The Savior

She took out the USB drive Gerry had left in the safety deposit box. The credentials that had been with it, the ones she had used to get into her own lab, had been left in Doc Jane’s office area back at the training center—an oversight on her part when she’d been packing up her clothes, one that she’d only noticed earlier in the day.

What did they matter now, though?

Next to the washer/dryer was a shallow wooden worktable that had never been used by her or Gerry. Putting the USB drive on it, she looked around for something hammer-like.

Over on the floor, there was a gallon of Benjamin & Moore latex paint left over from when she and Gerry had done the downstairs. A full gallon.

She picked up the can and held it over her head.

Then she slammed the flat bottom of the thing down on the drive.

Over and over again.

 

 

In the dining room of the Audience House, after all the hugging was done, John Matthew took up res next to Butch, the former homicide cop, and Vishous, who as usual had lit up a hand-rolled. Wrath and George had returned to armchair position to the left of the fireplace, and Saxton, the King’s solicitor, was at the desk off to one side. Apart from the Brotherhood and other fighters, there was one further notable addition to the group. Abalone, the King’s First Advisor. From what John understood, the male had deep roots in the aristocracy, but he was a good guy, the opposite of those tight-ass, judgmental types that typically propagated the glymera.

His blooded daughter had even gone through the training program, and was mated, with the male’s blessing, to a civilian.

There was no one else in Audience House, other than the receptionist. Unusual, given that it was the start of the evening. Civilians were typically lined up in the waiting room, ready to present their issues to the King.

“Sire,” Abalone said with a bow to Wrath, “with your permission, I will bring your subject in?”

“Yeah. We’re ready.”

Abalone passed through the open doors and disappeared into the waiting room. When he came back, he had a male with him whom John recognized.

“May I present Rexboone, blooded son of Altamere.”

Boone, as the male was known, bowed deeply even though Wrath could not see him. “Thank you for allowing me to come, my Lord.”

The guy was built big and strong, and was classically handsome in a clean-cut kind of way, reminding John of the marble figures in the Hall of Statues back at the house. He’d gone through the training center’s program and not made a lot of waves, a quiet, watchful presence who, as John understood, had done particularly well in physical challenges.

But other than that, John didn’t know much, although he wasn’t on the ground floor of the training program, either.

“What can we do you for,” Wrath said as he bent down and picked up George. Settling the golden retriever in his lap, he stroked the long blond fur that grew out of those flanks. “And listen, I’ve heard you’re working hard for us out in the field. You’ve taken two lessers down. I like that. Keep it up.”

As Boone flushed and bowed again, his response was mumbled, but his blush was loud as a holler—and John liked the humility.

“I’m not sure this is …” The trainee cleared his throat and looked around at the Brothers. “This may be nothing, but my father has been invited to this dinner party. Tomorrow night.”

“What are they serving?” Rhage chimed in. “If it’s lamb, I’m coming, too.”

Wrath sent a glare in Hollywood’s direction, then refocused on Boone. “G’head.”

“Well, it’s being organized by an aristocrat that goes by the name of Throe?”

Instantly, the mood in the room changed, the Brothers straightening, shifting in their shitkickers.

“I know that the Council was disbanded by you.” Boone glanced around again. “But that the glymera is not prohibited from congregating, provided it is for social purposes only. However, my father doesn’t know this male well, and when my sire asked who else was invited, he learned that the other remaining Princeps were on the list.”

“So it’s basically a meeting of the Council,” Wrath muttered.

“Called by a known agitator,” someone else piped in.

“My father is not going to go, and he asked me to come here and tell you about it because I’m in the training center program and he figured it would look less suspicious for me to have an audience with you. As I said, my sire doesn’t want to get involved in any intrigue, and he certainly does not want a civil war within the species.”

The King’s nostrils flared. “Is that all that you’ve come to say to me?”

“Yes, my Lord.” There was a pause. “I beg of you, send someone out there. You must … this is not right. They should not be gathering like this. It is sowing seeds of revolt, I just know it.”

“Anything else?”

“I can provide you with the address.”

“Can you. And what is it?”

Boone gave a street that wasn’t far from the Audience House. “It is at midnight, my Lord. They gather at midnight on the morrow.”

John looked at the King. And then checked out the expressions of the Brothers. When no one said or did anything, he was confused. This was a possible coup in progress—

“Is that everything?” the King prompted Boone once again.

“Yes, my Lord—except … please don’t tell anyone that my father sent me or that this word came from him. He does not want any trouble. He wants to stay out of it.”

Wrath continued to stroke George’s fur, his dagger hand moving over the dog’s golden hair. “Son, I appreciate you coming here and all. Giving us a heads-up.”

“So you’ll send people. And stop them—”

“But you and I have a problem.”

Boone shook his head. “There is no problem. I am utterly loyal unto you. There is nothing I would not do to serve you.”

“Then why are you lying to me?” Wrath tapped the side of his nose. “I may be blind, but all my other senses work just fine. And you are not being truthful here.”

Boone opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Why don’t you take another stab at this, son.”

The trainee crossed his arms over his chest. Stared at the floor. Then he paced back and forth.

“I know you’re in a helluva spot,” Wrath said quietly. “So you take your time. But I’m going to be clear here. Consequences are going to fall where they do and there is no carefully crafted version of reality that is going to stop that. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

When Boone finally halted, he was facing the King, and his voice was reedy as he spoke, like his throat was tight.

“My father …”

“G’head. Just say it. This is not your fault, okay? You are not going to get blamed for anything as long as you tell the truth.”

Boone took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “My father is going to attend. He’s going to the dinner. He’s …”

“Not as loyal to me as you are.”

The male dragged a hand over his features. “I’ve been telling him he shouldn’t go. That this isn’t right. I’m doing everything I can to talk him out of it—I believe he’ll come around. He has to—he just has to. And in the meantime, I couldn’t let this happen—it’s wrong. I don’t know for sure what they’re planning, but why are they meeting like this? My sire doesn’t know this male at all. Throe showed up from out of nowhere, and was part of that meeting to overthrow the throne a while ago. And now he’s living in the mansion of that older male?” Boone shook his head and started pacing again, his words coming faster and faster. “We know who owns that house. He’s related to us. Why is he letting Throe stay with him and his shellan—who, by the way, is just ten years out of her transition? And why is he allowing Throe to be the host of the party? It’s not Throe’s house, it’s not his position of authority. I mean, in the glymera, it is a tremendous breach of protocol for any other person to issue an invitation to a home for so much as an afternoon tea, much less a formal dinner.” Boone stopped and faced the King again. “It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense.”