Black London 05 - Soul Trade by authors_sort Page B

be defenseless, but she wasn’t. She had Jack with her, and she had her gift. Morwenna, at least, seemed to be in awe of it, so that gave her some currency, at least until they realized she was a screwup who could barely keep herself from being incinerated.
    “Lovely little breakfast,”Jack said as they walked. “Wonder how many babies they’ve roasted on spits.”
    Pete gave him a sharp elbow. “Try to be nice, all right?”
    “’M always nice, me,” Jack said. “You’re the one who’s not nice.”
    Pete didn’t have time to retort. In the peculiar way of the club, they’d already arrived in a posh dining room replete with wood paneling, china cabinets, and a table long enough to seat a dozenmore people than currently occupied it.
    Everyone stopped talking and fixed their stares on Pete and Jack as they entered, and only Morwenna looked as if she didn’t want to rip their heads off and serve them as entrées.
    Jack was right—she wasn’t particularly nice. But she could behave herself, a skill he sorely lacked. Social niceties would take one a long way. Suspects were much chattier whencoppers got them a fag and a cuppa than when they began by shouting and beating them with telephone directories.
    The guard gestured them into two seats at the end of the table, the farthest from Morwenna, who sat at the head. Pete was the buffer between Jack and the rest of the guests, even though the bloke next to her glared—or she thought it was a glare. She couldn’t be sure under the layersof flesh that compressed his face like a deflated balloon. He was easily the largest person she’d seen up close, and he regarded her with a slow, heavy gaze.
    “Little slip of a thing, aren’t you?” he said. “I expected more from a Weir, especially one reputed to be such a great bloody bitch.”
    “I won’t make any of the obvious retorts,” Pete said. “Because they’re all far too easy.”
    “All right,”Morwenna said from the head of the table. “Let’s at least pretend we’re all adults for the duration of the meal. Make Miss Caldecott and Mr. Winter feel welcome.”
    “I’d be happy to,” said the big bastard, grinning at Pete and brushing his finger over her forearm. “I’m a very welcoming sort.”
    “Touch me again and after I break that finger off, it’s going up your arse,” Pete told him, beaming hersweetest smile at the assembled gathering. A few chuckled, but the majority still looked like they’d rather murder her than welcome her.
    Jack shifted in his chair and took a sip of tea. “Now I know what a custard cake at a fat camp feels like,” he grumbled.
    “I’d like to thank you all for coming,” Morwenna raised her voice above the chatter. “It’s always good to have everyone in the clubhouse.”

    The big bastard gestured at the ten empty chairs. “I’d hardly say we’re fully assembled, Morwenna. If this is the showing you could get, I have to wonder if voting you into that seat was a hasty idea. You’re far too pretty for such heavy duties.”
    “The gathering isn’t for five days yet, Gregor, ” Morwenna shot back, cheeks heating and eyes shooting fire. “We’ve plenty of time to assemble the fullcomplement of the club.”
    Gregor snorted, a sound that may have been either an attempt at a laugh or the first signal of a cardiac arrest. “Whatever you say, dear.”
    “I do say,” Morwenna said. “And seeing as how I’m the head of the council, why don’t you shut your fat fucking gob and show me a little bit of bloody respect?”
    Pete worked hard to suppress the smile that bloomed on her face, butshe did a poor job. Gregor snarled under his breath, the full-bodied growl of a bear or a lion rather than a human sound. Pete inched her chair away from him, closer to Jack.
    “Shapeshifter,” he said by way of explanation, under his breath. “Smelly, bad-tempered arseholes with no manners.”
    “And great hearing,” Gregor snarled. “You’re going to pay for that