Ig acknowledged me with a sniff of the air in my direction. That was when I saw that under his half-buttoned pajama shirt he wore a long silvery necklace, probably platinum or white gold. The thick links of herringbone chain held a large Y-shaped centerpiece, and while I didn’t clearly see it, I was certain it was a wolf’s head. “Beautiful. But not waere.”
“I’m a witch.” Get that tidbit out of the way this time. Beau’s reaction still had me puzzled.
Hector immediately eased away from me as if he were backing away from a wild animal. “Dangerous company to keep.” He outweighed me by at least two hundred pounds. He was a foot and a half taller than I. And he was backing away from me in fear. It seemed ridiculous, but it was actually the smart thing to do.
“She’s cool, Hector. A bunch of us kennel at her place.” To Ig, he added, “I didn’t know about this.” He gestured at the bed’s frame as if that would convey the words he didn’t want to say.
“What brings you?”
“Her.”
“Back to the woman.” Again, Ig considered me, but this time it made me feel that closing and buttoning my blazer would have been appropriate. “Why?”
“She’s going to need the help of some waeres.”
“What about those who kennel?”
“Just my band, a few friends. Not enough.”
Ig scowled just a little at the word “band.” “Who’d she piss off? WEC?”
“There’s a lot going on, Ig. More than I can say. I came to ask if you would help . . . but you’ve already got your own concerns to deal with.”
“Must be important. You’d not have come back otherwise.” Ignatius took Johnny’s arm. “There’s only one way now.” Gravely, he said, “Take my place.”
Johnny recoiled and stood. “No!”
Discouraged, Ig’s hand fell to the sheet, and was still for an instant, then it clenched and his features distorted defiantly. “I’m going to die anyway. Todd will be dirija by default. And he won’t help you.”
I didn’t know who this Todd was, but the vibe in the room indicated that nobody here thought that was a good thing.
“Should be yours, John. If you’re dirija, help is at your command.”
Johnny shook his head back and forth slowly. “I can’t,” he answered. “I won’t. I don’t want to be a dirija.”
“Ha!” Ig struggled forward, half of his body noncompliant. Hector moved to help him but the waere lord shouted wordlessly and the big man stopped. We were forced to watch long, awkward minutes of him using his right arm to jerk the useless left one into his lap, then drag his left leg across the bed to the edge so he could try to sit where Johnny had sat. The left arm fell out of place twice and Ig raged each time. It was sad and wretched and terrible. It hurt me to see him fight with himself for such a simple task.
When Ig finally had his body where he wanted it, he was breathing as if he’d just finished a marathon. Ferociously, he said, “Talk of what you want? I don’t want to live like this!”
Ig stabbed a finger at Johnny, pointing, and his fury continued. “Your past may hide from you, but you can’t hide from your future. Tear this agony from me! Take it now, I’m ready. Spare me this indignity!”
Stricken, Johnny rushed from the room. I could do nothing but follow.
Ig’s howl of anger followed us down the stairwell.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Johnny didn’t say a word as he passed Beau, he just flew by, threw open the door, and stormed up the sidewalk to the Night Train, straddled it, and turned the ignition. My feet were planted on the sidewalk. I didn’t know what to say to him, but I wasn’t getting on the bike with him yet.
He understood and shut it off.
His hands left the grips and rested on his thighs. His head fell back, as if the sunlight might burn away his misery and pain. The bright rays kissed his skin, gleamed in his hair, and glistened on the earrings and brow rings. He still hadn’t shaved, but the extra scruff suited him.
I waited.
“The first time I changed, Ig was there. He’d crossed my path at a deli, scented me. He didn’t recognize me, so he knew I was either a new waere in the area breaking the law by not registering with the pack, or I was flat-out a brand-new waere. He had me followed.” Johnny brought his skyward face down and his countenance was tight with emotion. “After the park, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was . . . but I knew who I wanted to be. I chose the name Newman because I was a new man. And then I found out I was infected. Whether or not I was a waere before the park, I may never know. But I had to deal with it like it was new. Ig was there for me. He’s been like a father to me.”
Someday, he would have to reveal to the waere community that he was Domn Lup. But not today. Today he was reeling because his father figure was dying. “C’mon,” I said, swinging my leg over the bike to sit behind him. My arms circled his waist and I laid my head against his shoulder.
He gripped the handlebars. “Where to?”
Last night we’d just cuddled, I’d needed rest. Today, I thought I might know the answer he needed. “Let’s just ride.”
Surveying the theater, I had another awe-filled reaction. The large display screens were now wired into the upstage framework and a logo like the one on the gray-primer door floated around in each screen, spinning and flipping. The marble floor was now finished.
A large circular dais covered with thick black carpeting was now situated downstage center. A big chair was centered on the dais. Accented by ornately carved wood, it had a thronelike appearance, but the padded seat, back, and arms made it look comfortable, as well. An angled beam of amber light focused on the chair shifted slightly. I glanced up. Someone was adjusting the stage lights above us.
We moved farther into the room. When the workers observed us they stopped and stared at us. One of them, a giant of a man whose height and girth would top even Hector’s, was carrying a divan all by himself across the stage. He wore a Cleveland Browns football jersey and dark blue jeans. He became aware of the quiet, saw us, and set the long piece of furniture down and stood like the rest.
Johnny took one of the pair of steps situated at either side of the proscenium to stage level. As we crossed the stage, we neared the colossal-sized man who’d single-handedly carried the divan. When I glanced back, he was following us off stage.
If we continued on into the little alcove, we’d be vulnerable. And trapped. I tapped Johnny on the shoulder. “We’re being followed.”
Johnny turned. “You need something?” Johnny’s shoulders squared.
The big man had eyes as black as pitch, but his round face and thick arms were tanned to what Nana would call “brown as a biscuit.” He used one massive hand to lift his shirt a little to reach into his rear jeans pocket. Then, he offered me a cream-colored envelope, a little larger than four-by-six inches. My name was written in black with calligraphic flair on the front. The back flap was bordered with gold. Its elegance was somewhat lessened by squashed corners and a slight bend. “Boss said to give you this.” He spoke slowly and his inflections hinted at southern locales. It made his deep voice pleasant to hear.
I accepted the envelope. “Thank you. What’s your name?”
“Mountain.”
“Thank you, Mountain. You’re certainly getting the renovations done fast. It’s really amazing.”
He bowed his head and backed away. “Thank you, Ms. Witch.” Before he disappeared through the doorway to go back to work, I saw a straggly ponytail of black hair that fell past the ends of his long shirt.
Ms. Witch?
I opened the envelope and handed it to Johnny. A gold-bordered correspondence card bore the engraved letter M, also in gold, at the top. Below it, in the same beautiful penmanship, was written: