In Shadow - Ch 18 - Low Friends

Content warning: partial nudity, drug references

Jenny had a plan.

It wasn't a particularly good plan, she admitted to herself. This hero stuff was a lot easier when someone handed her the script and the director gave her notes. 

At least, with the show still on hiatus, she didn't have an early call. She wasn't sure how she'd be able to help Orange and Genie and do sixteen hours on set. She loved being an actress, loved being a success, but it was exhausting sometimes.

Firmly ignoring the bursts of static coming from her old stereo, Jenny headed for the bathroom. She had a lot to face today and just wasn't up to dealing with that. Everything would look better after a shower.

A shower and an omelet. Everything looked better after a shower and an omelet. 

OK, it still wasn't a particularly good plan. No... actually it was a good plan. It just wasn't a comfortable plan. It wasn't a plan that made her happy. It certainly wasn't a plan she wanted to explain in any detail to Orange. He had a protective streak. Yeah, he wasn't pushy. She didn't think he'd tell her what to do, or not do... but still. He wouldn't like the plan. That was kind of... nice actually. He was nice. 

Glancing over at the rattling kitchen cabinets, she bit back the urge to yell. Really, was all the radio static and rattling supposed to help? All it did was remind her about her apartment's other tenant. Yeah, technically she was the only person who lived here... but she wasn't alone.

Wait, she smiled. She wasn't alone!

----------

It had taken more calls than she'd thought, but eventually she tracked down the person she needed to talk to. They arranged a meeting that evening, at the Old Salt House. She certainly wasn't letting him into her apartment. Not again. 

Enter The Creep, stage left.

Five years hadn't changed Terry Stone much. He still wore loud shirts and tinted glasses. He still had that dumb mustache and that same bad toupee. Even the knot twisting in her stomach at the sight of him was familiar. 

Terry Stone. 

He was one of those guys who lurked on the fringes of the Del Sol Valley studios, offering "opportunities" to young actresses. Five years ago, he'd done that for a naive kid then called Jennifer Parker from Rangerville, and little Jennifer Parker been thrilled at any chance to break into the industry.

Terry had helped Jennifer Parker start down the road to become Jenny Poole. He'd encouraged her. He'd introduced her to some of the right people.

Of course, he'd also "helped" her to "relax" and prepare for her early gigs. Some things, she'd discovered, were easier to agree to, easier to do, when you were high.

It could have been a lot worse, Jenny thought.

Sure, he was a sleazy creep, but Terry wasn't mean or cruel. He never hurt her, or even threatened her. Sure, he gave her drugs, but not really hard drugs. OK, those early "screen tests" for Terry weren't exactly what she'd imagined herself doing when she left her dusty little town out west, but even they could have been a whole lot worse.

In the end, he really had helped her break into the industry. He'd helped her get the Salty Suds ad campaign, which had started everything for her.

"Jenny Poole." Terry greeted her warmly, but his eyes looked shifty. "What brings a big star like you down from the heavens?"

"Hey Terry," Jenny said with equally false warmth. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Now, Jenny, you remember you signed releases," Terry said hastily. "I had every right to sell those pictures to WickedHub."

"Hell, Terry, is that what you're worried about?" Jenny rolled her eyes. 

"Well, some big time actresses don't properly appreciate being reminded of their early work," Terry said.

"You're a slimeball, Terry," Jenny said. "But, as it happens, I actually do like those pictures... and it's not like you're the only guy with nudes of me. Come, sit. I've got something else I wanna talk about."

As Terry took the seat across the table from her, Jenny felt her stomach unclench. It was like realizing that she really understood a part, that she could really nail a scene. Only the part was her actual life, and the scene was real.

"So, what can this slimeball do for a big time actress like Jenny Poole?" Terry said brightly. 

He really didn't seem to mind being called a slimeball. Terry knew who and what he was. He had his place in the industry hierarchy, Jenny realized, and he embraced it. 

"I'm looking for somebody," Jenny said. "I'm hoping you can arrange a meeting."

