Her Perilous Wolf - Julie Steimle (types of ebook readers TXT) 📗

“To talk in private.”

Michael nodded. He unlocked both of his car doors with a remote. “Get in my car.”

“I’m coming with you,” Tommy said, jogging to his own dilapidated looking clunker which was two cars down. Oddly, it fit him, including the bumper stickers protesting the building of the Dakota pipelines and one about water rights in Arizona.

 “I said in private,” Vincent objected as he grabbed the handle to pull open the passenger side of Michael’s car.

“He watches my back,” Michael interjected before climbing in. “If you want to meet with me, he comes with us.”

Shrugging, Vincent gave up that mini fight and climbed into the car. This was not the battle. Besides, he really did not have a choice.

As soon as they were seated, Michael quickly started his engine, then buckled up. He pulled across the gravel toward the road in pensive silence. His eyes watched those people had left behind with careful inspection. Vincent noticed both the cowboy-boot woman and the brick-man exchanging suspicious glances. The woman had even called to someone who had just come out of the building. It felt like trouble.

After a while, heading back on to the city, Michael said, “You are either very brave or very stupid to get into a car with a total stranger.”

“But you’re not a total stranger,” Vincent retorted, hiding his sweat and nerves as best as possible. “You’re Michael Toms. My grandfather knows I’m here meeting with you. And I’ve already spoken with your father today. He and I had lunch.”

Michael chuckled, as if his father having lunch with someone was nothing. Yet he glanced sideways at Vincent, probably thinking on the first part. It occurred to Vincent that Michael did not know that his grandfather was Gregor Bruchenhaus.

“Besides,” Vincent added, checking his seatbelt to make sure it was secure, “After seeing Rick Deacon turn into a wolf in front of me and my cousin, nothing else can possibly scare me.”

Michael nearly hit the brakes. “He what?”

Vincent quickly grabbed the dash and the edge of the door. “Uh, please don’t crash.”

“You said something about ‘Rick’ Deacon turning into a wolf in front of you.” Michael breathed harder.

“I…” Vincent hoped this guy was not going to lose it. “I thought you knew he was a werewolf. Your father said you told him about it.”

Groaning, Michael clenched his teeth. “That idiot.”

“Your father or—”

“‘Rick’ Deacon. Though I know him as Howie.” Michael swore under his breath. “You just said he turned into a wolf in front of you. Why?”

Breathing easier, Vincent nodded. This was going the right direction. It was a friendly indignation he was witnessing. Michael cared about Rick. So, Vincent said, “He was showing me and my cousin Audry—”

“Audry Bruchenhaus really is related to that jerk Gregor Bruchenhaus? Is John her father?” Michael snapped, grumbling in the back of his throat. He sounded inclined to swear.

“Gregor is our grandfather. And no,” Vincent said in her defense, “Uncle John is not her father. Her father is the second son, Zachary. And he’s not in the business. Uncle Zach is a chiropractor. You could say both Audry’s family and mine are sort of disinherited.”

And Michael breathed easier. “Thank heaven.”

Vincent did not like that. His grandfather was not all that bad. In fact, he was mostly good. So he added, “Except I still work for Grandpa. He’s paid for my education.”

Michael muttered something under his breath. But he said louder, “So you’ve sold your soul.”

Shaking his head, Vincent huffed. “Like you can talk. You’re the little prince of Tristain Enterprises. Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and a guaranteed future. My dad’s a supervisor in an office, completely unattached to his in-law’s business. I’m still trying to figure out my life.”

That got him a slightly awkward silence.

Clearing his throat, Vincent said, “Look, I came here on the pretense of opening up talks between our company and your father’s—but I already know that’s not going to happen. I just needed an excuse to get here. What I really want is some… I dunno, some truth. When Rick showed us what he was, we learned a lot more than that. I mean, I never conceived there actually was magic in the world—let alone ‘monsters’. But Audry is in the thick of it, and she’s my favorite cousin. I want to keep her safe.”

Michael’s breathing calmed. He nodded to himself.

“You are friendly with Rick,” Vincent continued. “But you are also in the SRA. Now I’ve heard about the SRA from others, and was told not to trust them—”

“Wise advice,” Michael murmured, eyes on the road. He turned into a café parking lot. Vincent noticed the clunker Tommy was driving pull in and park right next to them. When Michael put on the brake, he said, “What exactly do you want from me?”

“Answers,” Vincent said, nodding.

“For what purpose?” Michael asked.

He sighed. It seemed obvious to Vincent. “To protect my cousin, my family, and myself. I mean, I met a woman who can talk anyone into doing anything she wants—”

“Selena Davenport?” Michael raised his eyebrows, turning off the car engine.

Vincent nodded. “Yeah. You know her?”

Michael shook his head. “Only by reputation. I’ve never met her face to face.” His expression was serious, like a fifty-year-old set in a career with the military. His eyes certainly were grave. Though a sparkling blue, there was something hard and piercing about them, and that extra something besides.

“Ok,” Vincent nodded. “Well, I’ve also met Tom Brown, um… Silvia Lewis, her brother Daniel, and her current husband Randon Spade. We both met the cop, Matthew Calamori. But I had no clue any of them were connected to the supernatural except for what I thought was a silly belief that Silvia was a witch.”

Michael’s jaw hung open a little at that.

“My cousin roomed with her during college,” Vincent explained.

“I know that,” Michael said. “Though I’ve never met your cousin, everyone else in the Seven has. She was supposed to be Jessica’s bridesmaid with Eve McAllister at the Cartwright wedding—but your cousin was stuck in Africa.”

