Wolf at the Door - By MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,9

dryly. “But I’d never do that to either one of you. You’re not up to the emotional devastation that’ll be caused by my moving out.” She snorted, but he affected not to hear it. “Besides, what would you do without me? Your lives would be as drab and lifeless as a Jersey Shore rerun.”

“That’s not quite—” Gregory began.

“The Team Supreme with its own laugh track shall go on!” he declared. “I would never leave either of you.”

“And here we go with the threats,” Boo observed.

“Nothing would induce me to leave this teeming coastal area infested with the undead and leave you defenseless. Nothing!”

Then he looked at the mail.

Four

“Well.” Rachael squinted as she took in the situation. “No matter how many times I look, it’s always the same. Minnesota is . . . just . . . awful. I don’t know why anybody comes here unless they’ve lost a bet.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the head of the St. Paul Chamber of Commerce said politely. “Permit me to suggest it might grow on you.”

“Like a fungus, Mrs. Cain?” East Coast snob, she chided herself. Yet, Minnesota sucks, she reminded herself. “Wait: I know a Cain from the Cape. I do her parents’ taxes, if that’s them.” Given how teeny the werewolf community was on the planet, never mind the 413 square miles of Cape Cod, she fully expected the answer to be yes. She’d made a bad first impression and felt guilty enough to engage in polite small talk, but not quite guilty enough to apologize for being an ass. Yet. “Are you related?”

“It’s a family name; she’s my cousin.”

“Cane as in candy?” My God, I’m bored already. “Cain as in . . .” What friggin’ difference does it make?

“Cain as in the first murderer.”

“Uh.” Rachael’s theology was a little rusty. “What?”

“From the Bible. You know: ‘What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.’ ”

“Ohhhh. That Cain. Thanks for clearing it up.”

“Not a problem . . . may I ask what specific aspect of the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes disagrees with you?”

“The fact that there are eleven thousand eight hundred forty-two lakes, to begin with. Every license plate is wrong. And it’s freezing, no one can tolerate these temperatures and live.”

“It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

“It’s August!”

Rachael shifted her weight from foot to foot. It was rude to stand there, almost looming over the wide red oak desk and its occupant, a heavy-set woman with skin so deeply black her red earrings played up her mahogany highlights and queenly cheekbones. In fact, the woman was so zaftig and beautifully dressed, Rachael wondered what she was doing there: the woman could have made big bucks in front of any camera.

The president of the chamber or, as Rachael thought of her, el Diablo, cleared her throat, which drew attention to the crisp cream-colored blouse and deep V neckline of the moss green suit.

“We’re having a cold snap.”

One that’s lasted ten thousand years, she thought but did not say. She took the newsletter out of the purse sack and smoothed it out with her palms. “Listen, I’m aware it’s a stereotype to come to the Northern Hemisphere and complain about the weather. I’m sorry I made an appointment to come shit all over your home state. I really am.” She wasn’t, but it wasn’t the other woman’s fault. Rachael resented having to be there at all; there could have been Honolulu. “I just wanted to let you know I was in town on Pack business—”

“Yes, about that—”

“—and have no idea when I’ll be leaving, except I’ll keep you updated. And I’m guessing that since you knew I was coming, you’ve already set up a place for me to live. Thanks in advance.”

“I think you’ll really like Summit Avenue. Did you know it was voted one of Ten Great Streets by the American Planning Association? And there are mansions that were built back in the early days of the city? Several of the homes were built between 1890 and 1920.”

“I did not know that.”

“See?” She looked triumphant. “That’s just one of the fascinating bits of history to be found in St. Paul. There’s all sorts of things you’ll be better able to explore on your own, things like the governor’s mansion being right there and the fact that three of the homes are on National Historic Landmarks.”

Wow. “I will, uh, try to get right on that.” The woman sounded just like a Frommer’s. She’d either been working there too