Bayou Blues (6 page)

I resisted the urge to take Wilder’s hand and squeeze it. Why the hell would I do something like that? I barely knew the guy, and certainly not well enough to hold his hand in front of my family. Yet the urge was there. I glanced at him and tried to convey a sense of comfort, though I still wasn’t sure what compelled me to.

I needed to know he was okay, and I got the feeling what we were about to hear would make him anything but.

“I received an email earlier today concerning the pack. When I didn’t respond, they sent me a follow-up. This just came through a few minutes ago.” Callum opened his laptop and pivoted the screen to face us, clicking the space bar to start a video. Ben and I were forced to lean over Wilder in order to get a clear view of the screen, and I used it as my excuse to brace against him, squeezing his wrist. I caught him glancing at me quickly before he turned his attention back to the screen.

A thirty-something blond man with a ruffled haircut, who should have been beside the definition of towheaded in the dictionary, smiled benevolently at the camera. He radiated the easy charm of a young pastor or a Sunday-school teacher, and everything about his appearance invited trust.

Naturally he made me uneasy.

He wore a white polo shirt embroidered in gold thread with the name “Church of Morning” and their emblem—which I recognized from my brief exposure to their past propaganda—the half circle of a sun coming over a horizon, like a child’s drawing.

“Good afternoon, Callum. My name is Timothy Deerling. I am the leader of the Church of Morning.”

The leader? From what little I’d learned about the Church in the past, I didn’t know they had a leader. They’d been around since we’d come out, but had long been more of a joke than anything to be worried about. Except now they were only getting national attention. They also covered their tracks well. No searches had turned up an address or suspected location of their church, and they broadcast their “sermons” through public access channels and a website video feed. YouTube was full of their videos, but those all featured actors in staged situations, interacting with werewolves and vampires straight out of a Bela Lugosi movie. So who was this Deerling guy? I hadn’t watched any of the sermons, which might explain why I didn’t know his name or face. It also didn’t escape my attention he’d said
leader
and not any traditional religious title.

“I have no doubt you’ve heard what my group has had to say, and I know we have not been the first. You and your army of abominations cannot be allowed to live amongst us unchecked any longer. I fear my threats may fall on deaf ears because of my less motivated predecessors. I know you may have ignored my earlier message, but let me assure you I mean to do precisely what I’ve promised.”

The whole time he spoke he continued to smile, making him appear more and more like a sociopath with each passing second.

“To prove to you I am a man of my word, I have brought a member of your pack to my compound.” The camera shifted, and instead of focusing on a plain white wall there was a row of squat metal cages, though the bars were much thicker than one would expect on a kennel.

My breath came up short, like my lungs were being squeezed by a vise and getting air in and out was a Herculean effort. I’d never
been
caged, but I had seen the outcome of captivity and what it did to animals and humans alike. No one deserved to be locked up in a cage that size. Or any size.

Shaky camera work made the scene jerk and become unfocused as we followed Timothy across the space. Briefly we were shown nothing but a concrete floor, and just as suddenly the camera panned back up and focused on one cage close up, Timothy squatting in front of it, out of arms reach.

It took me a minute to realize what we were looking at, but Wilder got there first.

“Son of a bitch.”

Dirty and disheveled was nothing new for Hank Shaw. In my few personal interactions with him—none of which I remembered fondly—he had smelled as bad as he looked. But once I understood I was seeing a man I knew crammed inside one of those too-small cages, I resisted the natural reaction to vomit all over the laptop.

Fighting a wave of bile in my throat before I was able to speak, I muttered, “Oh my God.” It was the only thing I could think to add to the conversation. No words of comfort sprang to mind.

He was more unshaven than usual, with perhaps a week’s worth of beard on his face. Aging facial hair on a werewolf was difficult because they could often grow hair much faster than the average man. But I had a good sense of Hank’s standard appearance, and he was hairier and rougher than was his norm.

