“They informed me that ‘What the fuck’s your problem?’ was inappropriate,” Ben said without lifting his head.
“I heard it took two weeks before they asked him to go ahead and resume his old phrase,” Honey said.
“All of the new ways he answered his phone were even worse,” said Carlos from a nearby table.
“It only took them six days,” Ben said smugly.
Ben was dragged off by a pair of pack mates not long after that and I was left alone.
Adam sat back down in his chair, replacing my empty glass with another limeade.
“Ben fessed up,” I told him. “There was no secret plot to make you a widower via flying itty-bitty pumpkin. It was an accident.”
“I saw the two of you over here laughing like loons,” he said.
“He hit me with a pumpkin,” I told him, in my bad British accent. “He was gutted.”
Adam laughed.
2
George was the first to leave.
“I just got called in early tonight,” he told Adam, raising his voice to be heard over the music, as they exchanged hand grips. “Something went down at one of the grocery stores.”
Adam tensed. “Violence?”
George shrugged. “They are keeping it quiet for now—or they just don’t know yet.”
“Stay safe,” I said.
“You should talk,” George said, his eyes going to my bruised face. “I’ve taken bodies to the morgue who have been hit just there. Weak place in the skull.”
“Me, too,” said Adam, though his voice didn’t tighten. I realized that he must have been thinking that when he saw me fall at the corn maze. Sometimes knowledge only makes things worse.
“Not dead yet,” I reminded them. “I am hardheaded, I guess. When it’s my time, I’ll go, and it will probably be something stupid. But if heaven is kind, it won’t be a pumpkin that takes me out.”
“Fair enough,” acknowledged George with a faint smile. He touched his finger to his forehead in a final salute and headed for the exit.
“Let’s go talk to Zack,” Adam said.
Step one of the final planned task of the night. My stomach clenched, but at the same time, I felt an odd sort of relief. Waiting around sucked eggs.
“You don’t need me for this part,” I told him.
He gave me a half smile. “I like having you around.”
I left my fresh glass by the empty one and followed him to Zack’s table.
“I need you to stay for a bit after everyone else goes,” Adam murmured to him. “I can give you a ride home when we’re done.”
Next to Zack, Warren grunted, lifted up his hips, and pulled out a Subaru key fob that still had the dealer’s tag attached. “I’ll catch a ride home with someone. Zack, you take my car.”
“You have a new car?” I asked. Ever since I’d known him, Warren had driven a battered old epoxy-and-blue-and-rust truck.
“Present from Kyle,” Zack said, taking the fob from Warren without an argument.
I was momentarily distracted from my worry. Warren didn’t take presents that big from Kyle.
Warren and Kyle had lived for a long time in the World War II–era duplex Warren used to rent instead of Kyle’s upscale house because Warren was opposed to depending upon anyone else. Even after they had made Kyle’s house their home, Warren had clung to his apartment for a while. Accepting a gift as expensive as a new car was as big an admission of trust as anything I’d ever seen from him.
Kyle had bought a very nice wedding ring for Warren, too. I’d picked it out with him a few months ago. He’d come with me to get my lamb necklace fixed at the jewelers and seen the perfect ring.
Kyle had told me that it was too soon. Warren had been alone a very long time and he had trouble trusting anyone. Kyle was a smart man; no doubt he was right. But he’d bought the ring anyway in happy anticipation.
“That’s a new thing for you,” I said. “And I don’t mean the car.”
“My truck is too noticeable,” said Warren, his mouth tight with something that might have been embarrassment. It also might not have been.
I frowned at him.
“Kyle has me trailing people around,” Warren said too quickly. Warren was a private detective who did work for Kyle’s law firm. “He decided I needed something that blended in with all the other cars.”
It sounded like Kyle might have made that decision over Warren’s objections, though that was a little unlike him. That might explain the extra tension that Warren was wearing tonight.
“I’d have gone Honda or Toyota for blending,” I said, leaving that evidential sore spot for Kyle and Warren to work out. “But Subaru makes a good car, too.”
No one asked me about Volkswagen. I was bitter about the new Volkswagens ever since the turbo-diesel incident.
“I’d buy Mercy a new car to replace the one she used to squish her enemy against a dumpster,” Adam said, “but she’d have my hide.”
“I’m a mechanic,” I told him with mock coolness. “I have to drive an old car. It’s the rules.”
He smiled at me, and my breath caught in my chest at the warmth in his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “As long as it’s the rules.”
About twenty minutes later, the pack began drifting out singly or in small groups. Adam stood by the door, touching each one as they left. Sometimes he’d hug them, sometimes it was a brush of his fingers on their cheeks or a pat on the shoulder. A good pack leader knew what his wolves needed.
I retreated to our table, sipping my third glass of icy limeade. I should be with Adam, but I wouldn’t be able to hide my tension. It was important to let the pack be happy tonight. A few of them looked at me, and I rubbed my cheek in answer. My headache was real enough, even if it wasn’t my problem.
Adam said something to Darryl, his second-in-command, that made the big man laugh. Auriele, Darryl’s mate, reached up and smacked Darryl on the top of his head, but she was laughing, too. Darryl hadn’t competed because he and Adam had set up the stations around the maze, but Auriele had. Her team had made it out in time but hadn’t found two of the ribbons.
Sherwood got up to leave. He limped a little on his way to the exit, proving that he’d given his all to the games in the maze. Usually, he was so graceful that most people wouldn’t notice that he had a prosthetic leg.
Rather than interrupt Adam’s conversation, Sherwood started past. Adam, without taking his attention off the other two wolves, caught Sherwood’s arm, holding him where he was. Sherwood stiffened, drawing back—and Adam didn’t let him go.
Nor, despite the quick, almost worried glance Darryl gave Sherwood, did Adam allow their good-byes to be hurried. When they left, Auriele was frowning.
Adam said something to Sherwood, and Five Finger Death Punch’s “A Little Bit Off” belting through the overhead speakers made sure no one else heard what it was. The big man stared at Adam with unfriendly eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. He made a deliberate effort to relax his posture, gave Adam a quick nod, and turned back to stride toward me.
Showtime, I thought, taking a deep breath. I needed to be calm.
Sherwood’s limp was not in evidence as he prowled toward me. I did not think that was a good sign. Wolves don’t show weakness before their enemies. Not that anyone who knew him would think that having only one leg made Sherwood vulnerable in the slightest.
I’d never heard of a werewolf missing a limb before. Werewolves either die from injuries, or they heal them. If a leg gets severed, it should regrow.
In the case of a human who was crippled or missing a limb prior to becoming a werewolf, there are ways to fix that. Those ways are horrible and involve reinjuring the damaged but healed body part. I’d heard that those methods had been tried unsuccessfully on Sherwood.