Chapter 83

“I don’t know that it’ll be enough for the police,” Marcus says to me early that evening, after Daisy has gone to lie down for a rest and the recording is in the grim-faced Alpha’s possession. “But it’ll certainly be enough for the Werewolf Council.”

We’re in Marcus’s suite of rooms at the Mansion, eating dinner from trays sent up by Mrs. Potts and sharing a rather excellent bottle of red wine from the Alpha’s personal wine cellar. A rich Merlot – I savor it as I swirl it in my glass.

“What does that mean, then?” I ask curiously. “Can the Werewolf Council – I don’t know, what can they do to Charles?”

“Well, they can’t imprison him, unfortunately,” Marcus says, rubbing his jaw. “We have treaties with the US Government about that sort of thing. But they can strip him of all his titles, power, and money, and ban him from our territories.”

“Really?” I ask, impressed.

“Really,” Marcus says. “Daisy will be granted an annulment immediately, and her child will be declared officially fatherless, according to Werewolf Law.”

“Is that – fair?” I ask.

“Werewolf Law is different to human law,” Marcus explains. “There’s no stigma around single mothers in our culture. We are backward in many ways – Daisy is right about that, and it’s time we changed it – but we also got a few things right.”

“That’s encouraging to hear,” I say, and mean it.

“Children are incredibly precious to wolves,” Marcus says. “Our survival depends on our children, and we cherish them beyond belief, given there are so few of us in the grand scheme. Any adult – even a parent – who is not fit to raise a child is legally stripped of their rights to that child.

“The parent who remains is never ostracized for being the good parent,” he continues. “Instead, we support her as a community. And yes, it is almost always a her.” He sighs. “Luckily, this is rare, however. As I said, our children are precious. Something Charles will never and could never understand.”

I nod. “Depressing but true.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, staring contemplatively at nothing in particular.

“Say,” Marcus says, clapping his hands suddenly and sitting upright. “Enough of the doom and gloom. We’ve done great work for today, you know. We should celebrate.”

“Celebrate how?” I ask. “Aren’t we celebrating right now?” I wave my wine glass at him for emphasis.

“Yes, but I have an even better idea,” Marcus gets a mischievous grin on his face. “Do you want to do something a little…bitchy?”

I raise one eyebrow. “Depends on what it is,” I say. “But yes, I can usually, in general, be persuaded to do something a little bitchy. On occasion.”

“Well, I have the perfect occasion,” Marcus says, rubbing his hands together with something that looks like childish glee. “I heard from Liam earlier – he’s keeping an eye on things for me, as you know.”

“I do,” I say, curious as to where this is going.

“Well, he told me that Charles’s father and Lydia’s mother have a date tonight, at a trendy little cocktail bar that I know of. Want to go do a little spying?”

“You can’t be serious,” I say.

“I am.”

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask, already rising from the couch.

Marcus just winks at me and goes to fetch our coats.

“Wow, she sure can pack the drinks away,” I murmur to Marcus. Lydia’s mother is on her fourth martini, and they arrived here after we did. I take a demure, prim sip of my Negroni, and Marcus snorts.

“You should’ve tried to court her daughter,” Marcus says. “Lydia was always at least an hour behind in getting ready, but I still had to show up on time, because it’s mannerly. I’d be stuck in her living room with her mother the whole time, trying to fend off the insistence I join her in binge drinking.”

“Man,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t get me wrong, I like a drink, but that does seem…excessive.”

“Excessive is one word for it,” Marcus agrees, taking a drink of his own cocktail, an old-fashioned. “Hey did you know that they make old-fashioneds with brandy in the state of Wisconsin, instead of with whiskey?”

“Do they really?” I ask. “That sounds kind of good. I might try that. How did you know that, anyway?”

“Oh, one of the guys on the security team is from Wisconsin, and he was telling me about it at one of Mother’s parties a while ago. I must admit, brandy isn’t my liquor of choice, but he swears by it.”

We chatter away a while longer, both relaxed and glad to be out of the Mansion and just having a good, normal evening together. We keep half an eye on Mr. Robinson and Lydia’s mother, but there isn’t really much to spy on.

That is, not until…

“Oh, my god,” I hiss, seizing Marcus’s upper arm. He’s instantly alert, scanning the room and about to signal to our bodyguards, but I stop him.

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” I whisper. “Well, at least, not for us. But look. It’s D—I mean, it’s that Hardy lady. The one that was having an affair with Mr. Robinson at the time of the funeral. And boy, does she look pissed.”

She does, too. Darlene storms into the cocktail bar, her long red summer jacket sweeping behind her. It’s way too hot for a coat, so she looks vaguely ridiculous, but that’s nothing new for Darlene.

Darlene pauses in the middle of the room and passes a sweeping, icy gaze over the tables until she lands on where Mr. Robinson and Lydia’s mother are sitting together, cozied up and holding hands over their god-knows-what’th round. She barrels over toward them.

Marcus and I aren’t the only ones gawking now, so I don’t feel bad about staring. Everyone in the bar can feel that some kind of scene is about to go down, I guess, and we’re all eager for the show.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Darlene snaps. “And with this – this – fat bitch?”

Lydia’s mother looks outraged. I see a couple of people pull out phones and start recording.

Well, I’m not sunk that low just yet, but I have no qualms about listening in on this little confrontation.

“Excuse, me, madam,” Lydia’s mother says with cold dignity. “And just who are you?”

“I’m his wife,” Darlene says imperiously, and I have to resist the urge to burst into laughter. I know for a fact that Darlene is still married to my father, plus, Mr. Robinson just buried Charis. Leave it to Darlene to tell such a boldfaced lie, right in front of God and everybody.

“You must be mistaken,” Lydia’s mother says. “His wife is dead. Very recently, too, poor lamb,” she adds, patting Mr. Robinson’s hand. Lydia’s mother is slightly misty with booze, but she still has most of her wits about her, which I begrudgingly have to admire.

“That’s – well, be that as it may,” Darlene snaps, clearly desperate to retain control over this conversation. “He is my - “

“Madam?” a server is hovering near Darlene. “Madam, I can’t have you causing a scene like this in here. You’re going to need to leave, please.”

“Me?” Darlene rounds on the poor server, and I wince, feeling sorry for him already. “You dare presume to talk to me as if –“

“I do,” the man says. “Please don’t make me call the police.”

Darlene seems to finally realize that she has a wide audience, and that people are filming her. She snorts, spins on her heel, and storms out the door.

Marcus and I look at each other and collapse into laughter.