"I might be able to help," Terry said. "I've got some new talent."

"Not new talent. Not today," Jenny said, but filed the thought away. Cassie Goth had once helped to lift her out of Terry's world. Maybe she could do the same thing for someone. It was an idea to be pursued, when she had a chance. 

"I'm looking for George T," Jenny added.

"Oh Jenny," Terry sighed. "I thought you did the rehab thing. Got clean."

"Don't worry about that," Jenny said confidently. "You know him. I know you know him."

"I know him," Terry sighed. "But Jenny, if you're looking for a fix, I've got other sources. Safer sources."

"I need to meet with George T," Jenny said firmly. "I need you to set it up."

"Jenny, I know you did a little partying with these gangsters a couple of years ago," Terry said. "I keep track of my girls, even after they move on."

"So you can resell our old nudes when we hit it big," Jenny snorted.

"You wound me," Terry grinned. 

"But Jenny, listen to me," Terry continued. "Guys like George T aren't safe to be around at the best of times, but what I hear is, since Nick Alto went inside, that world has gotten a lot more dangerous. There's a lot of bad stuff going on. The old guard, like Nick, had a code. Yeah, they were bad guys, but they had rules. These new gangsters, like George T, are just brutal. You shouldn't be messing with them."

"Can you arrange a meeting or not?" Jenny pressed. 

"Maybe," Terry admitted reluctantly. "What do I say it's about? He's not big on social calls, even from big time actresses."

"He'll meet with me," Jenny said. "Just tell him I want to talk about Max V and old times."

"This isn't a movie, Jenny," Terry warned. "Nobody is going to shout 'cut' if the scene goes wrong and George doesn't put blanks in his gun." 

"Are you worried about me, Terry?" Jenny asked, a little surprised.

"I always worry about my girls," Terry said with what Jenny realized was complete sincerity, or at least as close to it as a guy like Terry could get. In his own twisted way, he really did care. 

"Arrange the meeting," Jenny said firmly.

"OK," Terry sighed. "I'll make a few calls and I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Terry," Jenny smiled. "You're a slimeball, but I knew I could count on you... and don't worry, I can handle myself."

"I hope so, Jenny," Terry smiled. "I'll get it done. Anything for you."

The plan, step one, accomplished, Jenny thought.

She was actually very pleased with herself. She'd been worried about meeting with Terry. Worried about the old memories it would dredge up. It hadn't been that bad.

Terry hadn't really changed... but she had. With the help of good friends and a real mentor, she'd outgrown him. 

"You OK?" An older man's voice interrupted her thoughts. 

"I am," Jenny said with a smile. "Thanks for being there, Bob."

Bob was an older guy, a divorcee who lived down the hall from her. He'd been a friend almost since the day she moved in. She really hadn't felt comfortable asking Orange to back her up. She wasn't really ready for him to know about Terry, or little Jennifer Parker from Rangerville for that matter. She also hadn't felt comfortable meeting Terry alone. 

Bob hadn't hesitated. 

"Anytime," Bob said.

"I really appreciate it," Jenny said as she pulled out her phone. "You mind? I need to make a quick call."

Voicemail. Damn it, has she even turned her ringer back on?

"Genie, I think I've got us a lead."

In Shadow - Ch 17 - White Knight

Content Warning: misogynistic and racist language

Orange was worried.

His feet pounded against the hard stone paving tiles. The cool early morning air, thick with fog rolling in off the bay, filled his lungs. His arms and legs warmed with the simple rhythms of physical motion. HIs mind, however, refused to fall into the same clean rhythm. 

Jenny said she had a plan. A plan to get them closer to the secrets Genie was hunting. Closer to the criminals, the violent, dangerous men lurking in that shadow world ordinary people pretended didn't exist. 

Damn it, why did they have to be anywhere near that world?! Why did Jenny? He knew he should support her, but a strong part of him just wanted her to be safe. He was shocked by the intensity of his own feelings for her, which only added to his worries.

The police and public safety agencies are supposed to protect us from criminals, he thought.

