Page 13 of Exes, Hexes, and Strategy
“Can you tell I’m a regular customer?” the man said in an aside to Rafe before calling out, “Wherever you can squeeze us in, Margie. I know you’re busy.”
Rafe was speechless, and again, couldn’t help comparing Fletcher to his father. Vincent would have demanded the best seat in the house, even should that require ejecting any current diners from their seats, with no thought to the added stress on the staff.
Kane Fletcher was loved. Vincent DeMarco was feared. His father thought Kane was foolish and that he’d be taken advantage of before finally being overthrown, but from what Rafe was witnessing, it was more likely that the residents of this territory, supernatural and otherwise, would come together to protect Kane. It was Vincent who was in danger of eventually being overthrown. A revolution spurred into motion by thousands who were sick of his tyranny.
By the time they’d settled at a small table in a back corner, Rafe had made up his mind. Anything Kane Fletcher wanted to teach him – about being a Hunter, about leading a territory – Rafe would listen, and learn. Kane’s example was the one he wished to follow one day.
When they finally returned to the training facility, Rafe and Kane had set up a few more meetings, one of which included Rafe meeting up with Archer Langley, the alpha of the wolf pack that called this territory home, and Destin Jourdain, the leader of the US branch of the Order of Witches. Kane confided that he met with the two men every couple of weeks to compare notes on what was going on in the territory, but mostly, the three of them spent that time drinking, smoking cigars, and either watching a game on TV or playing poker. Rafe would be able to ask them about the cooperative leadership they’d set in place and any pros and cons they’d since discovered, see if it was a model Rafe might one day like to replicate. It was an opportunity few in his situation were afforded, and Rafe was looking forward to it.
Waving as Kane drove off, Rafe turned and mounted the steps to the training facility. A large, jet-black feather drifted down to the stone steps in front of him. Too large to be from a bird. Frowning, he picked it up and examined it before he took a step back and looked up. Not seeing anything, he backed all the way down to the drive. There, on the roof, he spotted someone. Just the back of their head was visible, messy jet-black locks, shaggily cut, as well as a black-clad shoulder before whoever was up there, moved completely out of view.
Hm. Rafe absently ran his fingers over the feather. He had once thought angels were nothing more than stories, legends of myth until they’d recently crossed the veil to this side and went head-to-head with the Court of Elders who had descended on New York. First, a possible dragon, now an angel, this facility was growing more and more interesting every day.
Still holding the feather, Rafe remounted the stairs, entered the building, and headed to his room. It was empty, Logan probably in a class. The thought prompted Rafe to check the time. He had roughly forty-five minutes before his first class began since the vampires were, for the moment, on a different schedule from the shifters and witches.
Opening the drawer to his nightstand, he tucked the feather inside and grabbed the phone he’d thrown in there the night before. The missed calls far exceeded the number of voicemails, but there was still plenty to go through, and though his rage climbed every time he imagined what his father might have said or done to Nina, he managed to wade through the messages without crushing the phone in his fist.
While his father had a cellphone, he also had a fancy-looking old fashion rotary phone in gold and black on his desk that Vincent preferred to use – primarily because he could indulge his temper on occasion by slamming the handset into the cradle. He’d done just that in several of the messages. Thirty or so seconds of silence, that Rafe imagined were rife with seething fury, followed by the loud crash before the disconnect.
Several more were demands for Rafe to answer the phone, while the final one was uttered in his father’s driest tone: “I should have known better than to think you could handle this assignment. Obviously, I need to send someone down there to babysit you since it’s too late to enroll someone in your stead.”
There was no help for it now. Vincent DeMarco wasn’t one for toothless threats. For the first time in his life, Rafe was out from under his father’s thumb and if he hoped to keep it that way, he’d need to play the dutiful son.
Boxing up his rage and suspicions, he donned the mental armor that he’d been able to let slide since settling in here, and called his father. One ring, two, three – Rafe almost hoped it would go to voicemail, but his father picked up before the fourth.
“Raphael.”
His father didn’t launch into a diatribe of Rafe’s failures, but there was an unmistakable expectancy in that single word.
Reminding himself that he’d never get anywhere with Nina, with his future, if he had his father’s people watching him, he swallowed his pride enough to inject some sincerity into his tone as he said, “I apologize for not calling you back, Father. This training is intense,” adding a blown-out breath of mock exhaustion to emphasize his point, he waited for his father to speak.
“I’ve heard that about Morgan Rhys. Her record of success is undeniable. She’s an incredible Hunter for a woman.”
Rafe felt a twinge of amusement as he wondered what said woman would think about that qualifier Vincent had tacked onto what would have been a compliment to her skills. Vincent DeMarco, of course, saw absolutely nothing wrong with the statement. For him, it was high praise indeed.
Rather than wasting his breath pointing out his father’s sexism – words that would certainly fall on deaf ears – he instead said, “I heard her team had done some retrievals for you.”
“She told you that, did she?”
It had actually been Kane Fletcher who had mentioned it, but Rafe didn’t feel the need to point out that he was meeting with the territory-holding Born of Louisiana. Not that he would have had time, even had he wanted to with his father saying, “I hope she didn’t expect you to be grateful or some such nonsense. They were hired to do a job and paid once the contract was complete. End of story.”
Rafe could practically hear his father shaking his head in disgust. “I have no idea why women seem to think they should be praised for doing their job.”
Ah, a not so subtle dig against Rafe’s mother. Before his father could launch into one of his legendary tirades regarding his absentee wife, Rafe said, “I have to get to my next class, Father, I just wanted to let you know that things are going well, but I’m not going to have much time to check-in.”
A beleaguered sigh followed that statement. “Fine. Have you discovered any prospects?”
That’s right. The supposed reason Rafe was even here, the team of personal Hunters his father wanted to employ. Honestly, Rafe hadn’t even considered looking, but stated for his father’s benefit, “A good five or six at least.”
“Perfect.”
Rafe could practically hear the smug smile in Vincent DeMarco’s voice and could picture him sitting behind his desk rubbing his hands together in maniacal glee like a B movie villain. The image had Rafe rolling his eyes.
“I’ve got to go,” Rafe reminded the man.
“Yes, yes. But do check in daily from now on.”
That wasn’t a request, Rafe knew. It was a warning. If Rafe didn’t comply, his father would not hesitate to make good on his threat and send someone down to New Orleans to keep an eye on him. Thatcouldnothappen.
