“Sweet! Check it out!”
Whiskey paused the video game to glance at the text message Zebediah had just received. “A rave?”
“Rave?” Daniel sat at the dining room table, looking up from his book. He gave one of his rare smiles, setting the book aside. “When and where?”
“Southeast, in the warehouse district.” Zebediah turned to stare at Whiskey. “We’re going to go, aren’t we? We have to!”
“We don’t have to,” she started, interrupted by the chorus of groans and complaints around her. “What?”
Cora stroked Whiskey’s upper arm. “It would be so much fun, aga ninna. We haven’t had much of that lately.”
It had been three weeks since they had run away. Because of reports of Valmont’s increased activities, the pack had changed residences once already. While they enjoyed more freedom than they would have had they stayed at Margaurethe’s, they were still leashed by the danger imposed by Valmont’s presence. It was similar to staying at Margaurethe’s with the exception of having the freedom to allow people to come and go. They had been unable to pull off a private party anywhere, though. All the places they had rented from in the past were downtown. Whiskey wasn’t sure Castillo was even looking all that hard for alternatives, preferring to keep her safe at home.
Whiskey held her hand out for the phone again. Zebediah passed it over without comment. She accessed the message, and studied it a moment. The address was indeed across the river from where Valmont lurked. There would be loud music, and hundreds of teenagers and young adults. It promised to be wild and entertaining, hours of blissful chaos in which she could lose herself and her past. Most importantly, there would be no well-meaning chaperones or bodyguards hanging about.
She handed the phone back to Zeb. “Guess we’re going.” The resultant celebration caused her to smile. She accepted Zebediah’s thanks, taking the rough buffeting as he pounded on her arm and shoulders. Other than her, he was the youngest of all of them, and Whiskey had begun to think of him as her little brother.
Nupa and a kizarus sauntered in from the kitchen, arms laden with popcorn and bottles of beer. “What’s up?”
“Rave!” Zebediah whooped.
“That’s fantastic.” The kizarus, a lithe little redhead, smiled and came directly to Whiskey, handing her a beer. “Can I have the first dance, ninna?”
Whiskey smiled flirtatiously, accepting the bottle, the Human’s fingers caressing hers in the exchange.
Cora pushed forward, between them. She bared her teeth at the woman, and growled.
The Human blanched, hastily stepping back from the threat.
“Hey!” Whiskey reached out with her mind, and grabbed Cora’s. She wrapped the sensation of ashes, and gave it a light jerk. “Back off.”
It got Cora’s attention more than hurt her. She spun around, looking abruptly contrite, fangs sheathed, chin raised.
Whiskey glanced around at the others. Most of them ignored the interchange, though Zebediah’s mouth held a faint grin. Nupa looked blank, and Daniel held a faint commiserating air about him. “Are you all right?”
The Human answered with a fast nod, though she looked no less frightened.
Whiskey could think of nothing else to do, but—“Go to our room. I’ll talk to you later.”
Cora whispered, “Yes, Ninsumgal,” and padded away, vanishing down the hall.
Once she was gone, Whiskey turned back to the others. “The rave starts in a few hours. We can start the pre-party party here. Make the phone calls, have someone pick up some booze and food on the way.”
Zebediah gave an excited yell, drawing Alphonse from outside where he had been smoking.
Whiskey raised her beer in toast, and took a long swallow of it. She collapsed back onto the couch, the video game forgotten.
The kizarus had found her way back to Nupa’s arm, and all evidence of the tense moment had disappeared. Daniel and Zebediah both had cell phones in their hands, texting and calling the growing network of young Sanguire and Human hangers-on that surrounded Whiskey. Castillo had begun referring to them as Whiskey’s new court. Alphonse went in search of Castillo. The priest’s credit card and vehicle would be needed for the upcoming libations.
She drank her beer in peace, wondering what the hell to do about Cora.
At night, Whiskey dreamed of Margaurethe—Elisibet’s memories mingling with her own, until she couldn’t tell one from the other upon waking. She thought she spoke in her sleep because Cora had become more and more desperate to keep her occupied, jealously guarding her against any woman that dared show Whiskey attention. Cora’s behavior coupled with the poignant dreams had made it more difficult for Whiskey to connect with her.
Somehow, she had to break away from Cora without causing the other woman to feel abandoned. She had made a promise to Cora months ago, and planned to keep it. Whiskey would never forget who had helped her in the beginning; Cora would never need to worry about being taken advantage of again.
How to get that through to her, though?
Whiskey listened to her pack as they plotted and planned their evening of fun, wondering how it was possible that she could be so much the center of their world, but so far removed from their lives.
