Irving blew on his cup, sipping it delicately. His eyes had flicked from side to side, taking in everything. Days from now he'd be able to describe the room completely, down to the Nike Airs and jogging socks in front of the couch.
"What's up, Irving?"
"Great coffee." He wouldn't meet my eyes. It was a bad sign.
"What's wrong?"
"Has Richard told you anything about Marcus?"
"Your pack leader, right?"
Irving looked surprised. "He told you?"
"I found out tonight that your alpha is named Marcus. There's a battle of succession going on. Marcus wants Richard dead. Richard says he won't fight him."
"Oh, he fought him, all right," Irving said.
It was my turn to be surprised. "Then why isn't Richard pack leader?"
"Richard got squeamish. He had him, Blake, claws at Marcus's throat." Irving shook his head. "He thought when Marcus recovered they could talk, compromise." He made a rude sound. "Your boyfriend is an idealist."
Idealist. It was almost the same thing as fool. Jean-Claude and Irving agreed. They didn't agree on much.
"Explain."
"You can move up in the pack hierarchy by fighting. You win, you go up a notch. You lose, you stay where you are." He took a long sip of coffee, eyes closed as if drinking in the warmth. "Until you fight for pack leader."
"Let me guess. It's a fight to the death."
"No killie, no new leader," he said.
I shook my head, coffee sitting untouched in front of me. "Why are you telling me all this, Irving? Why now?"
"Marcus wants to meet you."
"Why didn't Richard tell me that himself?"
"Richard doesn't want you involved."
"Why not?" Irving kept answering my questions, but the answers weren't helping much.
Irving shrugged. "Richard won't give Marcus a freaking inch. If Marcus said black, Richard would say white."
"Why does Marcus want to see me?"
"I don't know," Irving said.
"Yeah, right."
"Honest, Blake, I don't know what's going on. Something big is up, and no one's talking to me."
"Why not? You're a shapeshifter."
"I'm also a reporter. I made the mistake years back of printing an article. The lycanthrope I talked to lied, said he never gave me permission to quote him. He lost his job. Some of the others wanted to out me, too, let me lose my job." He huddled around his coffee mug. Eyes distant with remembering. "Marcus said no, said I was more valuable to them as a reporter. No one's really trusted me since."
"Not a forgiving bunch," I said. I sipped my coffee and found it cooling. If I drank it fast enough, it would be drinkable, barely.
"They never forgive and they never forget," Irving said.