Men of the Otherworld (16 page)

Stephen started to advance on Nick. I felt an urge then that surprised me, the urge to protect Nick. I recognized the unfairness of this assault, perhaps more than a human would. Stephen was double the young boy's size and quadruple his strength. Though I couldn't imagine why anyone would fight over a radio, it
did
‘belong to Nick. It was his property. I could even see his name etched on it, like Jeremy did with all my clothes, though there wasn't room for a name on the tags, so he drew a little symbol that he said would help me know it was mine if I left it somewhere.

But the radio was clearly Nick's. So, in this dispute, he was, by every reckoning, the wronged party. Jeremy had told me to be nice to Nick. Getting his radio back would be nice, wouldn't it? On the other hand, Jeremy had told me not to attack anyone. I was allowed to defend myself with reasonable force—Jeremy had always been clear on that. Which was more important: that I be nice to Nick or that I not start a fight?

“You want your radio?” Stephen said, holding it up out of Nick's reach.

“Yes.” Nick paused. “Yes, please.”

Stephen turned and whipped the radio at the brick fireplace beside the doorway. It shattered, pieces scattering across the orange shag carpet. No one seemed to notice the broken radio, though. They were all staring at me.

I stepped inside the rec room, reached down and scooped up the biggest pieces of the radio, then walked over to Nick.

“Yours,” I said.

Nick smiled and took the pieces. “Thanks.” He turned to the others. “Guys, this is Clayton, the boy who's living with Jeremy.”

“The werewolf,” Joey said, smiling at me.

“Of course, he's a werewolf,” Andrew said, getting up from the sofa. “We're all werewolves, stupid.”

“I mean he's a full werewolf. My dad says he can Change already.” Joey looked at me. “That's so cool.”

“It's not cool,” Stephen said. “It's freaky.”

“So that makes him a freak,” Daniel piped up. “Right?”

“He's not a freak,” Nick said. “He's just different.”

Daniel met my eyes. “Freak.”

Stephen tousled his little brother's hair. “That's right, Danny.” Then he turned to me. “He's worse than a freak. He's a mutt.” His eyes gleamed and I knew he'd lobbed what he considered the worst possible insult. When I didn't react, disappointment darted through his eyes.

“He's not a mutt,” Nick said. “He's Pack. Poppa says Jeremy can keep him, so he's Pack.”

“Maybe, but he
was
a mutt,” Andrew said. “Once a mutt, always a mutt. That's the rule.”

“Doesn't count,” Joey said. “He's a kid. A kid can't be a mutt.”

“So does that mean he's bitten?” Daniel said, lips curling back.

“That's right, Danny,” Stephen said, rumpling his brother's hair again. “He's not even hereditary. A total freak.”

“Stop that,” Nick said.

“Ignore them,” Joey said, turning to me. “They're being stupid.”

“We
aren't the stupid ones,” Stephen said. “Look at him. He doesn't even know what we're talking about. Call him a mutt and he doesn't even flinch. Our dad was right. He's a retard.”

“He's not a retard,” Nick said. “He just doesn't talk much.”

Stephen lowered his face to mine. “Retard.”

I stared him in the eyes and said nothing.

“See?” Stephen said, straightening. “He's a retard like Gregory and a freak like Jeremy.”

My head whipped up, gaze going to Stephen's.

Stephen laughed. “Oh, ho. He didn't like that. Freaks stick together, boy. Everybody knows that. The minute my dad heard Jeremy brought some wolf-cub home, he said ‘at last, that idiot's done something so stupid Dominic will finally kick him out’”

“Jeremy's not an idiot,” Nick said.

“No, he's just… different, right?” Andrew said from across the room. “If he wasn't your dad's friend, he'd have been banished after his first Change.”

“No, not banished,” Stephen said. “Executed. Put down like a dog, before he embarrassed the Pack.”

I clenched my fists, every ounce of willpower going into keeping them still. Jeremy had warned me about this. He'd said I might hear things about him. I hadn't known what he'd meant, and he hadn't elaborated, just forbade me to start a fight over it.

“Jeremy's fine,” Joey said. “My dad says he has some interesting ideas—”

“His own father's ashamed of him, can't stand to be around him.” He turned to me. “You think Jeremy's special? Ask him how many mutts he's killed. Not a single one. Only time he ever fights them is when he's cornered. He won't even go on a hunt—”

“He hunts,” Nick said. “He hunts with my dad all the time.”

