The Leader of the Pack

When Elena called, Jeremy told them to skip the food run on the way back. Savannah was getting restless, so he was taking her out to hunt down breakfast. They’d been gone about ten minutes when Jaime arrived.

“God, it’s quiet in here,” she said as I ushered her into the room. “I thought werewolves were supposed to be rowdy—” She saw Lucas asleep on the sofa. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

I waved her out onto the balcony, then slid the patio door closed so we could talk. Of course, the first thing she wanted to know was what had happened to us. On the way to the hotel, Lucas and I had decided we’d tell the others the basics of our adventure, but keep the specifics secret. Ghosts are forbidden to reveal details of their world, so we assumed we were expected to do the same. Better to claim we didn’t remember what had happened, as we had with Benicio.

“And then, here we were, back on this side. Spit out by the ghost world.”

“Nan used to tell stories about things like that, portals opening and the living going through … or the ghosts coming out. I’ll keep my mouth shut about this one, though. If people knew you guys had passed over and come back—” She leaned over the second-story railing. “Hey, is that your ward? Savannah?”

I glanced down and nodded.

“Then those must be the werewolves,” Jaime said.

She leaned out farther for a better look. Elena and Clay had either met Jeremy and Savannah in the parking lot or picked them up on the street, because all four were now crossing the parking lot together. Jaime stared down at them, lips curved in the tiny smile of a woman who sees something she really likes … almost always something of the opposite sex.

“That’d be Clayton,” I said.

“Ah,” she said, tearing her gaze away after one last regret-filled look. “The one Cassandra tried to jump. Damn, can’t even be original, can I?” She peered down at the quartet. “Huh. Now I’d have guessed the blonde would have been her choice. He looks a bit like Aaron, and I get the impression that’s one ex Cass isn’t completely over.”

I looked at Clay. “I didn’t notice it before, but I guess there is a slight resemblance. In the coloring at least, maybe the build. But that is Clayton. So who were you—” I followed her gaze. “You meant Jeremy?”

I should point out that there was nothing wrong with Jeremy Danvers. He wasn’t what you’d call conventionally good-looking, but he was attractive enough, more striking than handsome, just over six feet tall, and lean, with black hair, high cheekbones, and a slight slant to his black eyes, which suggested Asian blood somewhere in his family tree. If I was surprised, it was because Jaime’s choice was original. Put Jeremy next to blond-haired, blue-eyed Clayton, and it would be a rare woman who’d notice Clayton wasn’t alone. To be honest, I wouldn’t have guessed Jaime would be that woman.

“Jeremy Danvers?” Jaime said. “Isn’t he the, uh, leader—oh, God, what’s the word?”

“Alpha. The lead wolf in a pack is the Alpha. Werewolves use the same terminology.”

“So that guy—the dark-haired one—We are talking about the dark-haired one, right?”

“The dark-haired one is Jeremy. He’s the Alpha. The blonde is Clayton. He was Jeremy’s adopted son; now he’s the Pack muscle and Jeremy’s self-appointed bodyguard. Elena is the woman, of course. She’s Clay’s partner and acts as Jeremy’s representative outside the Pack. Clay and Elena are the beta wolves, though I don’t think they use that terminology.”

“Uh, right,” Jaime said, gaze once again glued to Jeremy. I suspected she’d be asking me ten minutes from now to explain the relationships again, having not heard a word I’d said about Clayton or Elena. “So he’s the leader? I thought the Alpha would be some old guy. He can’t be much older than me.” She squinted for a better look. “Shit, no, he could be younger than me. He isn’t, is he?”

She turned from the view and rubbed her hands over her face. “Ack! Is it just me or was I suddenly channeling the ghost of a love-struck fifteen-year-old girl? Don’t ask me where that came from.” She inhaled and exhaled. “There, all better. So, uh, how old is he, anyway?”

I grinned. “Too old for someone who doesn’t date men more than a decade her senior.”

“Bullshit. I mean, that he’s that old, not that I won’t—it’s not a hard-and-fast rule, so if he was that old … But he’s not. Can’t be.”

“Werewolves get prolonged youth. He’s fifty-three, I think. Maybe fifty-four.”

“No way.” She sighed. “Damn, everyone else gets cool powers, and I get hauntings. Doesn’t seem fair. What the hell does a werewolf need a fountain of youth for, anyway?”

“Same reason vamps have regeneration,” I said, holding open the patio door and waving her back inside. “With the hunters, it’s all about survival. Prolonged youth means prolonged strength, which means you’ll be able to defend yourself longer.”

“And look really good doing it.”

The door slammed open and we both jumped. Savannah rushed in ahead of Jeremy, with Elena and Clay bringing up the rear.

Seeing Jaime, Savannah skidded to a stop. “Oh, my god! It’s—it’s you.” She shot a glare my way. “You didn’t say it was her!”

“Jaime, meet Savannah,” I said. “A fan.”

“Oh, my—I don’t believe it. See, Paige? I told you she could really contact the dead and you said”—Savannah switched to the unflattering impersonation every teen uses for adults—“ ‘Only a necromancer can contact the dead, Savannah.’ Well, ha! She is a necromancer. This is so cool! You’re the best, Jaime. I watch you on The Keni Bales Show every month—well, I can’t always watch it, because I’m usually in school, but I tape it.”

