Page 3 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

Arthur glanced at the three families surrounding them.

“Junior Spy” Emily “Tock” Lepstein-Jackson’s parents—the mother was Israeli, the father Jamaican; “the actress” Cass “Streep” Gonzalez’s parents—Filipinos with a love of all things Catholic and ancient; and the two sisters of Maximus Dominus MacKilligan—that was her name, yes?

She insisted on calling him Mr. Zee—or, as his wife insisted on calling her, “the half-Asian.” The “junior Viking,” Mads Galendotter, did have blood relations, but none who would actually attend an event that might show they cared.

Over time, however, the three other families and the two sisters had quietly “adopted” the Viking, letting her stay over as much as she wanted with their daughters, making sure she got some dinner, and that she had somewhere to go every American holiday.

At first glance, these four sets of families had absolutely nothing in common, and he was certain his dear wife would say they were as different from them as apples from dead toads. But that wasn’t true. They had much in common, because they were all honey badgers.

With nothing but a thought, any of them could shift from their human form into their honey badger one.

Unlike the rest of the shifter community, though, his kind lived almost exclusively among the full-humans, who couldn’t shift into anything.

Why would they bother with these average people?

Because they could. Because it was easy.

Because, unlike the bears and cat shifters, honey badgers weren’t giants among tiny full-humans.

And because the full-humans were fun to toy with.

Over the centuries, honey badger shifters had started dynasties, destroyed despots, and instigated wars.

They also stole royal jewels, smuggled ancient artifacts, and counterfeited endless works of art so they could have the real piece in their living rooms until it one day ended up in someone’s garage sale for three dollars.

That was why Arthur had been completely unconcerned when he was grabbed off the streets of Singapore by full-humans.

He could have gotten out of that situation long before they got him on that yacht, and with minimal damage to himself and the city streets.

But for years, he had heard secondhand about what his youngest daughter and her friends were like when they worked together. He wanted to see them all in action.

He had not been disappointed.

He strongly felt it was good to have friends one could count on no matter how much time had passed since one had last seen said friends.

He had friends like that from long before he met his wife.

And so did his wife. Of course, both their friend groups came from families like theirs.

Wealthy honey badgers who were born and raised in Hong Kong when it was still a British territory and had a very long history dating from the Ming Dynasty.

Lorraine’s bloodline actually came from the Ming Dynasty’s first emperor, due to one of his early concubines.

Sadly—for his wife—none of Nelle’s current friends had that kind of lineage.

Lorraine strongly believed their daughter’s friends were “nobodies” who didn’t deserve to be around a family as rich and powerful as theirs.

Arthur, despite his own lineage, had never felt that way, but he didn’t bother arguing with her on the subject, because it had never been necessary.

By the time little Nelle could walk, she had made it clear she didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her.

She did what she wanted, how she wanted, and was never, ever rude about it. Just like her mother.

Hoping to avoid a nasty badger fight between his wife and Tock’s mother, Arthur turned to look at the parents of his daughter’s friends and said, “I hope all of you are coming to our house for the celebration tonight. Our eldest has arranged a lovely evening for Nelle and your daughters, and it promises to be a delightful event.”

“Hey!” a full-human parent Arthur didn’t know, seated a couple of bleachers in front of them, piped up. “My hubby and I are having a big barbeque at our house, too! If y’all want to stop by. It’s for the entire girls’ basketball team! Gotta celebrate their amazing season, now don’t we?”

Arthur wasn’t sure any of their group but his wife meant to silently stare at the poor woman who’d opened her mouth during their loudly held private conversation.

It wasn’t anger or even annoyance that brought out all that silent gazing, though.

No. They were merely . . . thinking. Debating whether it would be worth it to attend a full-human event at this person’s house.

Specifically, the Gonzalezes were probably wondering what religious artifacts the full-human family had in their house that would be worth taking—probably nothing, since they all appeared rather “money light,” as one of Arthur’s sons liked to say, and the Gonzalez family was known among the art world’s black-market buyers and sellers for their excellent taste in choosing, stealing, and recreating religious artifacts that they sold to the highest bidder.

