Coffin Fit (The Grateful Undead series Book 4) (12 page)

"The backseat," Jeni added.

"Two," Paul told the old guy sitting on a barstool, a pint of
Jack Daniels
peeking out from under an open copy of
Hustler
magazine on the counter beside him.

"Five bucks a carload," the guy said.

Paul handed him a ten and waved away the change.

The guy's lips parted in a toothless smile. He scratched at stubble peppering a tanned, leathery face. "Thanks, buddy. Enjoy the show," the guy said, eyebrows waggling a lascivious gesture.

Paul smiled.

Jeni ignored the old man. "Mom said she thought it was during either
Rosemary's Baby
or
Planet of the Apes
," Jeni said as the car rolled around a curve and into the dark parking lot.

After he had stopped laughing, Paul said, "I'm putting my money on
Rosemary's Baby
and the sex scene."

It was Jeni's turn to laugh. "Ya think?"

"Is this okay?" he asked, pointing at a center spot; third row from the back.

It was still light enough to see the funny speakers on poles coming out of the ground every fifteen feet or so.

"Sure," Jeni answered, and Paul swung into the space he'd indicated.

He parked, pulled the speaker into the car, and hung it on the window, pushing a button to motor the glass up to hold the metal box in place.

Jeni said, "If I'm not getting laid tonight, I want popcorn before the movie starts."

"I can handle that," the wolf said. "Be right back.

The fifteen minutes Paul was gone gave Jeni time to think.

When he got back, Paul slid into the car and passed Jeni a large box of popped corn.

Jeni popped a kernel into her mouth. "What if I was gifted, like maybe I could talk to ghosts, or have some witch in me?" Jeni snuggled as close as she could get in the front seat of the
Corvette
. "Would that keep the council off your ass?"

Paul whipped his face in Jeni's direction. "Do you?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. Is there a test for that?"

"Probably, but keep in mind, in my world you're protected. It doesn't stop me from having to accept a challenge to defend my right to..."

"Yeah-yeah-yeah," Jeni said around a mouth of kernels. "Well, my rules on leading my own life are very specific."

"The council laws on mating with humans are not only specific," Paul said, "but life-threatening."

"Who said anything about mating?"

Paul opened the glove box and pulled out a well-used, pamphlet-size, paperback. He handed it to Jeni. "Read this."

"It's not The Book of Rules, is it?" Jeni turned it over, but the cover was blank. "Because I've already read the council's rule book, and I still have a copy."

"No." Paul reached out and flipped open the front cover; his finger tapped the title page:
Why Didn't He Tell Me?
"This is about what to expect from a relationship with someone like me."

"Catchy title," Jeni chuckled.

"Before we do anything, we will have a few more lengthy discussions on the trials and tribulations of lycanthrope love, girl."

"Oh, please. You can't be all that." Jeni tsked, set the paperback on her lap, and scooped out another fist full of popcorn.

Carefully shutting the driver's door and turning up the volume on the speaker, Paul smiled over the edge of his popcorn box as he tilted it to his lips. "In that respect, I'm a show you kind of guy, sweetheart." He tongued a few kernels into his mouth. Crunching, he pointed at the book in Jeni's lap. "I was talking about the Otherworld rules in regards to a lycanthrope having a physical relationship with a human. That book's a must-read."

"Crap," Jeni said, lips curled in a frown. "So, I guess there will be no sex, again, tonight?"

"There are many ways to please a woman, Jennifer," Paul said with a naughty grin.

"
Ahhoooooh, Werewolf in London
," Jeni sang, and then gobbled the rest of the popcorn in her hand.

~~~

TEN

~~~

The Castle Canzone de Sangue
was built in a remote area surrounded by the Appennini mountain range between Milan and Brescia, and many kilometers away from any human residents. Marcus and his brother's footsteps echoed off rough cut floors. The dark walls were carved stonework, and added a deep coldness to the castle halls. Sconces hung twenty feet apart at eye level. Shadows crisscrossed behind and in front of them as they moved toward a set of heavy doors.

The smell of dampness, vermin, human waste, blood and age-worn memories hung heavy in the air, reminding them of times when immortals were allowed to scale walls in the ancient castles and brutally kill unsuspecting occupants.

The set of doors was old hardwood with ornate hammered-metal appurtenances, and had outlived many who walked through them. As Dorius effortlessly swung the door open, twelve alabaster faces stiffly turned in unison. They sat at a long, solid, beech wood parson's table in straight back chairs. Three wooden candle holders lined the table, adding soft light and harsh shadow to the immortal's lifeless faces. The black robes the men and women wore made their white skin and stoic expressions more macabre.

Neither Marcus nor Dorius showed shock at being greeted by the full council, nor did they react to the sour smell of a wolf—a
lupo pacchetto
member—sitting alone in a dark corner. The man was thick and tall with dark eyes and hair. His hands were big, legs muscular under tight-fitting jeans, and his upper body stretched a gray sweatshirt. Both brothers allowed themselves a nod and brief eye contact in greeting. Only Dorius's expression slipped a heartbeat of recognition; neither missed the smile on the man's unshaven face.

Not a word was spoken, although everyone knew the brothers had only expected two or three high council members. Today was supposed to be a meeting for them to relay their findings and discuss a plan of action.

Small ventilation holes, high on the east wall, which once allowed light to enter, had been sealed over by a freemason centuries ago. The chamber would've been pitch-black if not for the low-lit candles. The room was said to have been the bed chambers of Francesco Fosaria, Doge of Venice in the mid 1400's.

"Dorius! Marcus!
Benvenuto
!" Antoinette greeted as she rushed past the twelve council members to embrace her brothers. "I've just left Camillo. He's lounging before a fire in our bedchamber. So
Dai
,
Dai
, let's get down to business. I wish to join my mate."

The undertone of his sister's voice stopped Dorius's jaw from grinding his molars to nubs. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dorius's top coat pocket sang,
Ah-ah-ha-ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
He reached for his cell phone.

"Tell me that is not the ringer you selected for your mate," Marcus said, clearly hoping to add amusement to their situation.

Jaw set, teeth grinding again, Dorius flipped open his cell phone. Thumbs clicking, eyes glaring, he addressed the council. "It's Concetta with a rogue report," he replied. "I beg the council's pardon, this should only take a second," he added, fingers furiously working a return a text.

"Ahhh, leadership always takes center stage, gentleman," Marcus said to a room full of what looked like wax figures. The council did not move, not even a blink.

Marcus mentally poked Susan.
Darling, you may want to take your mother's phone away. We have just walked into an unexpected council meeting where I'm quite sure my brother's head—and quite possibly mine—is on the table.

Susan immediately poked back.
Hang on, sweetie. Christopher is telling me something about your situation. It seems Lily can see everything from Hell, so that means Christopher can see you guy,s too. Dorius has been—

Dorius popped the phone back into the breast pocket of his leather dress coat, and the look on his face dared Marcus to remark further.

Marcus was looking through him, his mind tickling his mate's.
Dorius has been what, love?

Dorius's pocket sung again,
You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes...

Marcus spit laugh-laced tension. "Tell me
that's
not Betty's ringer."

Susan, I need you to explain your last statement, immediately!

Hang on, Christopher is mind bumping Lily, Raphael is with her. This isn't easy.
They're out shopping for a new mother-daughter dress to replace the one that got burned when we saved JoAnn, and Lily can't sneak away.

Dorius yanked the phone from his pocket and thumbed the passcode on the screen. "Yes, Elizabeth," he answered as he walked toward the back of the room.

"His wife," Marcus informed the twelve council members, all still staring their way; they showed no sign of life. "She is part of the rogue team in Florida. They've been on a very important assignment. And it correlates to this one."

It better, Susan!

I'll let you know in a sec. I'm
Googling
the word correlate. There it is. Hell yes, this has a connection. Can't you speak English? It would take a whole hell of a lot less time if—

Answers! Now!

"Sorry, Dorius has always been relentless with his team." Antoinette chuckled. The alabaster dozen showed no noticeable recognition. Antoinette's tinkles of laughter trickled off as though a soft breeze ended abruptly. She nudged her brother. "Dorius, be a dear and take the seat at the far end." She watched as, without a word, her brother ended the call and slowly walked the length of the long mahogany table.

Hold on!
Susan pushed.
We're trying to work Betty into a six-way mind-meld with us, including Lily in Hell.

"Marcus, you will be taking Dorius's chair, and I yours," Antoinette said.

The council member's heads followed her movement until she slid into the chair beside Marcus, who sat facing his brother at the other end of the long table.

"This is the list of infractions proposed against Dorius," Antoinette said.

A soft chuckle came from the dark corner where the wolf dressed in human's clothing sat.

Marcus accepted the folder, back rigid, teeth grinding, and the veins in his neck corded. He laid the folder on the table and opened it. Marcus was usually the mediator during these types of meetings and only spoke when Dorius and the accused both put up a good argument. Dorius had a tendency to be less lenient when presenting infractions committed by rogues. Marcus usually kept things civil; an advocator for the accused. Antoinette had that job tonight.

Running a finger down a sheet of paper in the folder, Marcus's façade hid his thoughts well, and his brothers expressed a lack of concern, laced with frustration.

"Shall we begin?" Antoinette asked.

Marcus lifted his head and locked eyes with his brother.
Susan?
He mentally growled.

Jeez, give it a second. Betty wanted to touch up her lipstick.

Marcus mentally growled louder.

Antoinette splayed her fingers on the table and gently caressed the dark wood.

Marcus unclenched his jaw. "Dorius Morizzio, the Italian
pacchetto
in conjunction with
Appenni's Lupus Italicus,
summons retribution for the mutilation of pack member Karl Pecora. They add the additional powers are an unsolicited burden to the
Lupo
and
Vampiro
treaty signed in 1924. They do not wish to take responsibility for any repercussions."

Marcus's eyes dilated solid black, and his fangs dropped. His gaze raked the twelve council members and stopped at his sister. Antoinette's head swiveled toward him, nostrils flaring.

Marcus drew in his fangs, and once again, his eyes were on his brothers. "The council—the one we established almost a thousand years ago—is additionally charging you with reckless endangerment of humans in two countries, and irrevocable damage to the anonymity of immortality. They're holding you personally responsible for the deaths of seven humans here in Milan."

Marcus studied his brother's cool, stoic demeanor. When Dorius made no move to speak, he asked, "Do you wish to address these issues?"

* * *

"So does Lily know the immortal's name?" I asked Christopher.

Lily has many gifts. Some not yet understood. But the ability to see through anyone who has exchanged blood with her and anyone they had exchanged blood with, including, but not limited to blood relatives, had been the most valuable so far.

"No," Christopher answered, "that's why I'm calling Dennis. He may know who was on the BAMVC's jet when it landed to pick up Betty for a shopping trip two months ago. But Lily did say the man was not who he appeared to be."

"What the hell does that mean?"

I was pacing now.

"I don't know," Christopher said.

"Are you absolutely sure this immortal got off the jet in Miami?" I asked. "And somehow made his way to Central Florida, captured, and then smuggled an infected critter on board before the jet took off for Italy? It was less than twenty-four hours. I remembered because Marcus said they had to go over the jet with a fine tooth comb, because Dorius didn't want his mate getting on unless they did."

"Lily says she saw the whole thing through Betty's eyes. She can even describe the immortal. He's dark-skinned, thick, tall—only inches shorter than the opening on the jet where he boarded—dark eyes and hair, and was carrying a fat, black, hard leather suitcase."

"That's every freaking Italian man in Italy," I spat. "Jesus, can she give us something more?"

"If you'd shut up, I could hear what she's giving us." Christopher's eyes glazed over. He rocked back and forth slowly as he listened to his mate.

Why didn't Marcus do that when I mind-pushed him? It was so romantic.

I shuddered. The word romantic should not be in the same sentence with an immortal who looked five years old and a demon kid who was only six.

"Lily said the guy was wearing a
Hockey Milano
jacket," Christopher announced, and the jet was late for take-off, waiting for him. She's saying the minute he boarded, she knew-" Christopher abruptly stopped talking, his jaw dropped, his eyes got big, and he slowly turned to me. "The man that got on the plane was dead."

"So what? He's a vampire. Is he a werewolf too?" I asked, thinking that was what was freaking Christopher out.

"No; just a werewolf, and he
really
was dead, as in totally dead. Someone was wearing the shifter's body when it got on the plane."

"Whaddaya mean
really
dead?" Betty's twang was twiggy. "You better tell me that shit isn't contagious, now."

Christopher shushed her and covered his ears with his hands for a couple of seconds before he added, "Lily says
something
was wearing the guy, not
someone
."

"What?" I said, and Betty said, "Are you telling me-"

"Hold it!" Christopher shrieked, a small hand in the air in front of my belly button. "She's still talking to me." He paused, then turned to Betty. "Lily is sending you a mental image of this guy. Tell Dorius to be ready to grab it from your mind."

Betty put the almost forgotten cell phone against her ear. "You hear that, sweetie?"

"Christopher!" I growled, over Marcus's simmering rumble circling my brain. "What the hell was the thing in possession of the shifter's body?"

Christopher sighed. "A doppelganger."

"The dead son-of-a-bitch—literally—is sittin' in the same room with my sugar-pie right now," Betty told us.

I'd forgotten about Betty and Lily shooting Dorius a mental image.

Marcus laughed in my head.
Great teamwork, darling.
My brother is smiling.

Smiling?
I thought.
He's sitting across from a doppelganger in wolf clothing.

* * *

Dorius rose from the end of the table and walked along the back, opposite the wolf sitting in the shadows. The cold, gray room became deadly quiet except for the click of his black boots on the stone flooring as the immortal passed behind his brother and sister. He stopped and faced the wolf. "I know you."

"That you do, vampire. Although, I haven't seen you since I was a pup. I'm Karl's son."

Not one council member blinked. Antoinette looked from Dorius to her other brother beside her. Marcus smiled, hands on the table in front of him. Antoinette's eyes moved swiftly to her brother's hands grasping the table firmly, dilated to solid black for a nanosecond, and swiftly returned to Marcus's eyes. She slowly moved around the armless chair she sat in as if to follow Dorius's conversation.

"No, you're not," Dorius said, and before a human could register a flicker of light, Dorius was on the werewolf, fangs deep in his neck.