Of course, he knew those agencies failed sometimes. Failed some people.

Corrie.

He looked at the bench where he'd met that wounded, frightened woman. Had it really only been last week? The women's shelter hadn't heard from her. He'd checked. She was out there somewhere. Out there... with George T. A rapist and murderer. One of the criminals Jenny and Genie were trying to get closer to.

He knew that he couldn't just charge in and save everyone. He knew it, but he had to do something!

"Excuse me, sir," Orange called out, hailing a fellow jogger. "You run here a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah," the crew-cut man replied cautiously.

"Maybe you can help me," Orange said, pulling out his phone, "I'm looking for someone I met around here a few days ago. Does this woman look familiar?"

"Dude, she's hot," the jogger said. "I see why you're looking for her but... sorry. Don't know her."

"Thanks anyway," Orange said. He'd keep looking.

-----------------

Damien watched the big man jogging off as he pulled out his phone.

"Hey, George. I got a guy down here asking about Corrie," he said coolly. "Yeah, he's showing her picture around." 

He listened calmly to the angry reply. 

"So," he said at last, "what do want me to do, boss?"

-------------

Well, that didn't work, Orange thought. 

He'd shown Corrie's picture to other joggers and to people leaving for early shifts, or returning from late ones. A couple of them vaguely remembered seeing a woman who might have been Corrie around the neighborhood, but no one was sure. No one knew her. He shouldn't be surprised, he supposed. He'd be hard pressed to recognize his own next door neighbors if they met outside of the building.

Finally, he'd decided that he needed to hit the gym and clear his head. His arms and legs burned as he threw himself into a heavy lifting routine. The pure physicality of it usually calmed him, focused his mind. 

It wasn't really helping. 

A woman's voice cut through his racing thoughts. "Well, aren't you a tall, refreshing drink o' water." 

"Morning... ma'am," he grunted as he finished up his routine. 

"Oh, please don't call me 'ma'am,'" the dark-haired woman laughed. "You'll make me feel old."

"Sorry," he said, amused despite his worries.

Really, it wasn't that unusual for women to approach him at the gym. It was kind of flattering actually, and had been the heart of his dating life. Of course, he and Jenny were... actually, they hadn't really defined what they were yet.

"I'm Betty," the dark-haired woman said, as he finished his routine.

"Orange," he replied with a friendly smile.

"Orange?" Betty asked. They always asked.

"When I was born, my mom was out of it on painkillers," he replied with a smile. "So the nurse asked my dad what he wanted...  on the birth certificate. He misheard her, and thought she was asking what he wanted to drink. So he said 'orange.'" 

"You just made that up," Betty laughed.

"I did," Orange admitted. 

"Well, Orange, I guess you really are a tall, refreshing drink," Betty said.

"I guess so," Orange laughed.

"Well, my tall refreshing drink, I just finished my workout," Betty said. "I was thinking of relaxing in the steam room... but I'm never very comfortable doing that when I'm all alone."

"You're not here with anyone?" Orange asked. 

"No," she said with a gentle purr. "Are you... with... anyone?"

"I... I am... dating someone right now," Orange stammered. Why did this woman made him feel like a stammering teen, one who was suddenly very aware of how tight workout pants were. "I mean, not right now... she's not here now... but I am... with... I mean..."

"Oh, aren't you gallant," Betty said brightly. "Well, then I think I'll feel quite safe with you, my gallant young knight. If you would like to join me."

"Umm... alright," Orange nodded. A deep breath seemed to clear his flustered feelings. "I promise I won't do anything ungentlemanly."

"Well, a girl can hope," Betty said with a teasing little grin.

-------------

"Yeah boss," Damien said. "I followed him to a gym... Luxe Health and Fitness on Gilbert. That's right boss."

Actually, Damien thought, it was a pretty nice gym. He wondered if he could afford the membership fees.

"Yeah, I got a name," Damien answered the boss's next question. "Get this... it's Orange Bailey-Moon. Yeah. No shit. That Orange Bailey-Moon." 

