I'd planned to keep that part quiet until I'd won the kid's confidence, but now that Clay said it, Reese looked relieved again.
"Why didn't you say so?" he asked me.
"Well, maybe because you kept taking off before I could explain, convinced Clay was lurking around the next corner."
"I don't lurk," Clay said.
"I'll tell you what I can about Liam and Ramon," Reese said. "Then I'll find someplace and lie low."
"If you're going anyplace on the continent, it's New York State," I said. "As a guest of the Pack."
Reese looked at Clay.
"If you die, she'll feel bad. I don't like it when she feels bad."
"Either that or I put you on the next plane back to Australia," I said.
"No," he said quickly. "I'm--I'm here for good."
That could mean he'd done something back home and couldn't return, but from the look in his eyes--determination mingled with dread--I knew it was more personal.
"All right then," I said. "You're staying with the Pack until Clay and I get back and take care of this business with Liam and Ramon."
"So where do you want me to stay? Syracuse?"
"That's where the Alpha lives," Clay said, as if this answered the question, which for him, it did.
"Another Pack family lives outside New York City," I said. "They have a big place, with lots of room. You'll stay with them."
"The Sorrentinos."
"That's right."
"And they'll just let me move in for a while?"
"Antonio will put you to work," Clay said.
Reese nodded, visibly relieved. In his world, this made sense--no one helps out of the goodness of his heart, and if he says he does, run the other way, as fast as you can.
Reese agreed and we made the arrangements. Nick would meet him at the airport. Tonight Jeremy would leave the twins with Jaime and drive to Antonio's place to check Reese's fingers.
We drove Reese to the airport. On the way, Clay gave him "the lecture," including all the do's and don'ts of meeting the Alpha, which was only slightly more complicated than an audience with the queen. Don't sit until you're invited to. Don't talk unless he asks you a question. Don't eat before he does. Don't make direct eye contact. Jeremy demanded none of this, but that wasn't the point.
Hierarchy is very important to wolves, and it's just as important to us. Give a werewolf the choice of two leaders--one who'll take him out for drinks and one who'll take his ear off if he drinks first--and he'll pick the latter every time. An Alpha is his master and protector. Pushovers, buddies and wimps need not apply.
Next Clay gave the house rules for living with the Sorrentinos, which sounded a lot like the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not lie, steal anything, kill anyone, disrespect your hosts or covet any of Nick's girlfriends. And if you break the rules, you'll get your ass kicked and handed to you in pieces--a part I suspect God left out.
Reese was fine with all this. It was a firm and clear language that a werewolf understood better than "Be a good houseguest."
After we left him at the airport, it was time to return to the scene of the crime: the museum.
WENDIGO
THE MUSEUM TURNED out to be only a few blocks from our hotel, which we hadn't checked in to yet. So we parked in the hotel lot and walked.
At the museum, we found the spot where Reese had been attacked. There was still blood spatter on the display, tucked back in a corner. It would be a while before people noticed it, and then they'd likely brush it off as a nosebleed.
The location made it easy to get down and sniff. I did that while Clay stood guard.
"And?" he asked when I stood.
"It's the same scents from the woods, which I suppose is something of a relief--at least we aren't dealing with more mutts."
Clay nodded, but I could tell he wasn't relieved. His gaze kept sweeping the room, never resting on any of the exhibits, which wasn't like him at all.
"You're worried about Dennis and Joey," I said.
"I'm sure they're okay. I just..." He glanced around, shook it off, then headed out. We took another route through the exhibits, and were almost at the front when Clay stopped.
"Dennis was here."
"Dennis? I hope he didn't follow those mutts in."
"He wouldn't."
I inhaled as he turned left and headed for a separate room.
"I don't smell anything," I said. "Are you sure?"
He was already in the next room. I followed him into a display of Native artifacts. Clay was crouched in the middle. Luckily, the room was empty--not that the presence of others would have stopped him from dropping down and sniffing.
