Page 73

Week Two

I still haven’t gotten to talk to Tilly, and it’s pissing me off.

After the meeting, she practically told me to get fucked and took off to meet the vet. I tried to mitigate the snotty women from Science and English, but there was only so much I could control out in the open. Drawing finite lines at the very first staff meeting would have set a tone for the rest of the school year, and I’d prefer to get more of the teachers on Jolene’s side before that happens.

She may have grown up here, but none of these people ever left.

Then, as if that wasn’t insulting enough, I got the phone call about construction for my drugar’s Guardian. I wouldn’t have been nearly as irritated with the situation if I’d been asked or if they had briefed me about a secondary team. The additional frustration of dealing with the goddamned elves is making my hound pace—none of my sides are fond of the little perverts, and I don’t enjoy having them run around anywhere near Tilly’s house.

But they’re the fastest builders in the world, and not using them would be foolish.

Popping my Airpods in, I start laps around the track as I call Jamie to arrange the details of the land transfer. He owns so much at that end of town that this won’t make a dent in his holdings, and he can write the donation to the Society off on his hefty taxes, anyway. The phone rings a few times and I growl as I round the first curve of the Olympic quality training area.

“Howdy, Edgar. What can I do you for?”

Jamie’s Southern kicks up exponentially when there are guests in the building, so I catch the subtle hint that he’s not alone. “Jamie, they have tasked me with providing housing for a couple of new Guardians in town. The point of contact is Jolene’s Guardian—not that she knows that—and her orders were to have you and I transfer a few acres down the street from the Whitleys and have the house ready ASAP.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled, friend. I can do that quickly if I can send Agatha with the details; if not, I’ll need a couple hours to mosey down to Town Hall myself,” he replies carefully.

No fucking way is that nosey bitch getting involved with this.

“I don’t think third party involvement is wise, Jamie. The instructions were explicit that you and I should handle this and Nelia would be apprised separately. I don’t believe you can send someone, nor can you hand the paperwork to that toad in the office. There are too many moving parts with keeping the secret until my drugar emerges.”

He’s quiet as I complete my lap, and I wonder exactly what’s going on in his office, that he’s being so cautious. When he finally speaks, it makes me curious. “Well, I’ll get right on that. There are some VIPs at the farm at the moment, and I believe I have visitors in the south pasture, but I’ll scoot on over once I have my guests settled. Don’t fret, buddy. Old Jamie has it all in hand.”

For fuck’s sake…

“Text me when it’s done. I’ll contact the elves to begin once you have all the clearances. The timeframe on this project is short, and I don’t want blowback if we don’t make their deadline.”

With that, I hang up and continue my workout. I plan on getting the lass out of Jolene’s house as quickly as possible—not just because I’ve been ordered, but because it gives me room to figure out how to approach her without a peanut gallery in tow.

Literally.

If I’m lucky, I can talk to her before any of the girls in town reopen old wounds.

* * *

By the time I’ve finished cardio and my weight sets for the day, Jamie texts me as promised. The paperwork is taken care of and I can pick it up at Town Hall. I expected it to take longer based on his reaction, but who the fuck knows with that guy? He could have anything from a group of tourists to a rock star to a fucking sheikh at his horse farm on any day, so it’s hard to predict what ‘guests’ he’s entertaining. Such is the life of one of the richest horse trainers in the world, I suppose.

I hop in my car and cruise down to the city building, frowning when I see the other Irish pain in my ass outside of the Society HQ, smoking as he looks at Town Hall. As soon as I park, I stalk up to him, glaring at the annoying shit.

It’s like that country is sending its most annoying supes to torture me, I fucking swear.

“Doyle, why are you standing out here drawing attention to this building like a fucking gargoyle on fire?”

The space has remained empty for years based on the rumor of recurring toxic mold, and standing in front of it like a moron only puts more eyes on the empty spot on Main Street. Some witches in town have cast an aversion charm on it to keep nosy tourists or dumbass teens away, but that only goes so far. We don’t need anyone wondering why it’s stayed condemned for so long or how we’ve failed at defeating what should be a basic issue. This dipshit is fully aware of that, and what’s inside, even if he rarely shows up to meetings.

Haggerty rolls his eyes as if I’m the most tedious thing he’s ever experienced, and turns to face me fully. “What are you doing here instead of meting out justice with Vlad and Randall? What do my taxes pay for?”

That actually makes me snort and I shake my head at the Mayor’s pet PR guy. His faux indignation is laughable, and so is the idea that he pays for anything. “You work for us, idiot. You don’t pay taxes. Hell, very few people in this town do outside of tributes and humans. Answer my question.”

He pushes off the wall, running a hand through his fiery red hair as he glares at me. The reluctance to answer has my hackles up, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him get away with skirting the issue with tricksy word play. That’s his M.O. and I’m not fooled by the nonchalance he’s trying to exude. There’s a reason he’s out here, and Doyle doesn’t want me to know what it is.

