Hunter's Moon.htm (42 page)

She hooted loudly. "And it goes to the birds! Oh, Sue! That is priceless. Seven years of waiting and the geese get a new pond!" Linda laughed until tears rolled down her face.

Sue's mood changed and she smelled sad and angry. Her voice slid across my mind. They really didn't care. Didn't love me. I always knew it but part of me still can't believe it. I hugged her against me.

Then she turned her head to me, still snuggled against my shoulder. "Tony? Now what? I don't want to see them again, not ever. But where will we go?"

"What? You don't like the island? You told me exotic."

"But not forever," she said quietly. "Where will we live?"

I looked at her with confidence. "I don't know, sweetheart. But we'll find somewhere."

Bobby pushed himself off from the wall. I hadn't realized he'd come in. Sue looked at him and I smelled fear's tang rise from her. "It's okay. Bobby's a cop."

She nodded nervously and bit at her lip. "That doesn't mean that I'm not afraid of him." Okay, good point.

Bobby looked serious. Sweat beaded on his bare upper body. He was wearing faded jean shorts. That must be for Sue's benefit. Bobby is abnormally accustomed to going naked. Or maybe I'm abnormally accustomed to clothes. He tells me I'll get over it. "Wolven will relocate you, Sue. Tony needs to be with a pack— with other wolves. It'll take some time but we've got packs in Boulder, Minneapolis, and Chicago. There are packs in Anchorage and the Ukraine, too, but they're Arctic climates. You probably wouldn't like it." He sighed and it spoke volumes. "I'll do what I can but you might have to stay here for awhile while we sort it out. It's a slow process."

Longer? In this heat? Inside is fine, but outside is—well, a jungle. God, what I wouldn't give for a sudden snowstorm. Oh well. It was hard to bitch with Sue's hand solidly in mine and tingles racing through my body.

Betty and Carl came back in the room. Carl looked at little better. Maybe Betty could help him after all. Betty was carrying two white boxes. One big, one little. She came over to the bed and gave me the small package. The larger one was placed gently near Sue's feet.

"What's this?" I asked.

She shrugged. Her eyes were bright with curiosity. "I was told to give these to you as soon as Sue woke up."

Bobby frowned and it matched the one on my face. At least I didn't hear anything ticking inside the boxes. No smell either.

I opened my box first. Inside the plain white shirt box was white tissue paper. I opened the tissue paper and found a group of official looking documents. Without removing the documents from the box, I looked at each one.

Wow. Definitely impressive. "We apparently have different definitions of slow," I said to Bobby, amazement tinging my voice. "Okay, I admit it. I'm impressed." I shook my head. "Goddamn show-off."

He frowned and moved a little closer. "I don't understand."

I handed him the documents. There was a driver's license, worn-looking and ready to expire next March. It was from Illinois and showed my given name, J. Anthony Giambrocco, Jr. Giodone is my dad's name. I took it after my mom died. Dad rigged a phony birth certificate and everything. My real name is pretty safe because I've never used it.

There was a matching birth certificate. A certified copy of my real one. Quick work. I gave a little chortle at the matching license and certificate for Sue— oops, sorry, for Jessica Susan Giambrocco. I was betting from the condition of the license that there was a full dossier to match the names. Good identity people take pride in their work. The size and shape of the last paper made me nervous.

Bobby looked at each document in amazement. I smirked at him. "Guess I'm going to Chicago, huh?" Nice of him to decide for me. Probably best. He had told me about the various packs and their leaders.

Lucas Santiago is the alpha of the Boulder pack. He's strong, proud, and incredibly noble. Nope. I wouldn't fit there.

Minneapolis is headed by Josef Isaacson, a hard working Norwegian. Eh. Maybe.

Chicago, though— Chicago is led by Nikoli Molotov. I jokingly asked Bobby if he had an "explosive personality." I thought it was funny. Bobby didn't. "I wouldn't ever say that around him if I were you," he said solemnly.

"Jeez, I was just kidding. You know, Molotov cocktails?" I nudged him in the ribs.

"I caught the joke, Tony. I'm not stupid. But you don't understand. He's the same guy. He's been around since Czar Nicholas's court. He's Russian Mafia and runs Chicago with an iron fist. He's not a pleasant soul."

Ah. That's the one. My kind of world. I had no objection.

Bobby smelled sort of stunned. He kept shaking his head as he looked at each document. He turned each one, examined them, looked out the window at the muted sunlight through them. He handed them back to me with a seriously pissed off expression.

"Who in the hell do you have photos of, doing what?"

Sue and I looked at each other in surprise. "You didn't do this?"

