Breaking Ties (5 page)

“How many of you are fluent in English?”

A couple more out of the running.

“I live in the Argent City, how many of you are familiar enough with the area to drive me to the hospital should I get wounded to the point where I can't heal myself with magic?”

Down to two now, three if you include Parry. Unfortunately Sal is one of them. The other is a Blue Dragon, and if I remember the
Monster Manual
correctly, it's a female. I return to my human form in a flash of light and fight off a stagger, as it takes a lot out of me. “Okay, those who are left, show me your humanoid forms.”

Salondine wears a burnished-crimson suit, dark-red hair slicked back, fine leather shoes, though it's all an illusion. Honestly, he looks like Satan would dress if he worked at a bank. Parry returns to his slender white suit as well, the guns at his side not an illusion. He doesn't make eye contact.

The Blue takes her form in a crackle of lightning, the woman standing in her place having Atlantic-blue hair covered mostly by a cerulean bandanna that covers her pointed ears. Her eyebrows are pierced, drawing attention to her too-blue irises and aggressive but sylvan face. Her build is athletic, healthy; she wears tight blue jeans that hug muscle rather than bone, a gunslinger's belt slung low on her waist with a revolver holstered, her hand tapping the leather with bright-blue nails, all in time with the tapping of her navy Chucks against the floor. She's wearing a white T-shirt that's tucked in loosely, the front reading
Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.

Well, points for the George Carlin reference.

“So it's narrowed down to three. I'd rather take my time in making my final decision, all right?”

The Ra'saar snorts amusedly. “Or, we could take you to a safer locale where the skills of all those present are adequate.”

Right. The council would vastly prefer that I be kept in a cave somewhere in the Italian Alps for protection, though it'd mean living in a gilded cage. Cale tried doing that, and it nearly drove him insane. Besides, I doubt I could get decent French fries in a cave.

A few years ago I might've gone along with that, but a long series of near-death experiences tends to temper one's resolve. “Or, you could remember who the Ra'keth is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be late for work. I'm sure you can understand the desire to fulfill obligations and responsibilities.” I glance toward the Snow Dragon. “Parry, I'd like to return to the City now, please.”

With nothing more, I leave the hangar, many voices speaking up the moment I'm out the door. Honestly, I should care about this, but I really don't. A dragon protector is only going to attract attention and make the big neon sign over my head, pointing me out as a sorcerer, all the brighter.

Unfortunately, Parry doesn't follow me out, leaving me alone with his car, and while I can certainly hop in and work a little technomancy to start it (a car's VIN is unique enough to function as a true Name and thus make it receptive to commands), that would still be grand-theft auto, and I hardly want the council holding that over my head as leverage.

I wait a few more minutes, and no one exits, likely knowing that I'm not going anywhere without a ride. Teleportation is far too big of a working for me to do without my sanctum (which is not a storage locker, whatever Spencer says).

Truly, I'm left with few options. Call Ozzie and wait for him to pick me up while he's getting his door fixed and maybe trying to smooth things out with his dad. Call Hannah, one of the girls at the diner who's a werelion, but more importantly has a car, though I don't have the money to cover gas, and thanks to Spencer never paying her back for some road trip, she doesn't do pickups on credit anymore. Or, I can turn myself into a dragon and just fly back to the City, considering I'm at a place where I'll be seen as a single-prop taking off.

What the hell, I need the practice anyway.

I return to the draconic form and head toward the nearest runway.

Chapter Five

Spencer

December 19, 8:01 am

I know I worked to get this internship. I know it was competitive, and that it could lead to legal swindling and get me making enough money to have an opinion about the capital gains tax. But honestly? It feels good right now to stand in Victory Square, look up at the tower, double-barrel the fingers and go hail a cab.

The whole point of being a Coyote is to move people's stories into dynamism, change, get on the road less traveled and see where it takes you, indulge some wanderlust. Y'know, hippy kind of stuff, but I have no problems with any philosophy that promotes free love. Emphasis on
free
, since us 'Yotes don't pay for it.

So, I figure, why not do a little change for myself? My boss the bro is probably still waiting for his coffee.

“Crain. Where are you going for my coffee, Colombia?”

Or he's standing right behind me. Fuck you back, Fate.

I turn to face him, narrow my eyes. “Screw this. Find someone else to get singles for your three-martini lunches at Spicy.” (Their motto?
Spicy, where the customer is king and clothing is optional!
)

For that, I'm shoved backward. “You get your skinny ass back up there or you're fired.”

I have to blink. “You really don't get it, do you?” I also don't like being shoved, and after the morning I've had, I could use a bit of release. I curl my fingers into a fist. “Allow me to punctuate my notice of resignation.”

If this were TV? “Take This Job and Shove It” would start playing as I take a swing at my boss's throat.

Unfortunately for me he catches my wrist and puts me into an armbar rather quickly, pushing me against the wall of a covered bus stop. An armbar
hurts
, just in case you've never had one. Also, strangely, no one seems to notice the fight. “By the way? He chewed off three legs and was still stuck.”

What happened to the blond coyote when he got caught in a trap?

