Page 31 of Minions and Magic
“Great!” Now for the difficult topic. “And last of all, Shelby and Stanley will be coming to the barbeque since it’s a community-wide event and held on the land granted as public to all werewolves. I’d like to ask you and your father to make a special effort to welcome them, to be seen chatting with them a few times while they’re in attendance. It would go a long way toward showing the other werewolves that you and Dallas reallyareincluding lone wolves in this new treaty. It’s sort of a lead-by-example thing.”
I was nowhere near as good at this sort of negotiation as Sylvie was, and that was made clear by the way Clinton’s muscles all seemed to stiffen.
“Ain’t gonna say anything nasty or throw them out but asking me to welcome them is a bit much.”
“No, it’s not.” Here’s where I put my foot down as a witch of Accident. “You’re an alpha, Clinton. It’s up to you to set an example and do things you don’t want to do for the good of the pack.”
A muscle in his jaw worked a bit and he glared at me. “Fine. I’ll welcome them both. Maybe I’ll even stop and say a few words to them, but I’m not being all buddy-buddy with either one. Shelby tried to kill me, and Stanley’s a traitor.”
“And if you and your pack want to remain in Accident, you need to put that behind you and act like an alpha.”
Those were harsh words, and completely out of character for me. I had no idea why I was suddenly channeling Cassie. Maybe the fight with Xavier yesterday had me feeling more prickly than usual. Either way it worked. Clinton swallowed a few times and agreed to at least treat Stanley and Shelby as he would any other werewolf. I left feeling as if I’d actually accomplished something besides cooking and headed the other way up the mountain to my next stop.
Dallas wasn’t at my meeting, but Tink was. I assumed since their mating ceremony that she spoke for him as the female alpha of the pack, and that this was how they’d decided to divide their duties. I quickly learned that Dallas was a pie werewolf who would truly love the sour cherry pie I’d brought, and that Tink was especially fond of those box-of-chocolates sweets from the human world—especially the ones with cream fillings.
I reversed the order of my topics a bit and broached the issue of Shelby and Stanley next. Tink waved it all away, promising me she’d take care of it and make sure Dallas was more than polite. Relieved that had gone well, I told her about the contest with the brisket.
She squealed and did a little dance. “That is fun! And I get to be the swing vote! Of course you’ll win, but it’s still a great idea. Brisket. Yum. So, who’s this demon challenging Glenda the More-Than-Good? Guy is either an idiot or he’s a pretty darned good cook himself. I’m hoping for the latter since I’ve got to actually eat this brisket of his.”
“I’ve had his food. He’s good.” The words were said between clenched teeth. He was good. And for the first time in my life I was scared someone might be better than me. It wasn’t just about my soul, it was the thought that a talent I held nearly sacred, one that set me apart from everyone else, might not be the best. Screw my magic, what I truly felt pride in was my cooking. It was what I lived for.
When had that happened? I’d always loved culinary arts, but I’d never used to pin my entire existence on it.
Tink gave me a hard look. “Thinking you’ve had more than his food. Tell me about this guy, Glenda, ‘cause it seems like there’s a story here.”
I’d never been that close to Tink. Actually I hadn’t even known exactly who she was until a few months ago, but somehow I found myself spilling my guts to her. I told her all about the engagement party where I’d first met Xavier. I told her about the two idyllic days we’d spent cooking and flirting and enjoying each other’s company. I told her, without an indecent amount of detail, about the sex. And then I told her about the gnomes and Xavier’s betrayal, and how I was now trapped into a contest with a demon I felt might just take my soul.
Tink nodded. “You want me to be impartial, or to vote for you? ‘Cause if you need my vote, you got it.”
“No. I need to win this fair. I’m the one that suggested this contest. If I can’t win it on my own merits, then I didn’t really win. He’ll know that, and more than that, I’ll know that.”
The werewolf nodded. “Okay, but if you need me, Glenda, then you got me. You got the pack. Things are gonna be different now that I’m mated to Dallas. We’re part of Accident. We might choose to live on our own, and keep to our traditions in some ways, but we’re part of this community. We’ll be there for you witches, just as we’ll be there for any other group in Accident.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Dallas is on board with this?”
Tink grinned. “Partially. Give me another month or two, and he’ll be there.”
Werewolves. Sheesh.
“Thanks Tink,” I told her. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“I’ll see you on Saturday,” she replied, and somehow it sounded more like a vow of comradery than just a simple goodbye.
Chapter 17
Glenda
On the way back I ran by Petunia’s to check on Stanley, using the excuse that I needed to buy beer. Petunia’s only sold beer, bait, and car parts as well as performing car repair. My van was in working order, and I didn’t fish, so beer it was.
I parked and wove my way past the cars and trucks waiting to be repaired as well as those owned by the people buying bait and/or beer. Inside there were two goblins arguing about mealworms, a banshee looking through a book of car parts muttering something about brake pads for an ’09 Malibu, and a gargoyle pulling a six-pack of Coors Light out of the cooler. A pixie flitted over top of Petunia’s head as the boar shifter replaced the battery cables on an old pick-up truck. Two legs stuck out from under the front of a Mazda Miata, and for a second I had a flashback to last Saturday night.
Stanley wheeled out from under the Miata. “Hey, Petunia? We got a head gasket for this thing?”
“Trapper, go in the back and grab Stanley a J9691P5. Third row, fifth section, second shelf from the bottom,” Petunia told the pixie.
Trapper disappeared in a flash of light and a rain of glitter. The boar shifter cursed, and ran a hand over his head, brushing the glitter to the ground.
“Leaving money for this beer on the counter, Petunia,” the gargoyle called out, waving a fist full of bills.