“For what? Rabbits? I meant the real hunts. Jeremy never goes on the mutt hunts.”

“That's because he doesn't believe in them,” Joey said. “Jeremy thinks we shouldn't kill mutts unless they do something wrong, and my dad says that's okay, everyone's entitled to their opinion, and if Jeremy doesn't want to fight mutts—”

“Don't give me that ‘opinion’ crap,” Stephen said. “Everyone
knows the truth. Jeremy doesn't fight mutts because he's afraid of them. A freak and a coward. A yellow-bellied coward who hides behind the Pack for protection—”

I launched myself at Stephen, knocking him off balance. We hit the floor. All the defense lessons Jeremy and Antonio had taught me flew from my head, and I acted solely on impulse, kicking, punching, clawing, and getting kicked, punched and clawed in return.

Dimly I heard the shouts of the other boys, Stephen's brothers egging him on and Joey yelling at Stephen to leave me alone. Though I got in a few good hits at the onset, when I caught Stephen off guard, soon I was receiving more than I was giving. A seven-year-old werewolf versus a sixteen-year-old werewolf is as uneven a match as the human equivalents, and all the rage-fueled energy in the world wasn't going to even the odds.

Just as my initial fury cooled, and I began to realize that Stephen wasn't going to let me off without a good thrashing, a hand reached down, grabbed me by the back of my shirt and hauled me into the air. I twisted to see Dominic holding me. Nick stood beside him, panting from running to get help. Jeremy rounded the corner. I couldn't see his expression, and was pretty sure I didn't want to.

“Looks like you bit off more than you could chew, pup,” Dominic said with a laugh. “You need to put on a few more pounds before you try that again.” He glanced over his shoulder, voice hardening. “Raymond, I expect you to have a talk with your son about this.”

“But he started it,” Stephen whined, wiping blood from his nose. “He attacked me. I was just standing there and he jumped me—”

“You weren't just standing there,” Nick said. “He attacked you because you were making fun of—”

“Of him,” Joey cut in. “He kept making fun of Clayton, and he wouldn't stop.”

I looked at Jeremy and I could see in his eyes that he knew the truth, that I wouldn't have attacked Stephen if I'd been the one he insulted. I tensed, waiting for that dreaded look of disappointment, but it didn't come. Instead, Jeremy took me from Dominic, stood me up and checked me over, his expression neutral, neither approving nor disapproving of what I'd done. When he didn't find any major injuries, he patted me on the back, murmured a soft “Let's get you cleaned up,” and steered me from the room.

Nick came with us to the bathroom. While Jeremy cleaned my bloodied nose, Nick told him about the broken radio, making it sound as if the incident was another reason for my scrap with Stephen. Jeremy said little, but I could tell by his expression that he considered defending Nick a more acceptable excuse than defending
him.
So here was the answer to my earlier question. Fighting to help a weaker party was an acceptable use of force.

Afterward, as further proof that my actions hadn't been too objectionable, Jeremy left me alone with Nick. He told us that lunch would be ready soon and we should wash up and head for the dining room.

“Man, it's about time we get to eat,” Nick said, swiping his hands under the running water then wiping them on his jeans. “We were supposed to hours ago, but then Poppa said we had to wait for you guys to get here and you've been here for what, an hour already and we still haven't had lunch.”

I finished drying my hands and we headed into the hall.

“Do you get to eat at the grown-ups’ table?” Nick continued. “I bet you do, because that's where you eat after your first Change
and you've had lots of Changes, so I think you get to eat with the grown-ups.”

I shook my head. “Jeremy said I eat at the kids’ table.”

“Whoa, bummer. So how do they know when you're ready to join the grown-ups’ table? Do you think they'll pick an age? Like sixteen? That's kinda young, but Poppa had his first Change when he was sixteen, so I hope I do, too. Maybe they'll let you join the grown-up table when I do. Then if I Changed at sixteen, you'd be fifteen—”

“Hey, Nicky?” Stephen said, walking up behind us. “Does that mouth of yours come with an off button?”

“I wasn't talking to you.” Nick glanced at me. “Do you think I talk too much?”

I shook my head. Nick flipped his middle finger at Stephen, who shouldered past us, knocking Nick against the wall.

“Asshole,” Nick muttered. “I can't wait until
he's
at the grownup table, away from us. When we sit down, you sit with me, away from him. If you're beside him, he'll swipe your food.”

