A London Werewolf in America Read online

  As if aware of his regard, she suddenly looked up. Her stare was drawn to him like a compass needle to the Pole. He grinned at her and winked. She couldn’t possibly have seen either gesture, not at that distance, yet her posture stiffened. She turned abruptly and marched away, toward the distant exit. The lesser apes scurried out of her way, as they would before any alpha.

  “Forget the monkeys,” Eugene was saying. “You want fun, I know where to find fun. There’s this place on Arch Street, lot’a vamps but they won’t bother us. We can—”

  Roderick let him blather on without paying any attention. He smiled to himself and slid his hand into his trousers pocket. His fingers curved around the business card he’d palmed while helping the witch gather her potions. The pad of his thumb rubbed along the embossed letters of her name, as it would soon rub the creamy richness of her skin. One did not escape a wolf so easily, not even a witch.

  His smile broadened until fangs showed. Perhaps this trip to the Colonies would turn out well for him after all.

  Chapter 2

  Springsteen, Set A Spell’s resident cat, acknowledged Darinda’s return with a muffled mrawr that quickly spread into a yawn. Her assistant, Peri Gilmore, displayed far more animation. “Hey, that was quick. Paul, get off okay? Things have been like dead in here since lunchtime. I really think we should put that witch mannequin back out front. You know, the one from Halloween? The tourists love it. They take pictures alla time—”

  “Sure, okay. But put it closer to the window instead of the door this time. That way they get the name of the store and the web site in the shot. Maybe great-aunt Tilly in Chester County would want to shop online.” Darinda spoke without breaking stride. She aimed for the office in back and the Rolodex. “Do we still have the Wolf King’s phone number?”

  “Big Alex? Yeah, I think. Look under B. Does he even have a last name?”

  “Here he is. Alexander Vittori.” Filed under W, presumably for “wolf.” Peri and the alphabet had only a nodding acquaintance. She punched in the first four numbers on her cell, then stopped because Peri was parked in the office doorway, peering at her suspiciously out of her huge thistledown eyes. “What?”

  “‘What,’ she says. You take your brother to the airport, then blast back in here and get on the phone to Philadelphia’s head werewolf. Where, I ask myself, is the connection?”

  Darinda sighed and related the Cliff’s Notes version of her brief encounter with Roderick Chase. She deliberately left all the meat off the bones: his piercing yellow eyes, his deep voice, the fact he openly wanted her and she’d been teetering on the verge of wanting back. She did let slip he was English, and regretted it instantly when Peri oooh’d. “Did he have an accent? I looove the accent.”

  “Peri, he’s a werewolf.”

  “So a werewolf’s not allowed to have an accent?”

  Goddess help them both. “Yes. He had an accent. Kind of Patrick Stewartish, but growly. And yes, before you ask, he had a lot more hair. As a matter of fact, he was quite the hunk.”

  “Ahhhh.” Peri melted right there in the doorway. Darinda bit down on a snort. Peri was only twenty-one and still an apprentice witch. She had blonde hair cut in a pixie do, and pixie blood as well. She could be forgiven a melt now and then, even one over a were. Darinda, on the other hand, was five years older and a full enchantress, and fully committed to the solitude she’d decided was a witch’s lot in life. Her melting days were well behind her. No matter how fascinating she found some Englishman’s—make that English wolf’s—burning topaz eyes.

  “Dang, I wish you’d gotten his number. So you’re calling Big Alex because…?”

  “Because I need to know if Prince Hairy’s legit. If he’s not, Big Alex needs to hear about him. We can do without an intercontinental pack war. Remember that mess with the vampires?”

  “Gawd yeah. We were weeks cleaning that up. Who knew vampires needed healing potions? I thought they just slept all day and woke up whole.”

  “Not when you shoot them with slugs dipped in holy water, they don’t. I’m more concerned about the mortal reaction. Gang violence is gang violence. That includes pack violence. A couple werewolves snarl at each other, the mortals get antsy, the cops crack down, and everybody suffers. Especially us on the fringe. That’s why I’m calling Big Alex.”

  “Gotcha.” Peri tugged on her lower lip. “So. Did he tell you what hotel he’s staying at?”