As if there could be two, he thought. What kind of person names their kid Orange, anyway? 

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye on him."

-------------

Actually, the steam room was turning out to be a good idea. At least his racing thoughts and worries had settled down. 

OK, Betty's flirtatious teasing was a little distracting, but maybe he'd needed a little distraction. Just a little. While he and Jenny hadn't really established what their relationship was, or what its boundaries were, he definitely felt that hooking up with flirty dark-haired women he met at the gym wasn't appropriate. Probably. 

He and Jenny should really have a talk. 

"Orange Bailey-Moon," a man's rough voice growled. 

Orange had distantly noted the door of the steam room opening and someone coming in. He hadn't paid much attention. It wasn't unusual for people to come in.

He turned to look at the man. Middle aged, looking a little soft over muscle, like an athlete who'd let himself go. Livid old burn scars covered his arms and chest. Another scar, maybe an old knife wound, traced a line over his eye. 

It actually took him a moment to recognize the man, the monster, he'd only seen in a picture. 

"I almost didn't believe it when Damien told me," George T chuckled coldly. "You know, you actually won me $500. That championship match against Foxbury. That was epic, boy."

"George T," Orange said, rising to confront the man.

"Corrie tell you my name?" George growled lightly. "That girl talks too much... but I put up with it 'cause she does better things with that pretty mouth."

The heat of Orange's sudden rage was stifling. He focused on his breathing, on keeping his cool. He'd been the biggest and strongest, ever since he'd been a teen. The need to keep his body from breaking things, hurting people, had taught him to be gentle, to stay in control. He called on all that control now. 

"Yeah, I heard you were asking about my Corrie," George continued. "I mean, I don't blame you. She's  a nice little piece of ass... and she's a real screamer. Don't you just love a screamer?"

"What do you want?" Orange said, focusing on each word carefully.

"The question is what do you want, boy?" the brutal gangster replied. "You're going around, asking about something that belongs to me. That's not right. Don't piss in my pool, boy."

"She's not a thing." Orange couldn't hold back the snarl.

"Right," George scoffed. "Your whole 'Yes means No, No means Yes' thing. I tell you something boy. You slap 'em hard enough, you can get any bitch to say yes."

"You should leave," Orange said softly.

"You threatening me, boy?" George actually laughed. "'Cause that would be a bad idea. Those steroids messing with your head? I bet they shriveled up your dick too. That your problem, boy? Can't get it up for your own girl but you think you can sniff around mine?

"I'm giving you a one-time free pass," George continued, turning his back on Orange and opening the door. "'Cause I owe you... for that championship game. Stay away from Corrie, and we won't have a problem. You come around pissing in my pool again, and we will. You get it, boy? Yeah, you get it."

Deep breaths, Orange thought. Keep control.

"I'm sorry, Betty," Orange said at last. "I need to go. Can I walk you to your car, or is there someone you can call? I don't think he'll bother you, but..."

"Don't you worry about me, my white knight," Betty purred. "I can take care of myself... but if it will make you feel better, I can call my boys to look after me. I was hoping to ask you meet me tonight. To see about that drink... but no. Looks like you have a damsel to rescue. Good luck, my white knight. I'll be cheering for you."

In Shadow - Ch 16 - Digging Around

"So, that's the pitch," Genie said, trying to sound confident. "An in-depth exposé of Max Villareal and his criminal connections. The Families are still a story, because of the Miranda Goth assault... and the Axis party's 'law and order' platform."

The City Herald's newsroom always smelled of burnt coffee and (for reasons Genie had yet to figure out) bubblegum. Outside, heat pounded against the window hard enough to overcome the air conditioning. The calendar might say that summer was almost over, but clearly it wasn't giving up without a fight.

Genie had been pitching her story idea for what felt like forever, but Mr. White remained unreadable. She really needed him to go for this, she thought. She needed the time and the Herald's resources, if she was going to get more information on Uncle Max. More, she'd realized after talking to Jenny and O, she actually wanted to get this story out. People deserved to know the truth.

