Chapter Thirty-Two
THIRTY-TWO
When Bishop and Julius finish the story, Doyle just sits there, looking like someone clubbed him over the head. I glance at Jesse, but he’s fully occupied in pouring himself another cup of coffee.
“I … Shit, this is embarrassing,” Doyle says.
“I don’t understand half of what you said.
I get the part about the Alpha challenge.
We had the same thing in the American Pack.
I’ve never heard of it being to the death, but from what William said about Silas, I can see that. He must have been sure he’d win.”
Bishop had glossed over details. All the Cambrians need to know is that Bishop issued a proper challenge and won in a fair fight and the Pack almost unanimously supported his ascension, which means the challenge wasn’t a case of an ambitious pup betraying his Alpha and mentor.
Doyle continues, “It’s the rest that…” He turns to Jesse, who only carries his coffee back to his seat.
“I don’t know how much you all understand about the American Pack, but they stay away from other supernaturals.
Since I got here, I’ve learned about half-demons, because that’s what the fellas brought us from the brothels, and I still don’t quite understand everything about them, if I’m being honest. I’ve heard of witches, but I know nothing about them. And I have no idea what a cabal is.”
“A secret society,” Jesse says, taking a bite of a biscuit. “That’s what the word means.”
Doyle hooks his thumb Jesse’s way. “This one reads dictionaries for fun.”
“We aren’t overly familiar with cabals either,” Julius says. “They do have them in America, but they’re mostly European, as this one is.”
“The one Mrs. Daniels’s granny runs.”
“Cordelia, please,” I say. “Yes. Cabals are usually run by sorcerers—male spellcasters—but my grandmother has her own, which seems to be based in Belgium, though I believe she’s English, given her accent.”
“We’re still uncovering details,” Bishop says.
“What we know is that Cordelia’s grandmother brought a force of seventy-five supernaturals, which was enough to overwhelm our Pack, coming so soon after the Alpha challenge.
We expect Beryl Levine has retreated temporarily, but we don’t expect she’ll let us return to rebuild. ”
“Which is why we’ve come to you,” Julius says. “We need temporary reinforcements. We don’t ask lightly, and we don’t expect your wolves to drop everything and rush to our aid. But we would like to negotiate an alliance that would see your Pack helping us in return for whatever we might do for you.”
“Well, I like the sound of that. I could sure use friends over here. But why come to me? The Caledonian Pack is more than twice our size.”
“We’ve approached them,” Bishop says carefully. “Because of their size and their historical links with the Albion Pack.”
“Well, if you’ve got them, you don’t want us. Believe me, Hamish will never work alongside me.”
“We don’t have them,” Bishop says. “Hamish set too high a price.”
Doyle frowns. “He wouldn’t ask for money. He’s got plenty, the old miser, lives in luxury while his wolves work their asses off to fill his coffers. So what…”
Doyle stops and barks a laugh. “He wanted you to get rid of me, didn’t he.” He looks over at Jesse. “Can you believe it? That scheming old bastard.” He turns to Bishop. “That’s it, right? He asked you to run me out of the country.”
“He asked me to perform a task, and that seemed a poor way to start my Alphahood.”
“Hell, yeah. You start with that shit, you’ll never be allowed to stop.
All right then. I’m going to need a helluva lot more details, but let’s say I’m willing to consider it.
Now, I know you English do business a little different, but back home, we like to get the measure of a man before we fall in with him.
I’m going to suggest we keep talking and get to know one another.
You’ll be my guests here tonight, and then we’ll see how things go. ”
We talk until dinner is brought in, and then we keep talking, mostly about differences between the Albion and American Packs.
Thankfully, all that talking means Doyle and Jesse don’t notice how little we eat.
We’d filled up on the cheese and bread and smoked meat the girls brought with tea, which means we get to skip the stew that’s served for the meal, and from the smell, that’s a wise choice.
I also mentally thank Ann for warning us and convincing us to bring a food hamper for later.
And it seems “later” will be much later, because Doyle wants to treat his guests to a hunt. He’s eager for Bishop to see their forest, since one potential plan is to buy this property, raze the house, and build fresh.
Bishop doesn’t want a hunt. He especially doesn’t want to leave me in a strange house while he’s off chasing deer in wolf form.
But this is part of Doyle taking his “measure.” He needs to know who he’s working with.
At least, with all the wolves joining the hunt, only the women will be at the house, which Rufus agrees seems safe enough.
Also, I wouldn’t mind getting to know the women and seeing whether any useful alliances can be formed there.
Their time with the Cambrian Pack might be coming to an end, and I’d hate to see them unceremoniously dumped on Bishop’s advice.
I’d like to know whether they’ll have a place to return to if they’re sent away.
And after Trevelyan, Ann and I also worry whether these girls are really staying here freely.
The wolves are gone. Bishop asked me to go around the house after they all supposedly left. If I found a lingering wolf, I needed to decide whether he posed a threat. As far as I can tell, they’re all gone, though of course I’ll keep my guard up.
When I told Ann I wanted to get to know the Cambrian women better, I expected she’d be pleased with the plan. After all, she mentioned being concerned about their situation. But apparently being concerned doesn’t necessarily mean wanting to spend the evening with them.
I think she’s worried it’ll come off poorly—the fancy ladies of the Albion Pack deigning to socialize with the Cambrian “strumpets.” Now that Ann has been properly outfitted and actually let me style her hair this morning, I can see her point even better.
When I first met Ann, I hadn’t paid enough attention. I chastise myself for that now, even if I acknowledge that I was being held captive, and when I thought of Ann at all, I was only fretting about how much she disliked me and whether she could make my situation worse.
Had I paid more attention, I’d have realized her accent indicated she hadn’t been recruited from the London streets.
It’s not as crisp as Bishop’s, but it’s on the level of Oliver’s.
They would have both received fuller educations than most Pack wolves, and I’ll bet Ann’s mother made sure her daughter and her little brother spoke like a “proper” Englishwoman and Englishman, as her mother probably did before her.
Which means, yes, when you take Ann out of her dowdy “invisible maid” disguise, the Alpha’s granddaughter bursts through.
So now I’m trying to figure out how to be friendly to the Cambrian women without Ann and me seeming like highborn ladies on a charity visit. Fortunately, the girls themselves solve the problem when the dark-haired girl from this afternoon shows up with a bottle of gin and invites us to join them.
All right, she actually seems to challenge us to join them, waltzing in to where Ann and I are talking, waving the bottle and saying, “I suppose you’re too good for this.”
“Oh, I never turn down a drink,” I say, rising from the settee. Then I see Ann’s face and inwardly wince, remembering how rough her morning had been.
“Ah, right,” I say with a grin. “My poor cousin might need to abstain. I fear I took her out drinking last night, and she may have had a very rough morning.”
“I’ll have a glass,” Ann says.
The girl swings the bottle from her fingers. “Uh-uh. Two-drink minimum.”
I’m about to make another joke to save Ann, but she says, “Two then.”
“All right.” The girl puts her fingers in her mouth and lets out an ear-piercing whistle. “Come on, girls. We’re having a drink with the ladies.”