When I moved into the room, I did smell Dennis--the same scent we'd picked up outside his apartment, and just as faint, meaning it was at least as old. As for how Clay had detected it from the lobby, it only proved that as hard as he was trying to keep his perspective on this, Dennis and Joey were front and center in his mind right now.
As he followed the trail, I looked around. It seemed to be a temporary exhibit focusing on local mythology and legends. If we did have time for sightseeing later, this room would top Clay's destination list. Even now, he kept glancing at the artifacts, reading the cards.
Myth and ritual was Clay's academic field. His specialty was anthropomorphism in religion--belief systems that included man-beast hybrids or shape-shifters.
"Was Dennis interested in this?" I asked.
"Not that I knew."
And he would have known. Clay's area of expertise wasn't exactly a popular conversation topic among werewolves. Before I'd come along, he'd had two choices if he wanted to talk about it--Jeremy, who'd struggle to feign interest, or Nick, who wouldn't even try. If Dennis had been even mildly intrigued, Clay would have pounced like a starving wolf spotting a lame doe.
I peeked out the door, making sure the coast was clear, then bent and sniffed the carpet. In a public place, this is definitely not pleasant, but I've done it often enough that I can mentally filter out the less savory smells and zoom in on what I'm searching for.
"No sign of the other mutts' trails," I said. "If Dennis ducked into the museum to hide from them, that would be incredibly coincidental, although I suppose he could have been following the same logic as Reese, thinking it's the last place a werewolf would follow. We're the exceptions. Well, if you don't count Karl, but his interest in artifacts is hardly academic."
Clay grumbled under his breath as he continued untangling Dennis's trail. Clay had a lot of problems with Karl Marsten joining the Pack, but when asked to add anything to the list of concerns, he'd said only "No more stealing from museums."
When Karl heard that, he'd been a bit taken aback, this probably being the last issue he'd expect Clay to raise, far behind the fact that Karl had once helped kidnap him. But Clay's priorities were never the expected ones. He didn't give a shit about the kidnapping--that was business. But stealing artifacts? That pissed him off. They'd eventually negotiated a compromise. Karl could still steal from museums, but only jewels and only the sort shown off as historical bling with no archaeological significance.
"Can you tell what Dennis was looking at in here?" I asked.
"Everything, it seems. His trail goes all through the room, several times. His scent's especially heavy right here, though."
I looked at the collection of drawings and newspaper accounts. "Wendigo psychosis? You did a paper on that a couple of years ago, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe Jeremy mentioned it, then Dennis was visiting the museum, noticed this and slowed down for a look."
The Wendigo is one of the more popular and better known bits of Native North American folklore. During a particularly tough winter, it's believed that evil spirits possess people, transforming them into beasts craving human flesh. That sounds a lot like man-eating werewolves, which explains Clay's interest. It also, however, sounds like an explanation for cannibalism--during a very long and hard winter, the need to survive
overcomes cultural taboos. Just ask the Donner Party.
That's why Wendigo psychosis interests Clay even more. It's a mental condition that apparently causes people to crave human flesh although other food sources are available. Again, the parallels with werewolves are obvious. The question is whether sufferers of Wendigo psychosis are werewolves, humans with an unrelated condition or humans with a weak strain of werewolf blood.
"I'll ask Jeremy if he mentioned my article," Clay said. "If not, remember we've got three half-eaten human bodies in the woods. Dennis had to know about them and figured he and Joey were the only werewolves around. They sure as hell didn't do it."
"So he could have been looking for another explanation. Either way, Dennis was here at least a week ago, meaning his visit doesn't seem directly connected to those mutts."
Clay nodded.
"They may have had nothing to do with his disappearance."
Another nod.
"Or if they did, his disappearance probably means they pulled the same terror tactics they used on Reese. Dennis and Joey don't strike me as the type who'd stick around to defend their territory."
"They're not," Clay said as he waved for us to head out. "But they should have notified Jeremy. Sure, they're not Pack, so technically they can't hold territory. We'd still have helped, though."
"But would they have called? Or would they slip off to avoid any kind of confrontation?"
