Pack of Freaks: Beasts Among Us - Book 2 Page 7

  “Um, what are you doing?” Doug asked from the doorway just as I was dumping his sock drawer on the floor.

  “Looking for the damn key. The house is hiding my room.” I pulled out another drawer, dumped its contents on the floor, and riffled through the pile of mostly gray T-shirts.

  “It’s probably right next door.”

  “Go check.” I challenged.

  He left, and the rattle of a doorknob and a creak of hinges assailed my ears.

  “Here it is, Gretch, right where it’s supposed to be.”

  I stuck my head out into the hall to have a look. Sure enough, he was standing in my doorway, on the correct end of the hall and everything. His room had moved with me in it.

  How disorientating.

  “Hold the door open, I’m coming over, and I don’t trust it not to move again.” I bolted from his doorway to my own, knocking him out of the way in the process.

  “Sorry about the mess,” I apologized, standing firmly in the middle of my room. “Stay put,” I muttered so only the house could hear.

  He laughed and left me to it.

  Well, if the key wasn’t in his room, maybe it was in mine. I couldn’t even begin to guess where the house may have put it, or if there even was a key. I didn’t know how the house worked, if someone had to create aspects of it, or if the house actually created things within itself.

  And I’d forgotten to tell Doug about my band practice, distracted by the thought of said key.

  Tearing my room apart mostly consisted of moving piles to new locations after I’d sifted through them, so my room didn’t look any different than it had before I torpedoed the place. Still no key.

  I sat down on the floor and flopped over sideways in mock defeat. “All right, you win,” I said to the house. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but you win.”

  I got up and knocked on the door between the rooms to get Doug’s attention.

  My door swung open, and Percy walked in. Her eyes played over the piles, and I could practically see her blood boil.

  I shoved a pile off my bed and patted the empty spot. “Oh, hi. Have a seat.”

  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nice to see you too, hun. What are your plans for tonight?”

  “Um, well, actually, I have practice tonight, so I’m pretty much full up.”

  Doug showed up behind her in the doorway.

  Crud.

  “So, when exactly were you going to tell me?” he asked, sliding around Percy.

  “That would be why I knocked on the door.” I sat down on the edge of my bed and shoved my face in my hands, elbows balanced on my knees.

  “You knocked?”

  Oh goody, so he hadn’t heard me knock, but he had heard that I was canceling my plans by just walking by.

  “Yes, I knocked, I forgot about practice and wanted to know if you wanted to come along. We could go do something afterward?” I bit my lip and waited.

  “I’ll just, go find . . . Hades.” Percy left the room muttering something that probably had to do with Doug and me. Or maybe my mess.

  “Really? You’re not just making that up to cover for yourself?” He hunched his shoulders forward and settled next to me.

  Well, sorta, but it was more to make up for forgetting than for covering my own ass.

  “Really.” That was the safest answer.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Dunno, the only things that are really open are bars and clubs, and more bars. Oh, and Walmart.” I hadn’t really thought that through. I was fine with going to a bar or whatever, but it wasn’t all that exciting after so long.

  I kept a smile glued to my face, and he finally turned and left, with a hint of a smile on his own.

  My smile dropped and I groaned, flopping backward onto the bed. I was terrible at this whole relationship thing. Of course, it wasn’t like I had lots of practice, on the contrary, Doug was the first one to survive me. The whole mate thing, and the fact that I didn’t even attempt to sleep with him before the change, probably helped.

  I couldn’t contemplate for long. There was practice to get ready for.

  Sitting against the door between our rooms, I played for a bit. I could smell him through the keyhole and knew that he was sitting against the other side, listening.

  I poured what I was feeling into my music, letting my wolf put its own flare on what should have been a strictly classical piece, making it something other.

  I wondered if there were instruments in the fae world. There had to be, they all seemed to enjoy music. But what kind of instruments would they play? Would the instruments themselves be magic? Or was it just the people playing them? Strictly speaking, I didn’t do magic, but my music felt like a conduit, drawing the power out of me. How else could it have the ability to calm me, and anyone else who felt like listening. How else could it convey my meaning better than words?

  I suppose it didn’t matter, but I still wanted to know. What else could I do with all this life, but learn? It was part of why I became a hairdresser. They might not be viewed as the most brilliant of people, but they listen and absorb, they learn things. I personally like not being stuck behind a desk. Movement is always good for me, it takes off the edge.

  I found myself unable to stay seated any longer, so I scooted my back up the door until I was standing against it, and kept on playing.

  Finally, Doug’s scent faded from the keyhole, and I pulled the bow away from the strings, letting the last note ring into silence.

  I took a soft rag, wiped down the instrument, and put it away. My practice gear sat in its bag by the door, so all I had to do was throw my hair up into a ponytail, yank on a sweatshirt, and wait.

  I glanced down at my stocking-clad feet and lamented that my favorite boots had been destroyed at the supermarket. I needed a new pair, but there was nothing I could do about it for a couple of days at least.

  I was forced to wear a pair of broken in black Timberland boots. They still had heels, but they weren’t nearly as impressive looking. Plus, they were about 15 years old.

