Men of the Otherworld (31 page)

Jeremy's mentor was an artist whose career had been sidelined by arthritis, so he'd opened a gallery in New York City. Jeremy had met him five years ago, presumably while browsing or admiring in his gallery. They'd struck up a conversation and he‘d been advising Jeremy ever since.

I knew Jeremy's mentor's name, but had never met the man; Jeremy kept that part of his life separate. Yet the moment I called and introduced myself, the man knew who I was. He promised to put together a bundle of supplies and mail them, and I could send him a check when I received them.

“It must be pretty exciting around there these days,” he said after we'd arranged everything.

“Ummm, yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”

He chuckled. “I don't know how Jeremy stays so calm. When I first—” Another chuckle. “But you don't want to hear an old man reminisce. I'm just so happy for him. It's wonderful to see. It'll make things so much easier for the two of you. Young people can always use extra money.”

He promised to get my supplies into the mail that week, then signed off.

Extra money? What was that about? Financially, things
had
been going much better for us lately. When I'd been younger, Jeremy had spent many a late night hunched over a calculator, juggling the bills. These days, he turned down work. We certainly weren't wealthy, but we were comfortable.

Maybe he'd been referring to the investments. Once Jeremy had begun earning extra money, he'd done the financially cautious thing and invested the extra. Some of it went into conservative stuff like bonds, but at least half had gone into the stock market, under Antonio's direction.

A few years back, Antonio had taken over the new technology sector of the family business, just as Dominic had been ready to abandon microtechnology as an unprofitable fad. Although Antonio knew nothing about computers, he had an instinctive grasp of trends and business needs, and had turned a department on the verge of extinction into a thriving part of the company.

Antonio had also invested his own money in the technology sector, and persuaded Jeremy to do the same. Just this summer, a dividend check had bought us a two-week trip to Vermont. From what Jeremy's mentor said, maybe another was on the way, and another trip in the works. I could live with that.

*   *   *

Jeremy's birthday came and went. No dividend check or special trip was mentioned, but he loved my gift, so that was enough. The next month, classes gave way to exams, bringing with it the prospect of four whole months to call my own.

After my last exam, I bolted for the parking lot… and found my car missing.

I stood in the lot and looked around. My pass was for this lot, and I was certain I'd parked right there, in my usual spot in the far row. But now I stood in front of the spot I could swear had been mine and scowled at a black Mustang convertible. A beautiful car, and any other time, I'd have lingered to appreciate it, but right now I just wanted to go home, and this was, unfortunately, not my car.

Had someone stolen mine? Yeah, as if anyone would want a fifteen-year-old Chevy that needed a swift kick to get started on cold mornings. Had it been towed? Shit, I
had
paid all my tickets, hadn't I?

A sharp tinkle of metal on asphalt cut short my thoughts. Following the sound, I looked to see a set of keys between my feet. I frowned down at them.

“Well, pick them up,” said a voice behind me. “I'd have aimed for your hand, but I didn't want to startle you.”

I turned to see Jeremy leaning against his truck. He waved at the keys. I scooped them up, still frowning.

“What are you doing here?” I said. “Did something happen to my car?”

“No, it's right there. Where you left it.”

I turned to the Mustang, looked down at the keys in my hand, then back at the car. Jeremy burst into a rare laugh.

“I thought you might like that,” he said. “Any speeding tickets you earn with it are still yours, though.”

I looked from the car to Jeremy, and back again. “But how— where—?”

“I came into an unexpected bit of money and thought you deserved something new. Well, it's not new, but
newer,
and hopefully nicer.”

“Shit, yeah,” I said, still staring. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“You're welcome.”

I jangled the keys in my hand, itching to try them. But I needed to be sure this was okay, that Jeremy hadn't gone into hock because I'd been bitching and moaning about my car.

“The stocks?” I said, tearing my gaze from the car.

He shook his head. “A long-term investment of another kind. I sold my first painting. Two paintings, actually. One this winter and another last month.”

“Sold—? When—? I didn't even know you had any up for sale.”

