Chapter 10

Ch. 10: Dane

Ingrid's hair takes longer than anything rightfully should, but when she finally emerges from the salon, beaming with delight, I have to admit she looks good.

I hadn't wasted the three-hour wait, either, and had spent most of it seated at a table in the mall's promenade, researching Rian Halloran and fighting the urge to check in with Julian.

"Just be glad I didn't want box braids," she says when I grumble, nonetheless. "You're lucky extensions don't look good on Wolves."

I laugh; she has a point. As long as something is a natural part of our body, it will Shift with the rest of us. Anything artificial stays as it is. I still remember how hard we'd all laughed the time Sasha, my second youngest sister, tried to Shift after having her nails done. Her natural nails turned into wolf's claws; the acrylic ones stayed glued on top.

How long a Wolf can forego Shifting—for the sake of fashion or otherwise—depends on the Wolf; personally, I can't go more than a few weeks without the mental release; Noah rarely Shifts, while Freya loves the freedom of her Wild form. Ingrid's gone longer than a few months without Shifting plenty of times, but at the moment, I know she's more excited to Run than to have fancy hair.

"You hungry?" I ask as I pack up my laptop and gather Ingrid's collection of shopping bags. "My treat."

"Starving," she groans. "I could eat a cow."

"Will a burger and fries do? There's a good place nearby."

"You won't judge me if I order a double, will you?"

"No more than I'd judge Monty for ordering the fake meat."

She laughs. Despite her dainty figure, Ingrid has the appetite of a linebacker, while Monty bears the dubious distinction of being the only vegetarian werewolf I know.

"Do you miss them? The rest of the Pack?" she asks, as we exit the mall and pass through into the bright sunlight beyond.

I glance at her. She's more comfortable talking about 'wolf-things' in public than I am and had only laughed when I'd warned her to be more careful. She says everyone's too absorbed in their own business to pay any attention to the business of other people.

That's probably true—unless their business is other people.

There are few huntsmen left these days, and it's not something most wolves worry about, but I'm just old enough to remember the last days of a time when secrecy and safety went hand in hand.

"Yeah, I miss them," I say, answering her question as we approach the restaurant. "But it's been almost two decades since I left home. I'm used to being on my own. Or I was."

"It must suck being an alpha without a Pack." She sighs with mock sympathy. "I mean, who do you boss around?"

"I have a pa—I have Julian," I say, as we enter the burger place and join a small group of people standing in line.

"Yeah, but does he listen to you?" She laughs.

"He listens just fine."

"Not the way a Wolf would, though," she counters.

A girl standing ahead of us in line turns and stares at us, and I give Ingrid a warning glance.

"No. But some wolves don't listen so well, either," I mutter under my breath.

She rolls her eyes but takes the hint and doesn't mention wolves again as we order and find seats to wait for our food.

When our order is up, though, and she digs into a huge burger and a tray of fries, she raises the subject once more.

"So when will you start a pack?" she asks. "Get other wolves to join you here?"

I shrug and take a bite of my burger, giving myself time to think.

"Haven't really planned that far ahead," I say. "Figure once I've claimed the territory, it'll happen naturally."

"I can't believe you haven't Claimed it yet," Ingrid says, stuffing her mouth with ketchup-drenched fries. "Or how some other alpha hasn't. This is prime range."

"I know," I admit. "It surprised me, too. Before I accepted a job here, I did my research, though. No sense moving someplace where another alpha would just run me off, or force me into a fight I didn't want. But there are no Wolves in Spring Lakes. The nearest Pack I know of is up north, near the border with Oregon."

"I wonder why."

"Who knows? I couldn't find any records or other traces, but it's not like every town has a—"

I catch myself and glance around as I realize Ingrid's casual approach is wearing off on me.

"It's not like every town has a resident werewolf pack," I finish, keeping my voice low.

She snorts. "It's not like every town has a portal to Faerie nearby, either."

