Mort’s fingers continued walking through the heap of papers. “Most of the charges they take on their own accord. Like vigilantes, I guess. Not supposed to, I know, but they do. But occasionally, if someone has a problem with a particular wolf, they will go to the Du family directly.”
“Anyone can do that?” I asked.
Mort looked at me and shrugged. “Anyone, I suppose. I don’t see exactly what I’m looking for here.” His milky eyes flicked over me and set on Alex. “You look tall. Would you mind helping me for just a second? I fear the book I need might be tucked back here”—Mort gestured blindly over his shoulder—“and rather high.”
I looked at Alex imploringly and he pasted on a genteel smile. “I’d be happy to help you, Mort,” Alex said to him. And then, to me, “If I get tetanus out here, it’s on your shoulders.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” I hissed back. “You’re immortal.”
While Mort and Alex disappeared behind a wall of wrapping paper and eyeglass frames, I stood up and did my best to poke gently—and safely—around Mort’s treasures. I could hear Alex and Mort crunching through the back hallway, could hear Mort shove items aside and instruct Alex where to walk. Knowing that Alex was probably wincing his way between a museum of Tab cans and plastic tubs of cat litter made me immensely happy.
I was eye to eye with a taxidermied owl when Mort stepped back into the kitchen.
“Where’s Alex?” I asked.
“I’m afraid there are a few more books than I expected. Your friend is awfully nice, helping get down the ones we need.” He smiled at me and again, did that longer-than-comfortable stare. “So you’re Sophie Lawson.”
“Uh-huh.”
Mort took a small step closer to me and my hackles started to rise. I looked over his shoulder, cocking my head to listen for Alex, but all I could hear was the humming of Mort’s teakettle and the shuffling of his feet as he took another small step toward me.
“Your glasses fell over,” I said.
“What’s that, hon?”
I pointed. “The eyeglasses and the wrapping paper. They must have fallen over.”
Mort’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s fine. You.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “You, you, you.”
“Mort?”
“I know all about you, Sophie Lawson.” His eyes flashed and his grin went wider, pushing up his apple cheeks. “Half-breed. Kind of like me.”
I took a tentative step back, leveling my foot on a pile of greeting cards. “Kind of.”
“But so much more interesting.”
“Alex?” Fear rose in my voice as sweat pricked out over my hairline.
Where is he?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mort. I think you’re just as interesting as I am. Half-breed. We’re like family.” I tried a friendly smile, tried my best to tamp down the anxiety that was clawing at my gut.
Everything shifted when Mort opened his mouth.
“My father’s not the devil,” he said.
The room started to spin when the teakettle hissed. I felt the weight of everything—Mort’s statement, his ridiculous hoard—pressing against my chest and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.
I tried to answer Mort. I opened my mouth and heard the beginnings of a protest, but it curdled into a scream when Mort’s arm went up and I saw the cool steel of the scissors he was clutching.
“He’ll pay dearly. He’ll pay so dearly for you.”
I jerked and the scissors sliced down beside me, a hairbreadth from my ear.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” My quick sidestep had dislodged a heap of magazines that put a good foot between Mort and me. I kicked and clawed at the garbage and he stabbed at me. “Alex!” I screamed, “Alex!”
In between the aching thud of my heart I heard Alex’s muffled yell.
“He’s checking out a book for you, sweetie,” Mort said with unbridled glee. “My library is a bit unorganized, so he might be a while.”
I lost my footing and tumbled forward; Mort grabbed me by my hair and I saw my own eyes reflected in the silver blade of the scissors as he raised them up again. Adrenaline raced through me, filling me with heat and fire, and I dove, feeling another cool slice as Mort’s blade missed my face. His fingers lost their grip and slid through my hair, over my shoulder. His hand grasped desperately for me.
“Augh!” Mort slammed his fist down one more time and a pin prick of pain in my calf exploded into a thousand needles. I gaped at the scissors sticking straight out of my pant leg and a wave of nausea crashed over me as my jeans soaked up the blood.
My half-second pause gave Mort enough time to grab my leg with his other hand and pull me toward him. I could feel his fingertips digging through the heavy material of my jeans and I flopped desperately, trying to get a hold of something that would stop my slide. I discarded handfuls of yogurt cartons and showered him with mail as Mort kept pulling. I kicked at him but he barely flinched.
“What the hell are you?” I huffed, after landing a heel to his forehead.