14. In Other News, Giraffes Hate Sam （and the Lemurs Aren’t Happy with Her Either）

Ahuge group of children was gathered near the entrance, a few chasing each other around a large oval planter while chaperones tried to count heads. Skirting the kid who was terrorizing his friend with a very realistic-looking snake, no doubt purchased in the gift shop thirty feet away, I headed to the ticket windows.

"That'll be twenty-five dollars." The older woman behind the glass had short brown hair and an SF Zoo jacket.

I pulled out my cash and paid. "Is it possible to find out where George Drake is working right now?" At her blank stare, I added, "He's one of your vets. I'm a friend."

"Oh. I haven't met all the vets yet. Just a sec." She left the window and picked up a walkie talkie.

I could hear both sides of the conversation but glanced around the entry area, pretending I couldn't. A couple with a toddler went up to the other window while I waited.

"Dr. Drake is working with a grizzly right now. He asked if you could wait for him right inside at the African Savanna exhibit. You'll see giraffes near the fence."

I took my ticket and thanked her. The area she directed me to was busy, people going in and out of bathrooms, strollers rented for the day, camera phones out as a giraffe stood right inside the enclosure fence, eating leaves off the tall trees.

After a few minutes, the chaotic crowd had dispersed, some going into the zoo, some heading to the parking lot. The couple with the toddler, who'd entered when I had, were the only ones left with me. Dad stood on the bench by the enclosure fence, his son on his shoulders. The little boy gleefully shouted, "Graff! Graff!"

The mom was trying to get a pic with the giraffe and her son in the same shot.

"I can do that for you."

The mom hesitated, but the dad said, "That'd be great. Thank you. Come on, honey. Climb up here."

I held out a hand to help her up, then moved back, framed the shot, and took a few. The poor dad was going to have a sorely bruised chest, considering how often the toddler drummed his feet in excitement every time he saw a new animal.

After the family moved on, I hopped onto the bench myself, to look out over the huge enclosure of African animals. The giraffe nearby blew a puff of air out his nose and stamped his feet before moving quickly toward the opposite end of the savannah.

Feeling guilty for scaring the giraffe, I hopped down and crossed the entry area, finding an open bench by the gift shop.

"Hey, this is a nice surprise." George, dressed in black pants, black boots, and a teal SF Zoo jacket, reached out a hand and pulled me up. "What are you doing in my neck of the woods?"

"You mean besides scaring giraffes? I wanted to talk with you."

George glanced over at the people standing on the bench and taking pictures of the animals. No giraffes were in sight, though. "Oh. I hadn't considered that."

Lowering my voice to barely a whisper, I said, "My other form is nothing compared to yours. Why aren't you scaring the daylights out of every animal in here?"

"Come with me." Leading the way, we headed up the main path, past the gatehouse, where I showed my ticket. The lemur exhibition area was just inside on the right. When they started screeching, George changed places with me, putting himself closest to the enclosure.

He cut down a narrow path to the left, away from the lemurs. "We'll stick to the areas without animals." The path curved to the right and ended at the carousel. While parents with small children rode the carved wooden animals, George and I sat under a tree on a bench away from the hubbub.

"To answer your question, they know wolves. Me? How would any of them know what I am? What they know is that I'm a predator. The type? No. It makes it easier for me to handle the more dangerous animals. They show me a proper respectful fear." He chuckled. "It drives the other vets nuts. We had a new one a few months ago who almost had his throat ripped out because he thought the tiger I'd been examining was tame."

"If you could do it, he could do it?" I ventured.

"Exactly. Idiot." He relaxed back onto the bench. "I love it here." He nodded to the carousel. "I take my lunch here a few times a week."

We listened to the pipe music, the shouts of children's names as parents tried to get their attention and take pictures. All the while, the beautifully carved and painted animals went round and round. "Do you get side-eyed by the parents?"

He tipped his head, chagrined. "Unfortunately. Pedophiles ruin everything."

I elbowed him. "You should put that on a t-shirt."

"Yeah." Instead of laughing, he watched the carousel with sad eyes. "I've always wanted children."

"Oh." Reaching over, I took his hand, light and dark fingers intertwining.

"Yeah," he said again. "It's hard enough as a gay man to adopt or find a surrogate, but if I want my child to be a dragon?" He shook his head. "Forget it. Plus," he added. "Owen isn't sold on the idea."

"Which brings me to why I'm here."

George shifted his gaze from the carousel to me. "You want to talk about why Owen is content in an uncle-only role?"

"No. I'm worried about him."

Sighing, he squeezed my hand. "Me, too. I saw that text he wrote when you called in the middle of the night. He was angry on my behalf. I'm here by seven on workdays. Middle of the night calls always wake me. I'm a light sleeper and it's hard for me to fall back. He was being protective, but it was too much."

"I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me."