Jeremy brushed his bangs from his face. “I wasn't ready to admit to it. Not until something sold. Remember when we were looking for schools—or, I should say, when
I
was looking for schools? Your teachers thought you'd get a full scholarship, but when I saw the tuition prices, I was still worried. I didn't want a lack of money to hold you back. Don had been pestering me to put a few paintings in his gallery. Eventually I agreed to give it a shot.”

“So they sold?”

A tiny smile. “For far more than they were worth. And since you took care of your tuition with your scholarship, I thought it only fitting that I use the money on you.”

“You didn't need to—”

“No, but I wanted to. Now get in and let's go home.”

I grinned. “Race you.”

He shook his head and walked back to his truck.

And so our lives underwent another slow change. Over the next couple of years, Jeremy sold more paintings. He still kept up his translation business, in case the art didn't work out, but he retained only his best clients.

Malcolm continued to train me. I'd learned all the tricks he had to impart, but kept up the lessons for practice. That seemed to make him happy—or as happy as Malcolm was capable of being.

I always knew that part of his reason for training me was political. He saw in me a potentially valuable ally for his fight to become Alpha, and hoped that we'd somehow bond over these sessions and he'd woo me away from Jeremy. I came to tolerate Malcolm, but would never forget what he'd done to Jeremy, and never trust him not to do it again if things didn't go his way.

Being out in the world so much, Malcolm had been the first in the Pack to hear what I'd done to that mutt. Was he angry that I'd found another way to stop trespassing mutts, one that didn't help his cause? If he was, he never gave any sign of it.

Instead, it seemed to give him something new to brag about, that his pupil had proven not only a vicious killer but a clever strategist. Although my original plan had only been to keep mutts away from Stonehaven, after hearing what I'd done, most mutts decided they'd better not take the chance of trespassing on any Pack wolf's turf, just in case they'd misunderstood my message. By the time I was twenty, our sanctuary extended throughout Pack territory.

As for the Alpha race, it was more of an Alpha crawl. Dominic had moved Jeremy into the role of advisor, and consulted him on
every matter of Pack policy. This seemed a monumental step. An Alpha traditionally acted alone or, if he consulted anyone, he did it on the side, so no one knew.

Yet it was all for show. Dominic might seek Jeremy's advice, but didn't feel obligated to follow it, or even seriously consider it.

As Malcolm had said years ago, Dominic was playing a game, slowly moving Jeremy into a leadership role, while holding fast to the reins of power. Jeremy knew this. He'd always known it. But he allowed it to happen because it put him into a position he might never have attained otherwise—that of a serious Alpha contender.

I finished my undergrad degree, and true to my word, went away to university for my graduate program. I went no farther than Columbia but, despite Dominic's offer to come live with them, I stayed in residence, which satisfied Jeremy's desire to have me experience life in the human world.

The Pack changed little during those three years. Cliff Ward died. The summer before I went to Columbia, he was killed in a mutt fight. I mourned his passing even less than I had Gregory's. He'd been a nonplayer, a sycophant of Malcolm's with no power or position in the Pack.

I knew I shouldn't feel that way. Deep down, I wanted to see all my Pack brothers as just that—
brothers.
But the longer Dominic held power, the deeper the schism became between those who supported Jeremy and those who favored Malcolm, and I couldn't help seeing Malcolm's allies as future threats to Jeremy, which made them potential enemies.

That fall, just after I'd started at Columbia, Dominic called a Pack meeting. It was just a regular Meet, and by now everyone knew better than to expect him to announce that he was stepping down. Still, there was always hope. On Saturday afternoon,
though, we held the meeting portion of the weekend, and he didn't say a word about succession. In fact, he said very little of anything, just snapped a few instructions to Jeremy, then left him to lead the meeting while he stormed off to nurse a headache.

After the meeting, Nick raided the kitchen, and brought all the lunch leftovers into the sunroom, where Joey and I were basking in the heat of the September sun. As we ate, I talked about my newly discovered area of academic passion: anthropomorphic religion.

“—then, if you move to Nubia, you have the god Arensnuphis, who's depicted both as a lion and as a man wearing—”

Nick yawned. “Is anyone else ready for a nap? I don't know why, but suddenly, I'm just so tired.”

I lobbed a pillow at him. “Hey, this is important stuff. If you'd gone to college, you—”

“Could be just as boring as you? Thanks, but no thanks.”

