Tooth and Claw (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 2) (4 page)

I smiled as I watched it take a little jump and then
another, moving closer to the edge of the bar. Wow, I was getting better at
this telekinesis stuff. I gave the cup another little push and it teetered on
the edge of the counter.

““Harry!” Isaac’s voice startled me as I gave the cup another little push, just
as Nash’s hand grabbed for it.

“What?” I turned back to Isaac trying not to look guilty.

Isaac looked at me like a parent scolding a child. “Really
Harry?”

“You told me I should practice, so I’m practicing.”

I looked back to see that Nash was watching me. He raised his
cup in salute. Damn werewolf super hearing. He probably figured out what I’d
been doing and heard Isaac scolding me. He smiled and took a drink.

He turned back to the little brunette, putting a hand on her
waist as he leaned in closer to hear what she was saying. Although really, why
would he need to lean closer if he had super werewolf hearing? Fine, if he was
going to play it that way, it was game on. I sat back and waited for my next
opportunity.

It came quickly enough, when the brunette set her cup on the
bar. I barely needed to think about it this time, before the cup all but flew
towards the edge of the counter top. Nash’s hand left the brunette’s waist and
grabbed it just in time. He set it back on the bar, giving me a pointed
stare. I shrugged. Point to him. The little brunette chattered away
oblivious.

I turned my attention to the dart game hoping to lull Nash
into a false sense of security. Tess and Isaac were playing a game called
Soccer. It was a straight-forward game, but scoring wasn’t always easy. In
order to score you had to have ‘possession of the ball’. The only way to be in
possession was to hit a bullseye. Once you had possession you kept it until
your opponent hit a bullseye and stole the ball from you. While in possession
of the ball, you scored goals by hitting any double on the board. The first
player to get ten goals was the winner. Tess and Isaac were pretty evenly
matched and they had several rounds where no points were scored because they
had each immediately stolen possession from the other. To make it more of a
challenge they began to take a step further away from the board with each
pointless round. They were already a good four or five feet further away from
the board than standard.

I stole a peek at Nash. He had risen from the bar stool he
had been perched on to greet yet another woman. This one was tall and blonde.
Her legs looked like they went on forever, especially in the skimpy little bit
of cloth she was calling a skirt. The little brunette appeared to be a bit put
out with the intrusion and was staring daggers at the blonde. Nash signalled
to the bartender to refresh his drink then went to sit back down. I glared at
the stool and muttered “
agitare
” giving a little wave like I was pushing
something away with the back of my hand. The stool scooted away just as Nash’s
ass touched the seat. He stumbled but quickly recovered, grabbing the stool
and pulling it back. He glared over at me and I shrugged, trying to keep the smile
off my face. Definitely my point.

My next opportunity came when a man walked by with an empty
cup and set it on the bar a little ways down from Nash. He must have been
drinking a soda, because there was ice left in the cup. A few minutes had
passed and Nash was distracted by both the blonde and the brunette who were
vying for his attention. It took a few tries, but I was finally able to
get a piece of ice out of the cup. It hovered over the bar just a few inches
from the counter top.

“Harry!” Tess flopped down beside me. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” I replied, my gaze never leaving the ice
cube. “Now shush. I have to concentrate.”

The ice cube wavered a little then slowly started to float
towards Nash. Not wanting it to be too obvious, I dipped it down below the
level of the bar. It was floating along nicely until an unsuspecting man
stepped up to the bar in front of it and the ice cube crashed into him, falling
to the floor.

“Oh, so close,” Tess teased.

I stuck my tongue out at her and looked around, noticing
Isaac was gone. “Hey, where’s Isaac?”

“He went to talk to Christina again. Something about trying
mille feuille
?” She snagged the last of my beer. “I told Isaac we’d be
ready to go soon. I’ve got an eight o’clock class to teach in the morning.”

“Sure, I’m ready whenever you are, just let me try one more
time.” I looked at her and grinned.

“I bet you can’t do it,” she dared.

“You’re on.”

I managed to get the next ice cube out of the cup much
quicker. It’s harder than you think when you can’t really see
what you are trying to move. This time I took the ice cube up high, above the
crowd. I doubted if anyone would even notice it floating several feet above their
heads. If all went as planned, it would drop out of nowhere and down the back
of Nash’s shirt.

The cube sailed along with only a few wobbles, but when I
had it hovering over Nash’s head, I started to have second thoughts.

“Come on Harry, don’t chicken out now,” Tess egged me on.

The cube wobbled again while I chewed my lip thinking about
it. Oh well, why not? I gave the cube a little nudge and it fell straight
down, sliding along the back of Nash’s neck and down into his shirt.

“Woo hoo!” Tess did a fist pump then held her hand up for a
high five as Nash danced around trying to get the ice cube out of his shirt.

