I’d made an effort today to dress sufficiently business-y so Fletching wouldn’t be able to try to make me out as some kind of low-life—if Amos dared to show his face here.
He still had the dark bruises under his eyes and the tape on his nose since the Pack refused to give him a fae healing potion and his hunters hadn’t been able to ship him one yet, and he’d look pretty ridiculous standing next to me, particularly since I’d be shorter than him even in my heels, and I’d worn a suitcoat to highlight the leanness of my build and hide the light definition of my arm muscles.
Use every resource available to you in a fight, including a wardrobe. Another tip brought to you by experiencing years of Pack training.
“Pip!”
I looked up and smiled when I saw Gigi Quillon.
Although she was petite and looked almost pixie-like with her short blond-brown hair, button nose, and pink dress, when Gigi smiled, she looked shark-like.
She was a full-fledged member of the Quillon family, but she didn’t do much field work, as she was a lawyer and did a lot of accounting for supernaturals in Minnesota—the state the Quillons were based out of.
“Hello, Gigi. How are the kids?” I asked.
“Oh, nearly grown up!” Gigi swept me up in a motherly hug and patted my back. “My youngest is learning to drive—and she’s going to drive me straight into an early grave. I’m saying it now in case I turn up dead later this summer!” Gigi pulled back and looked me over. “You are looking prettier every time I see you! How are you—happy in Timber Ridge?”
I laughed awkwardly—keenly aware of Greyson’s golden eyes drilling into the spot between my shoulder blades. “It’s as adorable as ever! Though I do miss Mama Dulce and Papa Santos.”
Gigi made a tsking noise. “Naturally,” she said. “Are you ready for our appointment?”
“As ready as I can be,” I said. “I’m prepared that I’m probably going to get fined—but do you think they’ll stick me with some kind of ‘community building service’ that I’ll have to do? Because that’s going to be a pain in the butt to pull off in Timber Ridge. We’re too far north to see many other supernaturals.”
Gigi made a noise in the back of her throat. “We’ll see.”
Her response made me gulp.
Does that mean this is a bigger issue than I thought?
Gigi peered around me. “And who is this handsome wolf you brought with you?”
I could feel Greyson turn on his Alpha persona as he drew closer.
“I’m Greyson, the Alpha of the Northern Lakes Pack.” He made his voice extra deep and velvety, somehow perfectly managing to cloak his snarky personality.
“Ahh, yes, I should have recognized you, my apologies,” Gigi said. “I’ve seen your picture a thousand times on werewolf reports. Somehow, though, you seem…different.” She tilted her head as she stared up at him, narrowing her eyes.
Over her shoulder, I smirked at Greyson.
See! We hunters don’t fall for your little act!
Greyson didn’t acknowledge my smugness as he reached out and shook Gigi’s hand. “I see,” he said. “And you are Gigi Quillon, of the Quillon hunters?”
“Oh, yes, where are my manners? I’m Gigi, and I will be officially representing Pip before the arbiter.”
“I hope things can come to an amicable understanding,” Greyson said in a very politically polite way.
There’s no way he actually believes what he’s saying. I’m pretty sure he’d love to toss Amos across the lodge meadow.
“We’ll see,” Gigi said. “The law is the law.”
“Sorry, Gigi,” I said. “I was backed into a corner.”
Gigi patted my hand and made a soothing noise. “Come on, I already scoped out the room. They have subpar coffee sludge if you need to choke something down, and some tea packets that I’m pretty sure were left behind after a few fae raided the initial beverage offerings.”
Gigi led the way, holding her leather briefcase at her side.
Greyson was watching me, so I made myself hurry after Gigi as I didn’t want to get caught with him alone. Greyson meandered after us.
When we reached the room I was supposed to report to, a uniformed guard stood with us outside while Arbiter Tanaka finished prepping.
Supernaturals solved disagreements in vastly different ways from regular humans with their judges and juries.
For the most part, judgment fell on the race of supernatural that was wronged. A vampire killer would be handed over to vampires—and most likely immediately killed. Wizard issues were taken before the local Wizard Council, fae Courts ruled over their own subjects, and so on.
For smaller races of supernaturals—like werewolf hunters, vampire slayers, oracles, and more—where there were a lot fewer members of that particular race, we typically saw arbiters for small issues. Arbiters listened to the complaints, studied the laws and rules in place, and then made a judgment.
Typically hunter complaints never went to an arbiter. We settled things between families, as I had previously experienced.
But Fletching had wanted to make a big stink of the issue, so he’d reported it to the Curia Cloisters and it had gotten handed off to an arbiter.
The door swung open and a man—a wizard, based on the coat of arms pin he sported on the lapel of his suit jacket—stuck his head out. “Phillipa Sabre?”
“That’s me.” I gave him my welcome center smile and clasped my hands in front of me.
He glanced at his tablet, nodded, then opened the door. “We’re ready for you and your representation and…” he trailed off and gulped when he saw Greyson.
Greyson turned up the corners of his lips so he only looked a little predatory when he smiled. “Alpha Greyson of the Northern Lakes Pack.”
“Yes, I’m aware, Alpha Greyson,” the man said. “May I ask what your involvement in the case is?”
Greyson’s expression turned flinty. “Interesting you ask that when the incident took place on my Pack lands.”
“Did it?” the most likely regretful wizard asked. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice the setting as it was classified as a hunter-on-hunter incident.” He fumbled with his tablet.
I glanced at Gigi—her face had gone suspiciously blank.
“Is this okay?” I whispered to her.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
Her expression didn’t say it was, but Gigi had gotten me out of trouble before, so I’d have to believe her.
“You are correct, the stage of the fight doesn’t matter much,” Greyson said. “But Phillipa is important to the Pack.” He somehow managed to lean toward me even though I was standing in the middle of the doorway and gawking. He got close enough to brush my shoulder and he slightly lowered his head toward mine before abruptly jerking it back.
He’d probably automatically started a standard werewolf sign of affection—rubbing your cheek against another—before he remembered the setting or picked up on the scent of my hairspray and disapproved.
I’d bet on the latter.
My guess was proven when he narrowed his eyes at the bun my hair was pulled into, then turned his gaze back on the regretful wizard. “Either way, the public is allowed to listen to arbiter cases. Unless the rules have changed?”