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break the Pack in half."
"Two Packs?" I said.
Jeremy nodded.
"It might be the only way," Jorge said.
"How would that work?" Peter asked.
"I have no idea," Jeremy said. "So let s talk about it."
By morning we d come up with a proposal. We d split the Pack in two, each with an Alpha. Jeremy s
side would retain New York State as its territory, and Malcolm would take Pennsylvania, where the
Santoses lived. That would mean Malcolm would give up Stonehaven as his home, but Jeremy would
compensate him for that with a generous monthly stipend. In time we hoped to persuade the others to
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move their territory farther west or south, and put more distance between us, but for now, the division
would be the boundary between the two states.
Antonio and Peter took the proposal to Malcolm. He turned them down flat. Wouldn t even negotiate
terms. He sent back a message to Jeremy saying that the only way the Pack was splitting was if we all left
the country and started a new Pack in Canada or Mexico . . . after Jeremy deeded Stonehaven to him. In
other words, we could put our tails between our legs and flee, and he might let us live. Jeremy didn t
dignify that with an answer.
Over the next few days, Antonio and I held some private meetings, to discuss taking matters into our
own hands. Antonio wanted to kill Wally or Raymond, and thus swing the vote in our favor. I didn t see
the point of such political wrangling. If you want to kill a beast, and make sure it s really dead, you don t
sever a leg and hope it bleeds out you lop off the head. Kill Malcolm and our problems would be over.
While not opposed to the general theory, Antonio knew Jeremy would figure out who had killed
Malcolm and, whatever the history between them, Malcolm was still his father. To have him killed by
someone Jeremy had raised would be too much. Personally, I though Malcolm had long since lost any
paternal rights, but I wasn t sure enough about the situation to test it. Not just yet. So we reverted to
discussing Antonio s plan. The trick, though, was to kill Wally or Raymond without it being obvious that
we d done so. Otherwise, we reduced Jeremy to Malcolm s level, because everyone would assumehe d
ordered the death.
Midweek, Antonio had to return to New York for an unavoidable business meeting, and we agreed to
think the problem through and come up with some ideas before he returned on the weekend. Jorge and
Nick went back to New York with Antonio. Normally, Peter would have stayed with us, but after the
attack on Nick, we decided Peter was better off with the Sorrentinos. He was a more experienced
fighter than Nick or Jorge, so it made sense for the four of them to stick together, and let me devote my
full protective attention to Jeremy.
Dinner Thursday night started like any other. Our dinners were still made by the same woman who d
been cooking for us since I d first arrived at Stonehaven. I could cook, and had been doing so on
weekends for a few years, but even now that I was home full-time, Jeremy knew Pearl needed the
income, so we still had our meals delivered on weekdays.
That night it was her specialty: Shepherd s Pie. While Jeremy dished it up, I threw together a salad in the
kitchen. I walked into the dining room to see him leaning over the steaming pan, spatula only partway
through the first cut.
"Smell this," he said.
I did. The scent of hot beef and potato wafted up. My stomach rumbled.
"Smells great. Now hurry up and scoop it out or I ll take the whole dish."
I reached for the casserole, but Jeremy pulled it back.
"I m serious. Something smells off."
"The meat?" I said, leaning in for a closer sniff. "Seems fine to me. Doesn t matter anyway." Our
stomachs, like a wolf s, were strong enough to withstand meat that was undercooked or past its
best-before date.
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Jeremy waved me away from the food, forked up a mouthful and sampled it. Then he made a face and
discreetly spat it into a napkin. I scooped up a fingerful and ate it. It tasted fine, but I didn t say so. If
Jeremy thought our food had been tampered with, I wasn t going to argue. His sense of smell and taste
were marginally better than my own and, even if he was imagining things, he was entitled to a little
paranoia these days.
Jeremy started for the door, paused, came back and took the casserole with him.
"Hey, if you think there s something wrong with it, I m not going to eat it," I called after him.
After one last look in the direction of my vanished dinner, I tucked into the salad. A few minutes later,
Jeremy returned.
"I called John," he said. John was Pearl s son, who d taken over delivering our meals when his father
died a few years ago. "He says he didn t see Pearl this afternoon. When he got to the house, the cooler
was inside the front door, so he took it and left."
I laid down my fork. "And he didn t think that was strange?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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