  This time, Doug met me at the front door and even opened it for me.

  “Thank you,” I managed.

  He would have taken my bag, but I had a pretty good hold on it that I wasn’t willing to relinquish at any point.

  I unlocked my door, then leaned across the truck’s interior and unlocked his. My bag of goodies got stuck on the seat between us. Not the least bit romantic, or any of that, but at least Doug was coming this time.

  I turned up my scanner and blasted the radio.

  Doug scowled at me as WTOS blared from the speakers, something about pole dancers.

  Doug’s not much of a hard rock person, and he couldn’t understand why I was, being that I was really an old lady. I love any and all music.

  He only listened to my band because I was in it. Mark sang, but he also did the roaring thing. We were that kind of band. I just happened to play a classical instrument which was plugged into a stomp box so I could play any sound I liked, from synthesizer to a full orchestra, to guitar, to actual violin.

  It’s fun. I liked my toys when it came to music. It was the only thing, besides work supplies, that was worth spending money on, in my opinion.

  Oh, and new punked-out boots. Can’t forget those boots.

  “How late is the mall open?” I projected over the stereo.

  “I don’t know, can you turn the music down a little?” Doug called back.

  I did.

  “That’s better. Why? Do you need something at the mall?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I need to visit Black Ink Boutique and find myself a new pair of boots. I kind of killed mine during my little grocery store escapade. They were my favorite pair.”

  Black Ink was a new chain store that carried punk and goth styles.

  “Poor baby,” he commiserated in a flat sarcastic voice.

  I didn’t think he was a fan of my boots, or the rest of my get up, especi
ally on stage, but that was just too bad. It was a character, a persona, an act.

  “I know.” I ignored his sarcasm. I was rubbing off on everyone lately.

  He shook his head and faced the road once more.

  I stuck a little closer to the speed limit than usual, as I had a critical passenger close by. He kept sneaking peeks at my speedometer. I even went so far as to keep both hands on the wheel at three and nine, like a good little girl.

  Scott’s Mustang was already parked in the driveway, so I pulled in behind him, just because I was in a mood.

  I’m a fan of the Mustang and have even gotten chances to drive it from time to time. Who really cares if it’s the “poor man’s sports car,” it’s still hot. Says the girl who drives an old, beat-up truck.

  The front door was open, so we walked right in. Doug followed me to the practice area, where he awkwardly stood off to one side with his arms crossed.

  Austin’s wife was nowhere to be seen, else he’d probably have joined her in sitting around listening in the other room.

  I plugged in and looked over the song list waiting for me on a shiny, metal stand that waited for me. I shrugged, and mentally ran over my non-written score, and started banging it out on my unplugged violin. I sped through it like I do when no one else is around, but since there was no sound, there was also no issue.

  My boys all gave me looks, then quick glanced towards my boyfriend and back. I just smiled and continued on into my own little world. I didn’t feel it necessary to explain why he now felt the need to follow me places—or why I invited him.

  When everyone was finally ready, I plugged in, stomped on my box, and cranked up the volume on my little practice amp.

  Despite continuous furtive glances in Doug’s direction by my boys, practice ran smoothly. I took notes on changes I wanted to make, and certain things I wanted the producer to keep in mind when he recorded Lola. As far as I knew, his studio had never recorded a classical instrument before, and while mine was plugged in, I often still played classical melodies.

  I kicked off the first song in a beautiful classical solo, then stomped my box, amped the volume, and was joined by the rest of the band.

  I’m a firm believer that classical instruments belong in rock music, and while it has been done, I wanted it to become more mainstream.

  That’s not to say I’d be the one to take it there, but if I could add the flavor, and producers started needing it, then others would get the opportunity to reach out of their comfort zones and play music outside their specialties.

  Mark, for instance, would sometimes switch to jazz guitar in the middle of a song, while the bass and drums drove everything forward.

  I felt we were a unique sound, and luckily someone else had thought so as well. Hence the local record deal.

  Doug managed to keep his distaste for our music off his face, and I was proud. I didn’t want to have to deal with that. My boys would definitely notice if he showed any signs of dissatisfaction with our music. And they would have been pissed with me for bringing him.

  Practice wrapped up quickly, thank goodness.

  I was all too happy to hop into my truck, and even talked Doug into going to the mall with me. He wasn’t one for public places. Especially crowded public places. He wasn’t a fan of the stares he drew. He wasn’t a fan of the stares I brought either—there aren’t a whole lot of non-caucasian women in Maine, so eyes on me weren’t uncommon.

  The difference is I didn’t care if they stared, unless words accompanied those stares, then trouble was right around the corner.

  I dragged him into Black Ink Boutique. Not only did he not like crowds, I dragged him to the “freak store,” as he’d referred to it in the past.

  Honey, if you hang out with me, you probably are a freak.

  Besides he should have been used to the stares and the whispers. He used to work as a sideshow freak, making money off it.

  I beelined to the back of the store, where the boots lived, but was sidetracked by a cute top.

  “I thought we were here for boots,” Doug muttered into my ear, his chest pressing into my back.

