Page 9 of Any Witch Wolf (The Smokethorn Paranormals #2)

Chapter

Nine

CHAPTER NINE

T he last time I’d talked to Mason Hartman was in Ronan’s father’s bar two months ago. He’d grabbed me by the throat and pushed me into a wall because he thought I was there to harm his alpha leader.

He’d been wrong that day, but it had been a safe assumption given how I felt about the bastard.

I wasn’t planning on harming Alpha Floyd today, either. I only had a few questions for his second-in-command. Nevertheless, something told me that approaching Hartman inside Pallás Place would be a bad idea. I had ways to defend myself, but that bar was packed with wolves most days and even heal charms had limits.

So, I made a couple phone calls to people who owed me a favor, stopped at a few of Hartman’s known haunts, and finally tracked him down having either a late lunch or a very early dinner at Jade Dragon, a Chinese restaurant two buildings down from Beau’s Oddities.

I parked behind Beau’s place, since I needed to talk to him after this, and also because I wanted to sneak up on Hartman. Not something I’d recommend in a dark alley, but as second alpha, Mason had an obligation not to make a scene in a human-run restaurant.

After a short conversation, during which Fennel hissed when I told him I was going into the restaurant alone, he stormed off to Beau’s place to wait for me. Fennel didn’t trust Mason Hartman any more than I did.

I pushed through the back door, wanting to remain stealthy, knowing it wouldn’t matter at all if he disregarded the no-scenes-around-humans rule. Mason Hartman was alpha-leader-level strong. He was stronger than Alpha Floyd, and I wasn’t completely sure how he stacked up to Ronan, but if they ever fought, it would be a sight to behold.

The Jade Dragon was rectangular, with its narrow ends facing the alley and street. The front was all tinted windows, the rear a steel security door. The floor was dull gray linoleum tile, tables were square and made from the same color Formica. Red and gold decorations were affixed to the walls, a small jade dragon stood at the center of each table, and both adorned the register counter by the front door.

The air was cool, but not as brisk as in most desert businesses. The owners were probably trying to keep costs down while they could. Temps in Smokethorn hovered at a hundred plus all summer and half of fall. During that time, air conditioning wasn’t a luxury but a necessity. And it was expensive.

I waved at Mason like an old friend and took a seat at his table even though I knew it would piss him off. He wouldn’t want to see or be seen with the likes of me. Alpha Floyd would have a fit when he found out.

To my way of thinking, this was a special sort of twofer. Two cages rattled for the price of one.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Witch ?” Mason’s perfect front teeth were clenched. Spittle formed on his lower lip.

He was dressed to kill—in his case probably literally—in a white shirt, gray-blue tie, and dark gray trousers. His suit jacket was slung over the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He wore a Cartier watch with a brown leather strap in a shade lighter than his skin. Last time I’d seen him he was wearing a Rolex.

I had no idea what he did for a living other than work for the pack, but the man didn’t appear to be hurting for money.

“I came in for some veggie chow mein, and I saw you sitting here all by your lonesome. Thought I’d say hi.”

He did a slow blink.

“Okay, you got me. I’m not only here for the chow mein.” I gave him an appraising look. “Geez, Hartman, did you just finish up a GQ photoshoot or something?” I sniffed. “You even smell good.”

His jaw relaxed. He licked his lips and dipped his head. A dimple appeared in his right cheek. Holy smokes, he was handsome. Also homicidal—wouldn’t do to forget that.

Ronan’s words from that day at his father’s bar poured into my brain.

“…Hartman’s a fucking force. Don’t underestimate him. He plays the part of dumb muscle. He’s not dumb…”

When he lifted his head again, the dimple, and any humor that might’ve accompanied it, was gone. “I won’t ask you again.”

The server arrived with Mason’s lunch. She took my to-go order of vegetable chow mein and went back to the kitchen. There were a few scattered people in various stages of eating—human and paranormal. I recognized most of them, nodding to the ones willing to acknowledge me. Pallás wolf shifters often pretended not to know me to appease their alpha leader.

I wasn’t giving Mason a choice.

“I wanted to ask you about Sylvester Shaw,” I said.

He picked up a set of chopsticks and dug into his beef and broccoli. “Beta wolf. Senior. Low-strength, requires assistance to shift. But you probably know all that, since your boyfriend’s the one who usually assists him, and I can’t think you’d come to me before speaking with him.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I drummed my fingernails on the table. “Also, yes, I do know all that because I spoke with Sy’s roommate Calvin this morning. Do you know Sy’s been missing for two days?”