Behind her, a few tables away, the same girl who'd been staring at us in line is staring at us again. She looks to be about six or seven years old. The woman she's with—presumably her mother—notices and taps the girl's arm, leaning over to whisper something about manners. The girl says something in return, and the woman glances over at us with a flush in her pale cheeks. Ingrid twists in her seat to see what I'm looking at, and the woman's eyes go wide.

Then she smiles with pleased surprise, rises, and approaches us.

"Ingrid! Darling, what are you doing here?" she asks.

"Pauline! Hey!" Ingrid grins. "We're just out shopping for clothes. You?"

"Same. I swear Savannah's outgrowing things as fast as I can buy them for her."

She laughs and casts her daughter a fond look. I notice that she's well-dressed, with styled hair and a manicure, and the bags she carries are from expensive stores. Ingrid self-consciously toes her own shopping bags a little further under the table.

"Is this your beau?" the woman asks, turning her attention to me.

Ingrid barks a laugh that turns heads. "Oh my God, no! This is my big brother, Dane. The one I told you about. Dane, this is Pauline. She plays first violin."

"Nice to meet you." I nod but don't offer to shake her hand, given I've just been eating with mine.

Her smile falters. "Dane Hunter?"

"That's me."

"Oh, it's... Well, it's nice to meet you." Her smile recovers, but not completely. "I think you know my brother."

I keep a neutral expression despite the sinking feeling in my gut, which has nothing to do with the greasy burger I just ate. "Oh, yeah?"

"Derek's... mentioned you once or twice."

"Yeah, well..." I settle back in my seat. "We haven't worked together in a while."

She gives me a tight smile and turns back to Ingrid.

While the two chat about orchestra practice, I give in to the urge to check my phone and feel a shot of adrenaline as I see I've missed a call and an urgent text from Julian. Both came in mere minutes before.

I tap out a quick reply that I'm on my way and hit send.

"We need to go," I say, interrupting the conversation. "Something's come up at home."

Pauline frowns at me. "Well, Savannah has ballet at four, so we'd better be going as well. I'll see you at practice, Ingrid."

"See you!" Ingrid waves as the two depart, then turns back to me. "What's up?"

"Julian found something," I say as I rise and gather our things. "I gotta get back."

Ingrid dumps our garbage in the nearest trashcan and joins me outside.

"What was that weirdness about with Pauline?" she asks.

I scrub my hand over my hair and sigh. I don't want to complicate things for Ingrid, but if Erickson is determined to cause trouble, and Ingrid's already in with his sister's crowd, she deserves to know the score.

Briefly, I describe our mutual dislike and the two most recent incidents.

"Wow. What a dick," she concludes when I finish. "And what kind of dick name is 'Derek Erickson,' anyway?"

"Figure he can't help his name," I say. "The rest is another matter."

"You know where he lives?"

"Not offhand. Why?"

She leans on my arm as we walk. "We should go to his house as Wolves—teach him a lesson."

I stop in my tracks, taken aback. "Why would you even suggest that?"

"I don't mean we'd hurt him!" she says quickly, frowning at me with wide eyes. "I just meant we should scare him a little."

I shake my head and start walking again. "That isn't how we do things, Grids."

She jogs to keep up with me.

"Shit, I was just joking," she says, beginning to sulk and sounding a little out of breath. "Don't take everything so serious."

I hold my silence until we reach the car. As we load our bags in the back, I clear my throat.

"Look, I know some Packs do things differently, but Mom and Dad never used the Wolf to harm or frighten, and neither will I. And don't say stuff like that around Julian—even as a joke."

"Jeez, Dane," she huffs. "He's not a baby. He's—"

"He was Hunted, Ingrid," I snap. "By wolves who meant to kill him. I still see that fear in his eyes, sometimes, when he looks at me as a wolf. Even if he knows I never would, he knows what I could do, and that's enough. So don't talk about scaring people—even as a joke."

"Fine," she says, suitably chagrined. "I'm sorry."