Jaime fairly glowed, sneaking quick glances at Jeremy to see what kind of impression this display of adoration was making on him.

Savannah continued, “I saw your show last month—Whoa, what happened to your face?” As Jaime’s hands flew to the scratches down her cheek, Savannah studied her closer. “You don’t look so good. Well, not like you do on TV. Are you sick?”

I grabbed Savannah’s arm and tugged her aside. “We’re still teaching her manners. Normally, we keep her confined to a locked room in the attic, but today she escaped.”

“Very funny, Paige. I just meant—”

“Jaime’s been going through a very nasty haunting, her reward for helping us out. Now for the proper introductions. Jaime, this is Jeremy Danvers. Jeremy, Jaime Vegas.”

As Jeremy shook Jaime’s hand, his face revealed nothing more than a glimmering of polite interest—not surprising, given that Jeremy can make Lucas look overemotional. Disappointment darted across Jaime’s face. Savannah, obviously thinking Jeremy wasn’t nearly impressed enough, scurried back to stand beside her.

“Jaime’s on TV,” Savannah said.

“TV?” Jeremy repeated.

Elena swung up beside him, grinning. “Yes, TV. Small box, pretty pictures that move …” She stage-whispered to Jaime. “He’s very old. Not quite used to the industrial age yet.” She extended a hand. “I’m Elena.” She looked around. “And the rude one who walked past you without saying hello is Clayton.”

She paused, waiting for Clayton to offer a belated greeting, but he just kept heading toward the sofa, where Lucas was slowly waking up. He handed Lucas his coffee, sat down beside him and passed him his glasses from the side table.

“Sorry,” Elena muttered. “Just ignore him. Please. You know, I read an article about you a few months ago. At the time, I thought it was pretty interesting. Then when Paige told me who she was working with, the name sounded familiar, so I plugged it into a search engine and realized you were the one I’d read about.”

“You knew who she was, too, and you didn’t tell me?” Savannah sputtered.

“Edward got into a car,” Clay announced from across the room.

For a moment, everyone was silent, struggling to fit this statement into the present conversation, then realizing it didn’t fit and wasn’t supposed to.

“Yeah, yeah,” Elena said. “We’ll get to that in a second. Don’t be so impatient.”

We all headed into the room. Lucas was still fighting back yawns, but managed a tired smile for me and shifted over to let me sit down beside him. Clay stayed on his other side and Elena perched on the sofa arm beside him, leaving the armchair for Jeremy. Jaime and Savannah grabbed chairs from the dinette table.

“So Edward got into a car?” I said. “Can’t track him that way, I guess. Damn.”

“Was it in a parking lot?” Lucas asked.

Clay shook his head. “Street in front of his hotel.”

“Did you happen to notice a bus stop nearby?” Lucas asked.

“Oh, very good,” Elena said. “Nope. No bus stop, and no street parking. So he must have hailed a cab. Does that help?”

“It might,” he said. “I have a contact at one of the taxi companies, who can usually obtain information from the others for a small fee. I’ll go call him.”

When Lucas slipped into the next room, I turned to Jaime. “How have things been with you since we left? Natasha making any noise?”

Jaime shook her head. “She’s gone. Disappeared, probably at the same time she ripped open that portal. Mission accomplished, I guess.”

“Maybe, but something happened to her when she opened the portal, and from the look on her face, it wasn’t something good. She might not be haunting you now because she can’t. Someone shut her down, or—”

Lucas reappeared.

I studied his expression. “Not good, I take it.”

“Edward did call a cab, one from Peter’s company, which made it easy. Unfortunately, he asked to be dropped off in Little Haiti, at the Caribbean marketplace, which doesn’t help us at all.” He settled onto the couch. “What about this portal ritual, Jaime? Did you have any luck researching it?”

“Yep,” Jaime said. “Found exactly what I was looking for. First, though, the warning. I have no idea whether this would even work. Like I told Paige, people don’t punch holes into the ghost world every day. Portals and how to reopen them are the stuff of necro myth. I knew I’d read something about it years ago, going through my Nan’s books. I had some trouble finding another necro who knew the details, though.”

“Do you have the books at your place?” I said. “If it’d help, we could send someone from the Cabal to get them. Save relying on secondhand info.”

“I, uh, don’t have the books,” Jaime said, gaze skittering across the floor. “Back when I left home, I didn’t take them. My mother pitched them out.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We don’t need them. You got the information from someone else, so we’re good. What did they say?”

“Well, the first three necros I called had no clue what I was talking about. Then I found two who did, and they tried to tell me any necromancer could reopen the portal, no special tools required. But I knew that was wrong. Nan’s books were the best there were, the real thing, not like the crap that’s out there today.” Another wave of regret flooded her eyes. She shook it off. “Anyway, I knew that reopening a portal called for human sacrifice of a specific kind, so I kept calling around and finally found someone who’d read the same book my Nan had. We need—”

A knock came at the door. Everyone looked up. Elena’s nostrils flared and she leaned over to whisper something to Clay.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Keep talking, Jaime. It’s only Cassandra. She can wait. Forever, if we’re lucky.”

“I heard that, Clayton,” Cassandra said as she walked in.

“Who the hell forgot to lock the door?” Clay said.

“You were the last one in,” Elena murmured.

“Damn.”