  “We are, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look at anything else, right?”

  He huffed and backed off, leaving me to wander the racks on my own.

  I found one in my size, then headed for the dressing room, where I tried it on in front of a full-length mirror that was so dimly lit I was unsure what color I was wearing.

  It was lime green and black, halter style, and made to look like a vest. It showed enough cleavage to make it look like I was going back to my former profession; I could easily add a bit of black lace to keep my goods from spilling out. I wasn’t walking out of the room in it, so I called Doug in.

  “What do you think?” I asked, turning slowly, throwing my arms above my head and arching my back so said goods popped even further.

  His eyes about bugged from his head.

  “For wearing in public?” His question was hesitant, despite the fact that he probably knew the answer.

  “Well, yes. I’d have to wear a little something underneath it, but it’s hot under those lights, and it fits my stage persona.” I turned again and wiggled my hips.

  “I thought you didn’t want people to know you were a whore.”

  I hauled back and punched him without a thought.

  There was a muffled growl from the corner he’d reeled into, but he managed to stay two-legged, and I somehow managed to do the same.

  “Fuck you,” I growled, hopefully quiet enough so that no one outside the little stall would be able to hear. “Get out.” I pushed the door open, giving anyone who walked by a cleavage money shot.

  Amazingly enough, he actually left, and I slammed the door. I could only imagine what the girl behind the counter with the heavy black eyeliner was thinking at that point. She probably would’ve heard the scuffle, but would she assume it was me or Doug that got hit?

  It didn’t matter, because there was no security called on us. I pulled the top off and left it on the floor, it wasn’t worth this. I pulled my tank top over my head, followed by my sweatshirt.

  Deciding the boots could wait, I marched out of the mall, not waiting to see if Doug would follow.

  As far as I was concerned, I didn’t care if he made it home. He knew that was the one comment that would really hurt me. The one comment I would find nearly impossible to overlook or forgive. I left the truck in the parking lot, not really caring that I’d have to pick it up the next morning. I’d had Percy drive me out to the supermarket after the last incident.

  I kicked off my boots, looped them around my neck by the shoelaces, and holding on to human form, I lit for the woods. There was nothing like running barefoot to mitigate stress. Unfortunately, it also gave me time to think. It wasn’t a long distance from Bangor to Isenburge, but it was far enough.

  I dashed through a frigid stream, ignoring the pain of rocks slicing at my soles. The cuts started healing as soon as I left the water and crossed a busy road, heedless of the traffic coming in either direction. Horns blared and tires squealed as I dashed across all four lanes. I could hear rustling behind me that I could only assume was Doug, but I didn’t care. There was a good possibility that if he caught up with me, I’d rip him limb from limb, especially with my human mind in control for once. The wolf didn’t care either way about the comment, but I cared very much.

  I’d killed every person who had been witness to that life, and Doug was pushing it to follow suit. Percy knew, Hades didn’t, Lacey-Marie had, and no one else was privy to the information, except Doug. Doug who was supposed to soothe me, Doug who was supposed to love me.

  This whole him being a wolf thing sucked. It seemed to have changed his personality, gave him a boldness that he’d neglected beforehand. He’d been a gentleman before, and never would have even thought such a thing, never mind voiced it.

  I ran across the town line and veered in the general direction of the salon. I even ran a few laps arou
nd the property, before dashing upstairs to my room, which, miracle of all miracles, was where it belonged for once. I threw myself down on my bed and sobbed into my pillow. In 10 minutes, I heard the door next door open and slam shut, announcing that Doug had made it home without incident. I buried my face further into the pillow, trying to muffle my emotions in feathers. I’m pretty sure I was unsuccessful because I was starting to hyperventilate. I could hear him moving around, scrambling for something. There was a noise in the lock.

  No way.

  He’d found the key, and he was coming into my room.

  I dashed to the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it as I leaned my forearms against it. I didn’t know what Doug was planning on doing, and I didn’t know how I would react. So far, things weren’t going so hot.

  The loud creak of old hinges grinding against each other assailed my senses, and I imagined Doug pushing the door between our rooms wide open.

  His light footfalls were barely audible on my wood floors, but my sensitive ears picked up the noise.

  The sound stopped right outside the bathroom, and his scent rushed to me as he dropped to the floor.

  I slid so that I was lying with my nose glued to the crack below the door, and took a good whiff of slight wet dog and the effulgence of magic. No fear. No aggression.

  I sat back up to contemplate my next move. My heart slowed to a calmer pace, making me less likely to kill him if either of us opened that door.

  Still, I opted to keep it closed.

  There was a scraping noise, and something glinted under the door next to my hand. I moved my fingers to pick the object up.

  “Gretchen?” Doug’s voice drifted through the door. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have. I hated what the wolf had done to him, my mild-mannered friend, or what mine had done to me.

  “You’re a real bastard,” I whispered

  Fabric scraped against wood. “I know. How much do you hate me now?”

  How much did I hate him? I didn’t know. I liked the man he had been, but the man he had become was a whole new critter, but was I any better?