Were We Belong Read online

  “You are correct, Essie,” Bob Two admitted. “So it’s quite fortuitous that the Vampyre is present.”

  “The Vampyre has a name, Harold,” Dwayne said with a grin so wide, I started to grin too. Even Hank couldn’t hide his muffled laugh.

  Bob Two--aka Harold—glared daggers at Dwayne. My cray-cray Vampyre buddy simply continued to smile. Apparently, Dwayne knew all as well—or at least he knew some. Now I wondered if the other Bobs were Bobs at all. If the three Bobs were hiding their names, what else were they hiding?

  Honestly, I didn’t want to know. Bob or Harold or whatever he wanted to call himself was freakin’ terrifying.

  “Fine,” Bob Harold snapped. “Dwayne. It’s fortuitous that you happen to be here today, Dwayne. Is that better, Dwayne?”

  “Much,” Dwayne sang with delight. “Proper use of my outstanding moniker will prevent me from sharing that Bob One’s name is Herm and Bob Three’s name is Hiram.”

  “Seriously?” I shouted on a laugh. “Harold, Herm and Hiram? Holy crap!”

  “Enough,” Bob Herm grumbled as the heat from his neck rose to his face. “We are the Bobs. We will always be the Bobs. If anyone were to catch wind of our former names, remember that we know where you live.”

  Since the Bobs’ threats were seldom idle, I decided to take their advice and keep my trap shut. It was doable, but difficult. However, it was still awesomely hilarious to know their weakness. What wasn’t hilarious was the carnage surrounding us. And even if Dwayne had dated a Demon in the last century, it didn’t help us now.

  “Spill,” I said to the Bobs, glancing around and realizing I was more scared of this deadly scene repeating itself than I was Herm, Harold and Hiram. “Does Dwayne’s dating past help us out here?”

  “It might,” Bob Hiram said.

  “How?” Dwayne demanded. “Belphegor, appropriately and better known as Sloth, would never be involved in something like this. He’s far too lazy. However, his ass is nothing to scoff at.”

  “Is that actually pertinent?” Hank asked, pressing the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

  “No. Not at all,” Dwayne admitted with a shrug. “He just has a bitable backside.”

  “Fine,” I said, steering the ridiculous conversation back onto the right track. “If Bel the Whore isn’t a killer…”

  “It’s Belphegor,” Dwayne corrected me with a burst of laughter. “Granted, his morals are on the loose side, but he might not take kindly to being called a hooker.”

  I looked over at Hank. “Shit. My bad. If Belphegor isn’t a suspect, then I don’t see how Dwayne’s dating history is relevant.”

  “Belphegor is not only a Demon, he’s a necromancer,” Bob Harold explained.

  “Whoa, dude,” I shouted, putting my hand up. “I’m all for mutual kinky, but that is gross.”

  The room went silent after my comment. Everyone was staring at me like I had three heads. What the hell was wrong with these people? I mean, I had no clue what the Bobs were into, but I knew exactly what Hank was into, which was me… not dead people.

  Now Dwayne? Dwayne was anyone’s guess, but I would have laid down a ton of money that he wasn’t into that either.

  “What exactly do you think a necromancer is?” Bob Herm inquired, looking pained.

  “Is that a trick question?” I asked, buying some time.

  “Dollface,” Dwayne said kindly, saving me from myself yet again. “Before you embarrass the living hell out of yourself, allow me to explain some things to you.”

  “Umm… sure,” I said quickly realizing that I was indeed going to have to name my first born after him regardless of the sex of the baby. Dwaynda could work for a girl.

  “Belphegor can raise the dead. That’s what a necromancer does,” Dwayne said.

  “And he doesn’t do anything else before he raises them?” I questioned carefully.

  “No, Doll, he does not.”

  “Okay. Great. I thought…”

  “We know what you thought,” Hank said, taking my hand and trying not to laugh.

  He failed but I loved him anyway.

  “Finding a Demon is almost impossible,” Bob Harold pointed out.

  “And you know this because?” Hank pressed.

  The Bobs exchanged furtive glances. Bob Hiram shrugged with indifference. Apparently, that was the sign for the others to share… or maybe overshare in this case.

