Page 97 of Bears Behaving Badly
“Sorry, Ma.”
“You know I hate the f-word.”
“I know, Ma.” To Annette and David: “But he was. Sorry, I guess that’s not PC or whatever.”
“No, it’s not PC or whatever. And—oh.”Don’t gape at him like a moron. Don’t gape at all. But especially not like a moron.Which would be difficult, since things were falling into place with near-audible clicks.
Dev, that first day:He wasn’t a werewolf, he was a monster.
Lund himself:I’m kinda the white sheep of the family. They know my business is the most important thing to me.
Brennan:Lund was more interested in being a tough guy than paying attention.
“You told us Lund was a pain,” Annette said slowly. “When we were at your office, remember?”
“It was an hour and a half ago. So, yeah.”
“You said what happened to him was a real shame.”
“Itwasa shame,” Mrs. Lund (or Brennan) agreed with a vigorous nod.
“Yeah,” Greg said. “I mean, obviously.”
“But you weren’t talking about the attack, or even his murder,” Annette said. “You meant because he was a sport.”
“A what?”
“Your brother was a squib. A Shifter who couldn’t shift.” And before David could say anything, she added, “And don’t talk to me about the Harry Potter universe and the proprietary use of the word ‘squib.’”
“Nobody is talking about Harry Potter.”
“Because the term ‘squib’ predates those books bycenturiesas a term for a firearm malfunction.” At their stares, she elaborated. “When there isn’t enough powder? So the bullet gets stuck in the barrel? Also known as a pop-and-no-kick?”
“It’s also someone born to magicians who can’t do magic.” From David. “See? That’s just easier. Everybody gets it right away. You don’t have to explain anything. Or use phrases like ‘pop-and-no-kick.’”
“I just said to leave Harry Potter out of it! J. K. Rowling does not own the rights to the word ‘squib’!”
“J. K. Rowling can have the rights to any word she likes!”
“That’s enough,” Greg said sharply, which was timely because she and David were almost nose-to-nose.
“You’re right, that’s not important now.” She turned away from David’s dangerous irrationality. “So here it is. Your brother—”
“Come with me.”
Greg gripped Annette by the upper arm, and she let out a growl. Just a little one—it was a memorial, after all. But he let go of her like she’d grown hot. “For privacy,” he elaborated, and she summoned a pleasant smile for him, because though he was a creep, they needn’t put on a show for the mourners. If that’s what they were.
Greg led them to an office just off the chapel, shut the door, then turned back to them. “Half brother.”
“Pardon?”
“Terry was my half brother.”
“As well as a Shifter who couldn’t shift. And none of you ever let him forget it. Not even here. So many lovely family pictures all over the chapel! So many of them showing your other selves… It was amazing to see all those wolves.
“But not Terry Lund. He’s a biped in every one. See?” She held up the photo she’d been able to snag before Greg frog-marched them into the office. “See how he tries to smile like you weren’t killing him with your petty species-ist bullshit?”
Wait. Do I actually feel sorry for the late unmourned Lund?