  “Down, girl. He’s staying with family. He mentioned Fairmount Park. I don’t remember a Chase pack in Fairmount Park.”

  “No, that’s the Meadows clan. Officer Charlie’s pack.”

  “I don’t recall Charlie saying he had English relatives. If it’s true, though, and the guy checks out, he’s all yours.”

  “Yay! Time to stock up on the flea powder.” Peri danced back into the storefront. Darinda shook her head and dialed Big Alex.

  Peri had customers—two somber teens looking for Goth accessories—by the time Darinda emerged from the office. Peri sold the pair some silver medallions, threw in a free tube of eyeliner, and sent them on their gloomy way. She didn’t try to disguise her relief at their departure. “Gawd, I hate Goths. They suck all the happy out of a room. So what did Big Alex say about my future husband?”

  “Turns out he’s legit. And engaged. He’s here to be married.”

  Darinda leaned on the counter. She felt like something had been siphoned out of her. Where had the disappointment come from? He was just some guy. He wasn’t even a human guy. He was a wolf in a pricy suit, making predator’s eyes at her when he already had a bride waiting.

  “What? That dog. How dare he be taken?” Peri stomped over to the windowsill where Springsteen lounged and consoled herself by stroking her familiar’s fur. “I should have figured. You know what they say. The good ones are either married or demons.”

  “Forget him,” Darinda said decisively. “You’re right, he’s a dog. He’s not worth the time. There are plenty of other hot men with sexy accents out there.”

  “But none of them come in here. Maybe if we burned some incense. Dang, now I can’t get weres out of my head. Do we have any steak-flavored?”

  Pixies. Bright, but exhausting. “I should go over the inventory,” Darinda said, and beat a strategic retreat.

  * * * *

  By the time Roderick rose the next morning, Aunt Letty already had his itinerary planned. A quick bite of breakfast, snatch a shower, then off to the city for sightseeing. One could not stay in Philadelphia, Aunt Letty insisted, without visiting the historic district. As if he gave a twitch of his tail where a gaggle of ragtag traitors had plotted rebellion against their rightful alpha. But then, King George hadn’t been any higher up the evolutionary ladder, in Roderick’s biased opinion. Now, if they’d had a true wolf on the throne—

  Aunt Letty cuffed his neck. “Stop eyeing that girl,” she hissed under her breath. “At least pretend you’re paying attention.”

  He stifled his sigh, held his tongue, and wrenched his stare off the apes in the clingy skirt. Aunt Letty meant well, Lycaon bless her. She knew this situation was difficult for him and was doing all she knew to ease it. So he subjected himself to the park ranger’s drone and joined the monkeys ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the Liberty Bell. Bloody thing’s got a crack in it, he thought sourly.

  Which pretty much summed up his life. He knew himself to be a highly-desirable catch, attractive to she-wolves and monkeys alike, from a wealthy and well-established pack. But the situation had become intolerable. He was nearly thirty. How was he to advance with the Queen Mum’s paw on his neck and no intention of removing it?

  Pack life did not foster alpha males, as there could only be one. Alphas had to make their own way, groom their own family of followers. For that he would need a mate as strong and aggressive as he. But a mate of his choosing, in his own time, not just because his mother said so. How big of a tuck-tail did she think him?

  Or he could split from the pack and run lone, which mean
t a slow, excruciating death sentence to the social weres. Or…

  He dipped his hand into his trousers pocket and patted the business card. In his other hand he carried the street map they’d been handing out at the visitors’ center. The flirty brunette in faux Colonial garb had happily pointed out South Street, only five blocks from his current location. All he need do was slip Aunt Letty’s leash.

  Aunt Letty’s hand clamped on his forearm. “Oh, this is a stroke of luck!” She dragged him away from the clustered monkeys toward a trim older woman in a tailored suit. “Nora! Nora, dear, what a delight to see you.”

  The woman’s head turned toward them. Her nose worked, and her air of aloof condescension dissipated like mist. She smiled at them, displaying healthy teeth. “Letitia. What a pleasant surprise.”

  They greeted each other with a quick, rough hug that would have left bruises on an ape. Her eyes, a striking gold, fastened on him like the jaws of a trap. “This has to be Roderick.”

