Adam, Mary Jo, Ben, Warren, and Darryl had volunteered to test the waters. I wasn’t playing because the part of the game I really liked was killing my fellow pirates, not amassing imaginary treasure.
This afternoon, Sherwood had called me to say he was joining in. I didn’t get to ask him any questions, because he said what he had to say and hung up.
Sherwood had showed up tonight, his one-eyed, half-grown kitten riding on his shoulder like a prince of India riding on an elephant. He hadn’t said anything to me, just waved and headed rapidly downstairs, where the rest of the pirate crew were already gathered.
I put the brownies in the oven and licked the spoon. They’d been at it for about three hours. Jesse had watched for a while, but Tad and Izzy had come over. They’d set up in the big meeting room to use the projector system to play YouTube math videos. Calculus 101, I was informed, was a flunk-out course, and they were all planning on acing it.
The stairs creaked, and I looked over to see Sherwood carrying dishes.
“I’ve been knocked overboard and retrieved unconscious,” he reported. “We’ll find out in ten minutes of gameplay whether or not I survive.”
Sherwood’s eyes looked happy, I thought, as he reached up to scratch Pirate—the cat—under his chin. He flexed his white mittened feet into Sherwood’s shirt and purred.
“Experiment a success?” I asked as Sherwood moved away to put the dishes in the sink.
He looked at me.
“No urges to kill Adam and become Alpha in his place?” I clarified.
He smiled. “None,” he said, then sobered. “I still don’t remember how to tone down how dominant I am when I want to. Which means that Darryl and Warren and I might have to dust up a bit to put everything in order. But not now—because my wolf understands that a dustup might hurt the pack’s ability to defend our territory, and we are at war.” He shook his head. “Wolf logic for you. But yes, Adam and I are all right. And Warren and Darryl and I can engage in mock battle without anyone getting riled.”
“Because?” I asked.
“Because the pair of you together make a better Alpha than I would,” said Sherwood.
I frowned. “That’s not how being Alpha works.”
“Not usually, I grant you,” said Sherwood. “But the way the magic of this pack works, you two are one.” He smiled, a sharp expression. “Coyote’s daughter brings something to the mix. I felt it that night—when Adam was fighting off the Soul Taker.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “We know that you were the Great Beast of Northumberland. Were any of the other guesses right in the betting pool?”
He grinned at me, a sudden happy expression, but before he could say anything, we were interrupted.
“Pegleg!” Ben’s shout rose from the basement. “Get your arse down here. You’re waking up and there’s a bleeding kraken after us!”
“All hands!” bellowed Captain Wolf Larsen (Adam).
“Coming, Captain!” Sherwood’s cat clung easily as Sherwood ran down the stairs.
I pulled the brownies out of the oven and set them to cool before I frosted them. As I got out the ingredients for the frosting, I heard the soft sound of a violin being played in my backyard.
I looked out the window over the sink. Night had fallen and it was darker outside than in my kitchen, so I couldn’t see very well, but I thought there were people sitting on the picnic tables in the backyard.
I went outside, shutting the door quietly behind me. As I stepped out, there was a flurry of movement and small shadows scattered away. My eyes couldn’t quite catch them, though I could hear the sound of wings and the rustling of dry grasses.
“Your people?” I asked Tilly, who, in her guise of a ten-year-old girl, was sitting on the ground, her face intent.
She nodded but kept her rapt gaze on Wulfe as if she’d never heard music before. I listened for a few more bars, searching for the title of the familiar piece, and finally found it—The Lark Ascending.
Wulfe sat on top of one of the picnic tables. He wore a white dress shirt unbuttoned too far and black dress pants rolled halfway up his calves. His legs were crossed at the ankles and he was barefoot, though there was a chill wind that made me wish that I’d stopped and grabbed a coat. Wrapped around and around his waist was the embroidered silk belt.
Sitting on the bench of the picnic table nearest to Wulfe’s concert platform was a figure shrouded in a black robe. A hood was pulled over his head and he wore what appeared to be a porcelain mask over his face. There was a small hole in the pursed lips of the mask, but the eyes were just painted on. I tried not to wonder about what his face looked like beneath the mask.
I sat next to Stefan and listened to Wulfe play. After a few minutes, Stefan stirred and tried to talk. But his voice was hoarse and slurry, as if there were something wrong with his tongue, so I only caught “owe.”
I shook my head. “We’re friends, Stefan. There’s no account keeping between friends.”
He made a sound that might have been a laugh, then he started coughing, a dry, dusty sound that made his shoulders heave as he bent down until his forehead pressed into his knees. I reached out a hand but didn’t touch because I couldn’t see how he was hurt.
Adam had told me that Marsilia had been in a bad way, but Stefan had been worse. I understood that Marsilia had already recovered thanks to heavy feeding, but Stefan would take more time. His damage had been more than physical, Marsilia had told Adam. But she hadn’t chosen to elaborate.
Wulfe came to the end of his piece and brought his violin down to rest on his lap.
“If he doesn’t try to talk, then he doesn’t have to breathe,” he said, watching Stefan.
Stefan nodded and the coughing diminished. He sat up with an effort as Wulfe slid off the table and put his violin in its case.
“You’re done?” asked Tilly, clearly disappointed.
“Yes, lady,” he said gravely.
She pouted at him, and he raised an eyebrow. “I come and go,” he told her. “You’ll hear me again.”
She watched him a moment, her mouth twisted unhappily, but finally nodded. Then she was up on her feet and running into the darkness without another word. I heard her door squeak open—it didn’t usually squeak—and the sounds of small creatures scurrying before the door clicked shut.
She hadn’t once looked at me.
“Thank you for the concert,” I said. “And for bringing Stefan here.”
Wulfe smiled at me, and it was a real smile. He walked to me and dropped to one knee, then he took my hand and kissed it.
“Bravissima,” he said. “Excellently well done, Mercedes Athena Thompson Hauptman. Well done.”
I frowned at him. “Does this mean you’ll quit stalking me?”
He laughed but did not answer, just went back to get his violin.
Stefan leaned down until his mouth was next to my ear. “Be afraid,” he whispered clearly, and almost soundlessly.
I stared into his porcelain mask and knew that he wasn’t talking about Bonarata.
Violin in one hand, Wulfe came back and picked Stefan up with careless ease.
“He should still be resting,” he told me, “but he wanted to come with me tonight.”
“I’m glad he did,” I said sincerely.
The kitchen door opened. I didn’t have to look to know that Adam was watching.
Wulfe gave me an angelic smile, then vanished.