Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

As predicted, Uriah and Quinn Shift as soon as the last homework question is answered. Rather than wander outside to join the Shifters enjoying the cool night breeze, the two coyotes flop on the floor in front of the only couch remaining in the living room. Quinn, distinguishable from his brother only by the notch in his left ear, settles onto an oversized pillow, rests his head on his crossed paws and stares up at the television.

Uriah rolls over onto his back. His head is tilted toward the movie, but his eyes are on Az. After her shower, she’d returned to the living room dressed in a pair of purple and yellow polka-dot pajamas and had been toting a small toiletry bag. The word manicure had captured Jose’s attention. I’m sure Princess meant that she needed to fix her nails – digging into not-Shifter flesh has to be hell on the paint job – but somehow she wound up with an ocelot cuddled up next to her.

She’s painstakingly painted all the claws on three of Jose’s paws. She’s assured him that the pale green is the exact color of his librarian’s eyes. Why she paid so much attention to the color of Jose’s librarian’s eyes is not something I want to waste time trying to figure out. Jose’s right front paw covers most of her thigh. His claws are extended, and I’ve seen at least one bead of blood soak through the cotton pajama bottoms. If there’s a second, I’m calling an end to beauty shop time.

Although Uriah may do the job for me. He flicks his tail slowly. Lazily. It slides up Az’s leg before curling in to rest across his stomach. Right on top of the white splotch in the middle of his belly. When the first flick doesn’t get a response, he does it again. And again.

Az smears a green stripe across the top of Jose’s paw. Murmuring apologies, she wipes it away with a damp cloth. More than once, her gaze strays down to Uriah. Jose’s last paw looks like a five-year-old painted it. I know what she’s thinking. Uriah’s lured people in with this act before. There’s something about that expanse of beige fur and the white spot that draws people in.

She lasts longer than I expected. She shoves Jose’s paw off her leg when the last claw has been painted. She caps the bottle and sets it on the arm of the couch with the rest of her supplies. Her hands quiver. Uriah flicks his tail. He gives up any pretense of watching the movie to stare at her.

With a squeal of delight, she launches herself off the couch and lands on her knees beside him. He doesn’t have a chance to flip over and dart out of reach. Both of her hands disappear into the thick fur covering Uriah’s ribs. Her fingers skate across the white spot. His mouth falls open; he wriggles on his back like a worm.

“Ha! Thought you could tease me and then skedaddle, did you? I don’t think so, bud,” she laughs as she tickles him mercilessly. “Your white spot is mine!”

Uriah tries to squirm away, but she’s fast. Between her giggles and Uriah’s yips, no one can hear the television. Jose seems to content to stay on the couch and watch the two lunatics. Quinn makes no move to join the ruckus. At least not until Uriah’s leg spasms and catches him in the back of the head.

With a howl, Quinn abandons his pillow and any facade of maturity. Az hops onto the couch to avoid being bowled over by two wrestling coyotes. Quinn and Uriah roll across the floor. Quinn’s nose is buried in Uriah’s throat, and Uriah’s teeth are clamped onto Quinn’s ear.

“Boys!” Az chides, clapping her hands sharply. “No fighting near the breakables! Take it outside.”

Uriah and Quinn immediately roll onto their feet. They nip and bat at each other all the way out of the living room. Something hard and heavy – likely a coyote-shaped something – bangs against the wall before I hear the tell-tale swing of the Shifter-sized doggy door.

“Huh,” Az snorts as she drops onto her ass on the cushion. “They listened.”

“They’re used to listening to adults.”

Her nose scrunches up. “You’re calling me an adult? Funny, that.”

The silliness with the boys aside, I do think of her as an adult. She thinks like one. Acts like one. Looks like one.

Kisses like one.

She’s an adult who takes the occasional magic-induced vacation from sanity.

“So, blue’s your favorite color, right?” she asks breezily.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“It’s a nice, versatile color.” She nudges Jose aside so she can reach her bag of nail supplies. Glass clinks together as she digs through the bag. “Like a dark blue or more of a turquoise-tealish blue?”

“They’re your nails, Az.”

“Good point. Turquoise it is, then.” The sharp tang of nail polish fills the living room. She tucks her chin to her chest as she concentrates on painting her fingernails. “Did Uriah give you his permission slip? His art class is going to the Menil Collection next Tuesday.”

“Signed and back in his backpack.”

“Great. He said that his teacher was looking for a couple of chaperones. If we get all this impending doom stuff cleared up by then, Jose and I can play babysitter.”

“Az.”

