Page 55 of Junk Magic

“Needs salt,” I told him.

He passed the salt.

“They doing a mayo-based sauce or what?” I asked, after a minute of chewing.

“Balsamic vinaigrette, with a little mustard and a little mayo mixed in.” He gave me a small dish from the folding table where he’d parked his utensils, and where he’d been concocting a sauce. I dunked the remaining zucchini in it and—

“Bitchin’.”

He grinned. “My old restaurant used to make it that way.”

“You must have started young.” He didn’t look much over early twenties now.

“Twelve,” he confirmed. “It was family owned. And I was rolling silverware and refilling condiments even before then.”

I didn’t say anything, because talking about the past with a vargulf could be iffy. He shot me a look, as if he knew what I was thinking. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can ask.”

“It’s your story. You tell me what you want, if you want.”

The raised eyebrows were back. “Most people would wanna know who they had in their house.”

“And Cyrus doesn’t know you?”

I got the cynical look again. “His standards might be different from yours.”

I ate another piece of zucchini. “Okay.”

“My parents owned a restaurant. It was profitable. One of the clan leaders decided he wanted it, and offered them a price. They turned him down.

“They wanted to leave it to me. That’s why they were training me, so I’d know how to run it. I was never much in school, but I could cook. They figured it was my legacy.

“But the next thing we knew, my father was brought up on charges. They said he raped this girl. I knew it was bullshit; my old man worked twelve hours days and practically worshipped my mother. Plus, he was a straight arrow, as much as they come. He didn’t have it in him.

“But they said it anyway.”

“What happened?” I asked, pretty sure I already knew.

“Her family challenged. Dad was old—I was a miracle baby—but they paired him with her brother. Young and fit and ready to tear my old man’s throat out. So, I took the challenge instead.”

He touched his cheek. His wavy dark hair was just past his shoulders, but not up in a ponytail or manbun, or any other concession to the heat. I guessed he preferred it loose to cover his scar.

“I lost. Knew more about cooking than fighting. I’d have gotten myself killed, but the girl’s family intervened at the last minute. Said they’d take exile.”

“Yeah. Because a death would have to be reported to the council,” I said dryly.

I suspected that was why Colin’s clan had kicked everyone out who they wanted to get rid of, and then murdered them. Because nobody cared what happened to vargulfs. Or, apparently, how anyone got that way.

That kind of thing was what Sebastian was trying to change, and why Cyrus had been willing to choose exile to get his brother into power. This wasn’t only about the war; it was about restoring some kind of order to the Were community. The war had just provided a pretext.

Danny nodded slowly, with the same calm, steady motions he seemed to use for everything. A red pepper had sufficiently charred, developing a blackened crust all over, and he expertly started scraping off the burned bits with the side of his tongs. They fell away into the fire, revealing the sweet, red flesh beneath.

“Yeah. So, just like that, we were out. And once you’re out, the clan bank can call in any debts you owe. Like our mortgage. Dad had no choice but to sell the restaurant or lose it—to the same Were who’d initially wanted it, at half the price.”

I didn’t ask what had happened to his parents afterward. I was pretty sure I knew that, too. A shock like that at their age, and knowing that their son was now condemned along with them? It wasn’t hard to guess.

And I supposed I was right, because he didn’t elaborate. “After everything, I came out here. Hoping for a new start, but it’s the same story everywhere. You’re in or you’re out, and when you’re out, nobody wants to know you. Nobody cares. Until Cyrus came along, and . . .” he shook his head, looking up at the house. “I don’t know how he does it. But it’s like he makes you believe again, you know?”

I glanced back at the house, where my boyfriend was presumably organizing the chaos. “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

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