“I’m having a fag, Boone. Even in the South, you can’t do that inside city buildings anymore.” Shrugging, he walks a little way from the building, his eyes glued to something in the distance.

“Look, Haggerty. I can tell you’re up to something, and if I find out you’re meddling where you don’t belong, I’ll inform the Town Council. Don’t think I won’t go higher if I need to, either.” I follow his gaze and realize suddenly that he’s watching Tilly’s giant bird perch on the statue outside of the Hall. “And leave Jolene Whitley alone—she’s mine .”

His hand flies to his chest as he bats his lashes at me in a mockery of coyness. “Edgar, I’d swear you were sweet on the lassie. Must sting like a bee that rumors have the doctoral duo warming her bed most nights. Did you not measure up?”

That’s it. No more Mr. Nice Hound.

A growl shoes out of my chest before I can stop it, and all three of my supe sides come crashing through the barrier of my control. The fog breaks loose from my pores as a wing smashes into his stupid face, then the other crashes into his shoulder. The air is full of pheromones and sulfur—a feat no one has evoked in a long time. I keep my triplásia secret for a reason; I don’t want to be asked to do more for the Society than I am currently. I have no interest in being recruited for a board seat, a Council position, or worse case scenario, an active Warrior Agent commission. Any of those things is a possibility if the right people discover my secret.

“You’re out of your league, Boone!” Doyle snarls as his eyes light with a deep emerald light that makes them glow. He’s not concerned about my partial shift, nor is he worried about who hears him. When he speaks again, I can feel the persuasion he uses in his job dripping from his words. “You don’t want to do this, mate. The fog can’t charm me, and this will draw more attention than my smoking outside of the club. Shift back, and we’ll go have a drink at Benjy’s.”

My breath hisses out as I watch him warily. He keeps repeating his instructions while I work to tame the raging beasts within me. I’ve never had an issue like this, and I’m not sure if my incomplete bond with Jolene is causing it, or if something else is at play. It takes much longer than normal, but as I watch him trace circles in the air, my feathers fade and the fog dissipates. Once I’m calmer, his eyes dart around the street to see if there were witnesses, and when he seems satisfied, he looks at me with a smirk.

God forbid he has to do his fucking job for once.

“Haggerty, I’m going to wring your fucking neck.” I run a hand through my hair as I feel the impact of unleashing all of my inner monsters simultaneously seep into my bones. I whistle, calling Kali and Hecate from the car. I know that jackass fed on my power—it’s what part of him does the rumors say—and I’ll need their strength nearby to help stabilize me. “Leave Jolene alone and shut your mouth about her bedmates. She can have whatever she wants, and it’s none of your goddamned business.”

His expression goes from shocked to thoughtful to wicked in a blink. “Mmmmm. Methinks the uncatchable Judge Boone has met his match. And she must be a very special supe indeed to convince one of your kind to accept this situation. Color me intrigued.”

I shake my head, sighing at his stubbornness. “I mean it, Doyle. She doesn’t know . Not any of it—even what she is. Hell, the snakes don’t even know. So leave it alone until we figure out why a lost one came back without being awakened first.”

Winking saucily, he shrugs. “Mate, I’m known for my… discretion. I won’t let it slip, but I’m hurt that no one’s asked me to unlock the secrets. It’s one of my fundamental skills, as you well know.”

No, I didn’t know that mind control was in his fucking skill set. As far as I knew, no one but Nelia has a clue what this asshole can actually do.

“We could have had Prez work his mojo as well, but the Council says the directive is to allow things to progress naturally. They have their hands full with several lost ones emerging across the globe, and they’re more focused on the ones they don’t have eyes on. Tilly is home among our kind, and they’ve even sent her a Guardian. Speaking of which…” I look down at my watch. “I have to meet that chick and Cantwell at a site. We’ve been ordered to get the Guardian and an incoming support team settled in very short order.”

Ignoring him as I text Jamie and Saoirse, I try to let my body recover from this dust up. Running before I shifted so quickly back and forth wasn’t a great idea, but of course, I hadn’t expected to almost have a battle in the middle of Main Street. Saoirse’s answers are snarky as hell, and I growl under my breath.

This woman pisses me off. I don’t know why the Council put me in charge of her fucking accommodations. I’m not a real estate agent; I’m a bookie and a judge. Cantwell runs a horse farm. Why the fuck are we the contacts and why the hell is another team coming here? Who are these special Guardians? Why is Saoirse hiding her identity? I won’t let them hurt my drugar —even if it means squaring off with the Council. The docs will probably back me on that, so I need to talk to them after my meeting at the site.

Yes, that’s the plan. After I get rid of this annoying flea, I’ll contact them.

“Boone, if you’re done ranting at me, I have things to do. You know where I am if you’d like your ass handed to you again.”

I look up from my phone, seeing him give me a jaunty wave as he heads to the Town Hall. Glaring, I take a deep breath. I have to get those papers, but I need to wait for that idiot to get inside and far away from me before I go in.

Otherwise, I might kill the little shit.