Chapter Thirteen
T HIRTEEN
Once again, Bishop escorts me down the hall in silence.
Today he seems distracted rather than irritated.
Maybe a hint of uncertainty as well? As if he’s about to do something and isn’t convinced it’ll go well.
Whatever it is, it must have nothing to do with me, because the only thing we’re doing is having lunch.
He leads me into a smaller dining room. This one has four round tables, each seating eight. All of them are empty.
“Last night’s hunt means most will skip the midday meal,” he explains as we enter. “We’re supposed to be joined by… Ah. Julius.”
Julius swings in, out of breath and smelling of pine.
“Is Oliver still joining us?” Bishop says as he pulls out my seat.
“Soon. We were taking a look at the greenhouse. Part of the wall’s sagging, and Oliver’s figuring out how to fix it.”
Julius takes the seat on my other side, just as Ann and Tabitha enter with serving trays, which they place on a buffet table, alongside cold food already there.
“I’ll fix you a plate,” Bishop says to me.
“I can handle it,” I say, earning a chuckle from Julius.
As we fill our plates, a young werewolf enters. He’s no more than eighteen, with brown skin, short dark curls, and dancing hazel eyes. He takes a plate from the seat beside Julius’s and then pauses.
“May I join you?” he asks. “If you wanted privacy…”
Julius thumps him on the back. “If we wanted privacy, we wouldn’t be in the dining room.” He turns to me. “This is Felix, Claude’s son.”
Claude. The controller. Of course. While Felix’s skin is darker, there’s an obvious resemblance in their chins and eyes.
From my conversation with Oliver, I know everyone holds Claude in very high esteem—and he’s an excellent card player.
His son is just as popular, as clever and as quiet as his father.
I return to the table. Once all three men join me, I dig in. While I finished breakfast only an hour ago, I can always find room for more.
No one speaks, but it’s the silence of hunger, everyone devouring the first few bites. When Bishop seems ready to begin conversation, Claude walks up behind him and squeezes his shoulders.
“When you have a moment, we need to discuss the new factory,” Claude says.
Bishop waves at the empty seat beside him. “Get some food. Sit with us.”
Claude hesitates. “Miss Cordelia may not appreciate a second meal of business talk.”
“It’s fine,” I say, smiling. “You two can discuss the factory, and I’ll pester Julius.”
As Claude fills his plate, two others wander in and join us, joking that this seems to be the place to be.
Both of the new werewolves are young, and they greet Bishop with deference but obvious camaraderie. He introduces them as Augustus and Charlie, and I recall Oliver mentioning them earlier and saying they’re “good lads.” They joined the Pack with Bishop, some of his “boys.”
Hmm.
This luncheon table isn’t growing by accident. I remember how Bishop had acted on our walk here, distracted and vaguely anxious, as if something were about to happen.
Introducing me to others. Those he wants me to meet. The wolves who are firmly in his corner.
I set that observation aside and turn to Julius. “You’re a doctor? Or the Pack medic?”
“An actual doctor,” he says with a smile. “With a degree and a license to practice.”
“Almost two degrees,” Charlie pipes up. “Julius was working on his surgical one before he joined the Pack.”
“Impressive,” I say. “And definitely an asset to the Pack. I’ve heard werewolf physiology is somewhat different.”
“Not really, but yes, it helps to have a doctor who understands why their patient has an odd number of wounds that strangely resemble bite marks.”
“Fighting other werewolves. For territory, I presume?”
Julius smiles. “The ones I see are usually inflicted by our Pack brothers. That’s what happens when you heal quickly. Your games are much rougher.”
I cut a slice of ham. “Do you have an outside medical practice as well?”
“No. Pack wolves are needed in the Pack. Fortunately, while I can assess the greenhouse damage with Oliver, no one actually expects me to help fix it.” He flexes his hands. “I can’t risk damaging these.”
“Which is a fine excuse,” Charlie says.
“Do all wolves work exclusively for the Pack?” I say. Then I make a face. “Or is that prying?”
“Not at all,” Julius says. “This is your Pack now. Ask whatever you’d like.”
Does he say “your Pack” a little too loudly? As if to satisfy anyone listening from other rooms? He wants to be clear that he acknowledges my new and permanent place here… because he knows it’s not permanent. He’s Bishop’s closest confidant. He knows his cousin’s plans.