I grabbed an empty plate.

Joey caught my hand. “Stick to pillows. Dominic's in a bad enough mood as it is. As for lion gods, as long as you find it interesting, Clay, that's all that matters. So, are we going out tonight?”

“Hunt,” I said.

“Bar,” Nick said at the same time.

Joey sighed. “Someone give me a quarter and we'll flip for it.”

“Uh-uh,” I said. “He can go to a bar and pick up girls anytime. Hell, he does it every night of the week—”

“Every night?” Nick said. “I don't need to pick up girls
any
night of the week. Just open my book and dial a number… if they don't call me first.”

“Good, then you don't need to do it tonight,” I said. “I'm here, and I want to hunt.”

When he started to complain, I skewered him with a look. He closed his mouth.

“Hunt,” I said to Joey. Then I glanced over at Nick. “And if we have time, we'll go to a bar afterward for a drink or two. Without girls.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Something is seriously wrong with you, buddy.”

“What's wrong with who?” Malcolm strolled into the sun-room, the Santoses in tow. “You better not be talking about my boy.” He clapped me on the back. “Nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all.”

“Nothing a lobotomy couldn't fix,” Daniel muttered.

“Hey, you guys hear that?” I said to Nick and Joey. “Sounds like a pup yipping.”

“Danny-boy,” Nick said. “When you going to grow up into a wolf? Still waiting for that first Change, aren't you?”

“Nah, he had that last year,” I said. “Not that anyone's noticed. Still couldn't take on a mutt with two broken legs. I hear that's what happens. Guy doesn't Change until he's twenty, he never quite catches up.”

Joey shot us both looks, trying to hush us. He was always telling us we should be nicer to Daniel, that if we tried, we could win him over. I didn't see the point. I tossed Joey the “you worry too much” look I'd perfected from Antonio.

“Don't listen to him,” Raymond murmured to his son. “You're just fine.”

“Sure he is,” I said. “And any day he wants to prove it, I'm ready. I can always use a few seconds of diversion.”

Nick laughed. When Malcolm joined in, Daniel reddened.

“At least I'm not some psycho who chops up—” Daniel began.

Raymond caught his son's arm to shush him, but Malcolm advanced on Daniel, looming over him.

“No, you're not, are you?” Malcolm said. “You've never even fought a mutt. Never needed to. You know why that is? Why a
pup like you can run in peace, without worrying about some mutt tearing you to shreds?”

Daniel muttered something.

“Speak up!” Malcolm barked.

Raymond laid a hand on Malcolm's arm. “He knows, Mal. We're all… grateful.” He choked on the word, but pressed on. “Clayton did us a big favor.”

“Yeah,” Stephen said. “Big favor. Now we have to go find the mutts. Even then, most of them run the other way—”

“But it's a small price to pay for being safe on our property,” Raymond said. “Come on, boys. Malcolm wanted to talk to Clayton. Let's leave him alone.”

“Hold on,” Malcolm said. “I was going to ask Clay if he wanted to hunt tonight. A full Pack hunt.”

“Sure,” I said. “Did Dominic say—?”

“No, he did not,” growled a voice from the doorway. Dominic strode in, followed by Antonio and Jeremy. “Since when are you allowed to set up Pack hunts, Malcolm? Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Sorry, Dom. I just thought since you weren't feeling well—”

“I feel fine,” Dominic said, then winced, belying his words. He spun on Jeremy. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth,” Jeremy said calmly. “That you have a headache, which you do.”

“I don't have a headache. I
never get
headaches.”

“Which is why, as I suggested, you should let me call Dr. Patterson and—”

“You'll call no one,” Dominic snarled. “And there will be no Pack hunts tonight. In fact, you won't be here tonight. None of you. This Meet is adjourned. Go home.”

He stalked out the door.

*   *   *

No one went home. We were accustomed to Dominic's moods, and knew that if we did take off, he'd summon us back the next day and blast us for leaving early. After his outburst, he retreated to his room, and the Meet progressed as usual.

There wasn't a Pack hunt that night. Even Malcolm knew better than to press his luck that far. Jeremy advised that Nick, Joey and I should skip our minihunt. With the mood Dominic was in, he might even see that as a breach of authority. So we went out drinking instead.