  “None other,” Aunt Letitia said proudly. “Roddy, dear, this is Nora Duquesne, Coraline’s mother.”

  He smiled and politely inclined his head. Surprise, my hairy arse. Of course they’d planned this. Provide the buyer with a preview of the merchandise. Was every were she on the planet conspiring against him? If she tried to inspect his genitals, he’d have to bite her.

  Fortunately she restrained herself and settled for a visual appraisal. “I don’t think Coraline will find fault,” she said. “So, Roddy, how do you like Philadelphia?”

  “After less than a day? It’s a bit soon to pass judgment. I like to take my time, get to know a place.”

  He hoped she’d take the hint but no such luck. “I was supposed to meet Coraline for lunch, but something’s come up at her job. She just phoned me. Too bad, she’s so eager to meet you. Unless…”

  “Yes?” Aunt Letty prompted, just as if this weren’t rehearsed.

  “Dinner,” Nora Duquesne said firmly. “Tomorrow night, at Lupin Hill. Roddy and Coraline can get to know each other, and you and I can catch up. It’s been too long since our packs intermingled. We should firm up the ties again.”

  “That sounds like a perfectly wonderful idea,” Aunt Letty said. “Don’t you think so, Roddy?”

  “Absolutely,” he said cheerfully. “If Coraline’s half as lovely as her mother, I’m sure I’ll adore her.”

  The women beamed at him and then, like most shes of most species, fell to chatting with each other and, for the moment, forgot him. He stood by patiently until they’d well enmeshed themselves in gossip then took a sly step to the rear. Then another. Seconds later he slipped himself in with a knot of university-agers headed across the street toward Independence Hall. Within minutes he’d covered a block, and Aunt Letty was nowhere in sight.

  Step one accomplished. On to step two. He withdrew Darinda Lowell’s business card, smiled at the printed address, and set off for South Street at a leisurely trot. Let the hunt begin.

  Chapter 3

  Darinda tapped her frowning lips with the edge of the ten of diamonds. This wasn’t looking good at all.

  Irritated, she gathered up the cards on the counter, patted them back into the deck, and shuffled. Before she dealt, she took a set of long, slow, cleansing breaths. It might not be Fate that had soured the cards. It might well be her own mood.

  Business crawled along this morning. No big surprise. Her customers rarely got out of bed before noon or, in a lot of cases, sundown. To pass the time, she’d pulled out the deck of cards she used to tell fortunes. Instead of sensibly dealing herself a hand of Solitaire, she’d gone for a personal reading. It hadn’t been encouraging. Neither had the two that followed.

  Well, try, try again. She cut the deck, dealt from the top, and was not surprised when the Queen of Hearts led off. The Queen was her personal card. Next came a string of hearts and diamonds that took up half the circular deal. That string had prompted her initial frown. Hearts meant love, diamonds a binding chain. Fate meant to bind her to someone.

  Darinda sniffed. She wasn’t into bondage. She shuffled the deck again, a breach of convention she hoped would negate the repetitive reading.

  No luck. The Jack of Clubs appeared, just as it had before. The Jack of Clubs always meant trouble. A line of clubs followed, broken here and there by hearts. Love persisted, but it would be a bumpy ride.

  Then the final three. First the Ace of Spades. Darinda’s mouth tightened. It didn’t always have to mean death. It could just stand for radical change. The Ace of Hearts couldn’t be as easily shrugged off. When taken in context with the rest of the reading it could only mean love triumphant, though heavily influenced by the black ace. Something was going to change, or die—either the love itself, or one of the lovers.

  One of which, according to the reading, was her.

  Not likely. She deliberately gave the deck yet another forbidden shuffle. Let’s see you come up this time.

  The King of Spades appeared at the top of the deck, just like the last three times. It sat expectantly in her palm, waiting for her to place it next to the Queen of Hearts. Instead she scraped up the cards with a snarl and swept the deck into the shoebox underneath the counter. These benighted readings were never accurate anyway.

