Bite Me (39 page)

“Freakish?”

“—and obscenely thick neck—”

“Well, that’s not necessary!”

“—that I won’t hunt you down, too,
and cut your balls right off!
”

“Hey, Vic,” Jake said calmly, “why don’t we see if anyone left us some honey to eat? Downstairs. Far away from here.”

Deciding it was best to leave before things got any stranger, Vic got up and walked out of the room. When Vic reached the stairs at the end of the hallway, Jake turned to him.

“Are you serious about my cousin?”

Vic didn’t see the point in being vague. “Very.”

“Then a little advice. When it comes to those two, just say, ‘Hey, why don’t I go get us some honey?’ Then leave the room.”

“But I—”

“No, no. There’s no debating this. This is a standard plan I’ve had in place for years from hard-earned lessons.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, no. You’re still doing that bear thing.”

“Bear thing?”

“Going with logic. There’s no logic when a jackal and a honey badger are friends. In the wild . . . they eat each other’s cubs. In suburban Washington, they watch out for each other’s siblings and violently threaten or attack those they feel may have emotionally harmed their best friend. So I’m telling you, ’cause I like you, and because I can tell how you feel about my cousin . . . next time, just smile and say . . . ?”

Vic stared down at him.

“And say . . . ?” Jake prompted again.

Vic sighed and parroted, “ ‘Hey, why don’t I go get us some honey?’ ”

“Good man.” Jake patted his arm. “There might be hope for you yet.”

“Please don’t cry,” Livy begged as the two women held on to each other. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”

“You were in Siberia. Not Brooklyn.
Siberia
.”

Toni pulled back, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “You found out about your dad
before
I went to Siberia, though. Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t tell anyone about that. Not even Vic. I did, however, yell at my mother.”

“Please tell me she didn’t actually kill the person we put in that grave.”

Livy went to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue from the box. “She swears whoever it was, was already dead. I decided not to push her on it.”

Gently, Livy wiped her friend’s face. “I’ll be honest, Toni. I didn’t know what to do. I never liked my old man, but . . . to see him like that.”

Toni took the tissue, blew her nose. “What did you do?”

“You mean other than getting shot?” Livy shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I beat up Melly, got thrown into jail, and Vic took me to a bear-only town called Honeyville. Then I jousted.”

“You have always wanted to try that.”

“I was really good against the cats. The bears kicked my ass, though.”

Toni sat down on the bed next to Livy. “Did Vic joust?”

“No. He would have been great, too, but he was too busy yelling at me about how dangerous and stupid it was for me to joust.”

“He yelled at you because he’s in love with you.”

Livy lifted her feet, studied her bare toes. “Did you know Honeyville has over three hundred and seventy types of honey? I think I tried almost all of them.”

“So you’re going to pretend I didn’t just say what I just said?”

“Pretty much.”

“Avoidance is still your friend, I see.”

“How else do you think I’ve managed to survive with this family?”

“You’ll have to face it eventually,” Toni singsonged to her.

“You’re gonna have to shut up,” Livy singsonged back.

Toni put her arm around Livy, and placed her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so very glad you didn’t manage to get yourself killed.”

“That’s the nicest way to blame the victim I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m really good at that. So did Kyle ask Vic to pose naked?”

“Yes. But I can’t blame the kid. The man has amazing cheekbones.”

Jocelyn pushed open the door to her cousin’s bedroom and sighed. “Help me,” she ordered Jake and Shen.

Jake responded immediately, but Shen stopped in the doorway and stared. “Is she dead?”

“No,” Jocelyn said casually as she crouched down. “Just drunk off her ass.”

“Another fight with the boyfriend she stalks?” Jake asked.

“No. He’s the stalked fiancé now.”

“Maybe we should call an ambulance . . . or something.”

“Not necessary.” Jocelyn stood. “Just pick her up, Shen.”

“Pick her up?”

“Pick her up.”

Sighing, Shen reached out and lifted Melly onto his shoulder. She seemed to barely weigh anything, and it was terribly easy. But then Jake said, “If she starts squirming, drop her. She’s about to piss on you.”