He moved toward the bed and tried to grab at the box. "No! Hell, even I don't know anyone with enough stroke to get them. Was there a card? Anything at all?"

I shrugged. I hadn't looked. I let him take the box. He pulled the tissue paper out of the box and shook it lightly. A small note fell on the bedspread. Sue picked it up. The paper was thick and linen. The handwriting was masculine.

She read it out loud. "I've arranged for you to stay in Chicago. Nikoli will treat you well or answer to me. I've already paid your tribute. Don't let him tell you otherwise." She gave a little laugh. "It's signed Lucas Santiago." She looked at me with a curious expression. "Do you know him?"

I shrugged. I didn't. She looked at Bobby. His mouth had dropped as she spoke. The white box, brilliant against his ebony skin, dropped to the floor from his unexpectedly limp hand. Everyone else in the room was riveted to our conversation. Betty stared at us with a similar expression.

It took Bobby several tries before he could speak. "Know him? Yeah. Every Sazi knows him. He's a Council member. But how the hell do you?"

I had no answer.

"Why don't you open your box, Sue?" Betty suggested. I looked at her. She seemed as surprised as Bobby at the turn of events. The breeze blew through the open doors again, fluffing Sue's hair across her face. It blew her fragrance right at me. She smelled of summer forest and kitchen spices. I hadn't realized how much I missed the scent of her feelings while she was gone. Her every emotion was like sunlight off crystal; intense and startling.

She tried to pull the large box closer to her. Bending was still difficult. She gave a little grimace so I reached over and placed the box on her lap. It was heavy and about as long as a rose delivery box but wider. She lifted the lid. Taped to the white tissue paper was a note. Again, she read it to the group.

"If Chicago doesn't work out, you're always welcome in Boulder, Suzi. You and Tony both." She said it with surprise and amazement. "It's signed Lucas." She turned her head to me, her feelings mildewed with amazement. "I don't know him, Tony! Why is he doing these wonderful things for us?"

I didn't have an answer. I just shook my head. "What's in the box?"

Everyone moved closer as Sue opened the tissue paper. Under the tissue was a layer of rich green velvet. The thick antifreeze of curiosity overpowered my nose and I sneezed repeatedly. So did Babs and Betty. When we finished, the silence was so thick that I could hear every heart in the room.

I looked in the box. Inside was a plastic figure, a foot or so high, with red matted hair trimmed around a war-torn face. There was a ponytail at the top of the head. Green plastic eyes over a painted smile matched the stained and torn green velvet dress she wore. I smiled. The doll was ravaged as only a four-year-old could manage.

There were confused looks from those assembled. Betty seemed most confused of all. Why would someone go to the trouble to wrap this wreck of a doll like a treasure?

I wasn't going to spoil the surprise. It was Sue's story.

Sue's smile came slowly; recognition turned to joy. "Jessica!" She picked up the doll and hugged it to her tightly. Tangerines and cookie spices rose from her in a burst.

I'd wager two to one that Lucas has white fur.

Sue looked at me with shining eyes. She put the doll carefully back in the box and smoothed the dress reverently. She gently touched the red nylon hair. She was nearing tears. Happy and sad both. But her curiosity finally got the better of her. She reached for the papers I was holding. She looked at the picture on the license and smiled brightly at the listed weight. She cocked her head and looked at me, "I like Jessica and Susan but why Ge-am-brock-o?" She stumbled over the name.

I looked at her intently for a moment. "Because I'll share. If you want to use my name, I'd let you." I could see Linda grinning out of the corner of my eye. I swallowed hard. It had been thrust on me; hardly a choice. But how could I give up rainbows and sunsets?

"Oh, what the hell. I don't do subtle well. I love you, Sue. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you come to Chicago with me? Be my mate? Be my wife? Please?" I held her hand and waited for a reply.

I stayed out of her head with effort; I had to let her decide for herself. No prompting. Plus, I was a little scared of what I would find if I looked.

Her face moved from confusion to astonishment and finally to absolute glee. She threw herself into my arms with a joyous cry. Her scent was tangerines and cinnamon and baked apple pie. Sweet musk and baking. Amazing how humans, even without being able to smell the emotions, find comfort in the scents of caring. The scents of love.

It was answer enough. I held her tight against me while the others looked on smiling. I rolled in her scent. I let the sweet tingles fill my body. The Sazi looked on enviously. The others could only guess.

I was suddenly looking forward to a new life with a new love. Years and years of learning and being together. Sue didn't even look at the last paper. She didn't have to. She saw it in my mind. Sure, we're mated. But we were born human— and American.

It was a marriage license.