She harrumphs and waggles a freshly painted finger at me. “Did you or did you not just call me an adult?”

“The school is a more than a little wary about having Shifters as chaperones. Typical discrimination bullshit.”

“Well, I am technically not a Shifter, so there’s no need for anyone to get their panties in a bunch. And Jose’s too sweet to be a threat.” She turns her attention to the nails on her left hand. “Quinn’s the one with a thing for art. Photography in particular. There’s an exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts he’s mentioned at least twice.”

“Admission is free on Thursdays.”

“We should go.”

It is, by far, the most domestic conversation I’ve had with a woman in a long time. Greta and I don’t usually talk about things like this. Her role as beta mainly means that she plays enforcer. Sure she helps the boys if no one else is available, but she’s never tried to be house mother.

“Steve and Oscar are talking about opening up their own firm. Steve’s not happy with the soul-suckers at his place. He says he dies a little inside every time he has to sit in a staff meeting. Oscar doesn’t hate his job, but he’s itching for a little more responsibility.”

I drop the cushion I’d been straightening to stare at her. Have we entered the bizarro dimension where Az is actually in charge of the pack and I’m the newbie? She stops blowing on her nails to laugh at me.

“Jeez, Ricky, you have all these people living with you. Don’t you talk to any of them?” A rueful shake of her head sends her damp braid swinging. “I can see now what Greta meant about needing me to take over the family-aspect of the pack.”

Wait? What? This isn’t faintly amusing anymore. It’s one thing for the two of them to take charge after a crisis; it’s quite another for them to start plotting behind my back. “You and Greta discussed this?”

“At length.”

I cross my arms and fix her with a steely glare. She fidgets a little under the scrutiny. “And what was the general consensus?”

“That her position stays the same, and I’ll pick up some of the slack around here. Things like dealing with the boys and school. Playing mediator for squabbles. Groceries. Making sure everyone pulls their weight cleaning.” She shrugs. “Helping you with investigations.”

They’ve got it all sorted out. No input required from me. Why not? It’s just my life. My pack. Though I know that Greta is partially to blame, all of my anger focuses on the woman sitting in front of me.

“Jose, scram,” I order, eyes still on Az.

The ocelot wastes no time scrambling off the couch and disappearing into the kitchen. Good to know someone still respects my authority. He’ll keep the others from intruding, too.

“What gives you the right to start parceling off my pack like it’s a birthday cake, Astraea?”

She stiffens at the use of her full first name. Rather than stand so that we’re on more equal footing, she curls her feet under her and rests her hands on her thighs. “Greta and I were not trying to usurp your position, Aldric.” Her tone is cool. Her words clipped and precise. She’s mad. Good. She needs to take this seriously because I’m pissed as hell.

“Sure as shit sounds like it. Is this the kind of gratitude they teach witches?”

Irritation flashes in her blue eyes. Her lips curl back in a sneer. “Well what did you expect from me? You dump me in here – and I’m grateful, don’t ever think that I’m not – but I don’t fit in like everyone else. I’m not a Shifter. I can’t just fall into the hierarchy. I have to find my place.”

“You should have asked me!” That she’s correct doesn’t do a damn thing to douse my anger.

“Excuse me for thinking you had a few more important things on your mind,” she huffs. “Besides, it’s not like we were making any definite plans. We were just talking. Feeling each other out. Trying to determine my position.”

“I’m the one who tells you what position to take.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. Her lips twist into a wicked smile. “I saw your copy of the Kama Sutra in the office. It’ll save time if you just jot down page numbers.”

“Not what I meant.” Though now that she’s said it, there are a few positions I wouldn’t mind seeing her in. She’s flexible. Bendy. Strong legs and… this is not the time to start a list. “You and Greta pull this shit again, and I’ll kick both your asses.”

“We were just talking!” she repeats, tossing her hands up.

“And I’m just going to bang your heads together. Repeatedly.”

“What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want her to feel threatened. Do you want me to fight her for beta position?” She shakes her head, shrugs. “Greta would annihilate me. Total slaughter in like two seconds. And then you’d feel like you had to take her down because you’re all squishy and chivalrous inside. Then poor Ike would have no choice but to avenge his mate’s death. My money’s on you, of course, but it’d still be rough. Really, Rick, I did you a favor.”

“In the future, keep your favors to yourself.”

“You and I aren’t in a relationship,” she ventures, spine softening. Her lips compress into a thin, emotionless line. The word yet lingers in the air like a fog between us.

“You got that right.”

