the leader; she was your responsibility.” “She was a
grown woman, you nitwit! You’re making it sound like she was my kindergarten student.”
“You’re still passing the buck,” someone else said, a werewolf I hadn’t met. “And you’re
all conveniently overlooking the fact that not only did you practically drive her to my front
door, I didn’t see any of you assholes ever come to visit.” “She was her own person,” that
same werewolf said. “Well, which is it, dipshit? Either she was a grown woman who could
take care of herself, or she needed me to shelter and protect her. You can’t have it both
ways.” “We’re getting a bit far afield,” Sinclair began, but I bulldozed right over him. “She
didn’t get a single phone call the entire time she lived with us. The only time anyone
bothered to show up was after she missed her weekly military check-in, whatever it was.
When your info pipeline into the vampires suddenly got cut off, then you showed up.” A
furious gabble of voices rose, and rose, and I had to shout to be heard over the din. “Not
to mention, not to mention, you guys clearly didn’t want much to do with her while she
was alive. So all this postmortem concern is a pile of crap. You guys look stupid trying to
come off all morally outraged when it was your fault she was living in my house in the first
place.” The babble of voices got louder, but I was able to pick out one comment from the
din: “The bottom line is that she died in your service, so it’s your responsibility.” “If
they’re even telling the truth about how she died,” someone else said. “How can we ever
know? She and her mate don’t have a scent. They can make up any story they like and
we’d never know the difference.” “Oh, really? Okay. Here’s a story, fuck-o. Once upon a
time, there was a werewolf who could predict the future who lived on Cape Cod. And all
her supposed friends and family went out of their way to avoid her because she wasn’t
exactly Miss Congeniality.” I ought to know; I used to be one. “And one day she moved
away and never came back, and nobody in her Pack gave a rat’s ass. The end.” More
babbling. The din rose and rose. Shouts. Threats. Michael trying to get everyone to calm
down. Sinclair rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sara looking like an increasingly nervous
tennis match observer. BabyJon crying. It was stupid, really. Stupid to forget how fast
they were. Stupid to pick a fight in a room full of werewolves. I heard the crash of a chair
splintering, and turned just in time to get stabbed in the heart with a chair leg. That was
pretty much when the lights went out.
Chapter 26
Dude, I swear my intentions were good. But I vastly overestimated Laura’s state of mind
and underestimated the rapidity with which things could deteriorate. And when Tina
started having trouble sending and receiving e-mails, I honestly didn’t make the
connection until it was too late. But I’m getting ahead of myself. More Satanists showed
up and, instead of hiding from them or being embarrassed by them, Laura started briskly
giving them orders. She spent a lot of time on the web finding charitable organizations
where she could send the devil worshippers, and soon there were Satanists all over the
metro area, cheerfully raising money for the homeless or participating in Meals on
Wheels. I admit, dude, I was proud of myself. I didn’t go into medicine for the money,
obviously, so helping people always put me in a good mood. And Laura, for all her
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) advantages, needed me as much as any patient. It’s just too damn bad I was too busy
patting myself on the back to notice what was really going on. Tina came and went,
always on her own schedule, and I knew better than to ask her what she was up to. Mostly
because it was none of my business, but also because she was
grown woman, you nitwit! You’re making it sound like she was my kindergarten student.”
“You’re still passing the buck,” someone else said, a werewolf I hadn’t met. “And you’re
all conveniently overlooking the fact that not only did you practically drive her to my front
door, I didn’t see any of you assholes ever come to visit.” “She was her own person,” that
same werewolf said. “Well, which is it, dipshit? Either she was a grown woman who could
take care of herself, or she needed me to shelter and protect her. You can’t have it both
ways.” “We’re getting a bit far afield,” Sinclair began, but I bulldozed right over him. “She
didn’t get a single phone call the entire time she lived with us. The only time anyone
bothered to show up was after she missed her weekly military check-in, whatever it was.
When your info pipeline into the vampires suddenly got cut off, then you showed up.” A
furious gabble of voices rose, and rose, and I had to shout to be heard over the din. “Not
to mention, not to mention, you guys clearly didn’t want much to do with her while she
was alive. So all this postmortem concern is a pile of crap. You guys look stupid trying to
come off all morally outraged when it was your fault she was living in my house in the first
place.” The babble of voices got louder, but I was able to pick out one comment from the
din: “The bottom line is that she died in your service, so it’s your responsibility.” “If
they’re even telling the truth about how she died,” someone else said. “How can we ever
know? She and her mate don’t have a scent. They can make up any story they like and
we’d never know the difference.” “Oh, really? Okay. Here’s a story, fuck-o. Once upon a
time, there was a werewolf who could predict the future who lived on Cape Cod. And all
her supposed friends and family went out of their way to avoid her because she wasn’t
exactly Miss Congeniality.” I ought to know; I used to be one. “And one day she moved
away and never came back, and nobody in her Pack gave a rat’s ass. The end.” More
babbling. The din rose and rose. Shouts. Threats. Michael trying to get everyone to calm
down. Sinclair rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sara looking like an increasingly nervous
tennis match observer. BabyJon crying. It was stupid, really. Stupid to forget how fast
they were. Stupid to pick a fight in a room full of werewolves. I heard the crash of a chair
splintering, and turned just in time to get stabbed in the heart with a chair leg. That was
pretty much when the lights went out.
Chapter 26
Dude, I swear my intentions were good. But I vastly overestimated Laura’s state of mind
and underestimated the rapidity with which things could deteriorate. And when Tina
started having trouble sending and receiving e-mails, I honestly didn’t make the
connection until it was too late. But I’m getting ahead of myself. More Satanists showed
up and, instead of hiding from them or being embarrassed by them, Laura started briskly
giving them orders. She spent a lot of time on the web finding charitable organizations
where she could send the devil worshippers, and soon there were Satanists all over the
metro area, cheerfully raising money for the homeless or participating in Meals on
Wheels. I admit, dude, I was proud of myself. I didn’t go into medicine for the money,
obviously, so helping people always put me in a good mood. And Laura, for all her
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) advantages, needed me as much as any patient. It’s just too damn bad I was too busy
patting myself on the back to notice what was really going on. Tina came and went,
always on her own schedule, and I knew better than to ask her what she was up to. Mostly
because it was none of my business, but also because she was
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