can carry on relationships with lycanthropes and others. I’m not saying it’s easy. But nothing that’s really worthwhile is, is it?” Stupid platitudes. Would that be enough for Trey? Probably not. I wanted to meet his girlfriend, and for his sake I really hoped she could handle it. “Next caller, you’re on the air.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m such a big fan,” the guy gushed. “I’m, like, your biggest fan.”
“Well, thank you very much,” I said, trying to be gracious. “Did you have a question?”
“Oh, yeah. I was just so excited about finally getting through…”
“What’s your question, then?”
“I really just want to know … what do you think about prosthetic fangs? I mean, I know you really discourage people from wanting to become vampires, but if they wanted to pretend…”
Yeah, well. It’s a living.
* * *
ABOUT A week later, Ben and I were at New Moon. One of our packmates, Shaun, ran the place for us, and he’d brought a funky hipster vibe to what otherwise would have been just another downtown bar with brick walls, exposed ductwork in the ceiling, and a lot of pretension. New Moon had good bar food, no TVs, a casual atmosphere, and late hours. It did okay as a business, but it worked splendidly as a central home for the pack. And the menu specialized in steaks and ribs. On any given night, a few werewolves were here, having a beer or grabbing a bite to eat. They felt safe here, and for me that was a victory.
Cormac had joined us tonight at our usual table in back, and I’d taken the jar of Roman’s coins out of the safe so he could study them. Cormac, or Amelia. I’d been having trouble telling the difference lately.
Ben’s cousin Cormac had been a bounty hunter specializing in supernatural targets. He’d spent two years in prison for manslaughter, and while there met the ghost of a Victorian wizard. Lady Amelia Parker died over a hundred years ago, wrongfully executed for murder. When Cormac was released, she came with him. He assured me it wasn’t possession, that she wasn’t hurting him. But sometimes, she was in charge, the one speaking or doing. When Cormac worked magic, it was really Amelia the magician. The two had formed a partnership—she got to leave the prison walls she’d been haunting for over a century, he got access to a different kind of power than he was used to using, since as a convicted felon he could no longer legally carry firearms. However odd it appeared, the system seemed to work.
The man sitting across from me and Ben at a back table at New Moon looked and smelled like Cormac, with his rugged thirtysomething build, lined face and almost permanent frown under a trimmed moustache, and his scent of worn leather jacket and male musk. He usually acted and sounded like Cormac. But sometimes, every once in a while, Amelia came through. I would get a sense of displacement, watching Cormac doing something odd, or say something profoundly out of character. Sometimes, he even smelled different, a taste of burning candle and old books. She had crept into his life that extensively.
Sometimes, I felt as if our territory had been invaded. At the same time, I suspected that Amelia was helping to keep Cormac in line and out of another prison sentence. He had incentive to stay straight now, whereas I wasn’t sure he did before. I was grateful for that.
He held what looked like a jeweler’s loupe, a lens set in an aged brass housing, and examined each of the coins through it.
“Nasser isn’t convinced we can use these against Roman,” I said. “But is there any chance they still carry some of his magic?”
Cormac shrugged. “It’s like I said back in San Francisco, they’re inert. No magical activity that I can see.”
“Just chunks of old bronze, now,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “They carry traces of what they were. But unless we wake them up, recharge them, I can’t guess what they might do.”
“How do we wake them up?” Ben asked. We all looked at him.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said.
“I agree. But we can do some more research,” Cormac said. “Mind if I take one?”
“If you promise you can keep it safe.”
“Sure I can. Probably.”
Probably. What a great word. I gave one to him—the one that had once belonged to Anastasia. He wrapped it in a white handkerchief and put it in his pocket.