A Wolf at the Door

“If you say so.”

“It’s weird that you’re here, ’cause I was just thinking about you this morning.” He picked up a folded newspaper off the cart, flipping to one of the inner sections, and offered it to me. “You made the news.”

My heart sank as I found my own picture gracing the front page of the entertainment section. The headline read GRETCHEN KEENE’S MYSTERY DATE, and the picture was obviously one from the club last night. Probably one from the photographer I’d flattened, judging by the background. “Fuck.”

Spencer grinned. “I was trying to tell my cousin I knew that guy, and she didn’t believe me. Can’t wait to tell her you’re up here. How long have you been seeing Gretchen Keene?”

“I’m not.” Mira was gonna kill me. I prayed to all higher powers that this didn’t make it back to Missouri. “Just doing a job.” I skimmed the article a little. Most of it was wild speculation, though there was a rather lengthy mention of me attacking the poor guy with the camera. He was magnanimously declining to press charges.

“Like what kind of job?” I could tell that Spencer had dreams of intrigue and scandal running through his head.

“Don’t you have other orders to deliver?”

“Oh, yeah. Probably.” He stared at me for a few moments.

“What?”

“You gonna tip?”

“Get out.” I threw the newspaper at him as he retreated.

This was so not how I wanted to start my day. Even half a pound of bacon and a long hot shower didn’t really perk me up any. My shirt for the day said STICK THAT IN YOUR JUICE BOX AND SUCK IT, and that was really how I felt about things so far. Last night had left me grumpy and annoyed and feeling increasingly useless here. As near as I could tell, Gretchen was just fine. Could I go home now please?

When another knock sounded at my door, I just knew it was Spencer, probably with the entire kitchen staff in tow. “Hey, I know! Let’s go gawk at the sideshow freak!” I threw the door open, ready to rip his annoying head off, only to find another employee standing there with a two-wheeled dolly bearing my armor and sword case. “You were expecting these, sir?”

“Oh. Yes, I was.” Him, I tipped.

It felt good to have my gear again. I unpacked everything, double- and triple-checking it even though I’d just had my hands on it yesterday morning. The metal still tingled under my fingers, evidence of Cam’s good work.

The Way had travelled well it seemed. I went through a few slow strikes with the new sword, feeling the differences between it and my original. Heavier on the back end, but it seemed to fit well with my own personal fighting style. As I held it, the bone hilt warmed in my hand.

I know, swords don’t really have personalities and all. But…when it’s the one thing between you and dying most of the time, you couldn’t help but assign it traits, characteristics. My old sword had been female. Don’t know why I always felt that way, but I did. This one wasn’t. It was male, rock steady in my grip but with a brightness to it that reminded me of a shooting star. Fire in the night.

Since I hadn’t really had a chance to put it through its paces before I left town, I grabbed the first thing I could find—a piece of paper off the desk—and slid it along the sharp edge of the blade. The paper curled off like butter melting. Verrrrry nice. I found out the sword would also slice through the apple that came with my breakfast, my plain black T-shirt from the previous night, and the entire newspaper. The confetti-like shreds of paper fluttering all over my floor made me feel a little better.

Gear unpacked and safely stowed out of sight, I salvaged the breakfast coffee and finally went in search of Her Highness.

I could hear the voices down at the end of the hall long before I got to the door. Gretchen I recognized. The other woman was new.

Tai answered the door when I knocked, murmuring under his breath, “Watch it, we’re in the blast zone.”

His meaning became clear once I got a look at the two females squared off against each other in the middle of the room.

Gretchen may have just rolled out of bed—at least, I assumed that’s why she was still wearing a tiny little satin nightgown—but her hair and makeup looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon. Demon magic, or just natural beauty? Hard to say.

The other woman was older. Her blond hair was sprinkled liberally with gray streaks and gathered up into a utilitarian ponytail. Her blue jeans showed no signs of wear, and her blouse was fashionable, but I recognized them as cheap brands. You know, stuff normal people wore. When she turned her head a bit, I could see the high cheekbones and flashing blue eyes, just like Gretchen’s. A relative, maybe? A mother.

The instant I thought that, I knew I was right. Moms stand a certain way, take a certain tone with their children. Mine could still reduce me to a tiny little ball of shame with one glance, when warranted. That’s a mother-son thing. I hear with daughters, it’s different. Lotta emotions tied up in those relationships, both good and bad. So this was definitely some kind of mother-daughter…thing.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut, and I saw that Bobby and Dante had already taken refuge over near the bar, pretending not to see the uncomfortable face-off.

“If you want to tell her you’re not coming, you make that phone call yourself. You explain to her why you can’t be bothered to come to your sister’s wedding.” Mom planted her hands on her hips, and I know if I’d been the recipient of that glare, I’d have caved instantly. I’m a big weenie when it comes to my mom.

“I already told her I’d probably be busy that week.” Gretchen waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not like they’ve missed me at any other event.”

“Busy, my rear end. You had eight months to make time to be with your family. Eight months, Gina.”