Drive Me Wild (The Others) Page 14

  “Not now, Sam. It’s already been a long day, and it isn’t even three o’clock. Tell anyone who stops by that I’m not in, and hold all my calls. I’ll return messages later.”

  He spoke over his shoulder, so he was turned away from his office door even as he swung the panel open and stepped forward. It was Rafe’s muttered curse that made his attention snap back to the inner office and the visitor who waited inside.

  A visitor named Lionel Menzies.

  * * *

  Rafe might have asked Graham to dig into Menzies’s background, but he’d also taken a few minutes of his own time to do a quick Internet search on Tess’s grandfather. Apparently, the banker played a prominent enough part in Manhattan society that his photo appeared regularly in the papers and on the websites of various industry and charitable organizations. Rafe recognized him immediately.

  Tall and thin, with pale, wrinkled skin and sharp blue eyes, Lionel Menzies possessed a military bearing and a sour expression. He stood with his back toward Graham’s desk, facing the door, with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet spread at shoulder width. His shoulders had begun to curl with age, but he still managed to stand so that he appeared firmly upright and confident. Rafe thought the illusion might be strengthened by the height he achieved with his nose held so high in the air.

  His blue eyes appeared a bare shade lighter than his granddaughter’s, but they lacked even a fraction of her warmth. They passed over Graham and locked on Rafe, narrowing with icy indignation.

  “So this is the man the Council of Others has chosen to lead them? A shifter so weak he can’t even contain his own beast? Is this some sort of joke?”

  Samantha cleared her throat behind them, and Graham and Rafe turned their heads to see her shrug apologetically. “I tried to warn you. He didn’t have an appointment, but he wouldn’t let me brush him off. He insisted on waiting for you. He’s been here for nearly an hour.”

  Having witnessed Samantha at work before and having seen her deal with drunken vampires, lust-crazed weres, and terrified swanmay, Rafe knew Lionel Menzies had to be one stubborn son of a bitch to have withstood the Lupine’s efforts to be rid of him. Of course, knowing Tess, that didn’t come as a huge shock. She had to have inherited her determination from someone.

  The unexpected confrontation with his lover’s grandfather and a powerful force behind the desire of the Witches’ Council to meet with him accomplished what Rafe had been struggling with for the past twenty minutes. He felt his beast settle back in its lair with a disgruntled rumble and felt his features settle back in their normal—human—lines. Drawing his hands from his pockets, he stepped forward and offered one to the scowling witch.

  “Mr. Menzies,” he said in his smoothest, most professional head-of-the-Council voice, “I am Rafael De Santos. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I apologize that neither Graham nor I was here to greet you. Would you care to sit down before we talk?”

  The witch ignored his outstretched hand—or to be honest, he spared it a disgusted glance before tugging at the cuff of his expensively cut suit coat and stepping around the Others toward the exit.

  “I would not care to sit,” Lionel bit out, “and as far as I am concerned, we have nothing to talk about. Now please step aside.”

  “Wait a minute,” Graham growled, glaring at his unexpected guest. “I’m not sure how things operate among you magic users, but around here you don’t force your way into a man’s office and then refuse to shake the hand of his friend. And you especially don’t storm out without so much as an explanation of what you wanted in the first place. So why don’t you tell us what you came here for, old man, before I decide not to bother with my own good manners.”

  Rafe winced. This was why Graham was never meant to head the Council of Others. The Lupine wouldn’t recognize diplomacy if it sat beside him and howled at the moon. Before Rafe could open his mouth, though, Lionel had already fired back.

  “Where I come from, boy,” the elderly man sneered, “a man is not expected to shake hands with an animal. And whatever I came here for became irrelevant the moment I realized that the individual my colleagues intended to rely on as a rational voice for the Other community is little better than a rabid beast. I had hoped to have an intelligent, preliminary discussion of the ways in which our communities could cooperate to ensure the continuation and even strengthening of our vital Accord, but I can see now that such an endeavor would be not only fruitless, but ridiculous. Clearly if your kind is willing to walk the streets in daylight where any human can see you looking like animal freaks, the only choice my brethren and I have is to decide when we can expect a return to the hostilities the Accord was drafted to stop. From what I’ve seen here, it’s clear to me that the answer will be almost immediately.”