The Lepstein-Jacksons were clearly sizing up the woman to see if she was possibly a foreign operative trying to lure them into a dangerous situation.

While his wife stared because she wondered why this “peasant” was speaking to her at all.

That sweet, welcoming smile on that poor full-human’s face slowly faded and, after letting out a small throat-clearing, she turned back around and focused on the line of students beginning to go up and get their diplomas.

Her husband quickly grabbed her hand and squeezed, while the other full-human parents moved in closer to the couple.

For the rest of the event, she never turned around again.

“Did I approve this little soiree that’s happening in my home?” his wife asked.

“ Our home, Lorraine. And it’s a gift from our eldest daughter to our youngest. She assumed you would approve.”

“I did not.” She gestured at the families of their daughter’s friends with a dismissive hand. “Do you really think that I want these . . . people in my house. No offense,” she casually added.

“Offense taken,” Tock’s mother shot back.

“We would love to attend,” Streep Gonzalez’s mother informed Lorraine with a cheery smile and hate in her eyes.

Then she muttered “I hate that bitch” to her husband in Tagalog—the language of their Filipino homeland—and, with a quickly raised finger, Arthur silenced his wife’s retort, since they both knew Tagalog as well.

“We will definitely be there, Mr. Zhao.”

Uh-oh . Arthur had completely forgotten about the sisters of Duke Maximilian Joseph MacKilligan—that was her name, yes?

The eldest, Charlie, had a forced smile on her face that did nothing but worry Arthur, because she was so very protective of her siblings.

All the MacKilligan sisters had different mothers but the same useless father who continued to bring danger and horror to their door.

It had bonded the three together like war buddies.

“Is that necessary?” his wife asked Charlie. “You and your sisters attending? Can’t you simply be there in spirit?”

“Is there a problem?” the eldest asked.

Arthur leaned forward, ready to intervene. “Of course n—”

“She won’t take off her shoes,” his wife announced.

Arthur blew out his breath and waited for this to go badly.

“Pardon?” the eldest asked politely.

“She won’t take off her shoes when she enters our home.”

Arthur was about to remind his wife about “cultural differences” when the youngest sister announced, “That’s because of the fungus, Mrs. Zhao.”

It took all of Arthur’s strength not to scramble away from the two girls on his right, but then he saw Charlie drop her head and begin rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. An excellent way to prevent a smile or laugh.

“Excuse me?” his wife asked, already looking quite green.

“Foot fungus. Max has it real bad. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, a fungus can spread to other things. Like furniture and bedding.” She let the pause hang out there, her gaze locked on Lorraine’s, before finally adding, “People.”

“I—”

“Doctors have tried everything. I’ve tried everything.

It’s been quite the science experiment for me.

You know how I love those. But absolutely nothing works.

Her feet are just covered in that fungus.

It’s all flaky; the skin peels constantly.

Her toenails are a nightmare. Just grotesque.

It is, in a word, vile. My sister’s really embarrassed about it, not surprisingly, so she never takes her shoes off. Ever.”

Since Arthur had just been shopping with all of his daughter’s friends, and they had all tried on expensive heels to go with their expensive graduation outfits, he could say with certainty that MaxVonda—that was her name, right?

—did not have any kind of foot fungus. But why ruin this moment of firsts?

When, for once, his wife had been stunned into silence by anyone, much less a thirteen-year-old prodigy about to go off to his Oxford alma mater while her nineteen-year-old sister currently worked at a nearby Dairy Queen?

The diplomas were finally handed out, the students making their way across the stage to varying degrees of applause, based on whether they were basketball champs or had wolves in their family. So. Much. Howling.

With the name Zhao, it seemed to take forever before his daughter finally made her way across the stage. Her graduation gown was open so everyone could see her designer dress, and her cap was tilted on her head just so, making it appear like she was about to walk a runway in Milan.