“I’m curious about how…” I wave at the house. “How this works. Not that I’m asking for financial details, of course.”
Claude smiles. “You wonder how we maintain such a huge estate if no one works in the traditional sense of the word.”
Julius nods at Claude. “He’s the man to answer that. Without him, the Pack would have lost Trev—” He coughs. “That is to say, Claude is a financial genius, which is a blessing for those of us who have no sense of money.”
“The Pack has investments and properties,” Claude explains. “Like the factory I mentioned. It’s all very legal. Dabbling in the illegal is profitable, but it’s too dangerous for those who don’t dare call attention to themselves.”
“As for jobs,” Julius says, “about half of us oversee those properties, such as managing a factory. Others work here, on the estate. I go where I’m needed, like Bishop.”
I lean to speak to Felix, who hasn’t said a word. “And you?”
Claude’s son seems surprised that I’m speaking to him, but says politely, “I run the stables, miss, and drive one of the coaches.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Please tell me you didn’t drive ours the other night. I’d hope I’d have recognized you.”
He smiles. “It was dark, and we weren’t introduced.”
“Bishop…” Julius mock growls, turning to his cousin. “You’re the worst for that.”
“He is,” I say. “So, Felix, you prefer working with horses over working with numbers?”
I say it lightly, but the table goes silent.
“There I go, asking too many questions,” I say.
“Felix will take over as controller one day,” Claude says carefully. “He has a gift for mathematics. While I look forward to apprenticing him, we haven’t been back in the Pack for long, and help was needed in the stables. He’ll be out of there soon.” He passes his son a reassuring smile.
My father put Felix in the stables. He’s taken a talented young man and relegated him to mucking out stalls. I’m horrified by that. It seems more than shortsighted. It’s insulting.
From what my father said last night, I deduce that Claude had left the Pack and returned with Bishop. Is this his punishment for leaving? His son needs to work in the stables until their loyalty has been proven?
Is that the way of werewolves? Harsh. Punitive. Demanding loyalty above all.
Is it how Bishop would handle the situation?
No, his eyes flashed with irritation at Claude’s careful explanation.
Claude is valuable— invaluable, from what I gather, given Julius’s slip, which implied the Pack had been in danger of losing Trevelyan.
If Claude voluntarily returned to the fold, he shouldn’t be punished for leaving, and to inflict that punishment on his son instead is…
Cruel?
I’m still trying to reconcile what my father did last night with the impression I’d been forming of him.
He lied to me. He said he’d send me back to my aunt, and he has no intention of doing so, and worse, he plans to marry me off to his heir.
But the truth—the wretched and infuriating truth—is that this is the life most young women lead.
Their fathers would tell them lies “for their own good,” and, when it comes time to wed, a husband would be chosen for them.
As a witch, I have my expectations of an independent life.
And my father has very different expectations, as both a werewolf and a man of his time.
I keep thinking of my wardrobe, so painstakingly chosen, and that book, picked up because I’d admired it in a shop. How many human girls would be overjoyed to have such a considerate papa, when most couldn’t name their child’s favorite color if their life depended on it?
Oh, I’m not going to fall into some starry-eyed trance, starved for the love of a doting father. My eyes are as clear as I can make them.
I am furious with my father. I do not trust him. But I’m not ready to call him a monster.
What he did to Felix is harsh and misguided, and I can judge him for that without a twinge of disloyalty. Every leader will run things differently, and I suspect Bishop’s way would be more in line with my own. Perhaps because we’re young. A new generation.
I pull myself back to the conversation.
“It’s all very fascinating,” I say. “I have little experience with the various supernatural factions. Coven life isn’t exactly to our taste.”
Julius grins. “To put it mildly. I hear your aunt has had some run-ins with the Britannia Coven.”
“As have I. Literal run-ins, in fact. The last time I saw a Coven witch, she attempted to run me down with her coach. An accident, I’m sure.
As was the fact that her horse subsequently broke from its harness and took off down the street.
Poor thing. I caught up with it, though, calmed it with a spell and—being unable to see the owner—took it home.
My aunt found it a lovely new place in the country, with new owners who paid a handsome sum.
Seems it was a Thoroughbred.” I cut into a potato.
“Say what you like about Coven witches, but they have excellent taste in horseflesh. Too bad they’re so careless with it. ”
That sets everyone laughing. Even Bishop, who has been quiet, nods in appreciation of the tale.