  With that, the old man shouldered his way past the shifters and out the office door, slamming it behind him. A second later, they heard the muffled slam of the club’s main door as well. Menzies had apparently blown off Vircolac’s butler in addition to its owner.

  With a sigh, Rafe released Graham’s arm where he’d grabbed his friend to prevent him from taking a swing at the angry witch. Rafe might have felt an equal desire to maim the rude old bigot, but he realized that physical violence would solve nothing. In fact, it would only have confirmed Menzies’s obvious assumption that shapeshifters were little better than the animals whose forms they took.

  “Wow. Well, isn’t he the charmer?” Sam quipped, stepping into the office and pulling a bottle and a couple of glasses from a cabinet. “To what did we owe that pleasure, boss?”

  She handed each of the men a liberal dose of whiskey and grabbed a third glass for herself.

  “Normally, I don’t drink on the job,” she said to Rafe, “but damned if that old bastard hasn’t given me a reason to start.”

  Graham tossed back his drink with one swallow. “Old bastard is right. Was that son of a bitch really your Tess’s grandfather?”

  “‘His Tess’?” Sam echoed, eyebrows rising.

  “She is not my Tess,” Rafe growled, even as his jaguar roared that she damned well was. He didn’t have time to deal with that at the moment. “But yes, that was him. I am surprised that a man with his manners lasted as their council’s High Authority for so many years. I would have thought a temper such as his would not lend itself to such a sensitive position.”

  “Right. So what the hell did he want?” Graham snatched the whiskey bottle from Sam and refilled both their glasses. Rafe had yet to touch his drink.

  Rafe shrugged. “You know as much as I do, my friend. According to his little speech, he had intended to speak with us in advance of my scheduled meeting with the Witches’ Council.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “You have a meeting with the witches? Seriously? When did that happen? I thought those guys kept to themselves more than cult-following mountain people. Why do they suddenly want to meet with us?”

  “Cut the crap,” Graham said, shooting her a quelling glance. “We all know you’ve already gotten the scoop from Melissa. You probably know as much about the meeting as I do and even more about Tess.”

  “Tessa Bryony Menzies. Twenty-nine. Blond hair, blue eyes, hootchie mama figure.” Sam grinned and set her glass down with a click. “Owns an herb-and-tea shop in the East Village and demonstrates an impressive ability to read tarot cards. Only child of Geoffrey and Roberta Menzies, both deceased. Currently single, but there is a certain amount of speculation in some quarters as to how long that might last.”

  With that, she turned her gaze on Rafe and wriggled her eyebrows.

  He growled. “Tess is none of your business, and the meeting with the Witches’ Council was supposed to take place on the night of the next full moon. Now, however, I am not even sure if such a meeting will take place.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?” Graham asked. “Their council members were the ones to request it. Do you really think they would cancel just because one ex-member got bent out of shape whe
n he spotted your spots?”

  “I don’t know,” Rafe admitted. “I am still not sure if I know what the meeting was for in the first place.”

  “Um, didn’t he just tell you that?” Sam questioned. “I mean, he yelled it so loud that I’m sure half the club could answer that question. It had to do with the Accord, which I’m assuming refers to the Accord of Silence, and not an imported and best-selling Japanese sedan.”

  “So we were led to believe. I am just unsure as to why the topic would come up now. It has been well over three hundred years since the Accord went into effect, yet the witches choose now to make the first contact with the Others in all that time?”

  “I have been wondering about that,” Graham said. “Misha, too. I mean, everyone on the Council—hell, everyone who’s been paying the slightest bit of attention—knows that we won’t be able to put off the Unveiling all that much longer. Another couple of years, maybe. But it’s a lot easier for the witches to blend in with the humans. What would make them so nervous now that they feel the need to reinforce an agreement that’s worked perfectly well for literally centuries?”