Callum was as impassive as ever, and Ben seemed only casually interested, the way someone might be if they were driving past a car accident. I knew no one liked Hank, myself included, but their lack of empathy surprised me. I could write it off in Callum’s case since he’d already watched the video and there were no surprises here for him, but Ben should have shown at least
some
emotion. I couldn’t decide if I was more stunned or disappointed by the lack.

Timothy must have been allowing a dramatic pause for reaction because he hadn’t spoken the entire time we drank in the scene. This guy was a born showman, making me wonder why the Church wasn’t using him on a more regular basis. He had the kind of inoffensive handsomeness that lured people in en masse and invited trust where none was deserved.

Kind of like Ted Bundy.

I chewed my thumbnail and waited to see what he’d say.

“I would have preferred someone with a more camera-ready face to show how easily you monsters blend in, but we took what we could get.” He gave a shrug and smiled. A chill ran through me as I recalled the car that had attempted to drive me off the road only hours earlier. I’d suspected it might be the Church, and now I wondered how close I’d come to being in the cage next to Hank. I was already a public face for the pack.
Werewolf Princess Goes to College
was the most prominent headline that came to mind. Was kidnapping me another part of the Church’s plan? I’d thought they wanted to hurt me, but I was starting to think they wanted something much, much worse.

“This is not a ransom demand,” Timothy went on. “We want nothing from you. We want nothing to do with you except to see your whole species wiped out. We merely present this creature to you so you can understand the lengths we are willing to go to. And soon the whole world will know them as well. You may think we are afraid of making enemies of you. We are not.”

Someone off screen handed Timothy a long pole. On the end were two prongs. I didn’t have time to think about what it was before he jammed the prongs into Hank, and a loud
zap
rang out. Cattle prod. Hank screamed, and his body jerked, limbs dancing at awkward angles with a mind of their own. My heart broke to watch a man I knew get treated like an animal.

This
was why we’d hidden in the shadows and why our secrecy had meant so much to us. It was our worst fears about human nature coming true. I’d long believed we could live in peace with humans even if they knew us for what we really were, but since the veil had been lifted I was realizing how naïve my hope had been.

Seeing Timothy torture Hank the way a future serial killer might assault a cat made me sick to my stomach. It didn’t matter that Hank was a bigot who hated almost everyone he met. He was pack. Pack was family.

My sickness turned to rage in my belly.

As Hank’s body went limp, the camera faded to black.

“Is he dead?” My voice came out higher than I’d expected, bordering on hysterical.

Beside me, Wilder shook his head. “No, that much voltage wouldn’t kill him.”

“Our guess is they’re preparing to do something much more public. Something they can use to show the whole world they mean what they say.” Callum’s words were steady and empty of feeling, but I knew my uncle well enough to hear what wasn’t there. He was as angry about this as I was.

“We have to do something. Can’t we release the video to the press?” I sounded less manic this time, trying to mimic Callum’s tone. He gave me a sad smile and sat back in his chair.

“If we could, I’d have done it already. In his email Deerling made it clear that if this video gets made public, so do the names and addresses of every wolf in three states. Mutually assured destruction. And if we attack them, as I’m sure they want us to, they’ll use it as evidence we are the animals they claim.” Before I could interject he added, “But I don’t plan on sitting idly by.”

Wilder got to his feet. “I’ll go get him.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ben spat, his tone conveying all the venom I’d seen outside. Even after we’d watched Wilder’s brother tortured, he still hated the family. That was some deep-rooted anger, and I promised myself I’d get to the bottom of it, but not now.

Callum waved his hand to silence Ben, and in turn we all went still. Something about my uncle made me feel more like a little girl than a woman. He intimidated with no effort. It was part of what made him a good leader and an imposing parental figure.

“Mr. Shaw, sit down please.”

Wilder hesitated before returning to his seat. He didn’t appear pleased about obeying, but he also didn’t argue. Smart man. He wouldn’t make it far in the pack if he crossed Callum with the same vehemence as he locked horns with Ben.

“You will
not
go after your brother on your own, am I understood?”

Wilder didn’t speak, clearly debating what he could say that would allow him to rescue Hank without lying to his king outright.