His shoulder bumped into mine. "I was more concerned with the anger. He was spitting mad, which isn't Owen."

"No, it isn't." I brew out a breath. "I think Abigail may have targeted him, like she did Liam."

"What?" George crushed my hand in his grip. "What do you mean targeted?"

When I wriggled my fingers, he instantly let go. "Abigail is trying to get someone to kill me. She wants to avoid the Corey curse against familicide. I have no idea what the curse is, but it must be bad for her to go to these lengths to avoid it."

"What's she doing to him?"

"I don't know. My guess is that it's something similar to what she did to me a few months ago, invading my thoughts, making me see and experience things that aren't there. Liam didn't say much, but I didn't get the impression he'd been caught in a vision. For him, it seemed more like constant psychic battering. He said he'd had terrible headaches."

Fear jumped in George's eyes. "Owen's been downing aspirin like there's no tomorrow. His mother's taking him to the doctor today to see if they can get him migraine meds."

"My guess is she hammers at her target until they're too tired or in too much pain to fight back. Then she takes over and uses that person as a kind of puppet to do her bidding."

George stood. "I'm going to talk with the director, get some time off." He thought a moment. "And call Coco. Maybe she can make something for Owen like she made for you, something to keep his mind safe."

He turned to leave and then stopped himself. "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"No. I got it. Take care of Owen and let me know what I can do, okay?"

"Yeah." He nodded but wasn't really paying attention. "I'll take him somewhere. She can't turn him into a puppet if I take him to the other side of the world, right?" The desperation in his eyes broke my heart.

"No. I think she needs proximity."

"Okay. That's what I'll do." Leaning over, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then took off at a run in the opposite direction.

Being winter, the sun was already starting to go down. I considered going straight back to the nocturne so I could begin training with Russell, but then I thought better of it. They'd need to conduct their vampy business first, so I headed to the Slaughtered Lamb.

It was dark and empty, but home. I stood in the bar, looking out the window at the swirling rush of waves capsizing against the glass. The distant hills of the North Bay were pink in the disappearing light. The stillness and silence helped to settle my nerves. George would protect Owen. Abigail wouldn't be able to hurt him.

Stomach growling, I flicked on the lights and went in search of food. Dave had left a well-stocked kitchen. Cleaning out the leftovers, I heated up four huge po'boys and inhaled them. The gnawing hole in my stomach finally filled, I raided the cookie jar and filled a plate with chocolate toffee cookies and made myself some tea.

Taking my spoils into the bookstore, I set to work on the order I hadn't completed inventorying. I'd been at it about an hour when my phone pinged.

Clive: Where are you? With the SL closed, I hoped you'd be here when I rose.

Me: @SL. Busy day, lots to tell you, but I'll let you guys do your vampy thing first.

Clive: That word.

Me: Busy? Anyway, I haven't finished processing a book order from a couple of days ago. I'll work for another hour or two. I need to fill these sad, empty shelves. Then I'll be ready for gun practice.

Clive: Which reminds me, why is your dagger sitting on the nightstand in our room? The point was that you be armed at all times.

Me: Running 10 miles—each way—with a dagger strapped to my leg did not seem like a great idea.

Clive: But returning to the Wicche Glass, where Faerie has a foothold, without your weapon seemed like a better one?

Me: You might have a point. Maybe a sheath on my back?

Clive: Come home and we'll figure it out.

Me: Soon.

Clive: I'd prefer sooner to soon.

Laughing, I slid the phone aside and rolled the cart of books from behind the counter, happy to finally be putting them in their proper places. Normally, I'd do the computer work while Owen shelved the new books, all while chatting about whatnot. I missed him terribly.

A few hours later, I was optimistically a third of the way through processing the shipment. Thankfully, the shelves were looking far less empty. Someday soon, when my aunt was gone, we'd be open for business again and the bookstore would be ready. Flicking off the lights, I stood silently in the center of the bar, hypnotized by the undulating ocean.

Prickles of fear ran down my spine. The water seemed to be staring back at me. My fingers went to the choker I wore, the one fashioned by Coco, George's sister, the one that kept my mind under my own control, not Abigail's.

The Kraken had not returned. This was something else. Had she targeted one of the merpeople this time? I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps I was feeling her focus on me as she worked her spells. Maybe it was her demon.

Abigail was a sorceress, not merely a black wicche—although that would be bad enough. She'd aligned herself with a demon who amplified her magic and took his payment from the agony and death she caused. I prayed tonight's agony wasn't courtesy of Owen.

The full moon was still almost a week away, but fur prickled beneath my skin. Something was watching, lying in wait. If I ran up those stairs right now, something or someone would be poised to attack.

Closing my eyes, I searched my mind for what it might be. A hazy form hovered just outside the ward. Odd. Odder still was the cold, green blip that waited farther off. The vamp wasn't familiar. It wasn't one of Clive's. Who the hell was up there waiting for me?