  Rafe shook his head. “I have been unable to puzzle it out. I had hoped the meeting would answer those questions, but now I am left questioning whether the meeting will even occur.”

  “Have you considered asking Tess about that?”

  Rafe explained to Sam, “Tess’s grandfather does not respect her or her abilities. He has not shared any information about the meeting with her. She remains nearly as in the dark as we are.”

  “Couldn’t she find out, though?” Sam pressed. “I mean, it sucks to be underestimated, especially by family, but sometimes it can actually be an advantage. People tend to be pretty talkative around people they don’t think have a stake in their plans. Maybe she could overhear something if she put herself in the right place at the right time.”

  “You mean we should have her spy on the old bastard,” Graham snorted.

  “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

  “No,” Rafe said. “I could never ask Tess to put herself into a position that caused trouble with her family. The man is her grandfather.”

  “Her grandfather who thinks she’s an idiot and treats her like a lackey, from what Missy says. Frankly, it doesn’t sound like they have much of a relationship to damage.”

  Graham shot Rafe a look. “She could at least find out whether they intend to go ahead with the meeting. That should be fairly easy for her to find out, don’t you think?”

  Rafe hesitated. Tess had mentioned to him that she was expected to appear at Lionel’s house every Sunday evening for dinner. In fact, this past Sunday had been one of the nights when he had been forced to summon all his patience and not let himself into her apartment until close to midnight. She always needed time alone, she had told him, to decompress from her family dining ordeal. Sunday came again in two days.

  “I can ask her after she returns if her grandfather mentions anything,” he grudgingly agreed, “but I cannot ask that she spy or that she try to obtain detailed information. He is her family, after all.”

  “Hey, a little info is better than none,” Sam said and offered him a reassuring smile. “But try not to worry. From what I hear, Tess sounds like the kind of girl who can look out for herself.”

  Sixteen

  “East Village Apothecary. This is Tess. How can I help you?”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  Tess dropped a three-hundred-dollar bag of saffron on her foot. Luckily, it weighed less than a pound.

  “What!” she screeched.

  “Are you pregnant?” Missy’s voice sounded breathless and very excited. Even the phone lines couldn’t hide it. “I know it’s a weird way to start a conversation, and I’ll get to the hellos and how-are-yous later. First, I need to know if you’re pregnant.”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” She scooped up the bag—which had thankfully remained tightly sealed—and stuffed it back under the counter. She could divide it up later. When her heart stopped beating three hundred times a minute.

  “The kind you need to answer. Just tell me, Tess. Pregnant. Yes, or no.”

  Her denial was instant, vehement, and totally unfounded. “Of course not.”

  She hadn’t even considered the possibility. Because it was impossible. Ridiculous. Laughable.

  Terrifying.

  “Why would you even ask me something like that?” she demanded.

  “Aside from the fact that you and Rafe have been screwing like rabid bunnies for seven and three-quarters of the last eight days?”

  “For God’s sake, Missy! You don’t have to shout it.” She looked around at the Friday-afternoon browsers in the shop as if she thought some of them might have overheard the other half of the conversation she was conducting on the cordless phone. Hell, Missy was yelling so loud, some of them might have. They all continued to shop, though, and she turned her back, heading for the small, semi-private alcove where she usually did her tarot readings. Not that she’d done any since the one with Missy.

  “Even if such a thing were remotely possible—which it isn’t—”

  Please, God!

  “—how the hell would I know? You said yourself, it’s only been eight days. It would take fourteen, minimum, before I even had time to skip a … period.” She hesitated and lowered her voice before that last bit. Bette was already eyeing her too warily from behind the lavender stalks.

  “When you’re knocked up by a shapeshifter, you know. Come over. Now.”

  “Now? Missy, I can’t just up and leave work in the middle of—”

  “Now.”

