Page 41 of Home to the Hollow

Doctor Asshole:Mine’s no better. Quit complaining, your royal judgy-ness.

Bully Asshole:You think you’re so funny, Hamilton. I’ll remember that next time you want info on a game.

Sugarplum:Wolfie, you changed my name in myphone!

Cute Asshole:I sure did, sugarplum. Since I was the one to figure out how to unlock, I got the honors. These idiots would have been playing with it all day.

Doctor Asshole:Watch it, Lucy.

Bully Asshole:Oh, this is rich. Now the bird man thinks he’s in charge.

Sugarplum:I have news for you, jackholes. None of you are. I am. I’m going to tan the hide off whoever thought including me in a testosterone laden bullshit session was a clever idea. I have shit to do!

Bully Asshole:Well, now, drugar, we all do. We wanted to make sure everything was okay. Are Kali and Hecate behaving?

Sugarplum:They have much better manners than their human, if that’s what you’re asking.

I’m about to peace out of this nonsense when I hear a loud howl, followed by a screech, and then two yowls. Of course, the minute he asks about the animals, a goddamned ruckus starts out in the yard. Dropping the phone, I slide off my stool and run out the back door to figure out what in the name of bourbon barrels is going on. I look around, not seeing the menagerie close to the patio like they were when I checked earlier.

Reaching under the cover of the grill, I type in a short code on the box mounted under the bottom of the wheelbase. The Sig pops out just as intended, and I click the safety off as I creep along the fence line. Seer and I just hid the weapons in their fast deploy fixtures yesterday while we were setting up the basement, and on the patio was her idea. I could kiss her for that now as I move through the tree line, trying not to rustle branches and sticks as I search for companions.

I find them at the edge of my property, staring at a copse of trees beyond it like they’re shooting lasers with their eyes. None of the animals are moving, just glaring into the distance, and I frown as I lower the .45. “What in the bug-fuckeringshitare you guys making so muchnoiseabout?”

Jekyll looks up at me, his kitty face indignant. “Mow!”

Kali and Hecate let out a bone chilling howl of agreement, and I look up as Euryale swoops down to sit on the fence. The eagles’ feathers ruffle, and it moves around on the wood, shifting in irritation.

“No one wants to share. Not a clue for ol’ Jolene who just ran out here with a hand cannon to defend your honor?” Hyde pushes closer to me, rubbing against my legs in a serpentine pattern. It seems like normal cat behavior, but when in the hell have these two ever done anything normal? “I take it Timmy isnotin the well? Something out here spooked you all?”

They all look at me with furry and feathered concern, and I sigh. Damnit, animals don’t talk, and I have no idea what has a group like this losing the goddamned plot.

“Okay, guys. We’re going inside, and you’re going to eat. By the time the rest of the circus makes its way back to camp, I’ll figure out what has you so freaked out.” I look out over the horizon where they were staring and murmur, “And I’m going to call Jackson about that goddamned security system. It can’t wait a week after all.”

High School

As always, they set the conference room to a brisk negative forty degrees. I watch Maryellen fuss over the preparations. I’m always early, and I’m always prepared, which is a stark contrast to the bulk of the teachers who work at Whistler’s Hollow Finishing School.

Many of them have taught here under over three headmasters, and though they don’t look their age in the slightest, they’ve long since given up the illusion of having control over their curriculum or classrooms. Bobbi Jo is the most progressive one they’ve had yet, but the lifers have lost their zeal for innovation.

Make no mistake—the students receive a high-quality education, and the school is nationally ranked in every category. However, the influence of the Council and the founding families is far-reaching. It makes teaching a challenge, one the folks here are no longer willing to face. So, they show up late, rarely have their work done on time, and don’t seem inclined to intervene when the elite kids decide which targets they’ll spend the rest of their time here torturing.

I seldom intervene, but for differing reasons than fear of powerful society mavens. My lack of empathy stems from knowing what the price of intervention could be, and they have taught me since birth that I am not to interfere as the wheel spins. I didn’t grow up here, and the minuscule amount of information I may impart to the citizens regarding my life prior to being assigned to the Hollow hampers my influence.

Those directives come from a much higher authority than the Council or the others. They may control the supes here and the Society has global control, but for beings like Doyle and I, a more powerful authority dictates our actions within their framework. Those we are pledged to would not be happy if we allowed our loyalties to come into question.

“Good morning, Hugo!”

The sunshine filled voice of our headmaster pulls me out of my reverie, and I give her an amiable smile. She is a pleasant woman, if simple, and I hate that she’s being manipulated the way she is. “Good morning, Bobbi Jo. Did you have an enjoyable weekend?”

Her bright smile and loud clothing are a bit much, but she brought doughnuts fromClose Encounters of the Baked Kind, so we’ll have to forgive her.

Jillian Marie Remington might be an absolute bitch, but the woman inherited the family recipe vault, and her roots go all the way back to New Orleans during Lafayette’s days. Her fusion of European and down-home country techniques makes the shop famous enough to draw tourists in the season, and anything her staff produces is enough to make up for Bobbi Jo’s boundless cheer.

“I did! I worked in the garden, got some reading in, and just loafed like a lazy polecat!”

I give her a nod, as if that sounds interesting and amazing, and she beams. Our boss is easy to please at all between her general daffiness and the effects of the ritual. “I had meetings out of town, I’m afraid. All work and no play makes Hugo a dull boy.”

Her baffled expression is comical, but she also nods. “Indeed. Well, grab some grub, and have a seat. You know they’ll all trickle in soon enough. And we all know who the last man seated will be.”

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