A pair of women nearby heard and gasped, then burst into laughter. They were laughing at me. As I stood in The Dirty Dog, dressed in taped-on clothes and glossy red boots, after everyone saw Menessos drinking from me broadcast on TV and online, did I have any right to be surprised?
Moving forward, pushing into Cammi’s personal space, I put myself nose to nose with her. The move brought an end to the cheers around us as ears strained to hear. I could smell the bourbon on her breath. “He chooses to spend his time with me, so you’re going to have to find another bone to chew—but remember this: ‘all that he is’ has gone unnoticed. You and this pack are only aware of the truth now because he is allowing you to know. And there’s a reason I knew first.”
She tried to slap me. From the bar, Johnny barked and snarled. I caught her wrist and held it. Either I was able to restrain her because she was half drunk or his reaction had stopped her. It didn’t matter which, really; it reminded me that waerewolves only respect the power that dominates them.
“Give me a reason,” I shouted. A challenge.
She jerked free of my grip and in doing so compromised her tenuous balance. She backpedaled. “Don’t threaten this pack!”
With her small retreat, the scales had just tipped in my favor. I took up the distance. “I’m not threatening the pack! I simply came to speak to Johnny and you’re threatening me. I won’t tolerate it.”
She recognized the concession inherent in her move was a mistake and tried to correct it by planting her feet. But it was too late. She’d given ground and I’d taken it. “If you try a spell, witch, you’ll be dead before you can call enough energy to damage us all.”
“I don’t intend to ‘damage’ anybody, but if you don’t get out of my face, whatever the consequence, I guarantee you’ll be a half-formed bitch. You’d probably be more likable that way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Johnny’s hand encircled my arm. I hadn’t detected the whoosh of power as he’d reverted to man form.
He pulled me away from Cammi and led me toward the back. People scurried to make way for us, well, for him. “Out,” he said to the few waeres milling around this room. He guided me near the door.
I stared through the glass, focusing on the mesh in the screen door. A loose weaving of wire. “And there she weaves by night and day a magic web.” I thought the lines from Tennyson’s poem. Orderly little empty squares on the screen, but trapezoids in a spider’s web. One kept the flies out; the other trapped them for nourishment. My life needed a screen door to keep out the bugs, but what I had was a web. I didn’t see how all these things that were sticking to it were supposed to nourish me.
My rage back in the bar, I realized, was my grief, my fear and loss and pain hunting for a way out. It couldn’t stay bottled inside, but I didn’t intend to give it a release through violence, either. Now, almost alone with Johnny, those tears burned again. Damn it, I’m not going to cry.
“Red?”
“Yeah.” I returned from my weary, zoned-out state. Johnny stood beside me, naked.
“Don’t let her get to you.”
“It’s not her.” I clenched my jaw to steel myself.
He must’ve thought I was angry. “Hey, I’m glad you came back”—he tweaked my cheek—“but this isn’t the best place for you right now.”
“I know, but I had to come. I had to tell you.” You can say these words. You can do it without tears.
“Tell me what?”
I blurted, “Xerxadrea’s dead.”
“What?” His jaw dropped, then his arms encircled me.
Again, the tears threatened to come. Not here. The waerewolves would hear sobbing. They’d never respect sobbing. “After we buried Aquula, the fairies attacked.”
He jerked back and examined me again. “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine because Xerxadrea sacrificed herself.”
The tears won. I pressed my face into his naked chest and he held me so tight. I squeezed my reaction, being as silent as I could, telling myself this was just a little overflow. Let a little spill out and then I can seal them off again. That’s not all I need to tell him about.
A moment later, in his safe arms, I found the strength to staunch the waterworks, quashing tears down hard. On to the bigger thing we had to deal with. “Johnny, she was working on a plan, but whatever strategy she had, left with her.” I wiped my face with my hands. His embrace diminished but he didn’t fully let me go. I went on, “We have about thirty hours to come up with something. I know you have to be here, to let the waerewolves mourn, but . . .”
“They mourned Ig for about a half an hour. That”—he gestured to the bar—“is a celebration of being the pack that can claim the Domn Lup.”
The drinking and dancing made more sense now. I nodded.
“I’ll come back to the haven as soon as I can, okay?”
There were so many other things I needed to tell him right now, but they would keep a little longer. I didn’t want to pass through the waerewolf throng again, so I reached for the knob of the back door. “I’ll go this way, and walk around.”
“I’d go with you but it’s cold and I don’t know where my jeans are. I’d be humiliated if you witnessed the inevitable shrinkage.”
I smiled and whispered, “Please, please, don’t ever change.”
Johnny pulled me into a sudden kiss, and I clung to him, very unheroinelike. His soft lips pressed to mine. I felt tingly and velvety static crawled over my skin. His arms were like a security blanket around me, making me safe and grounded. I didn’t ever want to be parted from him.
When his tongue slipped to mine he tasted like something I couldn’t name, something oaky sweet, and when the kiss ended, his lips rose to my forehead. The tinglies subsided. “What’s that flavor?”
“Todd toasted me, opening Ig’s bottle of eighteen-year-old Laphroaig.”
“La-froyg?” I repeated.
“A single-malt scotch. Made on some island called Islay off of Scotland.”
Interesting. “Where is Todd?”
“Upstairs listening to Erik and Celia and Theo’s account of what you did to them, how they keep their man-minds.”
“Is it a good idea to let him know about that?”
“I think it’s something in our favor, something we can use in our planning. I’ll explain more when I get to the haven.”
I squeezed him tight, then exited out the back door.
The party was still going full tilt with the vampires, Offerlings, and Beholders. We could hear it when we entered. Mountain was waiting for us to get back, sent to the ticket booth by Goliath. “After coming in with a broom,” Mountain reported, “he hurried off to question that guy with the daggers.” Mountain took Menessos and me the back way around, down the service elevator, and across the backstage area.
Menessos dismissed Mountain, then called my name. “Before you retire to your bed, would you please come with me?”
A nod was the best response I could muster. I was drained of energy, and filled with emotion. I needed to reverse that.
He opened his door; his room had been tidied and cleaned since we’d brought Aquula here. “Wait here.” He passed through that heavy, iron-studded door to his private room, and quickly returned with a small wrapped present. “It is traditional to give the Erus Veneficus a gift after the induction ceremony. Of course,” he said as his expression went sly, “that tradition dictates that the witch be bedded and her family taken hostage. She is to be given a ruby ring to remind her of the family blood that would be spilled if ever she disobeyed. I was certain you would object to such traditions, and I have no desire to put any of my people through the agony of holding your grandmother hostage again. I selected something more modern instead. I hope you will enjoy it.”