Page 32 of Consumed
“My dad. He’s a potter. That’s one of his favorite glazes. And that pot isnotan antique. It’s only about twenty years old.”
“But how—”
“I told you my parents stayed around here a while back. So I guess it’s not completely improbable. Just weird.”
After a moment’s thought, Con picked up the bowl again and cradled it against his body. “Let’s face it—given our jobs, we’re meant for weird. I’m buying it.”
Which he did. It felt right.
At the toy store they bought soccer balls, kites, and giant bubble-making kits. Those seemed like the sorts of things young, active coyote shifters would enjoy. It was a little more difficult to choose something for the adults. They finally settled on an expensive set of kitchen knives, a couple of stained-glass ornaments to hang in windows, and a few handwoven blankets by local artists. Hopefully that would do.
It was quite a lot of stuff to drag up the hill, but they weren’t in a hurry. And then, miracle of miracles, Isaac actually did take a nap—after protesting only a little bit.
* * *
This time Con drove to the coyotes’ home, with Isaac moping slightly in the passenger seat. Con was fairly certain the pout was mostly an act.
His nerves were entirely calm. Sure, it was possible that the coyotes would refuse to make an agreement with the Bureau, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if that happened. And he was fairly confident that the coyotes would be on board. They had no real reason to refuse, and the three-day delay had likely been intended to ensure group consensus and to symbolize their position of strength. Both of these were reasonable tactics.
In any case, whatever happened, it wouldn’t be as frightening as dealing with a ghoul.
The coyote children swarmed them as soon as they arrived, and then Trish sauntered over with a smile that Con interpreted to mean good news. But jumping right into business was extremely rude, according to coyote manners, so they began with a little small talk—by coyote standards, anyway.
“You smell like medicine,” Trish said to Isaac.
“It’s better than smelling like ghoul.”
That caught everyone’s interest, at which point Con was conscripted to give a literally blow-by-blow account of the events in the cemetery. He tried not to overplay his own role, because even if pride wasn’t a sin, it could certainly be obnoxious. Despite Con’s protests, Isaac made him out to be a hero, which was both flattering and embarrassing.
“I think you both deserve to sit down with refreshments,” said Trish.
Con tried not to looked too relieved. “Can we give some gifts to the kids first?” He tried to say it quietly, but of course the young ones heard—they had excellent hearing—and began to howl with excitement.
Trish seemed amused. “Of course.”
The toys turned out to be a big hit, and the pups, as Trish called them, went running off to enjoy. A couple even shifted to coyote form so they could run on all fours, bonking the soccer balls with their nose. Con had never seen shifters change shape before; it was fascinating. He hoped it wasn’t considered impolite to have watched.
“We have a few things for you too,” he said after a few minutes.
Trish got a strange look in her eyes. “Let’s wait a little for that. Refreshments first.”
She led them to the picnic tables, where the adults drank water or lemonade and ate sliced fruits and grilled meats. It was more of a light meal than a snack, and it had a definite celebratory feel, which added to Con’s optimism. He appreciated that for his and Isaac’s benefit they’d cooked the meat. But judging from the shared glances and barely concealed grins, the coyotes were keeping a secret from their human guests. He just hoped it was a good one.
There was more small talk over the food. Trish spoke about an upcoming full moon celebration that sounded like a wild party. Like other shifters, including wolves, coyotes could change shape whenever they wanted; lunar cycles had nothing to do with it. Hunting, however, was better on bright nights.
Con spoke a little about the Antarctic, which their hosts seemed to find surprisingly interesting. A young woman in a plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off asked a lot of questions. There seemed to be something wistful about her, so Con offered her a smile. “You could visit. I’d be happy to give you a tour. Or… well, I can’t promise anything, but you could talk to folks at HQ about career possibilities.”
Her eyes got big. “For me? At the Bureau? But I’m a shifter.”
“Not an impediment,” said Isaac. “One of our fellow agents is a dog shifter. Nice guy. Plus there’s a dragon who works for us sometimes, and… well, a lot of employees who aren’tHomo sapiens. Our boss appreciates the skills that come from having a diverse staff.”
Con nodded in agreement. “Like for instance, I bet your sense of smell would be a real help in the lab.”
The woman beamed, and Trish and the others looked pleased as well. Con handed the young woman one of his cards and urged her to give him a call after he returned to LA. He’d never done anything resembling outreach or recruitment for the Bureau—when before this would he have had the chance?—but the rules didn’t forbid it. And if the coyotes did ally themselves with the Bureau, this kind of thing could strengthen that relationship.
Besides, he wouldn’t mind some Antarctic help. It would give him the chance to take those computer classes. Or go out on assignment now and then.
The conversation moved on, and Con began to worry a little about Isaac, who, despite his protestations, wasn’t completely up to par. He was laughing and participating in the chat, but he also looked a little ragged around the edges, as if he needed some rest.
