Dead to the World

less—other than my heart breaking at Bill’s perfidy.
    “Thanks for being so understanding,” he said, after a pause during which he looked at me intently. “I think I would have felt better if you’d been mad.” I believe he was wondering whether I was just putting a brave face on it or if I was truly sincere. I could tell he had an impulse to kiss me, but he wasn’t sure if I’d welcome such a move or even allow it.
    Well, I didn’t know what I’d do, either, so I didn’t give myself the chance to find out.
    “Okay, I’m furious with you, but I’m concealing it real well,” I said. He relaxed all over when he saw me smile, though it might be the last smile we’d share all day. “Listen, your office in the middle of day isn’t a good time and place to tell you the things I need to tell you,” I said. I spoke very levelly, so he’d realize I wasn’t coming on to him. Not only did I just plain old like Alcide, I thought he was one hell of a man—but until I was sure he was through with Debbie Pelt, he was off my list of guys I wanted to be around. The last I’d heard of Debbie, she’d been engaged to another shifter, though even that hadn’t ended her emotional involvement with Alcide.
    I was not going to get in the middle of that—not with the grief caused by Bill’s infidelity still weighing heavily on my own heart.
    “Let’s go to the Applebee’s down the road and have some coffee,” he suggested. Over the intercom, he told Crispy he was leaving. We went out through the back door.
    It was about two o’clock by then, and the restaurant was almost empty. Alcide asked the young man who seated us to put us in a booth as far away from anyone else as we could get. I scooted down the bench on one side, expecting Alcide to take the other, but he slid in beside me. “If you want to tell secrets, this is as close as we can get,” he said.
    We both ordered coffee, and Alcide asked the server to bring a small pot. I inquired after his dad while the server was puttering around, and Alcide inquired after Jason. I didn’t answer, because the mention of my brother’s name was enough to make me feel close to crying. When our coffee had come and the young man had left, Alcide said, “What’s up?”
    I took a deep breath, trying to decide where to begin. “There’s a bad witch coven in Shreveport,” I said flatly. “They drink vampire blood, and at least a few of them are shifters.”
    It was Alcide’s turn to take a deep breath.
    I help up a hand, indicating there was more to come. “They’re moving into Shreveport to take over the vampires’ financial kingdom. They put a curse or a hex or something on Eric, and it took away his memory. They raided Fangtasia, trying to discover the day resting place of the vampires. They put some kind of spell on two of the waitresses, and one of them is in the hospital. The other one is dead.”
    Alcide was already sliding his cell phone from his pocket.
    “Pam and Chow have hidden Eric at my house, and I have to get back before dark to take care of him. And Jason is missing. I don’t know who took him or where he is or if he’s . . .” Alive. But I couldn’t say the word.
    Alcide’s deep breath escaped in a whoosh, and he sat staring at me, the phone in his hand. He couldn’t decide whom to call first. I didn’t blame him.
    “I don’t like Eric being at your house,” he said. “It puts you in danger.”
    I was touched that his first thought was for my safety. “Jason asked for a lot of money for doing it, and Pam and Chow agreed,” I said, embarrassed.
    “But Jason isn’t there to take the heat, and you are.”
    Unanswerably true. But to give Jason credit, he certainly hadn’t planned it that way. I told Alcide about the blood on the dock. “Might be a red herring,” he said. “If the type matches Jason’s, then you can worry.” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes focused inward. “I’ve got to make some calls,” he said.
    “Alcide, are you the packmaster for Shreveport?”
    “No, no, I’m nowhere near important enough.”
    That didn’t seem possible to me, and I said as much. He took my hand.
    “Packmasters are usually older than me,” he said. “And you have to be really tough. Really, really tough.”
    “Do you have to fight to get to be packmaster?”
    “No, you get elected, but the candidates have to be very strong and clever. There’s a sort of—well, you have a test you have to take.”
    “Written?