"Alright," Mr. White said at last. "I'll let you run with this... on one condition. I also need you to help Jimmy with background research on the Unity candidates who might get tapped to replace that fruit-loop Baxter."

"I can do that," Genie said eagerly.

"You know this could hit close to home for you," Mr. White added. "It could affect your father's political career. Tarnish your family name."

"If my father is involved in criminal activity, it should be brought to light," Genie said firmly. Inwardly, she scoffed... If? Rohan Elderberry was as crooked as politicians came. "People deserve to know the truth."

"Yes!" Mr. White said, pumping his fist. The man lived for a good story. 

"You're so lucky," Jimmy said as Mr. White wandered off. "If I tried to write an exposé about my uncle, they'd have to call it 'The Truth Behind Fishing Trips: Drinking Beer and Playing Poker in Granite Falls.'" 

"I'd trade you in a heartbeat," Genie sighed. "Pass me half that list of possible candidates and I'll see what I can dig up."

"Sure thing," Jimmy said with a groan. "Another day of digging for dirt in the lives of minor city politicians. The glamorous life of a reporter..."

"You love it," Genie smiled.

"I do," Jimmy grinned. "I really do."

--------------------

"So, after a long day of digging into the lives of up-and-coming politicians... and you would not believe things these people get up to..." Genie said. 

"I'd believe it," Jenny put in, with a sly grin. 

They'd met up back at Jenny's apartment, which at least had the virtue not having any roommates. Not for the first time, Genie wondered how the actress could afford the apartment on her own. Sure, her career had really taken off since she became a regular on the Urbz, but even Spice District apartments were pricey on one income.

"Anyway," Genie said. "I managed to fit in some background checks on the names Morgan... let's call her Red from now on... gave me. I found some interesting stuff."

"Let's start at the top," Genie said. "Maximillian Villareal. Age forty, unmarried, no children on record... thank God."

"Tell me about it," Jenny sighed.

"What I found pretty much confirms Red's story," Genie continued. "Sealed juvenile record. Multiple arrests over the years for everything from bookmaking to extortion and racketeering. No convictions, but outstanding warrants for assault and kidnapping, from the Miranda Goth kidnapping."

"And yet, he's walking the streets freely," Orange muttered. "It's enough to make me rethink some of what Mr. Friend's been saying."

"Don't. Seriously, don't," Genie said. "Anyway, other than the outstanding warrants... and I don't know how that's stayed out of the press, but I'm guessing mom had something to do with it... there's nothing really new there."

"So," Genie said, bringing up another file on her laptop. "Next we have the man Red said Max has worked for in the past... Count Vladislaus Straud IV. 

"According to public records, he's eighty-three years old, a widower with one son, unsurprisingly named Vladislaus Straud V. His wife, Volenta, is deceased but I could find almost nothing about her, or junior #5, beyond birth records and death certificate for her.

"He's the fourth Count Straud, since the title was re-created two hundred years ago, at the start of the Republic, when Vladislaus Straud I was recognized by the crown for his actions in rebuilding the community of Forgotten Hollow. 

"The current Count, in addition to being a wealthy landowner, is CEO of Straud Industries, which has interests in timber, construction, furniture making, and property rental. All of that is currently frozen, by order of the Crown Prosecutors Office, due to accusations of racketeering and enterprise corruption connected to his involvement with the Landgraab Syndicate. No one has seen Count Straud for five years, since the CPO brought charges against him, not that he was a social butterfly before that. The man was a noted recluse.

"This was the only decent picture I could find of him, off his company's website."

"Also, I'm pretty sure he's a vampire," Genie concluded.

"Totally a vampire," Jenny agreed.

"Umm, guys, there's no such thing as vampires," Orange pointed out.

"Seriously," Genie blinked. "'No such thing as vampires?' How long have you and Miranda been friends?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Orange asked. "I mean, Miranda tells some pretty tall tales, and I know her mom has the whole occult vibe, but that's all for publicity."

"I'll talk to him later," Jenny said.