She swallows, averts her gaze to her hands. Her lower lip trembles. “I’m just digging myself a bigger hole, aren’t I?”

Hell. Now she looks hurt. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not when I don’t know what I want or what she wants or what works best for the pack. “I’m not saying never, Princess.”

She perks right up. Her beaming smile heats my blood and brings an answering smile to my face. How did we go from sniping at each other to grinning like idiots?

It’s not going to be all sunshine and roses, though. “Hold on, Az. If we were to give it a shot, it wouldn’t just be the two of us. The whole pack would be involved. It’s not something we can just rush into. There are ramifications.”

Az bobs her head. “I get it. We couldn’t let anyone take sides if we fought or anything like that. The entire thing could go kablooey.”

“Which is why we need to take it slow.” How did I get to be the voice of reason in all of this? I’ve never wanted a long-term relationship. Why am I even entertaining the thought of permanence? Is one woman worth all the frustration? Even if she is beautiful, sharp enough to keep up with me, funny, compassionate, gets along with the rest of the pack, and… ah, hell.

“I can do slow.”

Yeah right. She can’t keep her lips to herself. Not that that’s a bad thing. I wouldn’t mind having those lips – and everything below them – pressed up against me right now as a reward for having to endure this conversation.

But, since we started it’s only fair that we see it through. Clear the air. “What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed in one place? And I don’t mean with your parents in New Orleans?”

“Seven months.”

Damn. So long? Not exactly the time frame I was thinking about. “So you’ve never really had a home. Not one that you could count on.”

“I guess not.”

“This is too new, then. Take your time here to figure out what you want. Who you want to be. Be a big sister to Uriah and Quinn. Make friends. Take classes if you want. Get a job. If, in seven months, you’re still here and you still want to see where we can go, then we’ll talk. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Az groans and buries her head in her hands. “Seven months?”

No kidding. I probably should have come up with a better plan before I opened my damn mouth. It’s too late to renege on it now. “Seven months.”

Exasperated eyes meet mine. “I sure hope I get a battery budget.”

“Az!”

“I don’t like cold showers,” she sniffs.

Neither do I. We won’t last seven months. Hell, I’ll be surprised if we last seven weeks. She’ll break first. She doesn’t have a Shifter’s discipline. She’s impulsive. Reckless. Passionate.

God, I hope she breaks first.

“Well,” she says, popping to her feet, “I guess we’ll have to see if we even survive this crisis. Maybe Olivet needs a virgin sacrifice. That’ll put me out of my misery.”

The others trickle in. Once the last pack member has sprawled out on the living room floor, I walk Az though the house making sure that all the doors and windows are locked. She sets, unlocks, and resets the alarm four times before I am satisfied that she won’t accidentally set it off. Greer is not my ideal late-night visitor.

I don’t think about Shifting until everyone is settled. Even then, I doubt the wisdom behind leaving Az as the only human in the house. Can she handle an attack? Does she know what to do if something goes wrong? What if her head injury is worse than we think? What if she falls into a coma?

“Stop worrying,” Az says, shoving me towards the office. “Go get your fur on.”

When I emerge from the office, the lights are off. It only takes me a second to adjust to the darkness. There are at least six separate lumps of fur spread out across the room. I expect to find Az on the couch or near the pile of soft blankets closest to the front door. My pile of blankets.

She’s smack in the middle of Hank and Jose. Hank has a paw on her shoulder. One of Jose’s front legs is thrown across her stomach. Her head is on Jose’s chest, but the end of her braid is between Hank’s lips. I stand over the feline pile and growl. They have something that belongs to me. Never a good idea to steal from the Alpha.

Jose opens one eye. His lips curve into a cat smile before the eye falls shut. A loud purr emanates from his chest.

Fine. They can have her. I stalk to my blankets and fall into a fitful sleep. Surrounded by my pack, I should be able to relax. To rest and heal. I can’t. Something’s off. A tingle in the base of my spine that won’t let up.

Hours later, I lift my head at the rustle of bedding. A shadow rises from the other side of the living room. Az collapses onto the floor beside me. Her fuzzy blanket flutters through the air before settling over us. Well, mostly over me. She doesn’t curl up against me, but she rests a hand on my side.

“S’hot in the fur pile,” she mutters. “Think I’m gonna die of heatstroke.”

I roll over and lick a bead of sweat off her forehead. She half-heartedly shoves at my muzzle. “So gross.”

Her fingers burrow into the fur on my chest. Her warm, bare feet settle against my paws. The faint, sweet scent of magnolias fills my nostrils with every breath.

The tingle at the base of my spine fades.