  “We tried,” Bob Herm told us, glancing around the room. “This is not the first time this has happened as of late. These kinds of mass self-destruction situations have become common in the last month. We’re at our wits’ end.”

  “It’s been difficult to wipe the minds of all the human police,” Bob Harold admitted. “This kind of tragedy risks exposure of Weres to the humans.”

  Such revelations would be very, very bad. We lived openly, yet in secret, right alongside the humans. If Weres were ever revealed, it would be a shit show far bigger than the one we were looking at.

  “In your opinion, only Weres have been involved in this?” Hank asked.

  “So far, yes,” Bob Hiram confirmed. “However, each time the numbers of dead have increased.”

  “How many?” I asked.

  Bob Harold shook his head. “How many dead?”

  “No… well, yes. How many died and how many warehouses with Weres so ripped apart they’re unrecognizable have occurred?”

  The Bobs again exchanged glances. They had better come clean if they wanted us to find a freakin’ Demon. I wasn’t an idiot, but I also wasn’t going to let the Bobs get away with withholding anything at this point. Cryptic wasn’t going to work for me today.

  “Five abandoned warehouses in the last month. This makes six,” Bob Herm said.

  “Were they all in Chicago?” Hank asked.

  Bob Hiram sighed dramatically. “No. Two locations in Tennessee, one in Texas, two at the northern tip of Georgia, and now Chicago. No rhyme or reason. I’d guesstimate there’s been at least a total of fifty dead.”

  “But no packs have reported members missing?” Hank questioned, perplexed.

  “No,” Bob Herm ground out. “Very disturbing. We’ve had no success in tracing the identification of any of the dead.”

  Disturbing and odd. It was unheard of for packs not to report the missing. How had fifty Weres died without any of their packs looking for them?

  “So you’re admitting that the Bobs don’t know all?” Dwayne inquired with a humorless grin.

  The Bobs were silent for about a minute too long for my sanity. “The Bobs know who to go to when they can’t solve a problem,” Bob Harold shot back looking smug.

  “Therefore, it’s debatable how much the Bobs know or don’t know,” Bob Hiram added.

  “I’d have to say this is a real win for the Bobs,” Bob Herm announced grandly.

  “And I’d have to say you’ve gotten ahead of yourselves,” Dwayne countered just as grandly.

  “How so?” Bob Herm asked as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

  Holy Hell on fire, I did not want to witness a smackdown between Dwayne and the Bobs. Dwayne might win, but then again, he might not. While the Bobs had my loyalty because of their position… Dwayne had my love. My love was pretty dang powerful.

  “Time out,” I ordered. “Dwayne doesn’t work for WTF. And although this probably isn’t the best time have a chat… I think we should go for a name change. WTF are the initials for what the fuck. I mean seriously, I know you dudes are older than dirt and not really hip to modern lingo, but I have a hard time working for a company has fuck in the title. You dig?”

  “Does this have a point?” Bob Hiram inquired, wincing slightly at my language.

  “I’ll get there,” I promised, running back over my last few sentences in my head. “Shit. I had a point. I know I did.”

  “Babe, Dwayne doesn’t work for the WTF,” Hank said helping me out.

  God, I loved him.

  “Right,” I shouted, startling everyone inclu
ding myself. “Dwayne doesn’t have to follow your orders.”

  I had no clue what kind of terms Dwayne was on with Belphegor. This could be a deadly request for my best friend. There were many ways to get to the bottom of evil. Bringing in more evil wouldn’t necessarily be a smart move.

  “Exactly whose side are you on?” Bob Harold demanded as his eyes began to glow and his fangs dropped.

  Okay. That was not a good sign. However, I was kind of over the Bobs at the moment. Who exactly did they think they were?

  And what kind of assholes enjoyed referring to themselves in the third freakin’ person?

  There had been repeated criminal activity on the part of the WTF Council. Granted, the Bobs had taken care of all the crooked board members, but part of me refused to give them complete control. We’d been responsible for unearthing the evil in the Werewolf Treaty Federation—not the uppity Bobs.

  “I’m on the side of justice,” I snapped, as my own eyes began to glow and I felt my power start to flow through my veins.