“I wouldn’t say stuck,” Vincent muttered, eying him. “Audry had been planning that trip for over a year.”

Shrugging, Michael met his gaze. “Nonetheless, I get what you are talking about, and I agree that she needs rescuing before she gets in too deep. But Rick assured me she did not believe in anything that was not ‘scientifically proven’. So that counts out anything supernatural.”

Nodding, Vincent undid his seat belt. “Well, yeah. But… uh, she had proof sort of thrust onto her.”

Michael blinked for a moment, sighed then shrugged, accepting that. It really did explain much. They both got out of the car. As Michael closed his door, and locked them all, he said over the car roof to Vincent, “What was the proof?”

Sighing, Vincent shrugged. “Um, the wolf.”

The guy looked confused. Clearly he knew Audry was connected to the wolf.

“She had rescued that wolf twice from death,” Vincent explained as Michael nodded. Then he told Michael all about what happened at the beach, the same story he had told Michael’s father. “…after seeing the wolf on the beach in those shorts, she realized they were one and the same person… uh, being.”

Michael swore, out loud this time. “That idiot! I thought he was trying to avoid her!”

“Well, he didn’t plan on it. We accidentally saw it,” Vincent explained. “They did not know we were there.”

Looking to him, Michael nodded. “Yeah. I figured that. But he was an idiot for, I don’t know, being casual in full daylight in a public place.”

“It wasn’t exactly public.” Vincent felt like defending that foolish werewolf. “Theirs was a private beach connected to a beach house, just like ours. They just adjoined, and there were lots of sand dune that gave them privacy.”

Yet Michael continued to look put out.

“What’s this?” Tommy walked up to them.

“You are not going to believe what that fool wolf did,” Michael said. He gestured to Vincent. “He revealed himself to two normies.”

“Normies?” Vincent frowned. It felt like a slur.

Sighing, Michael nodded, gazing pointedly at him—no apology.

“What for?” Tommy propped his hands on his hips.

Michael rolled his eyes, as if he thought it was obvious.

“And how do you know Rick?” Vincent asked, wondering why Tommy had been allowed to come along with them. He really needed this to be private.

Smirking, Tommy gave a simple nod. “Howard Richard Deacon the Third? Oh, I’m a Gulinger Alumnus.”

Vincent pulled back.

“I see you are familiar with the name.” Tommy nodded once more to him. A faint smile appeared on his lips.

Nodding, Vincent took in a breath. “Yeah. Um, it was, uh, a Gulinger reunion we had actually stumbled upon at the beach.”

Michael raised his eyebrows.

Tommy grinned now. “Who was there?”

Shrugging, Vincent said, “Bobo—uh, Robert Lafon, Randon Spade, Troy Meecham, Selena Davenport, Bai Nian Chen, um… Rick Deacon. Matthew Calamori, oh and of course Tom Brown.”

“Tom Brown…” Tommy’s countenance automatically changed as if something heavy and sticky had been dumped on him. He hung his shoulders, treating the name itself like a curse, moaning. “Matthew is an okay guy, but Tom is trouble.”

Vincent shrugged. Tom always looked like he was up to trouble—but Vincent had long decided it was more in his face shape. The guy could not help it.

“But you also said you knew Silva Lewis and her brother, Daniel,” Michael pried, eying him. “How well did you know Daniel?”

“I barely spoke with him,” Vincent replied. “I knew Silvia better.”

“I don’t trust her,” Michael muttered.

“Your father said your mother was a witch,” Vincent retorted.

Paling, Michael looked at him with a start. “You really did talk to him.”

Vincent nodded.

“Ok, shoot. Let’s go inside and you can ask me all that you want to know.” Michael led the way through the glass doors.

Vincent hurried after, finally about to get the truth.

Tommy grinned, following.

Once in a booth, Michael and Tommy making sure the location was secure so that no one was listening in, they allowed Vincent to ask the questions on his mind. The first one that came mildly startled them.

“What is the Holy Seven? Your father seemed to think it was important for me to know.”

Tommy and Michael exchanged looks. It occurred to Vincent then that Tommy was significantly older than Michael, at least physically. But Michael’s manner made him feel so much more experienced, almost decades older. It was mostly in his stare.

“The Holy Seven?” Michael took a sip from the mug of cocoa he had ordered. “The Holy Seven is a select group of people chosen by God, so-to-speak, with the duty to protect the innocent from the supernatural realm. We like to say we are warriors for God.”

“How did you get chosen for this? Your dad mentioned some man who did the selecting, but I don’t get it.” Vincent cradled his coffee in between his hands. The flavor was blah, so he really was just using it like a security blanket—something to hold. “And what do you mean by the supernatural realm?”

Sighing, Michael shrugged. “Well, the day we were chose was… um… a rather rough day for me. Actually… it was the end of a rough week. I don’t want to go into the details. But let it suffice that Carlton Jones, the man who had selected us, had the authority to pass on the duty. He was the last of the previous generation’s Seven.”

“He was the only one with the authority,” Tommy interjected. “The SRA have been trying to replace the Holy Seven for ages.”

“But why?” Vincent asked. This seemed critical.

Michael shrugged, but he appeared to know.

Tommy said, “Power. And the SRA have a different idea on how to handle the supernatural realm.”

“Which is?” Vincent felt the hairs prickle up the back of his neck.

With another shrug, Michael said, “Total elimination.”

Vincent paled. He really meant extermination. Audry did say they were shooting at Rick.

“It’s stupid,” Tommy muttered.

“Um,” Vincent gazed on him. “I hate to be rude, but who are you?”

Grinning, the Native man extended a hand for a shake as he said, “My name is Thomas Whitefeather. I’m a Navajo