“And if she grunts,” Jocelyn added, “throw her. She’s about to shit or projectile vomit.”

Horrified, Shen practically ran to the room they’d set up for Melly. Easels and paints and the brilliant lighting from the above skylight made the room perfect for an artist. But he had a hard time believing the woman over his shoulder was an artist.

“Stand her up for me,” Jocelyn ordered.

Shen did, making sure to turn Melly away from him. Although he realized that might not actually save him.

Jocelyn stared at her cousin for several moments before pulling back her hand and slapping Melly in the face. The first time did nothing, but the second slap had Melly swinging fists and cursing.

“Melly. Melly!”

The honey badger stopped. “Hey, Jocelyn. What’s going on?”

“We need you to work for a little while.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Melly searched her dress, which had no pockets. For her phone, Shen guessed. “I don’t understand how he can’t love me.”

Jake looked at Shen and rolled his eyes.

“We’ll have to worry about that later, sweetie. Because I really need you to handle this right now.”

“Handle what?”

Jocelyn held up a poster of an old Matisse painting that had been stolen from a Belgian art museum nearly ten years ago and never recovered.

“Ohhh,” Melly drunkenly sighed. “Matisse. I love Matisse.”

“I know you do.” Jocelyn nodded her head at Shen, and he released Melly’s shoulders. Jocelyn began to walk backward, holding the painting up and Melly stumbled after her. “Only you can do this, Melly. You know that, right?”

“Yep. I know.” She waved her hand at Jocelyn. “Pin it. Pin it.”

Jocelyn pinned the poster to an easel and Melly stood in front of it. She stood. She stared. She weaved a little.

With a finger to her lips, Jocelyn gestured for the men to leave. Together, the three walked out, Jake silently shutting the door behind them.

Shen started to say something, but Jocelyn shook her head and indicated for them to walk down the stairs. Once they were on another floor, Shen asked, “Are you sure we should leave her alone? She looks about to pass out again.”

“She’ll be fine,” Jocelyn said with absolutely no concern in her voice.

Shen wasn’t so sure but . . . he wasn’t about to go back and risk getting hit with all manner of disgusting things. He just hoped the family knew what they were doing since a lot of what they were planning hinged on a bipolar honey badger female with an obvious drinking problem.

Toni watched Vic open another jar of honey, put a spoon into it, and hand it to Livy. “The cinnamon-infused.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to go watch TV with Shen.”

“Ball game on? Maybe a little hockey?”

“No.
Star Trek: The Next Generation
marathon.”

“Of course.”

Vic kissed her cheek and walked out, leaving the two females alone in the kitchen. They sat on the island, their feet hanging over the side.

“Honey?” Livy offered.

“I hate honey.”

“What kind of demon hates honey?”

“So, how long before you admit to Vic that you love him, too?”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?”

Toni laughed. “Oh my God. This is the best. I actually have something to torture you with. This is like heaven on earth.”

“Shut. Up.”

Livy’s mother pulled the sliding glass door open and walked into the kitchen. She’d clearly been shopping, her hands filled with bags from stores like Chanel, Coach, and Saks Fifth Avenue. She stopped, though, when she saw Toni sitting next to Livy.

“Oh. Antonella. How nice,” her mother practically sneered.

“Chuntao,” Toni said, always knowing how much Livy’s mother hated when Toni and Jacqueline called her by her given name. She’d worked hard to be Joan Kowalski, and she didn’t appreciate being called out by “those artistic snobs.” “How are you holding up?”

“Fine. Just fine. Thanks.”

Joan cut across the kitchen.

“Love the mink,” Toni lied. “It’s always nice to wear the fur of a dead animal on your back.”

Joan paused by the doorway that led to the hall. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Antonella dear.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled so that the pair could easily see her fangs. “It’s so hard these days to find a good friend.”

Once Joan was gone, Toni asked Livy, “Your mother really does hate me, doesn’t she?”

“I think she hates your mother much more. But you are a close second.”

Toni gave a dismissive wave. “Then my job here is done.”