***
Whiskey danced on a crowded floor with Cora, Rufus and Nupa, given no room to do more than jump up and down to the electronic music blaring throughout the abandoned warehouse. Daniel, Aleya and a number of kizarusi guarded their belongings and table—an overturned wooden crate—and Zebediah and Alphonse were somewhere outside with a handful of others, probably getting into one of their beloved brawls. She had no idea where the padre was. He disliked the music. So did she, for that matter; she was attracted more to the wild atmosphere than the tunes.
Cora acted subdued. She knew which way things were going, and didn’t care for it. She had been remorseful when Whiskey had returned to their room, apologizing for her infraction, even offering to apologize to the kizarus she had threatened. That alone let Whiskey know how repentant Cora was. Sanguire thought of Humans as prey or servants, hardly equals to be treated with concern.
Whiskey’s mood soured at the memory. A callous part of her had enjoyed causing the emotional pain, had reveled in the tears she had caused, and she felt a wave of disgust. No longer wanting to dance, she backed off the floor, shoving her way through the unruly crowd. Cora attempted to follow, but Whiskey shook her head, waving for her to remain, following it up with a mental command. The last sight she had of Cora was one of tremulous chin and resignation.
At the crate turned table, Whiskey chased everyone else away, moving drinks aside to give her room to sit upon the splintering wood. She gulped from a cup of what turned out to be tequila, and leaned back against the wall behind her.
She was getting too old to run away. Living on the streets, dodging the authorities and living hand-to-mouth had far surpassed the foster homes where she had been placed as a child. It had even been fun, a risky challenge to skate through life without responsibilities. That circumstance no longer applied. Whether she liked it or not, she had enormous obligations these days, the least of which were her pack. She had inherited them, and could not turn them away to drift along on their own. They would be fresh meat for any older Sanguire who had the strength to control them, any Sanguire who might not be as kindhearted as she.
Leaving the house Margaurethe had set up had been another situation where Whiskey knew she had reacted in a juvenile manner. It was all childish bullshit. There was no denying she had Elisibet’s memories, so her squirming to avoid the duty so neatly placed upon her shoulders was stupid. Despite this, she couldn’t bring herself to return. Not yet. The Margaurethe of her memories had held no true political advantage over Elisibet. The current-day Margaurethe seemed to have decided to rectify that issue. Whiskey had no trouble comprehending the need for it, and even agreed that part of Elisibet’s downfall had been the lack of allowing Margaurethe to soothe those rough, violent urges. There was no way Whiskey would be a simple figurehead, however, and Margaurethe had to understand that she did not hold all the power.
Whiskey drained the cup, leaning her head back against the grimy wall as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. Rufus arrived at her side, searching through the litter of cups to find his drink.
“So, when can I get you to come to my studio?”
She looked up at the Human with a raised eyebrow. He always harped about painting a portrait of her. “Sooner or later,” she yelled so he heard her over the music.
He scoffed, grinning. “C’mon! It’ll only be a few hours, I promise.”
If she had not had the welfare of her people to worry about, she would have shown up on his doorstep weeks ago. She waved his plea away with a snort, and peered at the cups surrounding her for something else to drink.
She felt Alphonse before she saw him, shivering at the sudden sensation of smothering that swept over her. Looking up, she saw him push his way through the crowd, his skin pale. “What is it?”
“Valmont.”
Swearing, she jerked to her feet, mind automatically searching the warehouse. Zebediah stood near one of the closest doors, probably set to guard it from Valmont’s approach. Cora and Nupa remained on the dance floor, now accompanied by Daniel and the kizarusi. The Humans would be fine; unless Valmont knew who to look for in the mass of humanity, he would never pick them out of the crowd. It was the Sanguire that were in danger. She dared not extend her senses beyond the warehouse. Dorst had told her that she felt similar to Elisibet. If she brushed against Valmont’s mind, he would be certain he had located her.
Rufus had frozen, cup halfway to his lips at her abrupt movement. He had not heard Alphonse’s voice. “What’s going on?”
She ignored him. “Where’s he coming from?”
“Down Second Street, about a block away. Zeb was on the way to a store, saw him, and doubled back.” A frown of confusion crossed his face. “He has a camera.”
Whiskey clutched Alphonse’s shoulder, pointing to the dance floor with the other. “Get them and Zeb out of here. Call the padre, get back to the house only if you’re not followed.”
“What about you?”
She glanced back at Rufus. “I’m going with Rufus. Valmont is looking for a group of younglings. He won’t think to follow me if he doesn’t see me.”
Alphonse looked unconvinced, looking the Human over with a jaundiced eye.
Asserting mental pressure upon him, Whiskey bared her teeth. “That’s an order. Go!”
Unhappy with the command, Alphonse nevertheless turned toward the dance floor.
Whiskey turned back to Rufus. “C’mon,” she yelled, grabbing his arm, and hustling him toward another door. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll sit for a portrait right now.”
Rufus’s bearded face cracked into a smile. “You’re on!”