“I’m here to help,” Adam told them. “Or maybe to play some harp. Or is it a lyre?” He flapped his hands to imitate little wings on his shoulders.
“You’re an angel?” asked Peter sardonically. “You don’t look like one.”
No one at the table had a reaction when he said either “harp” or “lyre.” That confirmed that none of these people had the harp—and that Elyna hadn’t told them why Adam and Mercy were here. Mercy had asked her not to, until they had a better handle on what was going on. But Tammy and her people for damn sure knew about the Great Spell now.
“You’re right,” Adam agreed. “I’m a werewolf. We did come here to help Mercy’s brother. I’d prefer that we not participate in the end of the world.”
Peter sat back. “Fair enough.”
“How did you get caught up in a marriage that decides the fate of the world?” Adam asked the bride-to-be, deciding to take down the temperature a bit.
“For the money,” Tammy said instantly. “Why not?”
She was a good liar. The blue eyes she’d inherited from her father helped that innocent look along. Police officers learned to be good at deception, too. Blandness spread around the table like butter on warm bread.
“I bet you gave your dad fits when you were a teenager,” Adam said. “Werewolves can tell when someone is lying.”
She cracked up. She had a good laugh—earthy and warm.
“I practiced that one for the reporters,” she admitted. “It gives them something that will sell papers, and Zane knows it’s not true. That’s all that matters to me.”
He judged that if he took the tension down one more notch, no one would notice he didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. He wasn’t sure how the conflicting protections—the green man and the spirit of the lake—would sort themselves out with each other and with him and Mercy when they finally figured out where the artifact was. He decided keeping information close to his chest was still the best policy.
He asked the heart of the pack, “How did you meet?” and settled down to listen.
“It was the legs that caught his attention,” Tammy said in a sultry voice, hopping her chair back a couple of times so she could display her jean-clad legs. The table erupted into laughter.
Shuffling footsteps headed their way from the kitchen at a rapid pace. Adam checked Peter’s unconcerned face and didn’t turn around to see who the stranger was.
“I was in my office when our director brought a couple of big-money donors to meet me,” Tammy said, once the others had calmed down.
As the footsteps neared the table, a man’s toneless whisper said, “Is this the leg story? You promised me the leg story.”
“This is the leg story,” said Tammy, her voice gentling. “Join us.”
Adam turned to see an older man, his rolled-up shirtsleeves damp with dishwater, snagging a chair from the nearest table. He set his chair next to Tammy’s and regarded her with earnest attention.
He’d never been a big man, Adam judged, but age had shrunk the newcomer until he looked almost frail—except for the calluses on his hands. And an inner fierceness that Adam’s wolf noticed, though Adam didn’t know why the wolf was so certain.
“You must be Hugo,” Adam said, “who grew the flowers on the tables.”
Hugo offered Adam a sweet smile. “I am Hugo,” he said with odd emphasis, nodded, and repeated, “Hugo.” He reached a hand across the table so he could exchange a handshake. “You are the famous werewolf Adam Hauptman.” The whisper didn’t change, and Adam remembered that Liam had told them that Hugo’s voice had been damaged.
For all of his age, his grip was firm.
“I am Adam Hauptman,” Adam replied, deciding to ignore the “famous werewolf.” It had felt a little like a dig, though Hugo’s smile was friendly and his expression was a little unfocused.
As soon as the introductions were done, Tammy continued her story. “Now, in that job, we went out and checked in with our local homeless population all the time. We knew them, and they knew and trusted us.”
Hugo wasn’t fae. Adam was sure of that. Nor was he a witch. Adam wasn’t Mercy, who could pinpoint supernatural people by the scent of their magic, but he’d have been prepared to bet money that Hugo was something.
“—and because of that, I got a reputation. When anyone—park personnel, police, or even some of the homeless people—would find them, they would bring them to me—”
Adam listened to Tammy with half an ear. His wolf was fascinated by Hugo. Adam knew better than to discount the wolf’s instincts.
Liam had said Hugo was simple. Neurodiverse, maybe, Adam thought. The old man’s interpersonal communication was off. But there was a confidence in the way Hugo moved that belied any lack of intelligence.
Adam wished Mercy were here to tell him what she thought of Hugo. He was willing to bet—from his wolf’s reaction—that there was something very special about the lodge’s gardener.
“—‘Any questions?’ ”
He could tell from the happy anticipation of the rest of the table that Tammy was nearing the climax of the story, so Adam brought his attention back to her.
“And Zane said, ‘Just one. Why do you have three prosthetic legs on your desk?’ And I said, before my good sense could intervene, ‘Why? Are you a leg man?’ He leaned over the desk and said, ‘Absolutely. Would you come to dinner with me?’ ”
“And she said no,” Peter said proudly.
“Dating donors is a good way to ruin your charity’s funding,” she said. “It took him three months to talk me into it. He sent his dating résumé, with letters of recommendation from all of his former girlfriends—and one boyfriend.” She grinned.
Hugo asked her to repeat parts of her story—some he hadn’t quite understood, and some he wanted more information about. Subtle humor didn’t seem to be a concept he was very good with. The whole table chimed in, all of them, Adam thought with interest, protective of the gardener.
He was just getting ready to excuse himself when Liam came in to request help with the snow.
There had been other volunteers to help clear the roof, but Liam had quashed them all. The roof was pitched properly steep to have survived nearly a hundred years of Montana winters, which was steep enough to be dangerous, especially since the old shingles had been replaced with metal a few years ago. If Adam fell off, even from that height, he was unlikely to do any permanent damage to himself. The same could not be said of any of the humans.
Liam showed Adam where the extendable ladder was stored in an outbuilding and helped him carry the unwieldy thing over the snowdrifts to the back of the lodge. Where the greenhouse extended from the side of the lodge, they found a nook that was somewhat protected from the wind gusts, and set the ladder up.
Even in the shelter of the greenhouse, Liam had to hold the ladder to keep the wind from dislodging it. Liam had borrowed some climbing gear from the goblins—who had not volunteered to help. The goblins, with their mountain-climbing experience, would have probably been better at this than Adam. But according to Liam, they had handed over the gear without a word and disappeared into their rooms.
“The goblins really don’t like you,” Liam said, giving Adam a speculative glance.
“Someone told them I kill their kind,” Adam said, going over the equipment carefully. “It’s not true, but I don’t blame them for being wary.”
Adam put the climbing harness on, making adjustments as necessary. Liam didn’t say anything more, so Adam didn’t, either. He put the rope over his shoulder and started up the ladder, trusting Liam to hold it steady.