And that's not my boss's voice.

Oh goddamn it. I should've expected this, really.

Considering I'm on the outs with the clan, it means that fellow Coyotes who had a beef with me are likely clear to pursue vengeance now. Thornton's done plenty to me already and nearly got me killed last year with a prank, and that was
before
I got kicked out. Still, though, there's one who asked Father Coyote personally if he could take my life.

Justin Crain. My father.

“I expected you to quit over a month ago, or run a game on me, or at least report all the shit I was doing. Very disappointing, Spencer. Since when are you a workaday?” He relaxes the grip on my arm, letting me go.

I turn to face him, and he's still cloaked, but not as my boss anymore. Instead, well, he's my father, looking exactly as he did on the day he left.

His hair is short, raven black in a fashionable bedhead style; his skin and golden-brown eyes imply Native ancestry mixed with Caucasian. He's lithe, dressed in jeans, a denim jacket, Doc Martens, faded gray T-shirt, and a cheap watch. And that smile. That goddamned reassuring Coyote smile that made me believe him when he said he was going to pick up some scratch-offs and he'd be right back.

“So you're here to kill me?”

I ignore the bystanders, they won't hear any of this anyway.

He motions off toward a nearby hotdog cart, and I follow. I should run, I know, but I doubt he's going to choke me with a footlong. “I'm sorry about that. I wasn't myself. Selah could really fuck with your head, you know?” A grin spreads across his face as he inspects the available toppings. “Though she could really fuck with a bunch of other parts I didn't mind. Girl had a mouth like a—”

“God, please stop talking. It was bad enough before.” Like when he causally mentioned that my mother gave amazing head. Yeah, you can never unhear your father saying
that
.

He turns to face me. “I'm sorry.”

“For what? Walking out? Screwing me up? Driving Mom into her own head? Putting me through hell for the last few months? Trying to
kill me
? Or just the comment about the Silver Lady's skill at fellatio?”

“All of it.”

I cross my arms. “Apology not accepted.”

He shrugs. “Don't care. I'm still sorry.”

I turn away from him. “Fuck you.”

“I seem to remember you getting trapped by her wiles as well. I thought you'd understand. It's not like it was really me, Spence. I'm not
that
crazy, certainly not enough to stab my own son to death in the middle of Tolon Park.” He maneuvers around to get back in front of me. “I know you're on the outs with the family.”

“Open season on me, I'm aware.”

He shakes his head. “I could take out a gun, shoot you in the head, and the clan would buy me a beer.”

That's a little worse than I thought. “And you're not because…?”

“Because you're my son, is that so hard to believe?”

“Thornton had no problem leaving me to get eaten by a dragon just because I screwed with his half-assed attempt at an Emerald. I turned your girlfriend over to Fate, and Mom will never remember you. I'd say you've got a better motive. Besides, Thornton already tried the fake-forgiveness route. You think I'd fall for it because it's you?”

He heads back over to the hotdog cart, ordering a couple, and glances at me. “Ketchup, mustard and relish, right?”

“No. I'm leaving.” I start toward the curb.

“If I wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead months ago. I wanted to check in on you, that's all. Then I find out you're running coffee for suits. I had to get you out of there. At least selling cars kept you sharp.”

At that, I turn around, and he's looking at me.

“Yeah, I kept tabs on you.” He smiles proudly, pays for the hotdogs. “Still can't believe you got me for that extended warranty. It was a damned Volvo, those things never break down.”

“You bought a car from me? While I was working for Rourke?”

He takes a bite of his hotdog, shaking his head, and hands me mine. Grudgingly, I take it since I am a bit hungry. Once his hand's free, he holds up four fingers.

“You bought
four
cars from me?”

He narrows his eyes. “You think I'm going to let my son lose a monthly sales race to a
Dog
?” My father shrugs innocently. “People who paid for it certainly didn't seem to mind.”

“So you're just here to get me to quit?”

He takes another bite, shakes his head. “Nope. I'm here to teach you to be a Coyote.”

I motion to my blue eyes, the mottled mix of colors in my hair that's no longer as vibrant as it once was. “In case you didn't notice, Dad, I'm not really a Coyote anymore.”

He smiles, but it's not a Coyote smile, it's natural, prideful, like when we played Follow the Lady and for the first time I pointed at the card he'd palmed instead of the cards on the table. “Father doesn't make us Coyotes, son. We're born Coyotes, and nothing can take that away from us. Besides, all of this is already worth it.”

I finally take a bite of my hotdog and mumble through a mouthful, “And why's that?”

He grins. “You called me Dad.”

For that, I throw out my hotdog. “I don't have time for this, okay? I've got shit to do.”

He follows me to the curb, where I whistle at passing cabs. Every single one of them ignores me. “You don't get it, do you? This is Fate, son. You could wave hundred-dollar bills, and they wouldn't even slow down.”

This doesn't stop me from whistling louder and flailing my arms emphatically at them. No luck. “Jesus, can't you just lay off? You can't blow back into my life and expect everything to be okay!”