"Dennis would leave. He's..." He trailed off, and I knew he was trying to think of a milder word than coward. "Still, whether he likes confrontations or not, this was his home."
"Maybe he didn't run. Maybe he's snowed in at his cabin, like the landlord said."
As we stepped outside, I checked my cell phone for messages.
"He's not calling back," Clay said.
I'd begun to suspect the same thing. The young landlord had seemed helpful--refreshingly so when I was more accustomed to dealing with people like Mallory Hirsch. But, like Reese, I couldn't help questioning the kindness of strangers. Maybe in his own way, Charles was blocking us as much as Hirsch, promising us an address to get us out of his face.
We turned the corner and picked our way past museum expansion construction.
"We should try to find Joey," I said. "It won't be that hard if he's using his real name."
"First, we need to check into the hotel and rest."
A protest rose to my lips, but didn't make it out. I was tired. We'd accomplished a lot for our first day. Now it was time to take a couple of hours off to sleep, eat...
"Is that a yes?" Clay asked.
"It is."
"Good."
WE GRABBED OUR bags from the car. While I checked in, Clay prowled, getting the layout of the hotel, which was even more important now when we knew there were mutts in town.
After I checked in, I took a seat in one of the big lobby chairs and started an Internet search for Joey. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a listing in the phone directory. Jeremy said Joey worked for an advertising agency, so I angled my hunt that way. In a few minutes, I had a match--a Joseph Stillwell listed at Creative Marketing Solutions in Anchorage.
I called.
I was hanging up when Clay returned. "Good news. I found where Joey works. He's left for the day, but the receptionist confirmed he was in earlier, meaning he's alive and well."
Clay only nodded, but he was obviously relieved.
We took the bags up to our room. Clay barely got through the door before he was cursing. I passed him and walked to the other side of the room, which took about five paces.
"This is the Hilton, isn't it?" Clay asked.
"Yep."
The room was decently appointed, but showing its age, and was roughly the size of our en suite bathroom at home.
"Let's just hope we don't spend much time in here or we'll go stir-crazy."
Clay threw the bags onto the bed. "All this wide-open country and they can't afford to build decent-size hotel rooms?"
"Let me call down and see if they have a bigger--"
Clay caught me around the waist. "I'm sure Jeremy booked the best they had. It'll do."
"We could switch hotels. There must be--"
He cut me off with a kiss--a hungry, fingers-in-hair, leg-around-hips, who-needs-oxygen kiss, ending only when my cell phone chirped. His head whipped toward it, eyes narrowing, and I was glad I'd left it out of his reach or I'd have been picking pieces out of the plaster.
I untangled myself from him. "Normally, I'd say to hell with it, but considering we're waiting for a call..."
He strode over, snatched up the phone, then tossed it to me. "It's Dennis's landlord."
Charles had the GPS coordinates and directions ready to text to my cell. He apologized for taking so long. His wife had stopped at a friend's after shopping and, as he said, "You know how that goes." Actually, I didn't, but I understood the concept.
He warned us not to head out to Dennis's cabin tonight--it was already dark. I thanked him and promised to call back with any news.
When I hung up, Clay was already at the door.
"Eager to be off?" I said.
"Eager to be off before I decide it can wait five minutes, and five minutes wasn't what I had in mind."
"Me neither. Let's get this trip over with, then we can call it a night."
UNEASY
WE'D GONE ABOUT ten miles when I said, "So, how long have you known that Jeremy planned to make me the next Alpha?"
He looked over. "You want to talk about that now?"
"I think I need to."
"Good." He adjusted the rearview mirror. "I've known for just over a week. He's been giving you extra responsibilities since before the kids were born, but I only recently started thinking it might mean something. I asked him a couple of times, but he brushed me off. I was getting pissed, because I knew the one person who hadn't figured it out was you, and that's not right. I didn't like keeping my suspicions from you--it felt like a secret. So I called him on it. He admitted that he's planned to make you Alpha for years. The kids just slowed things down."
