EPILOGUE
THE BUILDING WAS SOLID BRICK, CONSTRUCTED according to the new fashion, rather than the old—only two stories in height, squat, thick metal grates on the windows, and a very sturdy-looking door. It sat on a quiet street just past the northwestern industrial district, which was now an old ruin. Aside from being sturdy and in good shape, I couldn’t see anything special about it.
“What is this?”
Curran smiled next to me. “An early Christmas present.”
I looked at the house again. After the last three weeks, a Christmas present was the last thing I’d expected.
Curran felt betrayed by his Pack. From his point of view, he’d worked years for the benefit of his people, and their loyalty had lasted less than forty-eight hours. In return for his service, they’d tried to expel his mate, and when she wouldn’t leave him, they’d tried to kill her. Curran took the marathon of my fights to the death very personally.
Each year the Pack celebrated the traditional Thanksgiving feast, which consisted of a dinner of epic proportions. Curran usually spent hours there, talking to everyone. This time he walked in, growled, “You have my permission to eat,” and walked out. We had a private dinner in our rooms and he gorged himself on pie. Aside from that, he refused to leave our quarters. For fresh air, we went out on the roof, where he had a giant patio, complete with a fire pit and a grill. I built a snowman, and Julie practiced shooting it with a crossbow. We visited his private gym. That was it. So when he asked me to come to the city with him, I decided it was a good sign. It took us less than an hour to get here and I enjoyed the drive.
I cocked my head and looked at the house from a different angle. No special insights or revelations presented themselves.
Maybe he bought me a new place to live. “Is this your convoluted way of inviting me to move out?”
“You’re never moving out, as long as you want.”
Curran strode to the door through the snow and opened it.
I walked in. From the inside the house looked just as sturdy. The windows were small and barred, but numerous enough to let in plenty of light. The front room took up most of the floor. Two desks waited in opposite corners. Filing cabinets guarded the walls. I strode through to the doorway on the left. A narrow, long room full of shelves, half empty, half filled with jars and boxes of various herbs. Looked like someone did a decent job stocking up on alchemical supplies.
“There is more upstairs.”
A cursory inspection of the second floor showed a basic armory and a room with some diagnostic equipment, magic and otherwise. It wasn’t out of this world, but it was enough to get by.
I came back downstairs and sat on the staircase. “What is this?”
He gave me his Beast Lord look. “It’s yours.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The house and the contents. It’s yours if you want it. The Pack is backing you up as a business: it purchased the supplies and is fronting your salary and a modest operating budget for a year, after which it will have a twenty percent claim on your profits. It will drop to ten when your loan is paid off. I had Raphael draw up the paperwork.” He crossed to the desk and lifted a manila folder. “All you need is to fill in the name, and it’s off to the Secretary of State.”
I looked at him.
“Your own Order. Or your own Guild. Whichever way you choose to go.”
“Why?”
He crossed his arms on his chest. “The Pack cost you your job.”
“I cost myself that job, and it was rotten anyway.”
He shook his head. “You came to help. It’s the Pack’s chance to help back. Everybody has something, that one thing they must do to feel happy. I think this is yours, and I want you to be happy. You don’t have to do it, but it’s here if you choose to come back to it.”
“Is there a catch?”
“A couple. Standard Pack clauses: Pack requests take precedence, always. The safety of the Pack’s members overrides everything else, and the Pack’s interests must be protected at all costs. In a case where a Pack member may be suspected of criminal activity outside the Pack, you must inform the Pack lawyers, so the suspect can be provided council.”
I smiled at him. “Do you have any requests as well?”
He locked his jaw.
I laughed. “Out with it. I know if you had your way, I’d be locked up in your rooms, all safe, barefoot, and pregnant.”
“I’m not that crazy.”
I raised my hand, with my index finger and my thumb a small space apart. “A little. I know it’s killing you to do this, so what would help you breathe easier?”
He blew air out like a whale. “Come home. Every night. Have dinner with me. If you go out of the office for longer than a few hours, I’d appreciate a call so I know you’re safe. If you’re in trouble, you tell me. No lies, no evasions, no secrets. And if you need muscle, for any reason, you use the Pack. You don’t run in there all alone to get killed.”
My personal psycho in all of his glory, trying his best to be reasonable. “Anything else?”
“No business on Wednesday afternoon, if you can help it. Wednesdays we hear petitions and disputes.”
I grimaced. “I hate petitions.”
“I do, too, so I shouldn’t suffer through them alone. Also, I’d like it if you made time to attend the formal functions with me if they’re scheduled during the week, so I don’t die of boredom. That’s it.”
We looked at each other.
“So do you like it?” he asked.
“I love it.” I got up and swiped the folder off the table. “Thank you.” We kissed and headed out.
As we walked away from my new office, he asked, “So what are you going to call it?”
I smiled at him. “I’ll have to think of something witty. Something that makes reference to my ability to solve cases in a blaze of intellectual glory.”
“Your ability to chop at everything in your way with your sword, more like it.”
“Whatever, Your Furriness.”
New Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
Notice is given that articles of incorporation that will incorporate Cutting Edge Investigations, Inc., have been delivered to the Secretary of State for filing in accordance with Georgia Business Corporation Code . . .
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