Sighing, I release the tension that's been building up in my shoulders since 'Pauline' realized who she was talking to.

"Don't worry about it. And it's not like I'm any better—I threatened Erickson to his face when he dropped a hint he knows about you. Guess you musta made some impression on his sister."

Ingrid huffs again and settles back in her seat with her arms crossed. "She's alright. She's just..."

"The sort who likes 'diversity' as long as it makes her look good?" I suggest.

She nods. "She offered me some of her hand-me-down clothes. I can afford my own damn clothes, thanks."

I grunt. Suddenly, the hair appointment and the shopping spree make more sense.

"Well," I look over at her, "even though I'd never do it, and I don't condone even joking about such a thing, I'll admit I've fantasized about scaring the shit out of Erickson myself, once or twice."

She giggles, spirits restored. At the same time, my phone buzzes, and I see Noah's name on the screen.

I answer it. "Noah. You got something for me, brother?"

"Dane—those runes you sent me. Where did you find them again?"

"Written on the walls of a couple of stores that got burglarized. Are they Fae, like Julian thought?"

"Definitely."

Noah pauses, and I wait, giving him a chance to get his thoughts and words in order. Brilliant linguist though he may be, he has an ironic tendency to stutter when he's nervous.

"Do you remember how Fae runes have multiple layers of meaning?" he asks.

"Not really." To be honest, I never paid that much attention.

"Well, they do. Depending on the context, the same rune can indicate a sound or a syllable, a whole word or a name, or an entire range of concepts. Connotation and denotation, and so on."

"Uh huh." It's easier to pretend I know what he's talking about than to invite more explanation.

"Anyway, the runes you sent me could mean a bunch of different things, but I narrowed it down to a few I thought made the most sense. The second one—the one you said they found in the bike-shop—-means 'justice,' or 'done,' and can also mean 'death' or 'fate.' It's also a Fae family name—ha' Lárán."

"Which means?"

"Son of Lárán, I'd guess," Noah says.

"So, did the thief—or murderer—sign his crime? Or is it just coincidence?"

"I don't know; but I'd say the meaning is intentional."

"And the first rune?"

Noah hesitates, and I wait as patiently as I can, imagining him beginning to pace or fiddle with something as he does when nervous.

"That one was harder. The meaning of the runes can change depending on how they're written—right side up, upside down, or paired with other runes. As best as I can tell, it means 'warning' or 'danger,' and..."

"And what?"

"And it's also the rune for a stag."

He pauses, as if this should mean something important to me, but I draw a blank.

"A stag. So?"

"A specific kind of stag," Noah continues. "One that's old enough to be hunted."

Something Julian once told me comes back to me, and I go stiff.

"A hart?"

"The word's not the same, of course, but that would be the most accurate translation."

"Shit. So, is it a warning or a threat?"

"That, I can't say. But, either way, it would seem to be meant for Julian."

I rub my hand over my mouth. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all I could discern. But send me anything else you find." His voice warms with academic enthusiasm as he speaks, and I can't help smiling as I imagine him pushing his glasses up his nose and taking notes. "This is actually quite fascinating. The runes are an older form, so my interpretations are somewhat subjective, of course, but—"

"Thanks, Noah. We'll be in touch," I say, cutting him before he gets too far into lecture mode, and end the call.

"What did he say?" Ingrid asks, as I put the car in reverse and back out of the parking spot.

"He figures it might not be coincidence Julian found the first rune. It has the same meaning as his last name, and was probably meant for him."

"What about the second one?"

"That could be a name, too, though I haven't heard it before—ha' Lárán, or something.

"Halloran? Isn't that the guy Jules is with?"

I admit my car's not the quietest ride, but Ingrid's wolf's ears should be able to compensate for the noise at her age.

"No, not 'Halloran.' It's..."

I trail off as the sounds align, and then swear. The way Julian had stared at the guy had made no sense: almost as if he'd recognized him, somehow.

"Shit. Hold on to your lunch," I say. "We're about to break some speed limits."