Lucky for her. It was ironic that she’d spent so long hunting monsters, only to end up relying on them for protection.
“Don’t look so worried.” He traced his fingertips down her shoulder, leaving her skin tingling with anticipation.
Talia didn’t reply. She was too mesmerized by the obvious strength in his chest and arms. She’d felt that strength last night, the memory of it sending fresh explosions of need through her core.
Lore took hold of the edge of the blanket and gave it a firm tug, pulling it loose from her fingers. “We don’t have to leave right away.”
“Good.”
By the time they finally made it out of the Empire, Talia had lost count of the favors she owed Joe, including the use of his washer and dryer to get the tunnel mud out of her jeans. Lore led her down the mostly shoveled sidewalks. Icicles clung to the rooflines, showing the temperature had risen during the day, but it was bitterly cold now.
Thankfully, their walk was short. She hadn’t been down these streets before, but the air of hard work and not enough money reminded her a bit of her old neighborhood. A group of young people, neither teens nor fully adults, stood in a tight cluster by the entrance of a convenience store. At least a few were vampires. A werebear—he had to be by the size—was lifting his truck out of a snowbank. A movie theater was having a midnight showing of Rocky Horror. Talia wondered what the monsters made of that.
Lore turned south, and Talia knew at once they were in his pack’s territory. A pair of colossal black hounds sat at the entrance to the street. They stood as Lore passed, dipping their huge heads. Lore acknowledged them with a nod and slipped his arm around Talia.
The gesture was as much territorial as affectionate. Her independent streak objected, but Talia understood the necessity on werebeast lands. She was a guest, not an invader, as long as Lore gave her his protection. Without it, she was vulnerable.
He kept his arm circled around her until they reached his destination, a green door in a row of old, two-story houses. Before he could knock, the door was opened by a woman Talia guessed to be around seventy. She wore what looked like traditional dress, hand dyed and embroidered, along with sneakers and an acrylic cardigan. It was the kind of mix Talia had seen before in ethnic communities. In another generation, little trace of the traditional would remain.
The old woman said something in the hellhound language, giving Talia a sharp look. She tensed, feeling very much like she Did Not Belong.
“This is Talia,” Lore replied in English. “She is a friend who needs to stay for a night or two.”
“Come in. Our bread and meat are yours.” The woman spoke slowly, with a thick accent. The words sounded ritualized but also routine, much like someone would offer a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Talia replied. The welcome relieved her. She didn’t want to get Lore into trouble with his pack.
“This is Osan Mina,” Lore said. “She is one of our Elders.”
He put his mouth close to her ear. “ ‘Osan’ is like grandmother, ‘Obar’ like grandfather. Anyone who is an Elder is called ‘Osan’ or ‘Obar.’ They are terms of respect.”
“Got it.”
“Thank you.” He sounded relieved in his turn. Apparently one did not slight the Elders and get away with it. Talia understood; her own grandmother had been the sweetest woman she’d ever met, until somebody ticked her off.
“I’m honored to meet you.” Talia gave a slight bow to Osan Mina, as she’d seen Lore do. It must have struck the right chord, because the woman stepped back, gesturing them inside. As they took off their coats and boots, Talia looked around with interest. Everything was done in colors so bright and varied the air seemed to vibrate.
“Is Helver at home?” Lore asked, following Mina into the kitchen. Talia trailed after him.
Mina replied, still in English. “He helps Obar Ranik get snow off roof.”
“I need to go see him. I’ve let him stew long enough.”
As Talia and Lore sat at the table, Mina filled an enamel kettle and set it on the stove. “You have tea first. You go out, everyone want to talk. You not come back to Mina and Talia.”
Lore gave one of his trademark grins. He might treasure his private apartment a few streets away, Talia thought, but on some level he must have enjoyed being at the middle of everything. He was the go-to guy.
There was a small stack of books at the end of the table. Talia saw a child’s reader on top. “Do you have grandchildren, Osan Mina?”
“I have grandson, Helver.”
“That’s his,” Lore said, nodding at the stack of books. “He’s a young man, though, not a child. Most of the hellhounds are just learning to read English.”
The teacher in her perked up. “Do you have classes?”
He shook his head. “Nothing formal. Volunteers come when they can.”
That made Talia’s head spin. Reading was as natural to her as breathing. “I saw the stack of books by your bed. How did you learn to read?”
“When I lived in the Castle, I had a young friend who was an incubus. His mother taught me. Constance was kind to me because I looked out for her son.”
Talia picked up the reader and opened the cover. The book looked well used, the pages scribbled over with crayon. “What about the hellhound children? Do they go to school?”
“We’re still looking for someplace that will take them. Half-demons aren’t welcome in very many places.”
Talia put the book down, trying to distance herself as a blast of anger roared through her gut. Humans complained that the other species didn’t integrate well into society—but how could they, when access was barred to something as basic as elementary education?
Mina put a tray with tea and cups on the table.
“Why not set up a private school?” Talia said. She wondered if anyone had published educational materials suitable to other species. See Were-Spot Run. See Spot Eat Dick and Jane. It had possibilities.
Lore put his hand over Talia’s. “Can we do that?”
She noticed Mina looking at their hands, and slid hers away. “Sure. It’s not simple to get through all the paperwork, but setting up a private school can be done. I can help.”
Lore still watched her intently. Just being the focus of his attention made Talia’s mouth go dry, and that loss of control made her cautious.
“Just like that?” He sounded incredulous.
She shrugged. “You could even make funding it an election issue.”
Lore’s eyes narrowed, as if he were imagining the possibilities.
Mina didn’t look happy. The old woman’s expression insisted that Lore belonged to the hellhounds, not to a vampire waif. Talia doubted her credentials would impress the likes of the old woman and Mavritte. Forming any kind of a permanent bond with their Alpha, even a business arrangement, would probably spell trouble.
The realization turned her insides to stone, but a large part of her didn’t care. I have a master’s in education. This is about the kids.
Lore’s cell rang. He flipped it open. “Hey, Bevan.”
Mina poured tea and silently slid a cup across to Talia. She took a tiny sip to be polite. It wasn’t blood, but she could get a small amount of hot liquid down without feeling sick. Lore stood and took his call into the next room. Without him, Talia had a sudden pang of awkwardness, and she cast about for a topic.
“How many school-aged children are there?” she asked Mina.
The older female shook her head. “There was big fight to leave Castle. Many have no parents. For every house where hounds live, there live two or three young.”