  “Missy, tonight is—”

  “Now.”

  Wow. Tess hadn’t realized the other woman could growl like that. She must have been taking lessons from her husband.

  “Fine,” Tess said. “I’ll see if Bette minds closing for me. If it’s okay with her, I can leave in an hour, right after I—”

  “Now.”

  “All right! Sheesh. Give me thirty minutes—”

  “Now.”

  “It will take me at least fifteen, even if I hijack the first cab on the avenue.”

  “Fine. But leave now!”

  * * *

  Seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds later, Tess shoved her fare into the cabbie’s hand and leaped out of the taxi. Another three seconds later, she was pounding on the Winterses’ door and wondering if maybe she needed to see someone about her blood pressure.

  Missy jerked the door open before the echo of the first knock faded and hauled Tess inside by the front of her shirt.

  “Holy shit, Missy! What the hell do you do in your spare time? Bench press Volvos?”

  The blond woman ignored her. She was too busy sticking her nose up against Tess’s neck and inhaling deeply.

  “What the hell…?”

  Missy pulled back, her eyes wide. She blinked up at Tess. “I don’t get it. You’re not pregnant.”

  Tess threw up her hands and contemplated joining a remote Buddhist monastery in Tibet. Someplace where everyone took vows of silence. And no sniffing. “I know I’m not pregnant. In fact, I tried to tell you so over the phone. So what gives?”

  Missy just shook her head and turned, heading toward the same sitting room Tess had visited unwillingly last Wednesday night. “I really don’t get it. You have to be pregnant. There’s no other explanation.”

  Torn between offering to call Missy a doctor and trying to wring her neck, Tess gave an exasperated cry and chased after her.

  “What don’t you get?” she demanded. “That I’m not pregnant? I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s a very good explanation for that. It’s called wild carrot seed. I’ve been taking the tincture since the first time your friend laid his grubby little paws on me!”

  Missy stopped at the entrance to the living room and whirled around, one hand on her hip, the other curled around the shining brass doorknob. “That still,” she growled, “doesn’t expla
in this!”

  With impeccable timing, perfectly synchronized to her shout, Missy turned her hand and threw open the door to reveal three very confused-looking women. Who otherwise appeared completely normal.

  Tess blinked. “Um, oooookay. What do they have to do with anything? And who are they?”

  “They”—Missy stabbed a finger through the doorway—“are all pregnant. Just like you should be.”

  “Huh?”

  “Every single one of those women has gotten knocked up—in the past week—by a werecat of the spotted variety.”

  Tess’s head snapped around, searching for the nearest butcher’s knife. “You mean to tell me that Rafe—”

  “No! Of course not. I didn’t mean Rafe personally got all these women pregnant.”

  Tess watched the red haze recede.

  “The fact that they’re all pregnant is definitely your fault.”

  “Missy, I’m not sure how different the reproductive biologies of the shapeshifting species are, but I only know of a limited number of ways to get pregnant, and they all involve at least two sexes.”

  “Stop being such a moron. I wasn’t speaking biologically. I was speaking mystically. Magically. You know, like the stuff curses are made of.”

  Tess jerked back as if she’d just been stabbed with a hot poker. She almost wanted to check for singeing. “Whoa. Curse? As in Rafe’s curse? The one you ambushed me with last week?”

  “It wasn’t an ambush. It was a strategic covert operation.”

  “What are you? The press secretary for the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

  “That’s not the point. The point is that these three women are pregnant today because of you.”

  Tess winced. “I really wish you’d stop saying it like that before one of them decides to sue me for child support.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t do that,” a tall, leggy blonde said in a breathless Marilyn Monroe voice. “We didn’t even know you existed until the Luna said something. We just came to report the upcoming births to the Felix. That’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”

  Missy nodded at her, leading her to the sofa and urging her to sit. “You did just fine, Fawn. Everything is fine. Just sit here until Tess and I finish talking.”