Courts and Cabals by G. D'Moore (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📗

to him. Neither made a move to cuddle. They weren’t a couple. They were just banging it out.

“A fine and a slap on the wrist,” he informed. “The UN doesn’t get worked up over stuff like this. Especially, when there are no casualties, or discernable harm done. We still need to make sure people know they can’t do it, but beyond that nothing severe.”

“A kid did get injured though,” she stated, and got a confused look from him. “Yeah,” she reached down to grab her phone. “Cameron Dupree, age eighteen, had a near miss with a bolt of lightning. No serious injuries. He was out for a day, but is back up and doing fine.”

He really wished she hadn’t told him that. “Well,” he sighed, “in that case once we find the person responsible, I’ll have to arrest them. Dupree will have a chance to press charges. If he does, then the perpetrator goes to county lockup with you. If he doesn’t, we release them with a bigger fine, and a note on their record. Knowing the money and influence that gets tossed around in a place like this, I’m betting someone pays the kid off and everyone walks away happy.”

“Oh,” the other shifter looked upset she’d potentially made more work for herself, and maybe imprisoned someone. “Let’s hope it’s the latter.”

“We’ll see,” Vernon sighed and let his hands wander. “Ready for round three.”

She gave an exasperated sigh, but slipped the used condom of his dick and started cleaning it like a good cat. Satisfied, she grabbed a new one from her purse, slipped it on, and then slipped it in her. Her enthusiasm certainly didn’t suffer despite their work situation.

Chapter 9

A little bell jingled over my head as I enter the pizza joint. The smell of fresh marinara, blends of cheese, and baking dough hit me like a freight train. My pavlovian response was to drool all over myself while my stomach growled like an angry rottweiler. There was only one person in line ahead of me so I didn’t have to wait long.

The restaurant was a staple in the small town, visited by both townies and academy students alike. I’d been coming here since I was adopted, and almost nothing had changed about the place. Gaudy sixties wallpaper was peeling off the walls. Half a dozen, circular, metal tables had seen so much use they had a perpetual layer of grease on them no matter how many times they were cleaned. On a Friday night, most of those tables were full.

I recognized some of the faces, but not all of them. Most of the people were younger. They were the ones who didn’t want to, or couldn’t attend, the high school parties. A lot looked like baby-faced freshman still finding their way in the local public high school’s hierarchy. They looked up at me and quickly averted their eyes. I had the look of a senior, even if they didn’t know me directly. That, and the smile of the man behind the counter told everyone I was a regular.

Old Joe had been working the pizza oven since before I was born, and would probably be there after I died. No one knew it until the eighties, but Joe was a shifter without a clan, pack, or family. I didn’t know what he was until I started going to St. Vincent’s. He’d been an assistant football coach at the academy for twenty years; nineteen sixty-eight to eighty-eight. He’d barely aged a day since the team photo from his first year coaching. Even back then he looked old; long white hair, white beard that he braided because it nearly reached his chest, and a white mustache that drooped over the corners of his mouth. You had to be careful when you got your pizza to make sure anything white on there was white cheddar and not his melted whiskers. The man did not believe in hairnets.

For a shifter to look as old as Joe did, he had to be old with a capital O. I wouldn’t be surprised if Joe saw action in the Civil War, maybe even fought in America’s war for independence. Shifters lived a long time.

“Cam!” despite what was undoubtedly a couple centuries of life, Joe still had a bright smile for his regulars.

“Joe,” his smile made me smile despite the day I was having. It was clear that pizza was Joe’s bliss, now, I just needed to find mine. “I’ll take the usual, but give me a water instead.”

My usual was two slices and a pop, but I didn’t need any more sugar or caffeine tonight. The old shifter slid a paper plate over with two, huge steaming slices on it, and a plastic cup of water. New York might be going green, but Joe was still all paper and plastic. Even better, the whole meal only cost me a buck twenty-nine.

“The best, cheapest pizza in the state,” I sighed, as I folded one of the mondo-slices into a U-shape and took a bite. “Ahhh, that’s the stuff.” I sank into the metal folding chair as pleasant memories flooded through me.

I scarfed down the first slice, but took my time with the second. The water cooled the hot cheese, and while a coke would be better, it still hit the spot. I closed my eyes and daydreamed of being an ordinary kid not stuck between a pissed off Fae and a hard place.

“Excuse me, are you using this?” a pleasant voice asked, and I opened my eyes.

I saw cute dimples, aqua-blue eyes, and curly brown hair framing a smiling, heart-shaped face. “Umm . . .” I struggled to find my voice, as the girl stood waiting for an answer.

She had a lithe, dancer’s body; strong and powerful. Her shirt cut off just above her navel to show a toned abdomen of sun-tanned skin. She didn’t have