Page 8 of Grin and Bear It

“Touch my honey bread and lose the hand,” Artair warned, only half-joking.

Jash retracted his arm with practiced ease, not the least bit intimidated. “Some things never change. Remember when you broke Tommy Wolfclaw’s nose for stealing your honey cake in fourth grade?”

“He deserved it. And you didn’t come here to reminisce about elementary school.” Artair pushed the less honeyed portion of bread toward his friend as a peace offering. “Tell me about the break-ins.”

Jash’s expression shifted instantly from playful to serious as he accepted the bread. “Three more last night—the warehouse on Maple Street, the vacant storefront in the historical district, and the old observatory on Crescent Hill.”

“Charlie mentioned the observatory. What did they take?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Jash pulled up a series of images on his tablet. “At the warehouse, they bypassed shipping containers with actual valuable merchandise and took only a ceremonial bear clan altar stone—the one your grandfather brought from the old country. At the storefront, they ignored the safe and took only the framed map of original bear clan territories. And at the observatory...”

“The celestial navigation tools,” Artair finished, a chill settling between his shoulder blades.

“Exactly. Your great-grandfather’s star charts and astrolabe.” Jash flipped to a grainy surveillance image. “What’s more, I caught this at the observatory.”

The video showed a darkened room filled with antique telescopes and astronomical equipment. A shadow moved with unnatural fluidity—somewhat ursine in form but with movements too calculated for a natural bear.

“Bear shifter?” Artair asked, studying the silhouette with growing unease.

“That’s what I thought initially.” Jash enlarged the image. “But watch the movement pattern. Bears, even in human form, maintain certain locomotion signatures—the weight distribution, the characteristic roll of the shoulders. This is... different. Almost like someone mimicking a bear’s movements without the instinctive patterns.”

Artair’s bear stirred, a protective growl building in his chest. “They’re targeting bear clan artifacts. My family’s artifacts specifically.”

“Exactly.” Jash closed the tablet, expression grim. “This isn’t random theft. It’s targeted. Personal.”

“Have you picked up any magical signatures?”

“Nothing conclusive. Whoever’s doing this knows how to mask their tracks.” Jash hesitated, an unusual reluctance crossing his features. “There’s something else. Those rumors you asked me to look into... about Calan...”

Artair went still, the name of his presumed-dead twin brother hanging in the air between them. “Did you find something?”

“Nothing solid. But there have been reported sightings matching his description in neighboring magical communities. If Calan somehow survived the crash?—”

“He didn’t,” Artair cut him off sharply, tension radiating from his shoulders. “My brother died with my parents. These sightings are mistaken identities or deliberate misinformation.”

Jash held his gaze steadily, one of the few people unintimidated by Artair’s intensity. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“What I believe is irrelevant. The facts remain—the plane crashed. No survivors were found. The case is closed.” Artair pushed his plate away, appetite gone. “Focus on securing theremaining bear clan artifacts in our properties. And see if you can get that detection grid working better than a coin toss before we deploy it.”

“Already on it.” Jash picked up his tablet but made no move to leave. Instead, he studied his oldest friend with a mixture of concern and exasperation. “You’re doing it again, by the way.”

“Doing what?”

“The thing where you pretend you’re only muscle and money instead of, you know, an actual person with feelings.” Jash leaned back in his chair. “It’s why your grandmother keeps throwing eligible bear shifters at you, you know. She thinks you need someone to crack that granite exterior.”

TEN

Artair’s expression darkened. “I have a company to run and a family legacy to protect. My ‘granite exterior’ serves a purpose.”

“Sure, it does. Great for boardroom battles and territory disputes. Not so great for actually living.” Jash stood, adjusting his perpetually crooked glasses. “Speaking of your grandmother’s matchmaking crusade—Bryn called me this morning. Something about Emily Stoneclaw and an elaborate dinner trap?”

Despite himself, Artair grimaced. “Apparently there will be ‘compatibility stations.’“

Jash’s burst of laughter echoed in the private dining room. “Please tell me there will be pictures. I need to see the mighty Artair Maxen doing bear clan compatibility tests. Does she still make you demonstrate your den-building skills with sofa cushions?”

“Get out of my office before I fire you,” Artair growled, though without any real heat.

“You’d never fire me. You’d have to explain technology to yourself.” Jash headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Call Rust. He managed to escape three of these setupsbefore he finally mated with Kalyna. If anyone knows how to handle your grandmother’s schemes, it’s him.”

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