Chapter 50

Zane POV

Most of my adult life, I’d tried to avoid the wolf-and-pony show that was currently surrounding me.

Of course, I’d been to a few even worse than this. As a child, an alpha to a beta and a gamma who’d been part of the “lesser” family tree until they’d birthed an alpha son, I’d been a prize, trotted out for all to admire before I’d learned how to tie my shoes. I’d learned how to recite my lineage before I’d learned my ABCs.

The charity ball was about to open, and everything was as gilded and festooned as the rafters of the old Rotary Club building could stand. Sarah, at my side and looking fabulous in a silk green evening dress that clung to her curves, had a death grip on my arm and was asking about various aspects of the party like an anthropologist examining a tomb in Egypt.

“So, all werewolf parties have at least two fountains, one champagne and one with apple cider?” she was asking me now.

“The champagne, yes,” I said, only realizing that now, which was interesting. Why hadn’t I noticed something so extravagant before? “The apple cider one is for the children.”

“I see. And the green ribbons on the candles?” she asked next.

I nodded, happy that was something I knew about. “They’re in remembrance of Celia Sullivan, an alpha werewolf who died two years ago. She left a sizable fortune to the charity we’re celebrating tonight, the Children’s Hunger Bank.”

“I see,” she said, still looking around. “The silver and gold balloons are standard for a party like this, right? I thought they were old for a little girl’s birthday.”

“Yes,” I said, frowning and never having thought about it before.

“And the way all the envelopes are piled on one table with betas to guard them?” she asked next. “That’s standard?”

“Yes.”

She seemed to sag just slightly. “What’s the matter?” I asked

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s just that some things I thought were special for the girls’ birthday are just standard.” She looked around again. “I’m used to more variety, I guess, in human parties.”

She laughed, and I looked at her quizzically.

She smiled, but ducked her head to head to hide it slightly. “For Chloe’s fourth birthday, well, there’s a movie that’s tied to the fourth, the day before her birthday, and I got some friends of mine to dress up and surprise her. I guess it’s a human thing to try to specialize parties to the recipients.

She looked around again, and then she smiled warmly up at me. “Werewolves celebrate with traditional things. I understand.”

I nodded, but I had to admit that the idea of tailoring a celebration like a birthday party to the recipient sounded quite nice. In fact, as I looked around, I realized I had seen dozens of parties that looked exactly like this during my life. Why were they all the same?

“Gather close and be heard!” a voice rang out, which meant the charity auction had begun. Rob Shanton, a good friend, or at least a long acquaintance, of mine, took to the stage. We all gathered before him, and he gave a little speech about how he had inherited the charity of helping children’s hunger that had obviously been written by a professional.

We all laughed as we were supposed to, and I was worried Sarah would be bored by the whole thing when Rob suddenly threw his arms in the air and stepped out of the little spotlight.

There was a pause in the dimness, then another spot light shown on a performer in a black bodysuit and a white mask. A beat began, and then there were five performers dressed the same way. They stepped to the right like a crab, then the left, and then they made little crab-like motions with their hands, which drew laughs.

This went on for a few minutes, with other instruments joining into the music and the performers going through more elaborate steps, until they all froze a moment, the music paused, and the performers all gestured to the stage, where Rob was standing again, this time wearing an elaborate mask with black velvet and large green feathers.

“From the dawn of werewolf lore,” he intoned, “there have been masquerades to entice and to repel, to disguise and to reveal.” The music changed into a drum roll, and the dances started moving to his words. It was quite effective.

“And so tonight,” Rob continued, “we will mask ourselves, and we will dance, and we will mingle, no one knowing another, all in masks!”

He whipped off his mask then, to applause. “First, the auction!” he announced. “And then, in a werewolf tradition over a hundred years old, the masquerade!”

It was quiet, but I heard Sarah snort.

When everyone had quieted down and gotten into place for the auction, I leaned down into Sarah’s hair and asked quietly, “What’s so funny?”

“Humans have been having masquerades for hundreds of years,” she said. “I’m all for werewolves and whoever having masquerades all they want, but not when they pretend they invented them.”

She snorted again. “We’ll be hearing about how werewolves invented piñatas next.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I filed it away for later.

To my surprise, some betas started handing out masks, which I had thought weren’t going to be a thing until after the auction. Nevertheless, I took one obviously meant for me, a mask with fierce wolf eyes and bared teeth, and Sarah took one without a wolf theme, something with rhinestones and feathers, and the auction began.

Chloe and Grace, who had been talking with other children near the apple cider fountain, joined me and Sarah, both of them sporting little clown masks appropriate for their age. Sarah made noises about how cute they were, and then turned to the stage where the first item, a sapphire and coral necklace, was being displayed.

I contemplated staying on the floor, but I and my family were obviously recognized, masks or not, and we stepped into the nearby VIP box. People bid on the necklace dutifully, though it wasn’t that valuable. The Children’s Hunger Bank was the point here.

Another item, a recent piece by a Basquiat disciple, went up next and fetched a low amount. I had to confess I didn’t think much of it myself.

“I wish I could help,” Sarah muttered, and then she looked at me with embarrassment. She shrugged. “I just know how many orphaned children are helped by this charity. I wish I could do more.”

“Of course you do,” I said as the next item, a Steinway piano, came up.

She laughed. “Oh, goddess.”

I agreed. That would fetch several hundred thousands, but I thought about other items for sale and realized I had already made a decision.

After a few more items with outrageous price tags, a lot came up for a simple yellow canary in a pretty cage. A lovely, slightly nervous human carried the bird on stage, where it fetched a price ridiculously beyond its value. I confess, I felt some pride for my fellow werewolves who would buy something its price tag for charity.

But then a guinea pig was brought on stage by another human, a clean-limbed young boy, and went for more than about five times the market price for such a pet, and I started to wonder if something odd weren’t going on.

And I might have thought more about it, but then a small human girl brought a little golden retriever puppy to the stage, and Chloe and Grace both started to implore me for her. I made a low bid and then was surprised and puzzled when suddenly the puppy was mine.

Just what was going on here?