Men of the Otherworld (9 page)

The next day, I was in the kitchen with Antonio. He'd shanghaied me on a “special mission.” He was baking a cake and swore he needed me. I suspected Jeremy needed a break more than Antonio needed the help.

“Now, you can't tell Jeremy about the cake,” Antonio said, bending down and pulling a bowl from the cupboard.

“Why?”

“Because it's a surprise. It's for his birthday.”

My blank look made him gasp in mock horror.

“You don't know what a birthday is? It means our Jeremy's getting older. Tomorrow he will be a very ancient twenty-two. Do you know how old you are?”

I shook my head.

“Seven.” He lifted seven fingers.

I pointed at him.

“Me? I'm twenty-four. One foot in the grave. Not enough fingers for that.” He grinned and poured white powder into the bowl. “Next year, when you turn eight, we'll throw you a party. My boy just turned eight a few months ago. Bet you didn't know that, did you? I've got a son just about your age.”

I frowned and looked around. “Where?”

He laughed. “At home, scrap. With his grandfather, where he belongs. I'm a bad influence. Someday soon you'll meet him. He'd like that. I'm sure you will, too.”

Personally I doubted it, but I didn't say anything. He handed me an egg and showed me how to crack it into the bowl. I got
more shell than egg in the bowl, but Antonio only laughed and handed me another one. This time, I got most of the egg in the bowl and only one sliver of shell.

“Well done, scrap. At least someone in this house will be able to cook.”

Antonio continued to chatter. I didn't understand most of what he said. I didn't care. Nothing seemed to faze him. When I knocked over the milk bottle, he laughed and threw down some dish towels. When I snuck a fingerful of batter, he laughed and gave me a spoonful. There was no mistake that couldn't be wiped away with a laugh and a wink. And best of all, he didn't make me speak in full sentences.

When the cake was done, Antonio pronounced it perfect. It looked a little lopsided, but I didn't argue. We hid the cake in the toaster oven. Antonio swore it'd be safe there. He doubted Jeremy knew what a toaster oven was for, much less how to operate it. Most of our meals came straight from the cupboards and refrigerator, cold cuts and fruit, breads and cheese, steaks and vegetables, whatever could be served with a minimum of preparation. Dinners appeared miraculously on our doorstep every day, in a cooler, with instructions for reheating.

After dinner that night, Jeremy said he was going out back to “practice.” I was welcome to come out, but forbidden to sneak up on him. Intrigued, I started to follow. Antonio caught me and pulled me aside.

“I'm going out, scrap. Jeremy's birthday present is ready. Want to come?”

“Where?”

“Town. Go. In car. You and me. Yes?”

I shook my head. “Go Jeremy.”

“Are you sure? He won't be much fun. He's busy.”

“Stay Jeremy.”

“All right then. I'll see you when I get back. He's outside. Go through the patio doors. Make sure he hears you coming. Our Jeremy gets pretty wrapped up in his practicing and he might not notice you. Be careful. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Can I get you something from town? Bring something home for you?”

“Food.”

Antonio laughed and rumpled my hair. “You're easy to please, scrap. Go see Jeremy then.”

I found Jeremy outside shooting pointed sticks. This I accepted as a perfectly fine hobby, much the same as I had the plastic-talking. Jeremy was my god. Whatever he did was good and right.

I'd later learn that this hobby had a name. Archery. Not the sort of thing I saw people doing every day back in Baton Rouge. Not the sort of thing you'd expect a werewolf to do either. Why learn to use a hunting weapon when you came with your own built-in set?

For Jeremy, though, archery had nothing to do with hunting. It was all about control, developing and improving the mental and physical control needed to put an arrow through a target. Of course, I wouldn't know that for years. Right then, it looked like he was shooting sticks at a tiny dot out in the field. Strange, but if it made him happy, then I was happy.

When he saw me watching, he offered to show me how to use the bow. Didn't look like much fun, really, but if it meant spending time with him then, sure, I was game.

Jeremy was repositioning my hands on the bow for the
umpteenth time when a sound came from the house. We both stopped and listened. Somewhere inside, a door closed. Jeremy straightened.

“Antonio's ba—”

He stopped in midword. He turned toward the house. His eyes took on that strangely intense blank look I'd come to recognize, searching but not really looking—or not looking at anything the rest of us could see. Jeremy sensed things and saw things no one else could. At the time, I didn't understand and knew only that he seemed to be all-seeing, coming running whenever I was in danger, which was, after all, only proper behavior for a god.