  I wasn’t sure if the Bobs were aware of Hank’s and my enhanced magic due to the Vampyre blood that now permanently flowed through our veins, but they really shouldn’t mess with us.

  I glared at all three Bobs. “I don’t see why we need to raise the dead—that sounds iffy to me. There have to be repercussions for that kind of voodoo. And Dwayne’s life will not be on the line for a Were issue. Period. End of discussion.”

  “I’m already dead,” Dwayne said with a chuckle as he kissed the top of my head. “Does my non-beating heart good to have someone stick up for me, Doll. I can take it from here.”

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “Positive.” Dwayne hugged me tight and then turned a deadly glare to the Bobs. “It will cost you.”

  “How much?” Bob Harold asked, tonelessly.

  “Probably far more than you’re willing to pay,” Dwayne said easily.

  “State your amount,” Bob Herm shot back through clenched teeth.

  Dwayne’s laugh echoed through the death chamber we stood in. “I don’t want your money. I have enough of that to last hundreds of lifetimes.”

  “Then what do you want?” Bob Hiram ground out.

  “I want the promise of eternal safety for Bobbie Sue Harding — guaranteed. I want it in writing and I want a blood oath. No one touches her and no one questions her. Ever.”

  The Bobs eyed each other warily. Clearly, they knew my granny wasn’t just a Werewolf anymore. Never in the history of our kind had anyone heard of a Vampyre-Werewolf, but that was exactly what Granny was now. It had been my choice as she lay dying to let Dwayne attempt turning her. It had been risky, but I didn’t regret my decision at all.

  Granny freakin’ loved her new magical status. I had to stop myself from tackling Dwayne and hugging him so hard it would probably break all of his bones. He loved my granny as much as I did.

  “Done,” Bob Harold said flatly.

  “Excellent,” Dwayne replied. “However, I’m not done—not at all.”

  “Your other demands?” Bob Hiram growled tersely.

  “I’ll have to get back to you on those.”

  “Too vague,” Bob Hiram snapped. “State your demands.”

  Dwayne hissed and his fangs dropped. His eyes went red and his magic literally bounced around the room. Everyone ducked as swirls of deadly silver magic exploded over our heads. He was a scary individual at the moment. Even the Bobs appeared wildly uncomfortable. Hank was either really smart or had a death wish as he carefully put his hand on Dwayne’s shoulder to calm him.

  Dwayne gently touched Hank’s hand and then brought it to his cheek for a brief moment. The glittering silver enchantment receded, but Dwayne’s fury did not.

  “What you are asking of me should give me carte blanche as far as any sort of payment I require,” Dwayne snarled. “You know this as well as I do. However, since I’m fair—and not in the mood to kill any idiots with shitty fashion sense at the moment—I will leave our negotiation stating that I get five more demands. I will let you know when I’m ready to redeem them. That’s the deal, boys. Take it or leave it.”

  “We’ll take it,” Bob Herm said without consulting his posse. “We have files and photos of the other scenes.”

  Bob Hiram handed Hank a simple black briefcase. “What you need is inside.”

  “And the crime scenes?” I asked.

  “Have been secured,” Bob Harold said tonelessly. “However, I’d suggest you use this one. It’s the most recent.”

  “For?” I asked, feeling even more nauseous than I thought possible.

  “To raise the dead,” Dwayne whispered hollowly. “They want to raise the dead.”

  With that, the Bobs turned and left. Hank was seething and Dwayne was silent. I had ten million questions, but my voice box wasn’t working.

  I thought I’d hated my job earlier. I hated it far more now. If we inadvertently started some kind of Devil’s Lettuce Zombie apocalypse, I was going to kick the Bobs’ asses no matter how frightening they were.

  Chapter Two

  “I think these gauchos make it look like I’m trying too hard,” Dwayne fretted as he paced the cozy little home that he and my granny shared. “Maybe a wrap dress and kitten heels would be better.”

  “I’m gonna vote for skinny jeans and a muscle shirt,” I said, seating myself on the plastic slipcovered couch.

  My granny, a newly minted Vampyre, was going to live a ridiculously long time and she clearly planned on making her furniture last as well. Every piece of cloth-covered furniture was zipped into a clear plastic casing. It sucked wads in the summer. Every time I wore a mini-skirt I became one with the sofa. I was wearing a mini-skirt today.

