Fair Game

they reached the pub. Irish pubs in Boston, Anna had noticed, were sort of like pizza parlors in Chicago: there were a lot of them and most of them served pretty good food.
    Just inside the door lurked a life-sized, wooden Irish wolfhound. It was, Anna judged, only a little smaller in height than Charles, but about a quarter as broad. Around his neck was a sign that read WELCOME FRIEND .
    Isaac waved one hand at the hostess and, with his other hand at the small of Anna’s back, directed her to a rough-sawn wooden staircase. At the top of the stairs, just past the restrooms, was a door marked PRIVATE PARTY .
    Through the door was a big room with four trestle tables with chairs and benches mixed in, filled with people, most of whom Anna didn’t know. Celtic music filtered in through speakers in the ceiling, and there were pitchers of beer and water on all the tables.
    A waitress came in through a door in the back of the room. She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Anna had plugged her ears as soon as the girl’s fingers touched her lips, and the piercing noise still hurt. She could pick out the werewolves, because they were the ones with grimaces on their faces. She recognized Malcolm, of course, but there were three others in the room, too.
    Quiet descended.
    “All right, gents and ladies all. There’s beer and water on the table and we’ll keep the pitchers full until nine p.m. If you want something different to drink, our Isaac says he’ll cover it, too—” She broke off, interrupted by cheers. Isaac bowed, and nodded for the waitress to continue. “Again until nine, after that your food and drink comes out of your pocket. We’ll be coming around for orders for food. Our specialty is bangers and mash, but we have a great stew tonight and the fish and chips are to die for. Enjoy!”
    She retreated through the door at her back to another smattering of applause, and two young men and a middle-aged woman came in through the same door and started to take orders.
    Anna looked around. There were maybe thirty people in the room—if seven were werewolves, that meant that there were twenty-three police officers. Which seemed like a lot until she laid eyes on Leslie. The FBI agent was sitting beside a giant of a man who looked as though he could do his share of shoving people into lockers. He made two or maybe even three of Leslie and, while she talked to a pair of plainclothes police officers, he kept a big hand on the back of her neck. This must be the football-playing husband Leslie had talked about.
    If everyone had brought a date, the numbers made more sense. She caught sight of one of the two Cantrip agents, the one who was not Heuter. His name had started with a
P
. Patrick…Patrick Morris. He was talking to Goldstein. So it wasn’t just police officers here. She decided to avoid him if possible, just in case he shared Heuter’s views on werewolves.
    Leslie looked up, saw Anna, and waved her over. In the two hours that followed, Anna found herself shuffled around from one table to another, answering questions about being a werewolf. In a quiet moment, she pointed out, rather grumpily, to Leslie that there were six other werewolves—Isaac and his five pack mates—in the room. So why was everyone asking her questions?
    “All the wolves are answering questions,” Leslie replied. “But you’re easier to talk to—women aren’t as threatening as men.” She thought about it. “Most women, anyway—I know a few that would scare any person with a modicum of sense. But you’re approachable. And youare going away soon. So if they offend you, they don’t have to live with the consequences.”
    So Anna explained, over and over, that werewolves could control themselves when they ran as wolves—though they tended to be hot-tempered. Yes, all werewolves had to change during the full moon, but most of them could change whenever they wished it. Yes, silver could kill a werewolf—so could beheading or a number of other things. (Bran thought it important that the public not perceive werewolves as invulnerable.) No, most of the werewolves that she knew were staunch Christians and none of them that she knew of worshipped Satan. Once, she recited a few biblical verses to prove that she could do so. She’d have been more exasperated about that one, but there
were
things out there that couldn’t quote scripture (not that she told them that).
    “Your husband’s a werewolf, right?” said one young man as