The Thing About Weres

I’d led them to this: with every decision I’d deferred to Cordelia’s wisdom, with every dispute I’d asked Harry to solve, with every social occasion I’d dodged and sent Biggs instead.

As lightbulb moments went, it was a little dim and whole lot late.

My Were-bitch whined as the teenager closest to Harry let out a groan and sank to his knees. A young Were pulled off his T-shirt and lifted his head to the moon. Still human, he snapped his mortal white teeth in the air.

My fingers itched for some magic.

“They’re stronger than us,” my wolf moaned. “They don’t like us. They’ve never liked us.”

Goddess, Cordelia was right, I thought, listening to my inner-bitch’s whimpers. I’m not the girl I was.

I need to find her again. I need to mend her.

Come back, magic-mine.

The murmur of conversation dried up on cue as Knox held up his hand for attention. Those most happy about my change in fortunes had pushed their way to the front of the throng. I studied their stony faces. It was easy to read the Scawens and Danvers families; for them the dice had long tumbled down the green felt.

It was much harder to judge the mind-sets of those who milled behind them because the magnetic lure of the moon had left them all with the focus of a junkie overdue for his fix. Is there any leeway in the verdict? Any way I could talk them out of hurting my friends, too? Hard to tell. Their attention bounced from me, to Knox, to that rising silver orb; the same sequence playing over and over in a restless shuffle. A teenager yipped and was quickly shushed by a sweating adult.

“We are gathered here,” began Knox. He’d removed his hat, losing his cool factor. Now it appeared he was working on emphasizing the wolf hidden within. My accuser either brushed his hair to amplify his feral qualities or it grew that way—from his widow’s peak, it rose into a ridge that ran down his skull to the base of his neck.

The Royal Amulet tensed against my breast as a trickle of sweat rolled down between my boobs. I’d expected a longer preamble from Knox, maybe a little back history about who he was and what gave him the right to chain up my seconds and bring me forward to this kangaroo court, but after a relatively short intro, the Council’s boy pulled a bunch of papers out of his back pocket. He thumbed up his glasses. “Though you are known as Hedi Peacock,” he said, “your name is actually Helen Stronghold. You are the get of a denounced Were and his Fae whore.”

“My mother was mated to my father, and I have not tried to hide who I am—”

“Until six months ago, you were presumed dead or to be—” He paused, and then dropped the Fae-bomb. “In Merenwyn.”

The crowd did the obligatory mutter.

“Not true.” I cast a searing glance toward my magic. “I’ve never been out of Ontario.” Magic, return to me. Come back to me now. Casperella’s head reared back. Did she hear my silent plea? With cool deliberation, she lifted her hand to the sphere above her. At her touch, my magic ball sparked. A few glittering bits of it swarmed out of the sphere, did a quick circuit and then dived back into the melee of magic.

Oh yeah? I took a chance, and used real words and a forceful tone. “Magic-mine, return to me. Right now, right here.”

Knox did that thing with his nose again. “Go ahead and say your prayers,” he murmured, flipping to the second page. “The Council’s charges are as follows. The accused, Hedi Peacock-Stronghold, conspired to end a century-long peace held between the Weres and Fae by sending an Alpha into the Fae realm through the forbidden portal.”

He took a breath, and then said in grave tones that didn’t jibe with his ensemble, “This action constituted a deliberate violation of terms set by the Treaty of Brelland—an agreement that has kept the peace between our realm and the Fae’s for some hundred years. The consequences of this are real and significant—her actions have put the welfare of all Weres in peril.”

The pack inhaled in feigned shock. Two-faced terriers. It was common knowledge among the wolves of Creemore that the portal to the Fae realm had opened up long enough for Cordelia and me to shoot Bridge past its gates. But now they had to look like it was all news to them, didn’t they? No one wants to be considered an accomplice to a Fae conspirator.

Guess they are afraid they’ll end up chained to a tree.

“Additionally, she is held accountable for the homicides of Mannus Trowbridge, Stuart Scawens, Dawn Danvers, and Robson Trowbridge. Covering up their deaths cost the pack, and the NAW, significant dollars.”

More rumbles from the pratless pack.

I searched for a comeback to the NAW’s charges—something brilliant along the lines of Winston Churchill— but my wordpile was as low as my Were. So, I said the obvious. “I’m innocent.”

“She murdered my daughter!” screeched Lucy Danvers.

Well, besides that.

“She’s bad luck! Nothing has gone well since she’s been here.” I swiveled my head to pick out the lout who’d said that, but the Hedi-hater had melted back into the crowd—clearly a stealth accuser, unlike Rachel Scawens and her daughter, Petra, who were standing near the front of the pack, their body language screaming “Burn her.”

“I will eat your flesh,” Rachel’s eyes promised.

And I hope you choke on it.

Knox scoffed. “Are you saying that you’re not a Fae spy? That you weren’t sent here to make it look like one of us deliberately broke the treaty?”

“I am not a spy!” I tore my gaze from the Scawenses and pinned Knox with my one-eyed glare. “Robson Trowbridge is not dead and I am his mate. In his absence, I have looked after this pack. This whole—” I would have thrown up my hands, but the guy behind me had me pinned fairly well, so I did an aggressive move with my chin. “Come-to-Jesus intervention is bullshit. I’m working for the pack, not against it. At any point in time over the last six months have I tried to run? Have I done anything threatening or hurtful to you people?”

A soccer-mum Were shrieked, “You have been waiting for your people to come!”

“I have been waiting for my mate to return,” I hurled back. I matched my vehemence with a really savage head toss, which finally—finally—popped my blindfold off my brow. It sat on the top of my head, an ugly crown of red cotton. But now I could see everything: hatred, confusion, a smidge of ambivalence, aggression, mixed with a whole bunch of moon lust.

“From Merenwyn!” someone screeched at the back. “We all know why she sent him there.”

“Kill her!”

I gave the ball of green hovering over Casperella a swift (but very earnest) look of entreaty. Come home, I implored. I’m sorry I sent you away.

“Wait,” someone yelled, as he shoved his way through. “Stop!”

I groped for the insurance broker’s name. John? Jason?

Nameless skinny guy demanded, “Who’s going to lead the pack of Creemore if she’s torn apart by our wolves? No males of age have shown the gift of blue light.”

They couldn’t just shoot me?

“The Council has investigated the situation.” Knox stuffed the papers into his back pocket. “That is true. No male—”

“Or female,” interjected Rachel, with a significant glance at her daughter, Petra.

“So far no one in your pack—male or female—has shown any definitive ability to flare.”

“As yet,” said Rachel firmly.

Knox paused to give her a glare that should have melted her. “The NAW knows that there are quite a few young Weres—male or female—who have the right lineage. Which leaves your pack in a problem, should you decide that this,” he ladled on some scorn, “Alpha-by-proxie is guilty of these charges. In that case, the NAW will step in and appoint a Regent.”

Slowly, the insurance guy asked, “And this Regent … Would he chosen from our pack?”

“No.” Knox’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses. “I was sent here to fulfill that responsibility. When I left, the