Whatever he sensed, it made him go rigid, his shoulders squaring, anxiety coming off him in sharp spurts. He took a step backward toward me, as if to shield me. The patio door squawked as it swung open.

“I thought you weren't coming home until next month,” Jeremy said.

“That's a fine welcome.”

Jeremy's back blocked my view. All I saw of the newcomer was a pair of loafers below tan slacks. The voice definitely wasn't Antonio's, though. A stranger? Coming into our house? Invading our territory? Outrage shot through me and my hackles went up. I sniffed the air, but the newcomer was downwind.

“Welcome back,” Jeremy said. His voice was stiff. He stepped back again, keeping me shielded behind him.

“My, my, now I
do
feel welcome,” the man said cheerfully. “Of course, an even better welcome would be to return to find you've moved out. Or perhaps had an unfortunate run-in with a local hunter. But that would be too much to hope for, wouldn't it?”

Jeremy said nothing.

“Did I see Tonio's suitcase upstairs?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“He's here? My timing isn't so bad, then. Where is he?”

“Out.”

Keeping his back to me, Jeremy picked up the bow and adjusted the string. It was a subtle dismissal, but the man seemed in no hurry to leave.

“Still playing with your toys, I see,” the man said.

Jeremy said nothing.

“What exactly is the point?” the man continued. “You don't hunt. You're afraid of everything that moves. But I suppose that bull's-eye is a safe target. You don't have to worry about it attacking you, not like one of those vicious little bunny rabbits. Of course, it could give you a nasty sliver.”

Jeremy plucked at the bow string.

“Well, come on then. Let's see you take a shot,” the man said.

Jeremy didn't move. The man snorted. I saw his legs move as he turned to leave. Jeremy's back relaxed ever so slightly. Then, in midturn, the man stopped.

“What is that?” he asked.

“What's what?” Jeremy said.

“Behind you.”

“Oh. That.” Jeremy reached back for my shoulder and pulled me out a few inches, still shielding me. “This is Clayton.”

He propelled me out a bit farther, keeping his hand on my shoulder. I looked up, my gaze moving from the man's trousers, to his shirt and finally to his face.

“Clayton, this is Malcolm. My father.”

It was the werewolf who'd beaten me in Baton Rouge.

If I'd seen this man again in Baton Rouge, I would have turned tail and run. But things had changed. I was no longer a frightened castaway defending a speck of territory. I had a protector and I had a home. The outrage that had surged a few minutes ago flared, fueled by something stronger than anger. I looked at this man and felt hate.

I snarled and charged. Jeremy snatched me from behind and yanked me back. I howled, lashing out with all my limbs. In mid-swing, I realized who I was swinging at and stopped short.

“Don't,” Jeremy whispered. “It won't help.”

“I see you're teaching him cowardice already.”

Malcolm hadn't budged, even as I'd been flying at him. As I met his eyes, I knew why. I was no danger to him. And, if I attacked him, he was fully justified in hitting back. If anything, he was disappointed to have lost the opportunity.

Malcolm turned to Jeremy. “What is he doing here?”

“I brought him here.”

“You?” Malcolm laughed. “Not goddamned likely. You're afraid to leave the house. You certainly wouldn't cross the country chasing some brat. This is another scheme you dragged Tonio
into, isn't it? I told you about the boy and you got all misty-eyed, and Tonio offered to fetch him for you. A pet for poor Jeremy.”

While Malcolm was speaking, Jeremy crouched down in front of me, his back to his father. My heart was still hammering. Jeremy rubbed my shoulder.

“Let's go inside,” Jeremy said.

“I'm talking to you,” Malcolm said.

“You've upset him. I'm taking him inside.”

“You're not taking him anywhere. He's not staying.”

“I'm sorry you don't approve.”

Jeremy started steering me toward the door. Malcolm stepped in front of us.

“Did you hear me? This is not open for negotiation, boy. You are not keeping that mutt in my house.”

“It's not your house.”

Jeremy propelled me past him and through the patio door. Just inside, Antonio was leaning against the wall, almost collapsing with silent laughter. He thumped Jeremy on the back.

