Page 17 of Consumed
As soon as she drew close, she asked in a raspy voice, “Bureau?”
Isaac gave a primitive bow. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Isaac and this is Conrad.” Like certain human celebrities, coyote shifters avoided last names. They did have clan names, but etiquette didn’t call for addressing them that way.
“Trish,” she replied. She turned her gaze to Con. “Talked to you on the phone.”
“We’re grateful you’ve allowed us to visit and meet with you.”
As Con had hoped, she appeared pleased with his acknowledgment of the coyotes’ sovereignty. As agents learned during training, Non-Human Species had varying views of the Bureau, and he wanted to make a good impression now. It wouldn’t help anyone if the Bureau tried to bully or frighten.
“I’m going to let the clan meet you,” said Trish.
“We’d be honored.”
She gestured, and all of the other coyotes surged forward. Had they been entirely human, Con still would have been uncomfortable at having them crowded around, almost close enough to touch. But theyweren’thuman. They were beings capable of quickly sprouting fangs that could tear him apart in minutes. At least there was no physical contact right now, although there was a lot of sniffing.
Con stood his ground, straight-backed, while Isaac looked about as worried as an adult getting carded at a bar.
Finally the coyotes fell back a few paces and Trish stepped in, peering up at Con’s face. “What got ya?”
“Orcs.”
“You tangled with orcs and survived?”
“Yes.”
Apparently this impressed her and her clan. They gazed at Con the way people might look at someone who’d scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. Or who’d saved a busload of people.
“We want to hear about it,” said Trish. “But come sit down, have a snack and a drink.” She jerked her head toward a circle of picnic benches.
“We’d love to.” Con was nearly a hundred percent honest about this. It was an excellent sign that Trish had invited them to settle in a little. “But first we’d like to present you with a token of our appreciation.”
Well, that was popular. The children ran around howling, and when Isaac brought out the cooler and lifted the lid, the adults howled too. Steaks, ribs, and turkeys were indeed an appreciated gift.
Trish had presents for Con and Isaac as well. She handed each of them a small fabric bag that proved to contain a heavy silver ring with the figure of a howling coyote etched into it. “We mined the silver,” she explained.
Isaac had already slipped his onto a finger and was holding it up to admire it. “It’s gorgeous.”
“We earn some money crafting jewelry.”
Con had never worn jewelry before—his parents hadn’t approved of ornamentation—but he didn’t want to offend their hosts, so he put his on too. It felt a little strange but not unpleasant. He doubted the Bureau would allow them to keep the coyotes’ gifts, but that begged the question of what the chief would do with them. Sell them? Lock them away in a drawer indefinitely? Con would have to check on the policy when he returned.
After the exchange they sat at the picnic table, Con and Isaac on one side, Trish on the other. A man brought them big water glasses and a large platter piled with sliced fruit and vegetables. Trish gestured at the food. “Dig in. We can bring out some deer too, if you want, but it’s not cooked. Most humans don’t like raw meat.”
Con had a sudden sense-memory of orc teeth tearing into his flesh and had to suppress a shudder. “This is more than enough for us, thank you.”
She gave a dry chuckle as if this was funny.
The three of them made small talk for half an hour or so, chatting about the local wildlife, the coyotes’ jewelry-making business, the hazards of living in Los Angeles, and the like. Children played around them, sometimes running up to grab a bite to eat or to gawk at their visitors before Trish gently shooed them away. Although the weather was warm, it wasn’t oppressive. They were on the eastern side of the mountain, and the sun had already dipped out of sight, leaving them in shadow.
Isaac spoke more than Con did, and he often made Trish smile or laugh. He was charming without being too pushy. Thanks to his friends back home, he even knew enough about coyote shifter culture to share a few in-jokes.
Eventually Trish crossed her arms, leaned over the table, and looked at Con. “Tell me about the orcs.”
A boulder lodged in his throat, and when he glanced desperately to the side, Isaac looked distressed. Beyond a brief, oblique mention, Con hadn’t discussed the orcs in years. When he was recovering in the hospital, as soon as he was able, the East Coast Bureau had made him describe what had happened. That had been awful, although he’d been partially cushioned by the drugs in his system. After he transferred to LA, Townsend made him see the Bureau shrink for a few months, and the story had emerged again. But not since.
Trish was waiting as if this were important to her, although God alone knew why. And Con really,reallydidn’t want to screw up this mission.
A few deep breaths and a long swallow of water helped his throat work properly again.
