Master of Smoke

arm and hoisted, forcing him to walk on his toes or be carried. “Cut it out! That hurts. Are you nuts?”
    “Where is his vehicle?” David demanded.
    Eva stared at him, alarm streaking through her irritation. If the white werewolf really was on the way, David was right. They had to get the hell away from the area as fast as possible.
    She pointed over Bill’s thick shoulder toward the line of cars parked nose to the curb. “That red Tahoe. Dad, it would probably be best if we left.”
    “Screw that.” He glared at them both. “You and your pet nutjob can leave if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
    In the living room of a seedy little house on the outskirts of Chicago, two Dire Wolves circled, lips peeled back from teeth, growls rumbling. They were in full wolf form, big as ponies, one charcoal gray with white markings, the other red as a fox’s fur. As if obeying some inner signal, they exploded toward each other in a chorus of snarls and snaps. The gray’s fangs sank into the red-furred one’s flank, and the big beast yelped.
    Blood flew, splashing across the sketch Tom Danvers was studying. “Goddammit! Cut that shit out! I’m trying to work here.”
    The two wolves froze, wide eyes flying guiltily to Danvers as he glared at them. They immediately separated, the gray tearing his fangs from the flank of the other as they slunk in opposite directions, heads down, tails low. The two headed up the stairs to the den, claws clicking on the wooden steps. One beast nosed the door open, and they slipped out. It closed behind them again with a quiet click, leaving the basement in silence.
    Danvers watched them go with grim satisfaction. Three months ago, he’d have had to Change and rip into them, but he’d successfully established who was in charge.
    “Fuckin’ idiots,” Steve Miller muttered from the other side of the battered Ping-Pong table. A sixty-watt bulb hung over his head, casting his craggy face in deep shadows. The smoke from his cigarette floated in a lazy blue haze over the cinder-block room.
    “Yeah.” Danvers returned his attention to the sketch he’d drawn after casing FBW Savings and Loan that afternoon. He tapped the door he’d drawn in rough, slashing lines. “You, me, and Frank will go in here. Jim’ll be in the Hummer outside. The tellers will cave right in when they see the shotguns ...”
    Miller’s eyes gleamed, yellow and cold. “’Specially if we shoot one of ’em first.”
    “Right. We’ll ...” He jerked up from the schematic as his Direkind senses detected a burst of magic. “Oh, fuck.”
    Warlock stepped through the dimensional gate, eight feet of white fur and gleaming black claws. They had never seen him in human form. Tom wasn’t sure he had one. “Go to your vehicles and prepare to gate out. I’ve found the cat.”
    Hiding his irritation—Warlock’s idea of discipline was even bloodier than his own—Danvers tossed the pencil on the table and reached for his keys.

    Eva looked into her father’s irritated hazel eyes, knowing she’d better talk fast. Preferably with at least a kernel of truth. “David and I had a little run-in with Ronnie Gordon last night. He’d beaten the heck out of Shelly and hit Terry a couple of times. Terry came banging on the door in hysterics, so David and I went over there. Ronnie pulled a gun on us, but David backed him down.”
    “And he’s on the way now,” David said, right on cue. “He is armed. He seeks revenge.”
    Bill gave him a long, cool look before transferring it to Eva. “Who writes your boyfriend’s dialog? I used to play Dungeons and Dragons with a guy who talked just like that.”
    “He’s getting in character for a movie role. Please, Dad. Mom would kill me if I got you shot.”
    Bill lowered his head like a bull. “I am not running from Ronnie Gordon. He needs his ass kicked.”
    “Dad, you are not faster than a speeding bullet.” Eva hauled the Tahoe’s door open. The dome light came on, spilling light over the darkening parking lot. “Look, you can pound Ronnie when he’s not armed to the teeth. Right now, go home.”
    David lifted his head and looked across the street. With a mutter that sounded like some exotic curse, he literally lifted her father off his feet and stuffed him into the Jeep.
    “Dammit, get off!” Going red, Bill plowed a fist right into David’s face with a crack of bone on bone.
    Eva’s heart catapulted into her throat. Oh, holy God, that tears it