“No one swipes my food.”

Nick grinned. “Hey, maybe we
should sit
next to him, then. See what happens. You almost took him downstairs. Just a few more minutes and I'm sure—”

A laugh sounded behind us. Before we could turn, Antonio scooped us up, each under one arm.

“What's this I hear? Poor Clayton's only been here an hour. You've already led him into one fight and now you're tempting him into another? Shame on you, Nicky.”

Antonio's laugh belied his words and he twisted us around in midair, then thumped us down on our feet.

“When did you get back?” Nick asked.

“Just this very minute.”

“And you're done working now? You don't have to go back to the plant after lunch?”

“I fixed the problem and I'm home until Monday.” Antonio glanced down at me. “So where's Jeremy, scrap? Don't tell me you left him at home.”

“I'm right here,” Jeremy said, stepping through the next door. “Just waiting for Clayton so I can introduce him to the others.”

“Is everyone here now?” Antonio asked.

“Everyone except Peter.”

Antonio winced, then caught Jeremy's look of concern and thumped him on the back. “Don't worry. I'm sure he's just busy with school. Once he graduates, he'll start coming to Meets again. Now let's get some lunch before we all starve.”

Everyone except Dominic was already in the dining room, milling about, talking, as they waited to uncover the cold food platters. Jeremy introduced me to the adult members of the Pack.

Although it almost certainly wasn't intentional, Jeremy performed the introductions in order of rank. First came the remaining two members of the Alpha's family: eldest son Gregory and his son Jorge.

Jorge was a quiet, solemn young man who took after his grandfather and uncle Antonio in appearance only. Jorge stayed close to his father, always hovering, ready to get whatever Gregory needed. At the time, I mistook this closeness for a lack of self-confidence, the boy preferring to stay under his father's protective shadow. I'd eventually realize the situation was reversed. It was Gregory who needed his son nearby.

On the drive to the Meet, Jeremy had explained that Gregory had been brain-damaged in a fight with a mutt six years earlier—the fight that had led to his eldest son's death when that
son had gone seeking revenge. When Jeremy introduced me to Gregory that day, I saw nothing wrong with him… just a slightly unfocused look in his eyes, as if he wasn't quite paying attention.

That's how I remember Gregory best, a vague man who never seemed to be fully present. Though I've never been clear on the full extent of his injuries, I believe they affected random areas of short- and long-term memory. He could debate politics, discuss global economics, predict stock market trends, and yet, if Jorge wasn't there to help him, he'd forget where to find the bathroom.

The next Pack members Jeremy introduced me to were Wally and Raymond Santos—the Santos boys’ uncle and father—two red-haired men who barely let him finish the introduction before Raymond cut in.

“Where's Malcolm?” he asked.

“In Tampa,” Jeremy said. “He's been chasing a mutt who showed up at Stonehaven last year.”

“In other words, he's doing your job,” Wally said. “If a mutt shows up on your territory,
you're
supposed to take care of it.”

“Jeremy does—” Antonio began, but Jeremy silenced him with a look.

Wally continued, not noticing the interruption. “Malcolm has enough to do, hunting mutts for Dominic. He doesn't need to clean up after you, too, Jeremy.”

I looked from Jeremy to Antonio, waiting for one of them to correct Wally, to tell him the real reason Malcolm wasn't at the Meet, that he'd been banished by Jeremy. From the look on Antonio's face, he was biting his tongue. Another warning look from Jeremy, and he stomped off, muttering about stubborn sons-of-bitches.

“Tell Malcolm if he needs any help with that mutt, he can give us a shout,” Wally said. “Anything we can do for him, we will. He knows that.”

“I'm sure he does,” Jeremy murmured.

Jeremy steered me over to Joey's father, Dennis Stillwell, a small man who greeted me with a warm smile. Then Ross Werner, who was at least Dominic's age. Ross clapped me on the back, proclaimed me a “good-looking young man” and commended Jeremy for doing “a fine job” with me. Finally Jeremy introduced me to Cliff Ward, a young man no older than Jeremy, with an insincere smile and eyes that always darted on contact.

Cliff also asked after Malcolm, proving that Jeremy's father had a higher standing here than I'd anticipated. Yet I hadn't heard Dominic or any of the other Sorrentinos ask after him. It was Jeremy they'd wanted to see. That had to count for something.

“Where's Poppa?” Nick asked the moment Jeremy finished the introductions.