I slapped her hand all smiles until I looked over and saw
Nash point his finger at me, a look of determination on his face.

“Oh shit,” I said, leaping up from my chair. “Tess, I think
it’s time to go.”

Before I could even take a few steps towards the exit, Nash
was on me. He grabbed my arm with a growl and yanked me towards a door behind
the bar.

“Hey!” I yelped, trying to pull my arm from his grip.

He threw open the door and pushed me inside. I stumbled a
couple of steps and then turned to try and escape, running straight into him,
my hands against his chest. He pulled the door shut and grabbed
my wrists, walking me back until I was up against the wall.

“Listen Nash….” I started to say, the words dying in my
throat at the look of pure hunger in his eyes. I hadn’t expected that; anger,
sure, but not desire. I licked my lips nervously.

He leaned in close, resting his hands on the wall on either
side of my head. His cheek was so close to mine I could feel the warmth of his
body heat, but no part of our bodies actually touched. He dipped his head down
to my exposed collar bone and inhaled deeply. He groaned and then pushed
himself away, his hand slapping against the wall in frustration.

“Listen, it was just a little fun…” I tried again.

Nash raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t play games with me
Harry,” he growled, pacing across the room.

“Me? What about you?” I spluttered, crossing my arms in
front of me. “I’m not the one who was playing games. You and your harem of –
“

“My what?” Nash frowned at me, running a hand through his
hair. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me, your little harem of women, parading them
past me. You could have sat anywhere else in the whole, huge place, but you
sat right there where I could see you, flaunting them.”

“What’s the matter little minx? Jealous?” He stepped
closer, invading my personal space again.

“Oh, get over yourself why don’t you,” I replied, pushing
him away.

He reached for me, grabbing my arm, capturing my wrist and
pinning it against the wall above my head. I tried to push him away with my
free hand, but he snagged it too, pinning it with the other. I frowned at him,
my heart pounding in my chest. He leaned in close again, this time his five
o’clock shadow scraped across my cheek. He tucked his head in against my neck,
his breath tickling my skin as he inhaled and exhaled. It seemed to calm him,
but my heart fluttered in my chest like a bird trying to escape.

Suddenly, he growled and pushed himself away again, dropping
my arms. “Those women mean nothing to me,” he said. “The wolf can’t stand to
be near them. He only wants you.” He turned and stalked to the door, leaving
me standing there in shock.

In a moment of pique, I threw my telekinesis at it, holding
it shut. He pulled in frustration at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I
brushed past him, opening it easily myself. “Maybe you should listen to him,”
I said, then stomped out the door.

I was dragging my ass the next day. We hadn’t stayed
all that late at the Lodge, but my sleep had been plagued with dreams. I’d tossed
and turned all night long.

In my dream I was a wolf. I was long and sleek and nimble
and quick, and I revelled in the joy of being free, running through the
underbrush. Abruptly, the mood of the dream shifted. It felt darker and
instead of joy, I felt fear. My run through the forest became an erratic
dash to escape. I ran for my life, switching back and forth, changing
directions, trying to stay ahead of my pursuers. The images all jumbled
together and I couldn’t make much sense of them; a white room, masked figures
in dark coats, a black wolf with his fangs bared, his mouth foaming with
spittle. The searing pain of silver burning my skin as a net exploded over me,
falling on me, weighing me down, jarred me from my sleep and I woke with my
heart pounding in my chest.

Bleary-eyed, I headed down to the shop. As I turned the
corner of the building, I caught a glimpse of grey fur and a tail. Was that
a…? No, it couldn’t be a wolf, not here in the city. There were no wild
wolves in the area and a werewolf would know better. It must have been a big
dog. Or maybe it was a remnant from my dreams. Whatever the case, it was cold
standing outside in my shirtsleeves so I hustled into the shop. Mrs. Potts was
bustling around, her usual cheery self.

“Good morning dear, rough night?” she asked, taking in my
less than chipper appearance.

“Morning, Mrs. P. Yeah, bad dreams. I feel like I hardly
slept at all.” I set a plate of baking on the counter. “Isaac left these
out. His note said he thought you would get a kick out of them. They’re
called Fudge Brownies,” I replied with a smile.

“Really? Brownies?” She eyed the plate suspiciously.

I couldn’t help but laugh at her expression. “It’s not like
they contain actual brownies or anything.”

“Of course not, why would I think that?” Her expression was
still skeptical. She took one of the dark chocolate squares and popped it in
her mouth. “Oh! Oh my. That is delicious.” She scooped the plate up and
disappeared into the back room.

I can’t say as I blamed her. They were really good, maybe
even better than the butter tarts. Isaac had frosted them with a dark, butter
frosting and they had little bits of pecan in them.

