Page 2 of Triumph of the Wolf
Though I kept the sword, I detoured to my apartment for another type of weapon. Since I hadn’t purchased any salami logs lately—it had been a while since I’d felt the need to bribe the young werewolves in my family—there weren’t any in the fridge, but I did have some sandwich meat. As a semi-carnivorous type myself, I was rarely without such staples.
I peeled a number of slices of salami from a package and walked back out to the woods. A mossy stump just past the property line—where my landscaping obligations ended—was flat enough to serve as a table. Aware of the kid watching—I couldn’t see him, but I continued tosensehim since he had an aura as powerful as Duncan’s—I laid out the pieces.
The pungent scent of cured meat wafted up to my nose, making me aware that the lunch hour approached. Nobly, I resisted the urge to eat the salami myself.
About forty feet away, a head leaned out from behind a tree. With tousled brown hair, curious brown eyes, and a lean facewith less baby fat than one would expect in a kid that age, Lykos looked exactly like what he was: a young version of Duncan.
I waved at the salami, trying to indicate that he could have it without any strings attached, and backed up. Realizing the sword had to make me look threatening—more like I was baiting a trap than providing a friendly offering—I leaned it against a tree.
“I’m expecting Duncan before long,” I called over the rumble of nearby freeway traffic. “He’d like to see you. He’s curious about you. Are you curious about him?”
The kid blinked a couple of times. Thus far, I hadn’t heard him speak and wondered if he was verbal at all. Might being raised by Abrams have traumatized him? Kept him from learning to speak?
“It didn’t traumatizeDuncan,” I muttered.
Well, that wasn’t fair. It probablyhad, but by fifty years old, he’d had time to get over his childhood—and learn to be exceedingly garrulous. Still, the shackle scars on his wrists were a reminder of his past.
“He’s pretty fun to hang out with too,” I called, groping for ways to entice the kid to establish a relationship with Duncan. And to come over to our side. Abrams wasn’t worth working for, damn it. “Did you ask him to show you all his magnets and what they can do? He’s got a huge collection for a guy who lives in a van.”
“Uhm,” came a man’s voice from behind me. “Are you the property manager?”
I spun, grabbing the sword. Because of the traffic noise, I hadn’t heard anyone approaching.
A man with a large digital camera around his neck and a drone in his arms skittered back, almost tripping over his heels in the damp grass. He fumbled the drone but didn’t drop it.
“Sorry,” he blurted. “But the kid in the leasing office said I should talk to you about… er.” He eyed the sword. “Areyou the property manager?”
“Yeah.” Behind me, I sensed Lykos slinking away. “I’m head of security too.”
As if that would explain me waving around a sword in a twenty-first-century Seattle suburb. I lowered it to appear non-threatening, though my hackles wanted to rise up when I realized who this was. He’d been here once before to take photos of the property for the real estate listing. As I was reminded every day, my employers were trying to sell Sylvan Serenity, my home and place of employment for more than twenty years.
“What can I do for you?” I kept my tone level, not bleak and full of distress at the reminder that I needed to join Jasmine in seeking a new job.
Going to one networking event that had resulted in me turning into a werewolf to battle the host’s werewolf sister in his bedroom closet... probably didn’t count as job hunting.
“The Sylvans want some new photos of the grounds and of a unit I guess you just cleaned but that is still vacant. I didn’t realize the storm yesterday had brought down so many branches though. Is there any chance someone will be by to tidy up in the next hour or so?” He looked toward the cart I’d already filled with branches.
If he thought it was a mess now, he should have been here at dawn when I’d started. Given how many boughs had come down near the parking lot, the tenants were lucky none of their cars had been taken out. We had a lot of tall old trees in the Seattle area, and I’d seen them snap in windstorms and flatten cars, gazebos, and even houses.
“I’mcleaning the grounds,” I said, “and I’ll get it done as soon as possible. Why don’t you take a lunch break and come back?”
Or take a lunch break anddon’tcome back, I thought. Unfortunately, there were already a number of great-looking photos of the place, and the listing had prompted a lot of interest. Since an apartment complex of this size had a limited buyer pool—not many people could scrounge up millions and millions of dollars to pay what it was worth—it wouldn’t sell overnight, but I had little doubt that itwouldsell.
“How long do you think it will take?” He looked at my sword as if to imply I’d been screwing around instead of working.
I bared my teeth at him, not hiding my extra pointy canine—lupine—teeth, and contemplated using the blade to give him a buzz cut.
Eyes widening, he skittered back and fumbled his drone again. “Never mind. Take your time. I’ve got another property I can do first. I’ll come back this afternoon.” He eyed my teeth. “Lateafternoon.”
I kept myself from telling him not to come back at all. Barely. As a dutiful employee, I would do my best, as I always did. Though I sometimes wondered what it would be like to work for myself and be my own boss. I looked forward to the day when I had enough money saved for the down payment on a four-plex and could live in one unit, rent the others, and have the tenants to pay off the mortgage… until the debt was gone and I could retire on the income.
As I traded the sword for the rake, my phone rang.
The name that popped up on the screen made me groan. Chad Schneider. My ex-husband.
2
I didn’t answerChad’s call, nor did I check the voicemail that he left. Whatever he wanted, I wasn’t interested.
