The Thing About Weres

My wrist ached, my fingers were swelling. “Let’s stop pretending, okay? I tricked Trowbridge into saying the words. I took what wasn’t mine and now I’m paying for it.”

“Exactly how are you paying for it?”

“Because I got what I wanted—I got exactly what I wanted. I sat on that damn pirate rock and I stared up at that bright star in the sky and made a wish. ‘Please, Goddess, send them back to me. Bring me back my mate and brother.’” My voice rose in hurt and frustration. “Well, she did. And now I wish … Oh hell … I don’t know what I wish—all I know is that nothing’s going to work.”

My cable of magic slithered up to my lap. I gazed at it, feeling older than Cordelia, Trowbridge, and Lexi all put together. “I can’t be what Trowbridge wants me to be. I can’t leave my ‘Fae shit’ outside of this house. It’s part of me. It goes with me where I go. And I’m tired of trying to keep everything nice in little separate boxes. It’s just…”

“Exhausting,” she said softly. “Almost impossible to carry on, pretending to be something you’re not.”

I nodded in quiet misery.

“Stop worrying about what you think other people expect of you. And stop worrying about being anything other than what you are. It’s a mistake we all make when we’re young—fooling ourselves into believing that we’ve hidden from the world what we truly are. Most of the time, we haven’t. People understand far more about us than we imagine.”

She lifted her penciled brows.

“As for the ‘Fae shit’ issue—Bridge made an unfortunate comment in the heat of the moment. Wrestle an apology from him and move on.” She fussed with her sweater. “You two definitely need some alone time.”

“I’m afraid of what he’s going to say when we are alone.”

Cordelia heaved a sigh. “God, how I loathe living in high drama.”

“Says the ex-drag queen.”

Her features twisted into an impressive scowl. “Brat.” Then she sat down on the floral-covered settee, and for a minute or so, neither of us said anything. Not even my Fae—who drifted off my lap, and headed back toward the edge of the hearth, seemingly intrigued by the dark hole of the firebox.

Moodily, Cordelia said, “I loved someone once.”

I risked a sidelong glance. “How’d that work out?”

“Not very well.” Her five o’clock shadow rasped as she scratched the side of her neck. “Possibly because I decided—based on one off-the-cuff comment—that he wasn’t going to go the distance with me. And then I left Creemore before he had the opportunity to prove me wrong.”

“Another pack member?” At her brief nod, I asked, “He’s still here?”

“He’ll never leave Creemore.”

“That must be hard.”

“Harder to face the fact that I was never going to replace him—that not one of those sweet young things who drifted into my life to bleed me dry has ever filled that hole inside me.” She stared blankly ahead. “I want you to be smarter than I was.”

My shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to do.”

A size eleven Stuart Weitzman gave my hip a gentle nudge. “Why don’t you start with doing something about that little snake? You’ve been mislaying your magic—little pieces of it—everywhere. It is a gift, is it not? Isn’t that how your people refer to it? A talent or a gift? And look. You’re letting it nose around in the ashes.”

Surreptitiously, I swiped at my damp eyes. “You and Lexi are the only two people who see my magic.”

“Really?” She busied herself with a thread on her skirt. “How odd.”

“Return to me,” I said. A moment later, my Fae sat sullenly in my gut, nestled close to my inner-Were. I felt marginally better. Spine stronger, belly full again. Merry slid down her chain and settled herself dead center over my heart.

Enough. I stood.

Cordelia observed. “Your niece is almost finished.”

I turned my head toward the female huddled on the floor in the final throes of her change. Hooray. Anu’s human form was going to be depressingly fit. Her shoulders were on the wide side, but since she was about as thin as a catwalk model, their width only served to make her waist look even smaller.

“She’ll need a blanket.” Cordelia headed for the stairs. “Stay with her?”

“Yup,” I said without much enthusiasm. “You got to admit, this is the perfect end to a perfect day.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Cordelia’s voice floated down the stairwell. “It’s only the morning.”

“Even Karma has got to know when to call it a day,” I called back.

Sucking in my lower lip, I leaned against the door frame and settled in for the rest of the show. Another forty seconds of moaning and leg jerking before Anu was finished. My brother’s daughter lay on the dusty floor, naked—a long-running Were theme I was getting more than a little tired of—and protectively curled into a ball. She gave a watery sniff. Then she pushed a heavy swath of hair from her cheek, knuckled away some eye goop, and lifted her gaze.

Oh Fae Stars. Green eyes, so pale they were almost translucent, widened and filled with tears. They’re the exact shade of mine. A minute comet of green fire spat at me—like a cat’s hiss—before it circled her dark pupil and faded.

“You’re nothing more than a kid,” I said in shock.

Lexi’s brat looked down on herself and uttered a bleat of dismay.

Yup, you’re naked. But it appeared my niece was definitely not comfortable with that concept because she executed a frantic scramble for a place to hide or something to cover her nudity. Which was too bad because there was nothing except a wall, a staircase, and a carpet runner nailed down to the floor.

“Hurry up with the blankie,” I hollered.

Cordelia leaned over the railing to toss me an afghan. “Here.”

I caught the wedding quilt. “You couldn’t have found something that didn’t smell like Trowbridge?”

“I have an aversion to Mannus’s scent,” she answered. “Good God. Has she been weaned yet?”

At the sound of Cordelia’s drawling voice, Miss Woebegone uttered another wrenching cry then buried her wet head into her knees. Her shoulders shook and she began to cry, but quietly.

I grimaced and edged toward her. “What is she, twelve?” It was tempting to toss the thing over her like a dust sheet.

Cordelia frowned. “I’d say more like—”

“Fifteen,” piped up Biggs from the end of the hall.

“Shut up!” Our voices rang in perfect unison. Biggs pulled a face and melted back into the kitchen.

“Don’t bite,” I warned, crouching to drape it over her shoulders. My knuckles grazed baby-soft skin, and with that came a flea of a thought: Trowbridge would never touch a child. I verified that certainty with my nose. “Her skin doesn’t carry his scent.”

Cordelia huffed as she descended the stairs. “I can’t believe how long it took you to figure that out. Of course she wouldn’t have a scent. She has Fae blood in her, just like you do—which means—”

“She’d pick up whatever scent she’s been around. And since Lexi doesn’t have one, she’d smell like Trowbridge.” I sat back on my heels, thinking that life was a freakin’ scale in front of me. One side was already heavily weighted, and Cordelia kept tossing handfuls of pebbles into the other. “You know you’re biased?” I said. “You’re definitely Team Trowbridge.”

“Of course I am,” she said simply, her tone gentle. “He’s beautiful, and I’ve always had a weakness for lovely things.” Her gaze grew penetrating. “But I gave you a promise six months ago that I’ll never take back. Come what may, I will always be your friend.”

You’re more than that, I thought. And Trowbridge isn’t pretty anymore, not the way he once was. Hard, yes. Honed, definitely. And maybe—my heart twisted at the thought—more than a little tortured. “Do you think everyone has One True Thing?”

“Yes.” Her mouth twisted into a sad smile. “And no.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s time for tea.” She pushed me toward the kitchen. “Come along. My tolerance for babysitting is