He pinched a sliver of beef with the chopsticks and paused with it halfway to his mouth. “The man is eighty. Old enough to take a vacation without telling anyone.”

“But would he?” I leaned a little closer. “Have you seen his social life? Why in the world would he need a vacation? He lives his own paradise every day.”

The beef disappeared in a quick snap of teeth. Very sharp teeth. “He does have some serious game for an elder.”

“The guy could write a book on the art of female pleasure according to his paramours.” Technically, he had written a book, though not the sort I’d meant. “But the thing is, if he was on vacation, he’d have told his roommate.”

“He’s got memory issues.” Another bit of beef disappeared between his teeth.

That surprised me. “How do you know so much about him?”

“He’s pack. It’s my job.”

“No way it’s your only job, though. I’m pretty sure Pallás pack security doesn’t pay enough to afford both a Rolex and a Cartier.”

He chewed, raked his gaze over me, swallowed. “You sure do notice a lot of things about me. Trying to make your boyfriend jealous? Or are you that into me?”

“Deflecting?” I countered.

He stirred soy sauce into his rice. “It isn’t my only job. And my other work isn’t any of your business.”

“Fair. But the job I do know about seems to be crossing into the path of my job, and it might benefit us to share information.”

“I wouldn’t share a meal with you, witch.”

The server picked that moment to set my to-go bag and check on the table. “If I open this chow mein, you will be.” I dug the paper-wrapped chopsticks out of the bag and slowly unwrapped them. “Speak now, or I dig in. Can you imagine the gossip, Hartman?”

His face tightened in a way that told me he was clenching his teeth again. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“No doubt. But maybe you could wait until I find your lost wolf?”

“No need. I’ll take over from here. Shaw is pack.”

“Sure.” I set down the chopsticks. “I bet you’ll have a lot of luck getting people to talk to you about him. You’re so effortlessly charming and not at all terrifying. I’m sure they’ll open right up.”

He whispered an expletive. “Give me your cell number.”

I tore off a piece of the paper bag and scribbled it down with a pen I dug out of my purse.

“Professional,” he drawled.

“I see no need for business cards. That just leads to people calling me.”

The dimple in his cheek appeared again, and his mouth curved ever so slightly. Was I cracking the formidable Mason Hartman?

Doubtful.

“I have another question, and I’m thinking you might be able to answer it.”

The look he gave me made me scoot my chair back a couple of inches.

“Please,” I said.

“Ask. Now.” He took another bite of beef and nodded without looking at me. “Fast.”

“Do you know anyone named Justice?”

“First name or last?” he asked. He didn’t appear particularly interested in the name, but Mason was good at hiding things—reactions, emotions, bodies…

“I think it’s an Eminem or Beyonce situation. One name.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

Did I believe him? No way. But it wasn’t as if I could force him to confess Floyd had hired someone to stalk me.

If he had. And I was pretty sure he had.

“No particular reason.” I stood and picked up my bag.

“Good. Go away.” Mason picked up the scrap with my number on it. Tucked it into his shirt pocket and went back to eating. “And, witch?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t assume this level of familiarity with me again. Next time, I won’t care who’s around.” The chopsticks splintered in his hand. “I’ll kill you.”

The smart-ass retort I was about to deliver died on my tongue when I saw the glow in his eyes. He was close to shifting, which meant he was very angry. Had I pissed him off to that extent or had he already been angry when I walked in, giving him a convenient target?

Either way, I was getting the hell out of Dodge for the time being.

I acknowledged the threat with a muttered, “Fine,” took myself and my food to the counter, paid, and left.

I strode up the gritty sidewalk to Beau’s Oddities, sweeping my gaze over the cars parked on the street. Sure enough, a block up on the opposite side, was Justice’s neutral-mobile. Cecil’s scorch mark was still on the roof. It looked smeared, like someone had tried to scrub it off.

The day was cool but sunny, and as I shielded my eyes from the sun, I toyed with the idea of giving the stalker a middle-finger wave. I rejected the idea. Probably best if I pretended not to notice him.

Besides, I was still reeling from my encounter with Mason.

Fennel was curled up on a chair and Beau was with a customer when I came in. Wordlessly, I set the chow mein on the counter and headed straight to the bathroom. I used the facilities, moistened a hand towel, and dabbed away the sweat on my face. My heart was galloping, and my breath was close behind.

I was a first-class smart ass, and I took no shit from anyone, but Mason Hartman scared the hell out of me. When he’d threatened to kill me, he’d meant it. I’d felt the danger in the caveman parts of my amygdala.