“I never thought I'd hear you say that,” he said. “Con gratulations. Now, the next step is to boot him out and change the locks. Need some help?”

Jeremy gave a small shake of his head and kept walking, pushing me in front of him. When we got to the stairs, a sigh rippled the surface of his composure. He turned to Antonio.

“I should have warned Clayton. I kept putting it off and—” He stopped and turned to me. “I'm sorry, Clayton. I can't imagine what you must be thinking.”

Antonio rumpled my hair. “Oh, you're fine, aren't you, scrap?”

I'd just discovered that my new sanctuary was the home of the werewolf who had destroyed my last place of refuge. So, no, I shouldn't have been fine. I should have been frightened, even angry. I should have felt betrayed. But I didn't. I was confused,
maybe a little apprehensive, but I knew Jeremy would do nothing to hurt me. Whatever was going on here, I was still safe, and that was all that mattered.

Taking my cue from Antonio's tone, I nodded, and threw in a “yes” for good measure. Jeremy didn't look convinced. Antonio grabbed me around the waist and swung me over his shoulder.

“Come on, scrap. I have something in the kitchen that should take your mind off the big bad wolf. Go wait in the study, Jer. We'll be there in a minute.”

Without waiting for an answer, Antonio carried me to the kitchen, then put me down on the tabletop and closed the door.

“I suppose that was a bit of a shock. Jeremy wanted to tell you, but we didn't expect Malcolm back for a few weeks.” He paused. “Do you understand me?”

I nodded. He opened the oven and took out the birthday cake.

“Malcolm is Jeremy's father. He does live here, but he's hardly ever around. Probably just stopped in for money. God forbid the bastard should earn his own keep. Expects Jeremy to hand over—” Antonio stopped, shook his head and reached for a stack of plates. “With any luck, he'll clear out in a couple of days.”

Antonio pulled mugs from the cupboard, then handed me the cake plates.

“Can you manage those?”

I nodded.

He smiled and thumped me on the back. “Good. Don't worry about Malcolm, scrap. Just stay out of his way. He'll curse and threaten but as long as you stick close to Jeremy, he won't hurt you. He doesn't dare. Remember that.”

I nodded again and he waved me toward the door.

*   *   *

Jeremy was in the study. When I entered, he had his back to me and was stirring the fireplace embers. The poker circled slowly, sending up fountains of sparks. He stopped, shoulders tightening as I walked in. He inhaled sharply. Then he relaxed, turned and smiled.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

Jeremy's crooked smile widened. “Thank you.”

He glanced up and I heard Antonio behind me. As I turned, Antonio kicked the half-closed door open with one foot. The over burdened tray in his hands started to tip. Jeremy lunged to grab it, but Antonio righted it at the last second and waved him back.

“Sit down and relax,” Antonio said.

Antonio poured the coffee, adding a half cup of milk to mine and an equal portion of brandy to the other two. I passed out the filled cups and plates, leaving only a small trail of coffee droplets. Before Antonio sat down, he took two brightly colored boxes from the mantel and handed the larger one to Jeremy.

Jeremy took the gift, but made no move to open it. His eyes were unfocused, his mind still elsewhere. Antonio nudged him, then leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Jeremy's gaze flicked to me and he forced a quarter-smile.

“Open,” I said.

“Hmmm?”

“He's eager to get to the cake part,” Antonio said. “I told him he has to wait until the gifts are opened.”

“Ah. I'll get to it then.”

Jeremy lifted the box and peeled off the colored paper. Underneath was a hinged wooden box. He undid the tiny latch and lifted the top. His eyes widened. Smiling, he lifted a strangely shaped piece of molded metal and carved wood from the box. Although I didn't recognize it at the time, it was an antique revolver, one of a pair.

“Beautiful,” Jeremy murmured, turning it in his hands so the light glinted off the barrel.

“You said you wanted to try handguns,” Antonio said.

“I wasn't imagining something quite so fancy. It's only for target practice.”

“Do I ever do anything by halves? Besides, I'm hoping you might use it for something more productive.” Antonio tossed the smaller box to Jeremy. “See if this gives you any ideas.”

Jeremy unwrapped a velvet jeweler's box. When he opened it, he threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the room. I scrambled up and over onto his lap to see what caused such an uncharacteristic outburst. All I saw in the box was a polished metal chunk with scratches on the side.