He whizzed past a truck. "Is that what's been bothering you? You thought I've known for a while and hadn't said anything?"
"Jeremy would have made you keep it a secret until he was ready. I'd understand that."
"You'd understand if I kept something that big from you? You shouldn't. Because I wouldn't. That's why Jeremy wouldn't confirm it. If there's a conflict between loyalty to mate and Alpha, Jeremy knows better than to test me on it."
And if that mate was also his Alpha? I turned to stare out at the dark waters of the inlet.
"You didn't suspect?" Clay asked after a moment.
"I noticed Jeremy's been asking my opinion more often, encouraging me to make decisions in the field, but that's been gradually happening for years. I thought that was just because I was getting more experienced and he felt more comfortable handing things off, knowing I wouldn't run off to Toronto again. Once he started seeing Jaime, it made sense that he wanted someone who could take over when he goes away for the weekend. But take over for good?" I took a deep breath. "No, I didn't see that coming."
I watched the rising moon skate across the waves and, for a second, thought I saw the white back of a beluga. I kept staring, telling myself I was just waiting for it to resurface.
"So how--" Clay began.
"Is Jeremy crazy?" I cut in, twisting to face him, seat belt digging into my neck. "I know, I shouldn't question his decisions. The Alpha's word is law and I should instinctively obey."
He laughed. "And since when have you done that? Plus in this case, I can safely say you're wrong. Sure, I had my doubts about Jeremy's sanity when he hooked up with Jaime, but I'm over that."
"You know what I mean. The ascension of a new Alpha is supposed to prove to mutts that we're as strong as ever, and bolstering the leadership with fresh blood. What's a female Alpha going to tell them? That we've lost our collective minds."
"Which is why they won't be
lieve it." He swooped past another vehicle daring to obey the speed limit. "They'll think it's a clever way to make me Alpha. If we announced that the crazy guy was in charge, they'd be arming themselves for Armageddon. By saying you're Alpha, it signals that we don't want to panic them. They'll be edgy for a while, but when they see it's business as usual, they'll relax."
"And then you'll take over?"
"Hell, no. You're Alpha."
"And you're okay with that?"
He turned off the highway. "No, I'm pissed. Fuming mad. Can't you tell?"
I gave him a look.
"Deep down, I'm furious. I'm just a master at controlling my emotions."
"Ha-ha."
"If I was fuming, you'd know it. If I was mildly annoyed, you'd know it. I'm not, because I'm not Alpha material. Mutt steps over the line? You and Jeremy say beat the crap out of him, and teach him a lesson. I say kill the bastard and save ourselves any future problems. Not Alpha material."
"But you're the best fighter. Everyone expects it will be you. Do you want to be Alpha?"
"No." He looked over, meeting my gaze and holding it. "I didn't expect to, and I wouldn't accept the post if he offered it. I like being second-in-command. If having you as Alpha means I get to keep doing that, then I'm happy. All that political shit?" He snorted. "Can't be bothered."
"We could be co-Alphas. An Alpha pair, male and female, like wolves."
"What works for wolves doesn't always work for werewolves. To your average mutt, I'd be making you my co-Alpha for the sake of marital harmony, not martial strategy, which wouldn't reflect well on either of us. Werewolves have an Alpha. One wolf to rule them all. And that wolf will be you."
I stared out at a boglike area with skeletal trees, a wasteland surrounded by lush forest.
"But you'd be happier about the promotion if you had more competition."
I turned to him. "What?"
"It wasn't much of an Alpha race, and everyone knows it. Antonio would be good, but he's even older than Jeremy and he has a business to run. Nick and Karl are out of the question. I don't want the job. A victory by default isn't nearly so sweet."
"You think I'm put out by the lack of competition? Please. I--" At his look, I sighed and brushed my ponytail off my shoulder. "Okay, yes, it would be a lot more flattering if I wasn't the only choice."
"But that's not what's really bothering you, is it?" He glanced over, gaze boring into the side of my head, as if he could read my thoughts. "Is it another worry about becoming Alpha? Or something else?"