Page 87 of Home to the Hollow

And I’m okay with that, which is even weirder.

I climb into my Impala, checking to make sure I buckled the cats and hounds in. Whistling, I look up and see Eurayle circling above us. She took off to hunt earlier, and I hoped she’d make her way back before I hit the highway to head home. I know she can find her way on her own, but I’d feel better if we were all together.

As much as I hate to admit it, Creepy McWolfLady wigged me out a bit. Having a random whack-a-doo confront you in public when you were recently poisoned and have a stalker is a lot to take in all at once.

The snake squeezes me again, and I blink. Son of a bitch. Every time I get upset, the damn thing shifts, constricts, and I feel better. I have a motherfucking emotional support python. How many girls can say that?

“I suppose I’m going to name you now,” I grumble under my breath. “I can’t have you calming me down and shit if I don’t know your name.” A sharp squeeze on my ribs is my answer, and I roll my eyes.

If I don’t stop collecting men and animals, I’m going to have to build an addition on my house.

Speaking of that, I should call the boys and let them know I’m on my way. I’ve been gone far longer than I intended and I’m a little shocked they haven’t blown up my phone checking on me.

“TextAssholes,” I say, waiting for the Bluetooth to pick up my command. When it beeps, I wink at my servals in the passenger seat. “Hey. I’m on my way home. Should I pick up food?”

The robotic voice repeats my question and I hear the swoosh of a sent message echo. My fingers drum on the wheel and I hum under my breath as I wait for a response. Minutes and miles tick by and I frown. It’s not normal for all of them to ignore my text at the same time. What is going on? They usually jump on a group text like flies on shit.

“TextAssholes,” I say again, pressing my foot down on the pedal to speed up. An odd feeling forms in my gut as I wait with no answer. “Where the hell are you guys? Usually I can’t pee without one of you trailing behind me.”

Silence stretches as I drive towards the interchange that branches off towards Whistler’s Hollow. My phone doesn’t buzz, and the animals stare at me as I curse under my breath. How in the hell do I have four idiot boyfriends and not one of them has a second to answer my texts? I mean, I thought it was strange that none of them wanted to accompany me to the city, but now I’m really getting nervous.

The big fight at the Hollar was pretty public. Is it possible someone has cautioned them away from me? I wouldn’t put it past Teddy’s mom, but I don’t know Wolfie’s family. Presley and Doyle aren’t Hollow natives, but they both work for the town in some fashion. Am I damaged goods now?

Panic floods my system and the python slithers into a position that spreads over more of my torso until its head rests on my shoulder. I wish I knew if it was a boy or a girl, but I didn’t, so I sigh. “I’ll call you Isis, because that’s healing. I don’t know if it’s accurate or not, but that seems to be your function. You help me

Fine. I’ll take my files from Jackson and my contingent of furry, feathered and scaled companions home. If they don’t want to talk to me, I can make myself a milkshake and curl up in my big ass bed alone while they do whatever the hell is so important.

Maybe a locked door will get my point across.

“Mrrp?” Hyde says cautiously, poking her head up from the backseat.

“I don’t know, buddy. It’s been a weird night and I don’t understand why everyone’s ignoring me. Do you think I should be worried?”

The answering howl from the dogs isn’t comforting, so I step on the gas. If something is wrong, I’m not going to waste time following the speed limit.

There’s A Reason These Tables Are Numbered, Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought of It Yet

‘Humans are ridiculous creatures. We should have never allowed them to survive’ could be written on our family crest. At least, on my mother’s side, it could be. The vast amount of absolute rot they’ve come up with to help ease their emotions is astounding, and I didn’t think it was possible for anything in the extranormal community to match it in tone deaf self-centered focus—until tonight.

They called us into the antechamber like scuttling mole rats despite the rigid dress code for this evening’s three-ring circus. It’s damp, poorly lit, and uncomfortable in this cavernous room set up to mirror the human version of a courtroom.

Never mind that we not only have arealcourtroom down the street we could use; we also have access to some of the nicest country clubs and mansions in the state within minutes, but we’re all crowded into a gallery in a fucking cave. Whatever ancient mystical moron who created this process in the burgeoning years of the Society is long dead, but we’re all sitting here pretending to be in a rich people cosplay of Harry Potter.

Yawning, I lean my chair back, looking around the room at the assembled codgers and society mavens and Guardians, agents, and inductees. There are a few unfamiliar faces and that must be the ‘wildcards’ Boone mentioned. He was wound so tight he looked like he was going to spring into the air and rocket to the sun if anyone so much as tapped his shoulder.

I’m not as worried, but then, my kind rarely ends up in the middle of petty squabbles like this. We’re not part of the day-to-day bureaucracy of the Society, but my placement in Whistler’s Hollow has thrown me into the shallow end of the supe pool.

Just. Fucking. Qware.

If I didn’t have a gut deep feeling about my Tíogair, I’d be as far away from here as possible. The fat old goat Boone calls Pop is sitting in the rostrum with Mayor Nelia blathering on about something. She looks bored to tears, and Zareb is squinting at the human as if he’d like to eat him for the offense. I could get into a good old fashion lion eating a Christian thing—it’s been over a millennium since I watched adamnatio ad bestias. I sit up in my chair a little straighter as I focus on finding something to irritate the big cat. If I can trigger even the slightest provocation from the Senator, I should be able to?—

A gavel slams into the lectern, and I jump, catching the Mayor’s eye. I’ll be a doe-eyed ingenue! She caught me. I knew I liked the old gal for a reason, so I wink at her. I wasn’t doing anything out of my purview or even contrary to my nature, so she won’t rat me out. Besides, my auntie would send me a case of Jameson if I made Zareb do it. She pretends she doesn’t like the chaos my father’s side brings, but I’ve always been her favorite. Every stern, smart lady loves a bad boy, you know.

That brings me back to my Tíogair and her current predicament. I can’t possibly explore my fantasies with her in every conceivable spot in this backwater burg if she’s being punished by these heavy-handed fools for defending herself. It’s their fault the doc can’t try to remove the suppression spell; they want it to be natural.

As if putting a spell on a young supe to control when they receive their birthrights is natural in any reality of any dimension. They know it's not, but something about Jolene has them all aflutter. They’d let this slide if that idiot Behle wasn’t pushing to reverse the charges his cunt daughter so richly deserves to answer for.

A soft gasp catches my attention and I look over, snorting. The submissive fae is trying—unsuccessfully, I might add—to keep thirsty housewives and unmarried heirs away. He’s being far too kind, but I realize that’s because he’s supposed to be the soft, earnest convincer while the doc flirts and Boone bullies people to our side. I don’t have a specific role because the fire breathing asshole doesn’t trust me. That’s dandy, though, because it means I can sit back and work from the shadows. Almost no one in town has a clue what or who I am, and it was part of the agreement when I was stationed in the town.

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