The Coyote Howls

"Why, hello, Duchess Philomena!"

Janus, my fashionista droid, was at it again. His cell rang with the familiar ringtone, so he's up and pacing immediately. The only other person in the world who gets that quick of a response is his partner, Roman.

"Oh, not much. No reality is pleasant reality, so the family is watching some boring Oscar fodder that the blogger picked. It's a drag and not in the good way."

His laugh tinkles through the air, and I smile. He'll be at least an hour and a half talking about his new designer loafers, shopping in Beverly Hills, and the Real Housewives of Anyplace. I'd bet my bottom dollar he's headed for their bedroom to pull his newest purchase out of the ‘vault' so he can describe them in minute detail rather than have her Google them.

For guys made with the highest of high tech, droids and clones hate technology. At least, the ones who live in my house do. Janus and Roman like a personal touch no matter what they're doing. Wilde uses the ‘Net for his blogging audience, but he prefers actual books and paper. Calista prefers nature to anything indoors.

I love them all, but sometimes, I want to give them a good shake.

"I read she was going to reha—what, DP? What are you saying?"

I raise a brow as Janus walks back into the living room, his brows knit in concern. Given that he agrees with his bitchy bestie that emotions cause wrinkles, I'd say it must be important.

"Shortstack? Duchess P is demanding an audience." He holds the phone out, giving Roman a worried look.

"Philomena wants me?"

I'm the least girly, least fashion-conscious person in the house—maybe even in the universe. This is a droid who might think people who buy off the rack have a mental defect. It cannot be good if she's asking for me. I'm certain that she only puts up with me because we're family. I think if she didn't know me, she'd be snidely commenting on my attire as we passed on the street. She might still do that, but at least it's not in front of me.

"She won't tell me why."

Okay. That is definitely not good. Something is amiss at the Maison if Philomena won't tell Janus what's going on. Those two live for gossip and intrigue. I take the phone from his outstretched hand, my expression troubled. Janus heads back to his room to put away his treasures and Roman gives me a sideways glance as I answer. "Hello?"

"How's it hanging, hobbit?"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as she laughs her ‘drunkenly clever' insult laugh. Duchess Philomena—or DP, as the boys call her for short—has two states of being… smashed and condescending. They are not mutually exclusive. How Deli puts up with her constant barrage of drunken slurs and slams, I'll never know, but it's the way she's freaking programmed.

As a distraction, Deli's tribe built Philomena for her as a present after Dona left. She shares a ‘birthday' with several other droids that were ordered around that time. Deli received Philomena, Calista came home with us, Shane moved in with Michaela, and a few other households gained new members. To this day, I don't know if that wave of orders started because everyone wanted to make our ‘creators' feel better or because everyone wanted to be more like Deli with her ever-growing legion.

I don't really care. Everyone in the Resistance shares and has equality. I'm all for that after living through the dictatorship of the Cabal. Those people wouldn't share a damned napkin, much less their companions.

"DP, it's real nice hearing from you, but I have a feeling this isn't a social call, or you'd be gabbing with Janus. What can I do you for?"

"Do me? Honey, you'd need to grow half a foot—and I don't mean tall—to do me, and even then, you wouldn't be doing me right." She snorts, and I wonder if you can hear my eyes rolling over the phone. "Listen, I need you over here like yesterday."

I'm sorry, but this has gone from worrisome to outright panic inducing.

There is no way the droid who has never warmed up to me, despite my status as a mate to two people in her household, is asking me to come to their house voluntarily. DP might love my dancing boys, but she does not dig me and never will. Nothing less than an emergency would cause her to do this.

"What's going on, Philomena?" I use her proper name because I'm having trouble not screeching. Whatever this is, she's dragging it out unnecessarily and it's infuriating.

"Well," she pauses, and I can hear her sipping a drink. "The clones and droids here all have their non-existent boxers in a bunch. I cannot even deal with them." She sighs, a little of her concern creeping through the drunkenness.

DP loves to boss around the clones and droids. It's one of her favorite things in the world. She likes it even more when they're riled up. Why the hell does she need me? I'm more likely to get them even further riled and take a ride rather than come to corral the stallions.

She doesn't know about our current issues with her housemates. That would have prevented her from calling me, I think. Or maybe she is aware, and it's so bad there that she's calling me, anyway. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"Look, furry Fanny, I don't want to get into it over the phone. I'm going to bash boys with booze bottles. I hate alliteration; it's tacky to repeat yourself. Will you please scoot on over?"

This is serious. DP never says please; she's a Devil who wears Prada or nada. An icy chill runs up my spine and the coyote in me takes notice. "DP, is something wrong?"

"Get over here, half pint! If you aren't here by the time my Xanax wears off, I won't be held responsible!"

With that, the phone clicks, and our conversation has ended.

I let out a screech of frustration that turns into a long, mournful howl. I don't have control over this shit yet and though I absolutely love the feel of my darker half prowling inside; I don't know how to keep from going postal. I can't use it to my advantage if I don't know how it works and Deli won't teach me.

When she started having these issues back in December, she and Wilde had to be hogtied until they worked their shit out. Since then, she seems to have picked up some actual skill, though, because I can feel her soothing her beast, whereas my coyote has no interest in listening.

Wilde conquered his newly released demon, and it brought Deli back when he thought he was losing her to Alistair. I've been trying to do the same with Rafe, but I'm not having the same luck Wilde did.

Who is helping her, I wonder?

Speaking of the demon, Wilde saunters in, giving me a stern look. "Is something wrong at the estate? Are our mates unsafe, Sari?"

"Hell, Wilde, I don't know. Let's get over to the Maison and find out what the hell has been buzzing in the clones' bonnets."

He turns on his heel, heading for our room to change into travel attire, and I sigh, gathering my stuff. I don't know what I'm going to need over there, but I suppose a few more pairs of cuffs and some rope wouldn't hurt.

Maybe I'm wrong about her control. Maybe the beast is on the loose.

Wilde would like that very much. I almost hope it's true.