Raina's smiling face, I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.



We stood in a narrow hallway. There was a door at either end, one showing the cold night through its glass window, the other closed, a question mark.



Raina closed the door behind us, leaning on it. She seemed to collapse against it, head hanging down, hair spilling forward.



"Are you all right?" I asked.



She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at me.



I gasped. I couldn't help myself.



She was gorgeous. Her cheekbones were high and sculpted. Her eyes wider and more centered in her face. She looked like what might have been her sister, a family resemblance but not the same person.



"What did you just do?"



She gave that rich, bedroom laugh again. "I am alpha, Ms. Blake. I can do a great many things that most shifters cannot."



I was willing to bet that. "You moved your bones around, on purpose, like do-it-yourself cosmetic surgery."



"Very good, Ms. Blake, very good." Her amber-brown eyes flashed to Irving. The smile left her face. "Do you still insist on this one being at the meeting?"



"Yes, I do."



Her lips pursed, as though she'd tasted something sour. "Marcus said to ask, then to bring you." She shrugged, and stood away from the door. She was taller by about three inches. I wished I'd paid more attention to her hands. Had they changed, too?



"Why the body sculpting?" I asked.



"The other form is my day form. This is real."



"Why the disguise?"



"In case I have to do something nefarious," she said.



Nefarious?



She stalked down the hall towards the other closed door. Her walk was a gliding, athletic movement like a big cat's. Or would that be big wolf's?



She knocked on the door. I heard nothing, but she opened the door. She stood there, arms crossed over her stomach, cradling her breasts, smiling at us. I was beginning not to like Raina's smiles.



The room was a banquet hall with cloth-covered tables grouped in a horseshoe. A raised platform with four chairs and a lectern closed the mouth of the horseshoe. Two men stood on the platform. One was at least six feet tall, slender but muscled like a basketball player. His hair was black, cut short with a matching finger-thin mustache and goatee beard. He stood with one hand gripping his opposite wrist. A jock pose. A bodyguard pose.



He wore a skintight pair of black jeans, and a sweater with a black-on-black design clung to wide shoulders. There was a fringe of dark chest hair just above the scooped neckline. Black tooled cowboy boots and a large blocky watch completed the badass look.



The other man was no more than five foot seven. His hair was that funny shade of blond that has brown highlights in it, but still manages to be blond. The hair was short but styled and blow-dried, and would have been lovely to look at if it had been a little longer. His face was clean-shaven, square jawed, with a dimple in his chin. The dimple should have made the face look fun, but it didn't. It was a face for rules. Those thin lips were built for saying, my way or else.



He wore a pale blue linen suit jacket over black pants. A pale blue turtleneck that matched the jacket to perfection completed the outfit. His shoes were black and polished to a shine.



It had to be Marcus. "Alfred." One word, but it was an order. The bigger man stepped-leaped off the platform. It was a graceful, bounding movement. He moved in a cloud of his own vitality. It rolled and boiled around him almost like heat rising off pavement. You couldn't see it with the naked eye, but you could sure as hell feel it.



Alfred came at me as though he had a purpose. I put my back to the wall, keeping Raina in sight, along with everybody else. Irving moved back with me. He stood a little away from all of us, but closer to me than anyone.



I put the trench coat back so the gun showed plainly. "Your intentions better be friendly, Alfred."



"Alfred," the other man said. One word, even the tone sounded the same, but this time Alfie stopped in his tracks. He stood, staring at me. His eyes weren't neutral, they were hostile. People don't usually dislike me on sight. But hey, I wasn't too thrilled with him, either.



"We have not offered you violence, Ms. Blake," Marcus said.



"Yeah, right. Alfie there is contained violence in motion. I want to know what his intentions are before he comes closer."



Marcus looked at me as if I'd done something interesting. "A very apt description, Ms. Blake. You can see our auras, then?"



"If that's what you want to call it," I said.



"Alfred's intentions are not hostile. He will merely search you for weapons. It is standard procedure for nonshifters. It is nothing personal, I assure you."



