Page 30 of Triumph of the Wolf
But the thirty-year-old dented Corvette that sped into the lot, possibly lacking a muffler, wasn’t familiar. It drove down the lane closest to the women and halted hard in front of their equipment. Their giggles stopped as they lowered the phone, glancing at each other and backing up.
Two big men got out of the car. Neither was from the gang of thugs who’d pestered the property before, but they carried tire irons and reminded me of them. There was just one difference. They had paranormal blood.
A guy with a ponytail who had muscles that bulged at the seams of his shirt emanated power. The other man lacked hair entirely, his bald head gleaming under a parking-lot light. And it wasn’t the only thing gleaming. When he lifted his hand, a glowing yellow light danced between his fingers. Was he a wizard?
Together, the pair advanced on the women with menace.
9
“Lookslike the problem of the ladies snooping on our affairs might resolve itself,” Duncan noted as the two ghost-hunters skittered back, one woman almost tripping where the sidewalk transitioned from cement to grass.
“If we do nothing, maybe,” I said.
“Shouldwe do something? A moment ago, you were speaking with longing about evicting them.”
“I said Icouldn’tevict them. They’re good tenants.”
“Who are eager to out any werewolves or other paranormal beings in the area,” Duncan said, though he didn’t appear surprised when I plucked up my sword.
The men—thewizards—stopped by the tripods and other equipment, alternately eyeing it and the ladies.
“Thisis what they used to ruin our business,” the bald man with the glowing hand said. Snarling, he grabbed a camera off its tripod, electricity flaring around his grip and crackling in the air.
“Don’t touch that!” One of the women halted her retreat. “It was expensive.”
A pop came from the camera, smoke wafting from it, and the guy hurled it into the grass. His long-haired buddy raised his tire iron toward the suitcase of equipment.
“No!” Now, both women surged forward in objection and sprang at the men.
The bald guy grabbed one of them before she could claw at his face. She screamed when his grip tightened around her wrist, white light flashing and magical electricity surging up her arm.
“Hell.” Sword in hand, I climbed out of the van and strode toward the group.
The ponytail guy dodged the second woman and smashed his tire iron into the suitcase, annihilating equipment. Furious, she sprang onto his back and tried to snatch the tool from his grip. But he was bigger and stronger by far, and spun, hurling her off him and into the parking lot. She lost her footing as she landed hard on the pavement.
Anger twisting his face, the guy stalked toward her and raised the tire iron, as if he meant to smashhernext.
“Knock it off,” I yelled, raising the blade.
The wizards glanced at me. At first, they looked like they would ignore me, continuing to take out their ire on the women, but they glanced again, then followed up with longer looks that took in me and the sword. Since they had magical blood, they should have been able to sense that both the blade and I were dangerous.
“Knock it off,” I repeated, making my voice cold. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing, among other crimes.”
“These snooping little bitches ruined our business.” The one raising the tire iron over the woman’s head thrust it toward her chest. “They made up bullshit photos and put them all over social media, and you wouldn’t believe how many peoplefollowtheir stupid sites. We haven’t gotten any business since the word got out.”
At his feet, the woman shook her head but didn’t otherwise deny the accusation. Given my experience with these two, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had done something to harm the reputation of the men’s business, but I doubted it justified this level of violence. The woman lay crumpled on the ground on her side, an arm up, fear contorting her features. He looked like he meant to kill her.
“Put that down,” I said. “You’re not beating anyone up—or worse—on the property I manage.” I glanced toward the street where the police, at Officer Dubois’s request, often parked a patrol car. It wasn’t there tonight.
I lifted my chin. That was fine. There wouldn’t be witnesses if I turned wolf to scare these guys off—or bite them in the balls.
The bald man on the sidewalk had released the other woman but had his glowing hand up to keep her back. With a defiant snarl at me, he kicked over another of the tripods.
I surged forward. He whirled, lifting a tire iron toward me, but I knocked it aside, as if I were parrying a sword. Just like in Lesson Number 5. Thank you, Yuto.
After deflecting the tire iron, I lunged in and rested the sword tip against his throat.
“Shit.” He dropped the tire iron, and his glowing hand extinguished, his magic fading.