I busied myself around the shop, going through the list of
orders for the day. We had two more funerals. I flipped open the laptop to
look up the obituaries. I always liked to see who the flowers were for. One
was an older gentleman who had died of liver disease. The other was a young
man who was around the same age as me. He was a student at the local community
college, the same one that Charles had attended.

“Do we have enough carnations for the two funeral orders?” I
called to Mrs. P. She came bustling back out licking her fingers, a
smudge of chocolate on her face.

“Yes dear, I believe we do.” She licked her lips and then
brushed at the corners of her mouth with her finger.

“Uh, you’ve still got a little…” I pointed to her face.

“Oh, oh dear.” She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of
her sweater and dabbed at her face. “Better?” she asked, turning her cheek
towards me for inspection.

“Yep. All good.” I turned back to the orders. “I think
I’ll get Jimmy to take the funeral today, but I’ll do the one tomorrow.” Jimmy
was our new delivery driver. He was a werewolf who also worked part time at
Tess’s Uncle Rigo’s Gym.

“Is that the Turner boy’s funeral you mean?” Mrs. P asked, taking
a vase from the shelf and starting to arrange some cut flowers in it.

“Yeah. I thought I’d go and…” Well, I really wasn’t sure
why I thought I should go. I guess because a death in someone so young seemed
tragic and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection to Charles’s
mysterious death.

“Snoop around?” Mrs. P filled in the blank, giving me a
pointed stare. “That boy’s death is as mysterious as the last one’s, that
Mathers boy.” She pulled some roses from the cooler and started stripping the
leaves from the stems. “Perhaps that handsome Detective Nash will be there
again.”

“Hmmph,” I scowled. “That would be reason
not
to
go. But, what have you heard? How did, uh…” I looked back down at the
obituary, “Jonathan Turner die?”

Mrs. P’s eyes glimmered with excitement at the chance to
gossip. “Well, that’s the thing dear, they’re not sure. Mrs. Flannigan was in
here earlier and helped herself to two pieces of Isaac’s maple-pecan fudge. She’s
been coming in here every day this week for a snack and never buys a thing,
don’t you know. My, that woman can talk like a pepper mill.”

Ha! Wasn’t that just the pot calling the kettle black? I
gave her a little come on wave, impatient to hear the rest. She tended to go
off on tangents if you didn’t keep her reined in.

“Anyways,” she continued, “Mrs. Flannigan said that she
heard from Mr. Allan, whose son is a doctor, who has a friend who was working
in the ER at Mercy General when the boy was brought in, and he said that they
don’t know what killed the poor boy. It could be some new mysterious disease,
like maybe a new Ebola.”

“Ebola? What were the symptoms? Do they think it’s
contagious?”

“Well, there seem to be two cases of it now and both young
men went to the same community college.” Hmm, I guess that answers that
question.

“That could just be coincidence, but not likely,” I replied
with a little shrug. All the more reason to snoop, as Mrs. P put it. If
Jonathan Turner’s spirit was still hanging around, maybe I could get some more
information to give to the police. Of course that meant I’d have to talk to
Nash, but if I could help prevent another death, I guess I could suck it up and
do it.

The rest of the morning flew by. Mrs. Potts and I worked to
fill the day’s orders and get the deliveries ready for Jimmy’s afternoon
pickup. We had a smattering of customers, most bought something, but some,
like Mrs. Flannigan seemed to be mostly looking to see what tasty snack we
might have out; just another reason to start selling the stuff. I told Mrs. P
about my coffee shop idea and she was delighted.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea dear. It will so nice for the
whole building to be filled with life. That empty store makes it seem so sad.”

I hadn’t really thought about it before, but since a brownie’s
building was really an extension of the brownie herself, that empty part of the
building must have felt uncomfortable, or maybe even painful to Mrs. P. I decided
to push forward with my plan and get the coffee shop up and running as soon as
possible.

“Well, we’ll have to get the old space cleaned out and see
what needs to be done,” I said, putting together a to-do list in my head. “I
think the floor should be okay and I’m sure I can find some used tables and
chairs for the café part. I was thinking we could put in a couple of extra
windows on the far wall, maybe even French doors that we could open out to a
small patio on that side of the building. There’s enough room and in the
spring I can put a little flower garden out there.” I stopped, my head
spinning with ideas. “Maybe I should start writing this down.”

Mrs. Potts chuckled. “Maybe you should. Oh, and dear,
would it be all right, do you think, if my niece came to stay? She would be a
big help in the flower shop and she could train to work in the coffee shop as well.”

“Your niece? Sure. Is she, uh…”

“She’s brownie, like me. She’s a very sweet girl, but a
little shy. She hasn’t had much experience.”

“Oh, no work experience?”

“No, no experience being out in the world.” Seeing my
confusion, Mrs. P continued, “She’s just come of age and this will be her first
time out from Underhill.”