However, I wouldn’t be mentioning the threat or my fear to Ronan. As much as I liked him, I didn’t want anyone knowing I could be scared like this.

Anyone except Ida, but I told her pretty much everything. Also, she’d need to be careful around Mason, too. She was, after all, the person closest to me and therefore a potential target, along with Fennel and Cecil.

I took one of the new peace charms the gnome had crafted out of its packaging and put it on. Sorry, Beau, you’re getting one less than promised.

Maybe the chow mein would make up for it.

The chain was cool, the charm a little warm. I tucked it beneath my top so it would touch my skin, and a measure of peace stole over me. It wasn’t like taking a tranquilizer or drinking a bottle of wine. Nothing so overt. It was more like the way I felt after a hug from Ida or a snuggle with Fennel.

A little oxytocin bump.

I left the bathroom, lingering by the bulletin board. My flyer was gone, of course, but there were new ones. Mostly lost and found posters, a couple of for-sale ads, and a few people looking for someone to do some protection spells. I took photos of those flyers. I’d been doing basic protection spells since the third grade.

“Is the food for me?” Beau called out.

“Yeah. I’m one short on the charms this time, so this is my peace offering.”

“Veggie?”

“Of course, Beau. I know you.”

When I emerged from the back, the customer had gone, and Beau was digging chopsticks into the chow mein. Fennel sat beside him, slurping up a noodle.

I set the resealed package on the counter. “Give me a couple days, and Cecil will have a few more for you.”

“Good. Thanks. There’s an elder rat shifter who buys a new charm every couple of weeks. I’ll set one aside for him. Probably should just send the guy directly to you. He’s got nerves like you wouldn’t believe. It’s weird. Colonies are usually pretty supportive, but maybe it’s more than that.”

“Why do you think he’s stressed?”

He plunked the chopsticks into the carton and set it aside. “Something’s in the air right now. Something distinctly un-chill.”

“Like what?”

He leaned over the counter, bringing his face so close to mine I smelled the oyster sauce on his breath. “Something dark.”

“Can you be specific?”

“Nope.” He plopped into a chair behind the counter and picked up the carton. Propped his feet on a box that partially collapsed under the weight. Fennel hopped onto his lap and waited for another noodle.

“Good talk,” I grumbled under my breath.

Beau chewed a mouthful of chow mein. Swallowed. “Tía Trini says things are looking better than they have since the saguaros died.”

“Since Mom died, you mean.”

He didn’t respond, but we both knew it was the truth, and Trini had been being kind.

“We have grass in front of the cottage is all,” I said. “The soil’s responding to me, but it’s sluggish, and I’m not getting a lot out of it.”

“Sounds like you need to consult an earth witch.” In between bites of chow mein, he asked, “Have you checked the family grimoire?”

Should I have been surprised that he knew about our spell book? Maybe. But given his history with Mom, I wasn’t. Besides, it wasn’t as if a grimoire was a rare thing for a witch family to have.

“Yeah. Nothing.”

He fed Fennel the last noodle, tossed the empty carton into the trash, and stood. “I’ve got a couple of books that might be able to give you insight.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

“Sure. Keep an eye on things. I’ll be right back.” He went through the doorway behind the counter.

I took the opportunity to peer out the front window. Justice was parked in the same spot, staring at the front of Beau’s shop. If the windows hadn’t been tinted, he’d have been staring directly into my eyes.

Beau emerged a minute later and handed me two leather-bound books with pages like tissue. “Take them home. If you decide to keep them, I’ll give you a good price. Otherwise, bring them back in the same condition you borrowed them in.”

“They look like Christian bibles,” I said.

“That’s no accident. Many magic books were made to look like human holy books after the Spanish Inquisition. Easier to hide that way.”

I thanked him, and Fennel and I went out through the back. We drove home without running into Mason Hartman or being followed by a creepy mononymous stalker dude.

Fennel headed for the garden room, and I made myself a pot of chamomile tea in my trailer and dug into the books. They weren’t earth witch books, but they had large sections with elemental information—earth, water, air, and fire.

The first was an overview and didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know. The second was more interesting. If the price wasn’t too steep, I’d be keeping it.

My cell buzzed against the table, reminding me I’d set it on silent earlier and forgotten to turn on the ringer.

It was Ronan.

“Betty here.”

“Can you stop by the bar tonight? Karen’s coming in, so I can meet with you after the evening rush, say around nine?” He sounded out of breath, and Ronan was rarely, if ever, out of breath.

“Okay. Is this about Sy? Did something happen?”

“We’ll talk then.”