The very fact that they didn't want me armed made me want to keep my weapons. Stubbornness, or a strong survival instinct.



"Maybe I'd agree to being searched if you explained why I'm here first." Stall, until I could decide what to do.



"We don't discuss business in front of the press, Ms. Blake."



"Well, I'm not talking to you without him."



"I will not jeopardize all of us to satisfy idle curiosity." He was still standing on the platform like a general surveying his troops.



"The only reason I'm here at all is because Irving is a friend. Insulting him isn't going to endear you to me."



"I do not wish to endear myself to you, Ms. Blake. I wish your aid."



"You want my help?" I didn't try to keep the surprise out of my voice.



He gave a brief nod.



"What kind of help?"



"He must leave."



"No," I said.



Raina pushed away from the wall and stalked around us, just out of reach, but circling like a shark. "Irving's punishment could begin now." Her voice was low and puffing around the edges.



"I didn't know wolves purred," I said.



She laughed. "Wolves do a lot of things, as I'm sure you're aware."



"I don't know what you mean."



"Oh, come now, woman to woman." She leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, face friendly. I was betting she could bite my finger off and smile just like that the entire time.



She bent close as if we were sharing secrets. "Richard is as good as he looks, isn't he?"



I stared into her amused eyes. "I don't kiss and tell."



"I'll tell you my juicy tidbit, if you'll tell me yours."



"Raina, enough." Marcus had moved forward to the edge of the stage. He didn't look happy.



She gave him a lazy smile. She was baiting him more than me, and enjoying it very much.



"Irving must leave, and Alfred must search you for weapons. There is no negotiating those two points."



"I'll make you a deal," I said. "Irving leaves now, but he goes home. No punishment."



Marcus shook his head. "I have decreed he will be punished. My word is law."



"Who died and made you king?"



"Simon," Raina said.



I blinked at her.



"He fought and killed Simon. That's who died and made him pack leader."



Ask a silly question... "You want my help, Irving goes free and untouched. No punishment."



"Don't do this, Anita," Irving said. "You'll just make things worse."



Raina stayed leaning beside me. Just a little girl talk. "He's right, you know. Right now he's mine to play with, but if you make Marcus really angry he'll give him to Alfred. I'll torture his mind and body. Alfred will break him."



"Irving goes free, no punishment. I stay and let Alfred search me for weapons. Otherwise we walk."



"Not we, Ms. Blake. You are free to go, but Irving is mine. He will stay, and with or without you he will be taught his lesson."



"What did he do wrong?" I asked.



"That is our business, not yours."



"I'm not going to help you do shit."



"Then go," he leaped gracefully off the stage, walking towards us as he spoke, "but Irving stays. You are only among us for this one night. He must live with us, Ms. Blake. He cannot afford your bravado."



The last sentence brought him just a little behind Alfred. Close up there were fine lines around his eyes and mouth, a slackness to the skin of his neck and jaws. I added ten years to his age. Fifties.



"I can't leave Irving here, knowing what you'll do to him."



"Oh, you have no idea what we'll do to him," Raina said. "We heal so well." She pushed away from the wall and walked to Irving. She paced round him in a tight circle, shoulder, hip, brushing against him, here and there as she moved. "Even the weakest of us can take so very much damage."



"What do you want to guarantee Irving's safety?" I asked.



Marcus looked at me, face careful, neutral. "You promise to aid us, and let Alfred frisk you. He is my bodyguard. You must let him do his job."



"I can't promise to help you without knowing what it is."



"Then we have no bargain."



"Anita, I can take it, whatever they dish out. I can take it. I've done it before."



"You asked for my protection from Richard, just call it a package deal," I said.



"You asked her for her protection?" Raina stepped away from him, surprise plain on her pretty face.



"Just against Richard," Irving said.



"It's clever," Raina said, "but it does have certain implications."



"She's not a pack member. It only works on Richard because they're dating," Irving said. He looked a little worried.