“Oh, oh!” That was a big deal. Underhill was the hidden
Faerie world. “Of course she can come work here. Does she need a place…?”

“I’ll take care of the details dear,” Mrs. P smiled.

“Sure thing. You know best,” I replied and left it at
that.

***

By late afternoon, I had sent Mrs. P off to, well, wherever
it is she goes when she isn’t in the store. I really don’t know where that is,
since being a brownie means she doesn’t actually leave the building. The Fae
aren’t really all that forthcoming, having very little to do with the human
world. Mrs. P seems to be the exception, in that she must have a higher
tolerance for dealing with humans and other non-fae supernaturals. I suspect
there must be a small pocket of Underhill somewhere in the building, or maybe a
portal. Whatever the case, I sent her along, offering to close the store
because I wanted the excuse to work and not have to think about getting ready
for my weekly obligatory dinner with Salvador.

I had been tricked into having a weekly visit with
Salvador in return for getting ownership of the old firehall that was my home
and place of business. Originally, it was just supposed to be a one-time deal,
but because of circumstances beyond my control and sort of orchestrated by
Salvador, it ended up snowballing into nine months of weekly visits. Damn vampire
loopholes.

In the long run, although I would never admit this to
Salvador, it was still a sweet deal. I had been saving to buy the building in
a few years’ time, so having it handed to me in exchange for eating a gourmet
meal and taking part in some intelligent conversation once a week, wasn’t all
that bad. Salvador was actually a very good conversationalist and he seemed to
be legitimately interested in my opinion. Over the last three weeks we had
covered topics from world events, to politics, to even pop culture. I have to
admit, I did sort of enjoy myself, even if my dinner partner scared the crap
out of me most days.

No, the problem I had with these visits was that I had to run
the gauntlet of vampires that hated my guts every single week. I had begun to
suspect that my encounters so far were more than just mere coincidences, that I
found myself alone in some part of Salvador’s club faced with
yet another challenge from another vampire that wanted me dead, not by dumb
luck but by design. I was being tested. For what, I don’t know, and that’s
what scared me most.

I was just about to lock up when a couple of last minute
customers came in the door. Or at least I thought they were customers, until I
saw who they were.

“Good afternoon Elder Marshall, Elder Angelica,” I said to
the two arrivals. “What brings you into town this late in the day?” The
Elders were members of the Conclave, the ruling body that governed witches and
mages in our community. Although many in the magical community lived here in Riverton
amongst the norms, the main population lived in Aldergrove, a rural, almost commune-like
community, about two hours away. It was the community that I had grown up in
and was glad to say goodbye to as soon as I was able.

“Good afternoon Angharad,” Elder Marshall replied. He
always insisted on calling me by my full name, even though he was incapable of
pronouncing it properly. He always said ‘ANG-har-ad’, almost like he was
saying ‘angered’ rather than ‘An-HAR-ad’, and yes I know that’s not much
better. Why do you think I preferred to be called Harry? I thought he did it
just to get on my nerves. Which it did. Tess figured he was just a
misogynistic creep. Which he was.

“Hi Harry,” said Elder Angelica. She had no problems with
my nickname.

“Is there something I can help you with? I was just about
to close up.” Not exactly rolling out the red carpet, but polite enough.
Hopefully I could move the show along. “Did you need some cut flowers or
perhaps a container arrangement? I just put together some new drought
resistant ones that are great for those with brown thumbs.”

“My, those do look nice,” replied Elder Angelica at the
same time Elder Marshall said, “We didn’t come for plants, we came to speak to
you about what happened last month.”

Really? After a month they finally send someone to see if I
was okay? Gee, thanks for your concern.

“Has the Conclave been able to determine who else may have
conspired to help DiCastro?” I asked. We knew that there had been at least a
dozen members of the magical community helping the maniac cult leader try to raise
the Egyptian god Osiris, but there were probably more. I didn’t hold out much
hope that the Conclave would do anything to ferret them out, however. As far
as I was concerned, the Conclave was too old-school and insular. They would
rather dither around with their heads in the collective sand than admit that
they almost had a mutiny on their hands.

“The Conclave’s work is none of your concern,” Elder
Marshall replied failing to hide his disdain.

“It’s our belief that they were mainly unaffiliated,” Elder
Angelica added, earning a frown from Elder Marshall.

The unaffiliated were magic users that didn’t recognize the
Conclave as their governing body. They were basically rogue witches and
mages. Most were just your typical white magic users that felt that the
Conclave was made up of a bunch of doddering old windbags. But a few were
those that dabbled more in the grey area of magic and didn’t want the
Conclave’s oversight. It didn’t really matter, if you were suspected of doing
black magic, whether you were affiliated or not, it was the Conclave’s responsibility
to deal with you. But maybe that wasn’t exactly the case, judging from Elder
Angelica’s attitude.