Four
“Well.” Rachael
squinted as she took in the situation. “No matter how many times I
look, it’s always the same. Minnesota is . . . just . . . awful. I
don’t know why anybody comes here unless they’ve lost a
bet.”
“I’m sorry to hear
that,” the head of the St. Paul Chamber of Commerce said politely.
“Permit me to suggest it might grow on you.”
“Like a fungus, Mrs.
Cain?” East Coast snob, she chided
herself. Yet, Minnesota sucks, she
reminded herself. “Wait: I know a Cain from the Cape. I do her
parents’ taxes, if that’s them.” Given how teeny the werewolf
community was on the planet, never mind the 413 square miles of
Cape Cod, she fully expected the answer to be yes. She’d made a bad
first impression and felt guilty enough to engage in polite small
talk, but not quite guilty enough to apologize for being an ass.
Yet. “Are you related?”
“It’s a family name;
she’s my cousin.”
“Cane as in candy?”
My God, I’m bored already. “Cain as in
. . .” What friggin’ difference does it
make?
“Cain as in the first
murderer.”
“Uh.” Rachael’s
theology was a little rusty. “What?”
“From the Bible. You
know: ‘What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth
unto me from the ground.’ ”
“Ohhhh. That Cain. Thanks for clearing it up.”
“Not a problem . . .
may I ask what specific aspect of the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes
disagrees with you?”
“The fact that there
are eleven thousand eight hundred forty-two lakes, to begin with.
Every license plate is wrong. And it’s freezing, no one can
tolerate these temperatures and live.”
“It’s sixty-eight
degrees.”
“It’s
August!”
Rachael shifted her
weight from foot to foot. It was rude to stand there, almost
looming over the wide red oak desk and its occupant, a heavy-set
woman with skin so deeply black her red earrings played up her
mahogany highlights and queenly cheekbones. In fact, the woman was
so zaftig and beautifully dressed, Rachael wondered what she was
doing there: the woman could have made big bucks in front of any
camera.
The president of the
chamber or, as Rachael thought of her, el
Diablo, cleared her throat, which drew attention to the
crisp cream-colored blouse and deep V neckline of the moss green
suit.
“We’re having a cold
snap.”
One that’s lasted ten thousand years, she thought
but did not say. She took the newsletter out of the purse sack and
smoothed it out with her palms. “Listen, I’m aware it’s a
stereotype to come to the Northern Hemisphere and complain about
the weather. I’m sorry I made an appointment to come shit all over
your home state. I really am.” She wasn’t, but it wasn’t the other
woman’s fault. Rachael resented having to be there at all;
there could have been Honolulu. “I just
wanted to let you know I was in town on Pack
business—”
“Yes, about
that—”
“—and have no idea
when I’ll be leaving, except I’ll keep you updated. And I’m
guessing that since you knew I was coming, you’ve already set up a
place for me to live. Thanks in advance.”
“I think you’ll
really like Summit Avenue. Did you know it was voted one of Ten
Great Streets by the American Planning Association? And there are
mansions that were built back in the early days of the city?
Several of the homes were built between 1890 and
1920.”
“I did not know
that.”
“See?” She looked
triumphant. “That’s just one of the
fascinating bits of history to be found in St. Paul. There’s all
sorts of things you’ll be better able to explore on your own,
things like the governor’s mansion being right there and the fact
that three of the homes are on National Historic
Landmarks.”
Wow. “I will, uh, try
to get right on that.” The woman sounded just like a Frommer’s. She’d either been working
there too long and ended up sounding like a poster on a travel
agent’s wall, or had always talked like that and therefore was born
to run a chamber of commerce, any chamber of commerce. “That all
sounds swell. So, I’ll head over there next, get settled in . . .
What is it, an apartment?” Cain nodded. “And I’d better figure out
a good time to meet their . . .” Rachael rolled her eyes. “Vampire
queen, gah, it sounds way too Comic-Con to me.” Though just knowing
when to reference geeks at Comic-Con probably meant she spent too
much time at Comic-Con.
“We use Pack as a
personal noun, and our Pack leader (can you hear the capital
letter?) lives in a mansion anyone can just drive right up to. And
we occasionally allow fights to the death to determine the status
of the males, which they normally don’t do on Election Day around
here.”
“Glass house. Got
it.” She was even in one, sort of . . . the chamber of commerce
building was sizeable and chock-full of windows. She could see why
the woman chose to work in the modern building, full of sharp
angles and shiny metals. One entire side was almost all windows, a
big half-moon of windows.
“Have you ever met
her?” Rachael asked. She took out the newsletter, which showed the
creases from being read many, many times, from her purse bag. This
one was a deep cream, with the Burberry logo and font in black
lettering. “Even in passing?”
“I have not. There
was never a strong enough reason.” Meaning as an envoy from the
Pack leader, or seeking vengeance for a blood debt, or being a
welcome wagon rep, everyday things like that. “I suppose I didn’t
need one so much as I was (and still am) a little vague on the
protocol, so . . .” She shrugged.
“She puts her address
and phone number on a newsletter with a circulation of six figures,
and you were worried about protocol.”
Mrs. Cain mulled that
over, then laughed. “Well, yes, if you put it that way . .
.”
“So, I’ll go see
her.” She folded up the newsletter and caught a flash from one of
the stories: “Top Ten Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Pull Some Lame
Vampire Crap from the Movies.” Interesting topic. Not for the first
time, Rachael wondered if the newsletter was a satire. “Like I
said, I just wanted to drop by.”
Mrs. Cain nodded at
Rachael’s bag. “Did you lose your purse?”
“Never had it.” She
cinched the bag shut. It was the sturdy, protective bag designer
purses came in. She took a perverse pleasure in collecting and
using the bags, but not the handbags themselves. She supposed there
was something wrong with her.
“We very much
appreciate your courtesy.” Mrs. Cain spoke for herself and the
dozen or so men and women who worked for her. Packs within packs;
happened all the time. Humans did it, too, they just weren’t as
aware of it.
“Don’t mention it.
Courtesy is my meat and drink. And even as I’m saying that, I’m
realizing how full of crap I am.”
“Don’t let me keep
you.”
“Don’t
worry.”