Alpha and Omega 04: Fair Game by Patricia Briggs

Author:Patricia Briggs [Briggs, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 2012-03-06T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

8

Charles kept a close watch from the bow as Malcolm threaded the Daciana around boats and other assorted obstacles with all the sailing skill of a pirate and a cheery rendition of “The Mary Ellen Carter,” a song about men reclaiming a sunken ship, whistled off-key. If Bran had been with them, doubtless he’d have joined in the song. Charles’s da loved impromptu concerts, especially with people who sang—or whistled—Stan Rogers songs, though considering the boat’s passengers, “The Witch of the Westmoreland” might have been more appropriate.

The rise and fall of the ocean made Charles’s stomach roil—another reason he didn’t like boats. Anna was kneeling on the bow as far forward as she could, with her face in the wind and a peaceful expression that made Brother Wolf want to kiss her feet and other places—if only he wouldn’t have thrown up the moment he bent over.

“Gets me, too,” said Isaac, coming up from the rear of the boat. He braced himself on the wall of the console and talked in a voice nicely calculated to carry just over the noise of the engine, but not so loudly that anyone else was likely to hear. “Once I throw up, I’m okay.” Then he raised his voice. “But I’m the Alpha of the Olde Towne Pack, damn it, and I can’t afford to upchuck in front of a bunch of strangers. They might find bits of that annoying salesman I ate last night.”

Charles scowled at him. “Thanks for the visual.”

Isaac threw his head back and laughed. “You’re all right, man. Malcolm says he’s headed to a spot that he thinks is pretty much a clear shot to most of the islands. There are also lots of abandoned warehouses along the shoreline, thanks to the crumbling of the fisheries around here. Lots of places to hold and torture people without anyone hearing. You really see Indian spirits and talk to them?”

“Spirits,” corrected Charles. “Nothing Indian about them other than we believe they exist and most of you white-eyes don’t. Yes.”

Isaac cackled. “I can’t believe you just called me a white-eye. Better than a pale-face, I suppose, but it just seems so Bonanza.” His face softened. “My granddad, he could see ghosts. When he was really old, he would rock in this old, dark wood rocking chair and tell us kids about the murderer who haunted the house he grew up in and tried to make his life hell when he was too young to read and write.”

“Ghosts are different from spirits,” Charles said. Yes, howled the ones who haunted him, tell him about your ghosts, make us a little more real every time you speak of us, every time you see us or think about us. Tell him that ghosts of people you kill can come back and kill the ones you love if you are dumb enough or too clueless to figure out how to set them free.

Charles had to wait a moment before he could continue, and disguised it as his motion sickness from the boat ride by swallowing heavily.

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