Sitting at the dining table, a glass of red wine nearby, Semenova chewed on elk jerky, flipped through a copy of Russian
Vogue,
and watched honey badgers skitter around. They probably didn’t see themselves as “skittering,” but that was how it seemed to Semenova. They moved quickly, stopped, listened, moved again.

Watching them made her want to go on a hunting-killing spree, but she knew her son wouldn’t appreciate that. So she focused on her magazine and her elk jerky instead.

She heard bickering and glanced through the big glass windows that looked out on the backyard. It was that Olivia Kowalski and her mother Chuntao “Joan” Yang.

Semenova knew Joan Yang. Not personally, but anyone in her line of work made it their business to
know
the Yangs and the Kowalskis, as well as all the Mongolian Chinbats, the Russian Popovs, the African Owusu, the Albanian Dushku, the American Phillips . . . good God, the list of honey badger families went on and on.

The honey badgers, however, had always been unique among shifters. They dealt mostly with full-humans and didn’t involve themselves in shifter politics. They did, however, involve themselves in full-human politics because it amused them to do so. It amused honey badgers to fuck with people. It amused them to steal, torment, and toy with those who weren’t part of their families. They bred many to ensure their strength among the shifter nation, in general, and other honey badger families specifically.

Of all shifters, Semenova always felt that the honey badgers were the ones who could take over the world . . . they simply never felt like it. Instead, they managed to keep the balance. They kept the world from ending, but they
never
allowed things to become perfect.

Perfection was a curse. Perfection was boredom—and badgers hated boredom.

So they served their purpose in the world, but she still treated badgers as the criminals most of them were. Especially in Eastern Europe and Mongolia, where Semenova and her mate worked long and hard helping law enforcement keep control.

What could Semenova say? She and her Vladik were very good at what they did. Her Vladik was the sweet-talker, negotiating with everyone, from mobsters to pirates to government rulers.

Semenova, however, was . . . what did her son call it? Ah, yes. She was “The Bad Cop.” She’d been trained by her mother, who had been Soviet Secret Police. Not because she’d been forced to or recruited, but because she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed it greatly.

Just as Semenova enjoyed what she did . . . greatly.

A sudden banging on the table had Semenova looking up from her magazine. An old Asian She-badger stared down at her. An old She-badger she knew.

“Hello, feline,” the badger greeted.

“Ancient rat.”

The badger smirked. “
Ratel
. . . but you know that.” She pulled out one of the dining chairs and slowly sat down. Every bone creaked as she did. How old was this woman? Semenova had seen at least six birth certificates. Some from China, others from the States. One from Paris. And she looked anywhere from seventy to eighty to ninety.

“Tell me,
ratel,
” Semenova asked with a smile, “how many of your . . . what’s the English word? Kin, is it? How many of your kin have I had put away? At least two daughters, a son . . . that third husband of yours.”

“I liked him. He was young. Very handsome. Good amount of insurance on him. Tragically died in Qincheng Prison.” She pressed a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. “Broke my heart.”

Semenova laughed. “It’s fun to pretend that either of us has one.”

The badger, grinning, reached into her large handbag with the atrocious flower pattern and pulled out a bottle of the best vodka that Russia had ever produced.

She slammed the bottle onto the table. “Let’s drink, feline. Drink . . . and chat.”

The bottle slid across the table and into Semenova’s outstretched hand.

Curious and desiring a taste of home, Semenova opened the bottle and took a deep drink. “Yes, old woman. Let us chat.”

Vic glanced away from the TV to see Livy walk into the living room. She sat down on the floor near his legs and stretched a large towel out.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Jake stopped by my office and picked up my camera.” She placed the damaged equipment on the towel. “I’m going to see if I can fix it.”

“You know how to fix cameras?”

“I’ve restored cameras. Fixed a few minor problems.” But never had the inside of a camera been in so many pieces before. She looked at Vic. “If I hadn’t already killed those bears . . . I’d totally kill them again. Because this”—she held up her damaged camera body that still made those very disheartening rattling sounds—“is just
wrong
.”

Shen leaned forward so he could see around Vic. “Are you crying?”