  It was the house I’d grown up in and it hadn’t changed a bit. Granny had more crap on her tables, walls and shelves than an antique store. Dwayne had been positively speechless when he’d first witnessed her museum of a home a few years back and that had been a good thing. Granny took her décor seriously.

  And not only did she take the inside décor seriously, the outside was also unreal… and thankfully not covered in plastic.

  The charming old Craftsman in Hung Island, Georgia had a front yard crawling with flowers. It was a literal explosion of riotous color and I loved it. Granny hated grass. She found the color offensive.

  Dwayne halted his pacing and considered my suggestion. “Skinny jeans with kitten heels or pumps?”

  “Combat boots,” I replied. “After all, we’re about to summon a Demon. Won’t there be fire?”

  “Who said anything about summoning?” Dwayne asked, confused.

  “Don’t you have to summon Belphegor?”

  “No. We are not summoning anyone named Bel the Whore,” Granny announced as she traipsed into the living room and dumped her knitting basket on the couch.

  Swallowing back my laugh, I shrugged. “I come by it naturally,” I told Dwayne.

  “Come by what naturally, girlie?” Granny demanded, pointing her purple knitting needles at me.

  She was the spitting image of a tiny Sophia Loren in her younger years. Granny was ninety-five pounds soaking wet, feisty, potty-mouthed, and all mine. I adored every annoying inch of my beloved Granny.

  “It’s not Bel the Whore. It’s Belphegor,” I told her, peeling myself off the couch. “He’s a Demon and Dwayne is going to summon him.”

  “Damn it to Hell, Bel the Whore will be here just in time for the Hung Peach Festival,” Granny said grinning from ear to ear.

  “No he won’t,” I said with an eye roll. “And it’s Belphegor. We’re not summoning the hooker to Hung Island for a peach festival, Granny.”

  “Why else would you summon a hooker Demon to Georgia?” Granny inquired as she began to knit up a storm on a hat with so many holes in it, I wanted to laugh.

  I didn’t though. Granny had a mean left jab and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “Umm…”

  I was at a loss. The mission was top secret
, but Granny had been a WTF agent in her younger years. In fact, my entire family had worked for WTF. Recently I found out that my parents were still alive. They’d been agents who’d been used in a horrid WTF experiment.

  Now all those responsible for making me grow up as an orphan had been eliminated.

  Permanently.

  “Tell her,” Dwayne said, as he sauntered back into the living room with at least twenty pairs of skinny jeans and several gold lame tops. “Bobbie Sue needs to know. In fact, I’d say all of our inner circle needs to know.”

  “What do I need to know?” Granny asked as she gave up on the hat and started in on what might be a blanket… or a potholder… or possibly a noose.

  “Weres are dying violently from Jazz Cabbage overdoses,” I told her. That was possibly the strangest sentence I’d ever spoken. “Fifty have died so far and the Council has no clue how or why.”

  “Well, shee-ot,” Granny muttered, letting her knitted atrocity drop back into the basket. “Last outbreak of the Devil’s Lettuce I remember was about forty years ago.”

  “Are you saying this has happened before?” I growled, getting pissed at the Bobs for withholding Intel.

  Dwayne was no longer interested in his fashion choices. He turned his attention to Granny. “Out with it, Bobbie Sue.”

  “Wasn’t as many deaths,” Granny recalled, looking grim. “Happened in Colorado. About ten Werewolves were involved. The Council swooped in and took care of it.”

  “How did they take care of it?” Dwayne asked. “Demons don’t play nicely with others.”

  “Don’t know,” she admitted. “You’d have to ask the Bobs.”

  “I’ll be doing that shortly,” I snapped, grabbing my cell phone. “First, we’re going to have a little meeting with people we actually trust.”

  “Have everyone meet at your in-laws’ compound in an hour,” Dwayne said flatly. “More room. More privacy.”

  “Done,” I replied.

  “I’d just like to go on record sayin’ the key ingredient to summoning a Demon is a lack of intelligence bordering on bein’ too dang stupid to breathe,” Junior announced to the assembled group.