Chapter 37 #3
“By then, there will be others to take your place,” Mosavi said.
“We are only just getting started, and we’ll need you as that starting point.
We have other towns to make into sanctuaries, and those towns will also need werewolf leaders.
This is my purpose. I want all our kind to live freely with the same opportunities humans have.
I don’t care what I have to do”—the cigar crumbled as he gripped it in a balled-up fist—“or who I have to break to make my vision a reality.”
“I hope you’re not planning on trying to break me.”
“If only I could,” he muttered. “You’re a stubborn little shit with a potent vironoct.
Even Willa’s enchanted trinkets did next to nothing.
” The brown werewolf snarled again. “So, with that admission out of the way, I need you as an equal to me. Obviously in your half-turned state, you’re not suitable, but you can be molded when you reach your apex.
After that, failure or success is in your—hopefully—capable hands. ”
“This has to be your choice, though,” Willa said. “Once I see what you become, we may be able to work together on dealing with the witches around Norwich, but I make no promises on the outcome.”
“And if anything happens to her because of your stupidity, I will destroy you,” Mosavi added. “Understand?”
“You would never do such a thing,” Willa said, smacking Mosavi across the maw. “Stop with this posturing. Why must you keep putting on this act?”
The elder looked at the floor.
“I don’t want anything to happen to anyone,” I said. “If we decide it’s too dangerous, I’ll call the whole thing off but not doing anything is a contradiction to what you want.”
Mosave wrinkled his nose.
“You said you wanted all our kind to live freely, but there are werewolves out there that are literally slaves. You can’t say that and then ignore hundreds or thousands of captured werewolves.”
“A point well made,” Willa said. “Even your old pack is still out there. Have you really abandoned them?”
“This is for you! All of it! I do this for us. They would have wanted a safe place to live had we had one in those days. Instead, we ended up out there. I’ll not let that happen to anyone else.”
“But werewolves are able to live out there—”
“The Whasha are fools who willingly give themselves to the wild when there is safety in our town!” Mosavi shouted. “My brother—” He took several deep, shaky breaths as he regained control of his temper.
“Is your brother,” I finished, standing. “But it’s not really my place to say anything. I’ll let you fight it out with him on the solstice. If that’s it, I need to get home before Roscoe wakes up.”
“What a shamefully lazy beast,” Mosavi muttered, following me into the foyer. “Just looking at him sends me into a rage. That is not a werewolf.”
“Maybe if you got to know him better, he’d grow on you, too.” I passed a room with a black grand piano, stopping to look inside. “Do you play the piano?”
“No,” Mosavi said, his face showing a bit of excitement. “But I do collect rare and antique musical instruments. Would you like to see them?”
I really wanted to leave the unpleasantness from earlier, but at that moment, Mosavi was showing a slightly softer side.
If this was going to work out in any way, and if I wanted both him and Willa to be closer to our pack, I had to figure him out.
Willa wasn’t always going to be there to stop him from going for my neck each time I pissed him off, which I was bound to keep doing.
“Sure,” I said, allowing the mayor space to step into the room before me.
As I followed, I gazed at the impossibly tall walls containing holders of different instruments.
There were guitars, violins, an assortment of odd-looking woodwinds, and brass.
“This is a strange collection for someone who doesn’t play music. ”
“I never at any point said I didn’t,” he said, looking back at me.
“But you—”
“I said I don’t play the piano.” He brushed his padded fingers over the polished cover of the huge instrument. “This Bosendorfer is around one hundred and fifty years old and is probably worth half as much as this house.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, closely examining the scarred, glossy wood. “How do you know it’s that old?”
“I had it appraised five times to get the approximate date it was made before I bought it.” He pointed to a beautifully polished violin in a glass case on the other side of the room. “That is the instrument I play.”
I approached the glass, looking down at the curvy wood. Though the instrument was incredibly well taken care of, it looked ancient. “It’s beautiful.”
“You should hear it sing. Nothing less would be suited for something crafted by Antonio Stradivarius himself.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, looking back in time to see Mosavi’s eyes glow a furious silver.
“Y—you… who’s that?” he said, almost speechless. “You don’t know a Stradivarius when you see one?”
“What part of crack house did you not understand earlier?”
Mosavi closed his eyes and drew in another calming breath. “My apologies,” he said through his teeth. “Perhaps I’ll entertain you one day with the history of everything in here.”