"OK, next up, we have Marco Tennari," Genie said. "Forty-five years old, married to... get this... Holly Alto."

"Like, Holly Alto the artist?" Orange asked. "I know her. We've met at events."

"Artist and daughter of Nick Alto, the currently imprisoned head of the Alto crime family," Genie nodded. "It looks like Marco married the boss's daughter. They have one child, a son, Carl. 

"Marco is listed as a 'studio executive' for Symphony Entertainment, whatever that means," Genie continued.

"Mostly it means he has a big salary and a plush office with a big couch for groping young actresses," Jenny said with a hint of bitterness.

"Well, in addition to that, Marco rounds out his charming resume with multiple arrests for assault, possession and sale of stolen goods, bookmaking and racketeering," Genie sighed. "Only a handful of convictions. He did a little time in jail when he was younger, but nothing recently.

"All in all, a real Family man," she concluded, bringing up the most recent picture she'd found.

"Is that the last Casbah Gallery fundraiser?" Orange asked. "I went to that. Damn, I might have met him... but I don't remember specifically."

"Any chance you could get in touch with Holly?" Genie said excitedly. "Maybe she'd be willing to talk to us..."

"I don't really know her, know her," Orange corrected. "I've just run into her at events and such. You know how it is."

"Yeah," Genie sighed. She did know. "Thing is, I think I might have met him, or at least heard about him, if I could just remember it. That gangster I mentioned dating, Johnny Pretty... He worked for a guy called Marco. Marco T. It's probably the same guy."

"I hate to ask, but any chance you could talk to this Johnny Pretty about him?" Orange said. 

"Not really," Genie sighed. "Johnny P's dead. He got involved with the wrong kind of trouble and got his throat torn out. It was... really horrible, actually."

"Crap," Orange groaned. "I'm sorry, Genie."

Taking a deep breath, Genie forced her hazy memories of Johnny P's death aside.

"Moving on," she said. "George Tobar..."

"Wait," Jenny put in. "Max Villareal. Max V. Marco Tennari. Marco T. George Tobar. George T? George T! I know him!"

"You what?" Genie gasped.

"When I was dating Max," Jenny said excitedly. "He introduced me to this scummy drug dealer friend of his. George T. A total creep but he had good drugs. Like really good drugs."

Genie looked worriedly at her friend. She could almost feel the same concern radiating off Orange.

"Hey, no. Not anymore," Jenny said hastily. "Three years clean and sober here. I wasn't back then, but... Three years. Clean and sober." 

"So," Genie said with another deep breath. "He and Max are friends?"

"I don't know if they're friends friends," Jenny said carefully. "You know how guys do the guy thing?"

"The guy thing?" Orange said, looking confused.

"Yeah, you know," Jenny smiled. "That thing where you and another guy are really friends, but you're constantly ragging on each other and trying to put each other down. The guy thing." 

"Right," Genie nodded.

"Well, with Max and George T, it was more like they were really trying to pull each other down, and just pretending to be friends," Jenny said. "Like the whole thing with them was this ongoing 'who's got the bigger dick' contest... which is ironic because they both had pretty average sized dicks. Oh my God, did I just say that out loud?"

"Yes," Genie blinked. "Yes, you did."

"It's OK," Orange said soothingly. "I mean, I know you weren't a virgin, Jenny. There's literally a sex tape of you online... not that I've watched it!" he added hastily.

"Why not?" Jenny asked, actually sounding a little hurt. 

"OK, talking about sex later," Genie said firmly. "Talking about gangsters now. George Tobar, forty-three, unmarried, no children on record. 

"Educated at UBrite but didn't finish his degree. He had to drop out at the end of his final year after he was severely burned in a fire in his dorm room. Spent a year in the hospital, and didn't go back to school afterward.

"He has a sealed juvie record, and a couple years after university he did some time for drug possession and assault. More recently he's got multiple arrests for drug possession, possession with intent to sell, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, sexual assault, rape and murder, but nothing's stuck. An all-around charming guy. