Coffin Fit (The Grateful Undead series Book 4) (15 page)

~~~

Thirteen

~~~

"What the fucking hell is all the goddamn noise about?" Zaire bitched as she flew through the kitchen, past the breakfast bar, and onto the screen porch.

The screeching of an Egret as it took flight from the bow of their boat tethered to the dock was overpowered by the tyrannical whirring of a hand-drill. Lake Harris shimmered with sunlight; a soft breeze swayed Spanish moss draped from cypress trees at the edge of the water.

Jeni was leisurely sprawled out on a lounge between an elephant palm and a macramé hammock. She plucked a cup of steaming coffee from a glass top table and nodded toward the whirlpool under Susan's balcony outside of the screened porch.

"They're installing aluminum storm shutters on the other side of your bedroom, per Nana," Jeni said. "I don't think she's hurricane concerned, though. You?"

"Jesus, there's a house full of immortals trying to sleep." Zaire plopped down in a PVC pipe-chair across from Jeni. "Plus, batting down the place like a hurricane is headed our way would sure as hell have the neighbors wondering what we're doing in here."

"It was inevitable," Jeni said. "Got to keep the fanged oldies' wrinkled asses from frying. Gibbie and Jake took down all the crosses this morning."

Zaire pointed into the living room. "Nana's altar is still up."

"Yeah, I didn't think taking that down yet was a good idea," Jeni said and sipped her coffee. "She has Poppy's ashes and all those pictures of dead relatives attached to glowing candles. I think we'll ask first."

Zaire leaned back, extended oil-shiny legs and crossed her bare ankles, toenails painted black. Her skin was flawless; dark chocolate without a blemish. Head back, hands draping the PCV pipe, she said, "How long they been here?"

"Just started with your bedroom window." Jeni shut an open book resting in her lap, snagged her empty cup and headed inside. "I'm getting in the shower before they move around to the windows beside the whirlpool. Errands to run. Hope you get some sleep."

Jeni grabbed her coffee cup, tipped the last sip, and headed into the house.

The drill cranked up again.

Zaire huffed. "I can't sleep through this shit."

* * *

The room was dark, quiet, and bubbling with pheromones. Twelve council members sat relevantly revenant down both sides of the long beech wood parson's table. They were expressionless and cloaked in black hooded robes; harsh next to the white skin of their faces and hands, the only flesh visible.

Dorius was seated in a straight back chair at one end, flanked by Marcus and Antoinette. At the other end sat the
Canis lupus italicus
alpha, Karl with his newly acquired fangs. Impressive in stature, Karl was a natural blond haired, blue eyed Italian born in northern Italy. He was tall with wide shoulders and a broad chest. Karl was flanked by his first and second in command, Razzo, as well as Randy, the only black wolf in the Italian
pachetto,
an
intelligent and refined businessman in the flesh and a fierce fighter in fur.
Razzo was a brute of a man, all muscle and feral eyes, a thick neck above black hair curling under his Adam's apple. He sat on the other side of Karl. His breast was wide, his back wider, extending into heavy arms with black curls covering the area from his rolled up shirt-sleeves to his wrists. Razzo could put down a full-grown shifter, and was just as visceral as Randy while in wolf form.

Candles at the ends of the table lit the faces of both parties, giving harshness to their stern glares.

"I wanted to kill you," Karl said. "But then, I always want to kill you." His eyes were harsh as he stared at Dorius. "I detest my vampiric fangs."

The council members' heads swiveled to the front of the room in unison. Dorius sat rigid, back to closed and guarded hardwood doors with hammered-metal trimmings. The immortals were heavily armed and stood at attention, unmoving, unblinking.

"I would think you'd be gratefully undead," Dorius jabbed.

The council member's eyes dilated to solid ebony orbs and followed Dorius's words to Karl.

Karl sneered. "I. Am. An. Abomination! And I owe that to your new sideshow immortals and your reckless, inadequate management skills as their leader."

Marcus leaned forward to speak, but with an inaudible order from Dorius, Marcus placed a hand next to his brother's on the table and said nothing.

Antoinette was not as easily influenced. In a soft voice, dripping with venom, she asked, "Did you hire the doppelganger to bring you an infected animal?"

The twelve members' stoic expressions fell on Karl.

Karl calmly but firmly said, "I did not."

"And we should believe this, why?" Antoinette asked.

Dorius's jaw tightened, but his glare did not waver.

The members of the council held Karl's eyes.

"Because it wore my only son, and Dorius knows this," Karl said as his eyes raked the Council members and stopped on Dorius. "What you do not know, none of you, is that the bastard murdered our
pachetto's
new Alpha," Karl said through gritted teeth. Karl's fangs dropped and the color drained from his face, replaced by a fire in his cheeks as they retracted. "I had stepped down the minute I became immortal."

"No one in the pack challenged Mark," Randy said, with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "He was our best resource. Now he's dead."

Razzo pounded his fist on the wooden table. "This whole hearing is a farce," he spat.

A thin crack ran from beneath the heel of Razzo's hand to the first council member. Not one black hooded immortal moved, not even a blink.

Karl smiled. "You know, Razzo is the Italian word for rocket. The wolf's temperament wins us battles, but it also kept him from becoming a
pachetto capo
." Karl patted Razzo's fist, which still remained over the crack in the wooden table. He then turned to his first in command. "Randy is a stateside shifter, no Italian bloodline, and, therefore, does not qualify for a leader."

Karl's fangs dropped, but this time, it was intentional. Hands pressed to the table, the immortal shifter reared back and roared. He dropped his head and hissed at Dorius. "I will remain the
Pacheto capo
! And for the first time in our history, you and I will put aside our battle, and together, we will find this thing that killed my son and..."

"And destroy it," Dorius finished.

* * *

"Well, that was uneventful," I said and slapped a bag of blood to my fangs. I handed one to Betty on the other side of the picnic table. We'd both attended the council meeting mentally, through our mates' eyes.

"I got myself all tingly inside for a second there," Betty said. "I was totally cheerin' my man on, but he went all quiet rage on me, let his sister do the talkin'. But did you see how he nipped your Marcus?"

"I know, right?" I said. "I poked Marcus a couple of times, made a suggestion or two. He totally ignored me." I'd even told him how sexy he was, made a few lewd bedroom suggestions for when he gets home. He didn't even nibble on the bait—so not like him.

"Sugar, those hooded ghouls are right out of the
Walking Dead
."

"The walking dead are zombies. Those 'hooded ghouls' are the oldest immortals on this earth," I said. "And wicked powerful. I can't believe one of them let Dorius suck on its neck. I bet he comes back with some new supernatural power or something."

"Ya think?" Betty said.

"Hell yes," Zaire said as she and Resi stepped into the kitchen. "Scared the crap outta me when we went before them. I thought we were all fucked."

"Who scared the crap out of you?" Mom asked as I heard the screen door squeak on the back porch.

"Mom, where have you been?" I asked. "You better not have hit Bingo again!"

"Mind your own business," Mom said as she stepped through the open sliding glass door by the breakfast bar. "I followed your sister. And it's a damn good thing I did. Do you know where she went tonight?"

The four of us stared at Mom, waiting.

"To the Tavares police department," my mother said, and slid onto the picnic table bench beside Betty. After she dragged some druggie into an alley behind a warehouse in downtown Tavares and bit him. I don't think she killed him, though. She skipped off—literally—singing,
If you want to ride, don't ride the white horse,
and something about being a bitch if you want to be rich. She sang the song four blocks, all the way to the police station."

"What the hell did she do there?" Zaire asked.

"Aunt JoAnn isn't arrested, is she?" Resi looked very concerned.

"Hell no!" Mom said, arms rising, head shaking. "She mind-spelled half the frigging police station, including perps being booked. Then manipulated the badge on duty, who just happened to be the arresting officer in that tri-city, Lake County drug bust the other day, to empty the evidence locker and hand over pounds of chemical marijuana, meth, and street drugs."

"What the hell is she going to do with that?" I asked. I was shaking inside. This was getting out of hand. I thought the cocaine and red powdered crap was just a phase, not a frigging addiction. "Can immortals become addicted to drugs?" I asked anyone who was listening.

Resi sighed. "I would've said no before Raphael cursed us, but now I'm not sure. You don't think Aunt JoAnn is addicted to street drugs, do you?"

"That, and selling it," Mom added as she flipped open the laptop.

"Who's selling what?" Christopher asked from the front door.

I didn't hear the door open, but I heard it shut before he walked into the room.

"JoAnn just ripped off the fucking Tavares police department," Zaire said.

After Christopher had stopped laughing, he said, "I wish I were there to see that. Did she get arrested for selling the stuff?"

"No," Mom said matter-of-factly. "She snorted half a baggie as she loaded the rest of the stash into her
Ford Explorer
."

"Where is she now?" I half growled, half yelped.

"In the garage with the raccoon you guys caught last night," Mom said.

"Oh, hell no!" Resi and Zaire both yelled as they whizzed toward the downstairs door to the garage.

Betty and I jumped up to follow. Christopher was evidently laughing too hard to move, because he got there after we opened the door.

JoAnn was sitting on the cement floor in the garage, sucking on her most feared creature's neck. The raccoon wasn't moving.

My sister lifted her face; lips covered in blood. "I had to kill the druggie bastard. He tried to rip me off."

Since nobody else was asking, I did. "Do you mean the raccoon with the slit in its ear?" My voice was soft and hopeful.

JoAnn swiped blood off her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed the limp raccoon back in the cage. "Nope. Uh uh. I killed the druggie who got me high on H, and then tried to steal my stash." Her eyes raked over us. "Any of you ride the white horse?"

I noticed Resi and Zaire looked tense.

JoAnn shut the cage door and said, "It's good shit." She picked up a chain and a locked padlock, wobbled to her feet, and shook the chain. "You should've left the key." She tossed the broken chain at Resi and Zaire, opened the back door of her
Ford
, and dragged three big trash bags out.

Heaving them over her back, JoAnn kicked the
Explorer
's door shut and hobbled toward the door to the house. "I hope y'all appreciate me. I don't want any of you to bother me again about that damn raccoon. I let it bite me, sucked on its neck, and told the damn thing it was your bitch, Resi, so do whatever you want with him. Just keep the bastard away from me from this day forward." She turned as she stepped through the door. "I'm going to bed. I'm dead on my feet. Try and keep the volume down, okay?"

When the back door shut, we all stood silently for a few minutes until we heard a grunt behind us and turned to watch as the garage door rolled up and slowly revealed a man with a gun. He asked, "Is that your
Ford Explorer
?"

* * *

"I'm not all right with you going Down Under. Especially back to that bar, Purgatory," Marcus told Dorius from the dressing room that joined their suite of rooms in the Castle in Milan.

"Why?" Dorius removed a black silk shirt off a massive, mahogany armoire trimmed with gilded handles and ornate molding.

"You know why," Marcus said, pulling a billowy rayon shirt over his head and down his bare chest.

"Marcus, I was young and indulgent then," Dorius said, and laid a pair of black jeans on a velveteen settee by the armoire.

A knock at the door briefly ended the conversation. A servant entered with Dorius's polished boots. The silver tips caught the candlelight and played off the walls as the human gentleman placed them on the divan.