“Fine,” he grumbled at last. He sounded angry about it, and I couldn’t blame him. As much as Ben and I tended to disagree, if anyone had taken him, I would have crawled on my belly through the fires of hell to get him back.

“I assure you, I’m taking this threat
very
seriously,” Callum said.

I saw the fire in Wilder’s eyes and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it before he could say anything he might regret. Whatever reply he was about to use died on his lips, and he turned his attention from Callum to me. Glancing down at my hand on his forearm, he seemed to realize what it was I’d done, and instead of jerking his arm away, he gave me a nod.

Things could have gone downhill fast if Wilder had issued anything challenge-like to Callum. Kings hated to be questioned, and they liked it even less when people spat in the face of their authority. I wasn’t sure if Wilder had been a part of a different pack before returning to St. Francisville, but it appeared like he had a lot to learn about dealing with werewolf royalty.

“If there’s anything I can do to help,
please
tell me.” Wilder’s teeth were almost gritted together as he struggled to stay polite.

“Of course. And, again, we are in your debt for bringing Eugenia home to us.”

Wilder didn’t bother looking at Callum. He was staring right at me, and the sharp focus of his attention made me uncomfortable and exhilarated all at once.

“I was glad to do it,” he said, getting back to his feet. This time no one stopped him from going, but my hand felt empty without the warmth of his skin.

Callum turned to Amelia, who had remained silent through the whole revelation. “Have someone keep an eye on the younger Shaw. I’m not sure I believe he’s ready to put all his trust in us just yet.”

Amelia nodded and exited the room, leaving Ben and me alone with Callum.

“Are you all right?” my uncle asked me.

“Yes.”

“When I asked Amelia to call you home, I thought it was for your own safety. I never would have put you at risk if I’d imagined you might be hurt.”

I wasn’t even sure how he knew the details of what had happened to me on the road. I hadn’t called ahead because I didn’t want to worry him. So either Wilder had spilled the beans at some point, or the driver of the van wasn’t as human as he seemed.

Sometimes I forgot how deep the roots of my uncle’s power went in this town.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, and was surprised to find it was true. In spite of how scary the ordeal on the highway had been, and the following unpleasantness of the video, I felt safer being back with my family than I had in months.

“Your room is just as you left it. I think Lina has started dinner already if you’re hungry.” When he was done, he glanced at Ben and sighed. “That will be all for now.”

I imagined he had more to discuss with my brother, but nothing he wanted to say in front of me. That could mean any number of things, but I suspected it meant he was going to read Ben the riot act for his earlier behavior towards Wilder. I excused myself and left the room. Being in Callum’s office made me feel uneasy, and I needed to go somewhere that would remind me of the comfort and security of home.

Otherwise, why had I bothered coming?

The mansion’s kitchen took up the entire back half of the first floor. Huge picture windows let in all the warm, yellow afternoon light, giving the creamy-white walls and cupboards a homey, inviting feel.

Two large islands sat in the center of the room, one with two glass stovetops and the other a large butcher block for cutting food and preparing meals. All the appliances were restaurant quality, and there were two of almost everything. Two fridges, two double range ovens and two huge basin sinks. The only solitary appliances were the microwave and the dishwasher, both of which were hardly ever used.

Catalina Flores had her back to me when I entered the kitchen, but it would take more than quiet footsteps to get by her keen ears. Lina was a plump, cheerful woman in her early sixties, and she’d been with the pack since my grandfather Elmore’s era. She wasn’t a werewolf—necessity demanded someone human be around to make food for after pack runs—but she wasn’t altogether normal, either. I hadn’t yet sussed out what she was, and it seemed rude to ask, so I’d spent much of my life around Lina in a state of mystery.

What I knew with a hundred percent certainty was she was the best cook within two hundred miles of New Orleans, and that was saying something.

The smell of roasting meat hit me as soon as I was through the door. Herbs and lemon mingled with the distinctive aroma of chicken. Given the appetite of the pack members, she must have been roasting at least four whole birds.