“I don't expect anything to be okay. I know this is going to take a lot of work, Spence, that's why I'm here. It's got to start somewhere, it might as well be now.” He pushes my arms down. “Now what are you working on?”

“Not a con, so it doesn't concern you. And I don't need Coyote lessons. I can cloak on my own, I know how not to tempt Fate, and I know when money's in the air. I figured that all out on my own.” I shove him back. “Without you.”

“A real Coyote would play along, separate the truth from the bullshit in my lessons, and eventually screw me over for a big payday, maybe enough to get him back in with the family. I'm still Justin Crain, that name carries a lot of weight in our little community.”

“You offered to teach me before, remember?”

“I was driven insane by Selah, remember? She's
dead
now.” He folds his arms. “Though I still stand by my outburst about you screwing that…
Dog
.” He spits on the sidewalk. “Of all the people you could sleep with to piss me off, you just
had
to pick Rourke, didn't you?” He snorts dejectedly. “But you did cut a Dog's Ear and a Fox's Tail out of the bargain, so I can't bitch too much.”

I perk a brow. “A what?”

“A Dog's Ear? You learned to change like they do. We call it that because they only have two tricks.” He smirks. “The Fox's Tail, that was a stroke of genius, son. How'd you keep her distracted?”

God damn it, I hate the tiny part of me that lights up at his praise.

“When I first met Shiko, she was playing six games of Go at once. I did my research and found six styles of play that would keep her in the game the longest. After that I found six people who…” I shake my head. “No, you don't get all of that story.”

He perks a brow. “Not even the noodle incident? You won't even tell me how you used a Hello Kitty kimono to—”

I roll my eyes. “No. And I don't like to talk about it. It was weeks before I could eat shrimp again.” I sit down on the curb. “What I'm doing has nothing to do with the Feud, okay? Nothing. So you can just go. You're leaving the Ra'keth alone too. No one's tricking him but me, and there's no point in pulling an Emerald on him since he's actually happy for a change.”

“You should always be trying to pull an Emerald, no matter who the mark is or what he or she is to you.” He sits down next to me and pats my shoulder. “But I'll give you this, I won't go after the Lightning Rod. Promise.” He spits in his palm and offers it. That's the only binding oath we Coyotes have. Honestly, we can freely break any other promise. I hear one Coyote even broke a contract with a demon and got away scot-free because he didn't spit and shake on it.

I spit in my hand and shake, and after he wipes his hand off on his jeans, he glances over to me. “So what are you working on then?”

“There's some trouble brewing with the Fae. Under the Bridge got shot up and the bartender's decent enough for a troll. Just felt something in the air when it happened.”

He nods knowingly. “Like Fate was tugging at your string, making you pay attention and see that this is a place she wants you to intervene. You ever feel it before?”

“Not that strong, no.”

He smiles, like he did when he taught me my first card tricks. “It's her way of tapping you for the job, giving you the mark, telling you she's got your back.”

I snort at that. “Great way of showing it if she brings
you
back into my life.” What the hell. “You ever hear of the Cobalt Order? I didn't get much from my source as he sort of passed out from blood loss.” Granted, I had to listen to over an hour of boring war stories before Bjorn finally got to the good stuff and did more than mention the Order by name.

My father's face is pale. “You marked the Cobalt Order?” He meets my eyes, voice dead serious. “
Never
let them learn about your mother. If they know you're a Coyote, tell them that this…” he motions to me, “…is a cloak. If they want to see the real you, cloak into a full-blooded. Never tell them you're half-human.
Ever.
”

“I kind of got that they hate half-blooded Fae.”

“Half-blooded
anything
. Especially weres, they hunt all of them, bit and Pure, for sport. As far as Cobalts are concerned, humanity is never to mix with the mythic.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Ironic, considering we were all created by humans to begin with. Well, sorcerers at least. Though they hate sorcerers too.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I'm Coyote's son, Spencer. I've tricked my way around the world and picked up a lot of stories.
Without
being a Bard, I'll have you know.” A few seconds pass. Then, in a somber voice, he says, “So she remarried?”

“Who?”

He glances at me. “Rachel.”

Mom. “Technically, she doesn't remember ever being married to you in the first place. No one does, no one human anyway. But yeah, she is, and she's happy, so leave her alone.”

“She laughing again?” I nod, and he smiles warmly. “She always had the best laugh, your mother. No matter how bad Fate would fuck up my day, it'd be a good one if I could make her laugh. I won't intrude on it if she's happy. Besides, I doubt I could, considering the blessing you laid on her. That was some serious voodoo there.”

I shrug. “Just a Bard thing, I guess.” I hate that I can talk with him again. I hate that little kid inside me who misses Dad and is all too ready to forgive him. TV would give him a shot at a redemptive arc, but I can't be that gracious, not after everything he's done. “So you know what I'm doing, you going to leave now?”

“Not if I can help it.”

I look at him, see the golden-brown eyes that used to match my own. “Leave now.”

“You at least got a number you can give me?”

“7-7-3-4-2-0-6. Buy a calculator.”

He rolls his eyes and takes out a slip of paper with a string of numbers on it. “That's my cell. Call it if you need me.”