“African wild dog, lycanthropic variety. Dack and I are old friends.”
The animal—person, I forced myself to acknowledge, since I’d sensed it from the first—didn’t appear any more friendly after the introduction. I kept my distance. Rick whispered to him, and the dog turned and trotted away, close to the wall of the building. Walking the perimeter, keeping guard.
Motley didn’t begin to describe this group.
Then he introduced me to all of them, the nine others, as if I would remember their names. As if knowing their names would give me some stake in the outcome of this confrontation. One of them, the woman lycanthrope of unknown variety, flashed a smile and said, “I love your show.”
What else could I do but mutter, “Thanks.” Then I stepped close to Rick and said softly, “It’s going to take more than this to get rid of Arturo.”
“Yes. It’s going to take the city’s werewolves supporting me,” Rick said.
“No. Even if I thought I could take on Carl and Meg, even if I took over the pack, I wouldn’t do it and then turn my wolves into cannon fodder for your little war.”
“And that is exactly why you should lead the city’s wolves, and not Carl. Carl wouldn’t hesitate to use them as cannon fodder.”
“You’re trying to turn this back on me, to appeal to my sense of duty. It’s not going to work. Just this once I’m going to be selfish and stay the hell out of it.”
“You’ll have to do what you think is right, of course.”
“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not going to guilt me into this.”
“Wow,” said Violet. “You were right, Rick. She is kinda jumpy.”
“Kitty, let’s take a walk,” Rick said, nodding toward the door.
Charlie stepped forward, frowning. “You sure it’s safe?”
“It’ll be fine,” he said. He opened the door and gestured me outside. Dutifully, I exited.
I was happy enough to be outside the close, stuffy air of the warehouse, and the smells and stares of beings who didn’t much care for me. Were-African wild dog? If I hadn’t actually seen him . . . I wondered what he was like as a human.
Rick guided our walk along the wall, staying in the shadows and out of the streetlights. He kept his gaze forward, like he wasn’t at all concerned. We reached the corner of the building, and he still didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say that I knew him all that well, but he seemed unusually pensive. Lost in thought.
“They don’t trust you,” he said finally. “They think I’m making a mistake, trying to recruit you. I thought if they met you, they’d change their minds.”
“Rick, I’ve got my own worries right now. I’ve got too much to lose to . . . to fight someone else’s war.”
“I thought maybe you’d be interested in revenge.”
I shook my head. “I put too much distance between me and them to want revenge anymore.”
“T. J. would have sided with me without any doubts.”
“Don’t you dare use him as a pawn in this,” I said, my voice rough. “He doesn’t deserve that.” Even though Rick was right.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was muted.
We walked a few more paces, until the silence was too much.
“Charlie and Violet,” I said. “Where’d you pick up those two?”
He actually smiled, an offhand amused smile. “Charlie was turned about forty-five years ago by a West Coast vampire of my acquaintance—a bit power hungry, a bit mad. I helped Charlie escape from his Family. About thirty years ago, he met Violet and turned her himself. They decided they were made for each other, and I can’t say I disagree. They’ve operated independently since then. They seem to have a lot of fun being petty outlaws—it tends to make the Families twitch.”
“So they’re not from the eighties.”
“They got a bit stalled there, didn’t they? Charlie owes me a favor, so he came.”
The others probably all had stories like that. Rick had helped them, now they answered his call. But would they be enough to confront Arturo?