"What implications?" I asked.



Marcus answered, "To ask pack members for their protection is to acknowledge they are of higher rank without having to fight them. If they give their protection, then you have agreed to help them fight their battles. If they are challenged you are honor bound to aid them."



I glanced at Irving. He looked ill. "She's not one of us. You can't hold her to the law."



"What law?" I asked.



"Pack law," Marcus said.



"I forfeit her protection," Irving said.



"Too late," Raina said.



"You place us in a quandary, Ms. Blake. A pack member has acknowledged you as higher rank than he is. Acknowledged you as dominant. By our laws we must accept that as binding."



"I can't be a pack member," I said.



"No, but you can be dominant."



I knew what the word meant in the real world. Marcus was using it as if it meant more. "What does it mean to be dominant?"



"It means you can stand as Irving's protector against all comers."



"No," Irving said. He brushed past Raina and stood in front of Marcus. He stood tall and stared him in the eye. It was not a submissive display.



"I won't let you use me like this. It's what you intended all along. You knew I'd ask her protection from Richard. You counted on it, didn't you, you smug bastard."



A low growl trickled out from between Marcus's perfect white teeth. "I would watch my tongue if I were you, youngling."



"If it offends you, I will cut it out." Alfred's first words were not comforting.



This was getting out of hand. "Irving is under my protection, Alfred. If I understand the law. You have to go through me to hurt Irving, is that right?"



Alfred turned cold, dark eyes to me. He nodded.



"If you kill me, then I can't help Marcus."



This seemed to puzzle the big fella. Great, confusion to my enemies.



Marcus smiled. "You have found a flaw in my logic, Ms. Blake. If you truly intend to protect Irving, to the letter of the law, then you would indeed die. No mere human could withstand one of us. Even the lowliest would kill you."



I let that comment go. Why argue when I was winning anyway?



"Since you cannot accept challenges, and you won't let us harm Irving, he is safe."



"Great, now what?"



"Irving can go, and he will not be harmed. You stay and hear our plea. You may decide to aid us or not, Irving will not suffer for your choice."



"That's mighty generous of you."



"Yes, Ms. Blake, it is." There was a look in his eyes that was very serious.



Raina might play sadistic games. Alfred might hurt you in an eager rush. But Marcus, it was just business. He was a mob boss with fur.



"Leave us, Irving."



"I won't leave her."



Marcus turned on him with a snarl. "My patience is not endless!"



Irving dropped to his knees, head bowed, spine bent low. It was a submissive display. I grabbed Irving's arm, and lifted him to his feet. "Get up, Irving. The nice werewolf isn't going to hurt you."



"And why is that, Ms. Blake?"



"Because Irving's under my protection. If Alfred can't fight me, then you sure as hell can't."



Marcus threw back his head, and gave a sharp, barking laugh. "You are clever, and brave. Traits we admire." The laughter died from his face, lingering in his eyes like a pleasant dream. "Do not challenge me too openly, Ms. Blake. It wouldn't be healthy."



The last of the laughter died out of his eyes. I was left staring into human eyes, but there was no one home to talk to. It looked like a human being, talked like a human being, but it wasn't one.



I dug my fingers into Irving's parka-clad shoulder. "Go on, Irving. Get out of here."



He touched my arm. "I would never leave you in a tough spot."



"I'm safe tonight, you're not. Now go, please, Irving."



I watched the struggle on his face. But finally after another dirty look from Marcus, he left. The door closed and I was alone with three werewolves. Down from four. The night was looking up.



"Alfred must search you now."



So much for the night looking up. "Then do it," I said. I just stood there. I didn't put my arms out. I didn't lean against the wall. I wasn't going to help him, not unless he asked.



He took the Browning, then patted down my arms, legs, even the small of my back. He didn't pat down the front center of my body. Maybe he was being a gentleman, or maybe he was just careless. Whatever, he missed the Firestar. I had eight silver bullets and they didn't know it. The night was looking up.