Page 146 of Home to the Hollow

“Gentleman, I’ve got Agatha coming to take notes. She should be along soon,” Jamie says as we enter his sprawling home. “Don’t worry—I’ve had another talk with her, Wolfie. She won’t cause any trouble, or she’ll be headed home with her tail tucked between her legs.”

I nod, hoping what my amiable friend says is accurate. The last thing I want to deal with is that fawning succubus trying to lure any of us in while we talk shop. Relationships with new owners are too delicate to have a childish incident color the process, and Amiri seems fairly no nonsense. I don’t think he’d appreciate Agatha’s behavior in the slightest.

“Okay, Jamie. Let’s get down to business.”

* * *

After the meeting,I headed to the office to finish out my day with appointments. Being the town vet in Whistler’s Hollow requires knowledge of an enormous variety of species, so I have to schedule my days carefully. I can’t allow large predators and smaller prey animals on the same day, nor can I have exotic species and regular pets at the same time. Luckily, the service I pay to maintain my calendar is run by the same service that helps schedule vets and docs in all the Society enclaves, so most of my days run pretty smoothly.

The last patient of the day was a rescued wolf companion with serious trauma issues, so I had to locate the closest rehabilitation center so its owner can get the help it needs to thrive. Unlike Jolene, animals adopt some supes with pre-existing health or psychological concerns, and getting them nursed back to health so they can bond with their new owners is part of my job. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite parts because I enjoy seeing that deep emotional connection lock into place once the companion is well.

It’s the Fae in me, I know. I’ve always been slightly jealous that a companion never chose me, but helping others find that love helps ease the pinch.

Once I finish the email to the sanctuary, I shut down my computer and lock up, eager to get to the school to see how Sugarplum is doing. I’ve missed her today, but I know she has a million things to do before the beginning of the school year. Moving home, opening the gallery, and prepping for her students is a huge undertaking, and throwing a bunch of animals and guys into the mix couldn’t have made that process any easier.

She’s handling it like a pro, though.

I lock the door, flipping the sign to show the after hours emergency numbers, and head down the street to WHFS. It’s a warm late summer night, and I wave at people as I pass, noting the crowds heading into the building at the end of the street. Parents in the Hollow always show up for this type of thing, even if they’re damned near absent most of the time. Like most small, moneyed communities, theappearanceof being active and involved is more important than actuallybeinginvolved. Hence, the large number of chicly dressed couples climbing the stairs of the front entrance as if it’s a country club regatta.

“Why, Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher! How absolutely lovely to see you!”

Bobbi Jo rushes up to me excitedly and I pause, giving her a friendly smile. “Good evening, Bobbi Jo. How’s Parent Night going?”

“Marvelous! It’s soinvigoratingto see all of our students and their families here to meet our staff. I adore these events; I really do.”

Arching a brow, I take in her appearance—she looks a little like a flustered hen chasing chicks around the yard. I find it doubtful she’s enjoying this, but I nod. It wouldn’t be polite to draw attention to her harried energy; she’s putting on a brave face for a reason. “Excellent. I came to drop in on Jolene. Is she holed up in the new art wing?”

Her eyes widen, and she gives me a sly grin. “Why, Wolfie, that sounds like alovelyidea! I thought you’d be visiting that handsome doctor friend of yours. Did something happen?”

Wouldn’t that make all the conservative ninnies pleased as punch?

Their eagerness for gossip has always made me feel icky—it’s akin to thick strands of black, inky goo coming out of their aura—and it gives me a shiver every time I encounter the delight some people in town take in knowing about other people’s miseries. “No, Bobbi Jo. Prez and I are fantastic… going on three years now. Jolene and I met a couple days ago, so I wanted to see her in her element.”

A disappointed look flits across the woman’s features and I know she’s frustrated that she won’t have a juicy tidbit to share in Hazel’s diner tomorrow morning. Bobbi Jo isn’t abadperson; she’s a product of the hive mind in town that swallows people whole the moment they assimilate into the culture. Being the principal of the school, she had to fit in if she ever hoped to keep her job. I don’t fault her for it, but I also refuse to feed into the buzzing rumor mill.

“I see.” She gives me a smile that is entirely too bright and points down a hallway. “The art wing is in that direction. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see a friendly face. Some parents seem in fine form tonight, and being the new staff member, she’s likely to take the brunt of their… demands.”

What a polite way to let me know they have thrown her to the wolves on her first night.

Thanking her, I leave the flustered principal behind as I make my way past the crowds of students and parents gathered near each door. The art wing is the newest part of the school, so the entrance to it is in the back half of the older building. It’s quiet back here, and when I finally reach the door to the studio, I find it mysteriously locked. As I put my ear to the door to find out who is inside, a familiar scent wafts through the air and my lips curve into a satisfied smirk.

I know that smell.

Knocking on the wood lightly, I swallow a chuckle as I call out, “I don’t know what you’ve been getting up to in there, Sugarplum, but it smells delicious.”

“Wolfie? What are you doing here? You were meeting with the sheik.”

Her voice is a panicked squeak, and it takes everything I have not to burst out laughing. “I did—earlier—and he wants to meet with you this weekend.” I pause for a moment, pondering texting Prez so he can come witness this. “I promised I’d set it up with you right away, but it seems like I’ve interrupted averyimportant conference.”

Jolene doesn’t answer right away, and I wait. When she finally speaks, it’s in a low tone that I could never hear through the door if I weren’t a supe. “Um, well, that’s true. But… I could use… some help? I think there’s a back way in here; earlier Hugo got in without?—”

I don’t wait for her to finish; I simply wave my hand over the lock and the tumblers click into place. Opening the door a crack, I slip inside and re-lock it quickly. Turning to face her, I have to tamp down my amusement. I know she won’t find it cute that I’m laughing at her, but honestly? Her situation is pretty goddamned funny. Walking over to the table, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with a soft smile. “Having trouble with the bully, darlin’?”

She frowns at me, clearly confused by my nonchalance.

“Relax, Sugarplum. Different doesn’t equal bad. If you’re sweet on this asshole, I’m not upset. As long as he treats you like the queen you are and respects our place in your heart, Prez and I are happy to share.” I look at the prone judge curiously, and when I figure out what the problem is, I chuckle. “Although, you may have… ahem… bitten off more than you can chew, Boone.”

Jolene pushes on his shoulders, trying to move the feral shifter without knowing what she’s doing. “What in the fuck does that mean? And why is he acting so damned odd? We have to get him off of me before anyone else finds out we shouldnotbe unsupervised!”

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