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"The Sorrentinos."
"That's right."
"And they'll just let me move in for a while?"
"Antonio will put you to work," Clay said.
Reese nodded, visibly relieved. In his world, this made sense--no one helps out of the goodness of his heart, and if he says he does, run the other way, as fast as you can.
Reese agreed and we made the arrangements. Nick would meet him at the airport. Tonight Jeremy would leave the twins with Jaime and drive to Antonio's place to check Reese's fingers.
We drove Reese to the airport. On the way, Clay gave him "the lecture," including all the do's and don'ts of meeting the Alpha, which was only slightly more complicated than an audience with the queen. Don't sit until you're invited to. Don't talk unless he asks you a question. Don't eat before he does. Don't make direct eye contact. Jeremy demanded none of this, but that wasn't the point.
Hierarchy is very important to wolves, and it's just as important to us. Give a werewolf the choice of two leaders--one who'll take him out for drinks and one who'll take his ear off if he drinks first--and he'll pick the latter every time. An Alpha is his master and protector. Pushovers, buddies and wimps need not apply.
Next Clay gave the house rules for living with the Sorrentinos, which sounded a lot like the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not lie, steal anything, kill anyone, disrespect your hosts or covet any of Nick's girlfriends. And if you break the rules, you'll get your ass kicked and handed to you in pieces--a part I suspect God left out.
Reese was fine with all this. It was a firm and clear language that a werewolf understood better than "Be a good houseguest."
After we left him at the airport, it was time to return to the scene of the crime: the museum.
WENDIGO
THE MUSEUM TURNED out to be only a few blocks from our hotel, which we hadn't checked in to yet. So we parked in the hotel lot and walked.
At the museum, we found the spot where Reese had been attacked. There was still blood spatter on the display, tucked back in a corner. It would be a while before people noticed it, and then they'd likely brush it off as a nosebleed.
The location made it easy to get down and sniff. I did that while Clay stood guard.
"And?" he asked when I stood.
"It's the same scents from the woods, which I suppose is something of a relief--at least we aren't dealing with more mutts."
Clay nodded, but I could tell he wasn't relieved. His gaze kept sweeping the room, never resting on any of the exhibits, which wasn't like him at all.
"You're worried about Dennis and Joey," I said.
"I'm sure they're okay. I just..." He glanced around, shook it off, then headed out. We took another route through the exhibits, and were almost at the front when Clay stopped.
"Dennis was here."
"Dennis? I hope he didn't follow those mutts in."
"He wouldn't."
I inhaled as he turned left and headed for a separate room.
"I don't smell anything," I said. "Are you sure?"
He was already in the next room. I followed him into a display of Native artifacts. Clay was crouched in the middle. Luckily, the room was empty--not that the presence of others would have stopped him from dropping down and sniffing.
When I moved into the room, I did smell Dennis--the same scent we'd picked up outside his apartment, and just as faint, meaning it was at least as old. As for how Clay had detected it from the lobby, it only proved that as hard as he was trying to keep his perspective on this, Dennis and Joey were front and center in his mind right now.
As he followed the trail, I looked around. It seemed to be a temporary exhibit focusing on local mythology and legends. If we did have time for sightseeing later, this room would top Clay's destination list. Even now, he kept glancing at the artifacts, reading the cards.
Myth and ritual was Clay's academic field. His specialty was anthropomorphism in religion--belief systems that included man-beast hybrids or shape-shifters.
"Was Dennis interested in this?" I asked.