  Morosely she stared out the window at the passing foot traffic on South Street. Maybe it was just her imagination, but there seemed to be an awful lot of cuddling couples out there this morning. Young, not so young, in business suits and battered jeans and studded leather vests, men and women, boys and girls, a couple same-sex pairings, all of them looked disgustingly happy. Hecate’s tits, it wasn’t even that far into spring. April had barely got its feet wet on the calendar. In the long run, though, the time of year didn’t really matter. The whole young man’s, or young woman’s, fancy cliché had never applied to her.

  I’m a witch, she told herself. Witches were strong, independent, self-reliant. They didn’t need men to feel complete. A lucky thing, since her witchiness usually scared the bejeebers out of any male she tried to date. Just mention witch and watch the eyebrows climb. Then she felt compelled to demonstrate. That brought on the sweat popping out on palms and cheeks, the stammered excuses and apologies for suddenly having to be elsewhere. A step up from pitchforks, torches and nooses, though not much of one.

  Pity about the were. He hadn’t been put off in the slightest. Of course, he’d only been after one thing, and anyone remotely female would have served his purpose. If she shut her eyes she could easily picture his face and the frank desire in it. She kept her eyes wide open. “Jerk,” she muttered. Worse than a jerk. He was going to be married, for Hecate’s sake. He was just another hound on the prowl. Besides, he had no way to find her. She’d seen the first and last of him at the airport, and that suited her just fine.

  The door opened, and a mousy woman sidled her way in. She glanced nervously around the interior, her stare freezing on the stuffed bats fixed to the ceiling. Darinda moved, and the woman’s focus darted to her. “Love potions?” she squeaked.

  Darinda smiled broadly. “Right this way.”

  * * * *

  The two monkey pups squinted their heavily-mascara’d eyes at the business card Roderick had given them then handed it back. “Right up the street,” the boy said, pointing. His face had been powdered to a graveyard pallor, and he’d painted his lips a stark black. The girl had on less makeup but had dyed her hair pink. Both wore theatrical scowls and smelled like bean burritos. “You can’t miss it.”

  Roderick thanked them brusquely and hurried up the walk. “Colorful” didn’t begin to describe this place or the apes that populated it. He found it all too bright and sparkly, with building walls full of painted murals and mosaics crafted from what appeared to be shattered pop bottles. In such a gaudy environment, small wonder the monkeys dressed to call attention to themselves.

  He wrinkled his nose at the abundance of leather, much of which clearly hadn’t been laundered in ages. “Vampire” seemed to be the current
fashion. Real vampires, Roderick surmised, probably shunned the area. One look at these apes in their faux Dracula garb and the bats would kill themselves laughing.

  At least the pup had steered him right. The high-hatted witch mannequin out front drew his eye, and him, right to Darinda Lowell’s door. Like the business card, Set A Spell’s display window was decorated with a crescent moon and stars. He tried to peer within but saw only gloom. The sign on the door read Open. He smiled and went inside.

  The moment he stepped through the doorway he sensed the presence of the enemy.

  He let the door fall shut behind him. His nose searched the room. He took a breath and sneezed explosively.

  The enemy responded with an ear-raking yowl. There on the sill crouched an orange tabby bristled up to about the size of a tiger. It flexed its claws and bared its teeth. He bared his own. The cat spat a hiss, and Roderick snarled. They glowered challenge at each other. Finally the cat vaulted off the sill and streaked for the back of the shop. Its malevolent eyes, yellow as Lucifer’s, glared out at him from the shadows.

  “Oh, hey. Hi there.” A bony blonde girl with a mannish haircut came out and rounded the counter. She shot a glance over her shoulder at the cat, which swore vehemently. “Don’t mind him. He scratch you?”

  “I didn’t get close enough. No offense to you or your pet, but I don’t get on with cats.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” She pursed her lips, then grinned up at him. “British accent, ticked-off kitty—you’re Darinda’s werewolf, aren’t you?”

  He raised both brows. “I see my reputation precedes me. You are…?”

  “Peri.” She thrust her hand at him. Not without trepidation, he took it. Her nails were nearly as long as the cat’s and painted periwinkle, with glitter. “I guess you’re here to see Darinda. She’ll be out in a minute. She’s working some major magic.” At the rear of the shop, a toilet flushed. So did the girl. “Tribute to the water gods,” she said.