“That sounds—like so much fun,” I said, faking a smile as something familiar caught my eye. “Oh my God.”
“What’s wrong?”
I pointed to the wooden guitar in the center of the wall. “Where did you get that?”
“Ah, that was something I won at an auction in London. This is the only one of its kind, and it was played by a master.” He reached for the guitar and gently lifted it from the supporting arms before flipping it to the other side.
He pointed to a tiny signature along the neck.
“Sebastian Shields was one of the most talented classical guitarists in history, and he was a werewolf.”
Could I have been mistaken? Darryl said his father wasn’t a werewolf.
“How old is it?”
“Over a hundred years for sure. I was lucky to see him perform before he vanished. No one knew what happened to him, but he did have a human son that had some talent himself. Never became as famous as his father, but he did play this guitar. I thought this was lost to history until I heard it would be up for bid. I got on a jet that night.”
“I think this guitar belongs to Sebastian’s grandson.”
Mosavi’s eyes narrowed to suspicion, but he didn’t respond.
“It belongs to Darryl.”
The elder laughed. “What? You can’t be serious. That failure—” He recomposed himself before standing more upright. “Have you proof?”
“I—” I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t have physical proof, but I know it’s his. Roscoe stole it and pawned it for drugs. It destroyed their friendship.”
“If I recall from his records, Darryl’s last name was Finn, not Shields.”
I smirked at that. There was no way Darryl’s real last name would have been that coincidental.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I doubt that’s his real last name.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know.”
“I don’t, but if you heard him play the guitar, I think you’d know. He’s really good.”
Mosavi placed the guitar back on its shelf. “A lot of people are really good, but no one has ever been Sebastian good. That werewolf had talent that went beyond simply playing an instrument. He transcended reality when he performed. I still get chills remembering that last performance.”
“How much would it cost to buy it?” I asked, knowing it was out of my hands. There was no way any of us would be able to afford it—at least not now.
“Nothing. There is no amount of money that would be enough.”
“Listen, I’ll do anything to get that guitar. What do you want?”
“Why are you so persistent? You didn’t even know who Stradiveri was.”
“Because it was Darryl’s father’s guitar.
It was the only physical thing he had left to remember him by.
His father taught him to play on that instrument.
” I thought back to the tears in Darryl’s eyes on the beach the night he’d reminisced.
“You’re right. There is no amount of money that would ever be enough to replace priceless memories. ”
Mosavi closed his eyes, seemingly giving my words consideration, but with him, there was no telling how this would end up. Unless it involved Willa, the mayor had little empathy when it came to others.
“I can’t believe that piece of shit lazing around my town sold a priceless heirloom to get high!” Mosavi let out a soft growl before opening his eyes again. “As if I didn’t despise him enough already… If what you are saying is true—”
“He didn’t know what it was worth, and he was in a really bad place.”
“You’re not going to succeed in pulling at my heartstrings.” Mosavi leaned in close. “If Darryl is indeed the grandson of Sebastian Shields, I’ll return the guitar to him on three conditions.”
“Really?” I said, almost hyperventilating. If Roscoe gave this back to Darryl, it would be enough to really mend things between them. Just the look on his face would be worth whatever Mosavi wanted in return.
“Condition one: our poor butler and maid haven’t had a decent vacation in years. I’ll have Roscoe take over their duties while they take a year off with pay.”
My eyes went wide. “A whole year? I think he really will die if he has to actually work.”
“If only I could be so fortunate,” he said with a satisfied smirk.
“Condition two: I’ll be there to witness this exchange, and listen to Darryl play it.
If I don’t get that same feeling during his performance, you and Roscoe will be joining me in the dungeon two nights a week.
And condition three: you will give me a solid answer of yes to being my protege, and you’ll do so gladly. ”
“I swear I’m gonna kill Roscoe,” I muttered under my breath. “All right.”
“You must really like this werewolf to make such a one-sided and risky deal.”
I looked directly into Mosavi’s eyes, his face reflecting the silvery-blue glow. It was then he knew how serious I was.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Darryl. I’d do anything to get him his guitar back.”
Mosavi nodded and smiled before slipping his arm around my neck, squeezing the top of my shoulder. “I look forward to your unwavering devotion to me and this town.”
Once again, I found myself in an unpleasant situation with the mayor, and again it was Roscoe’s fault. At least I had Willa in my corner, and in spite of all of his blustering, she was the one who had the final say.
At least I sure as hell hoped so.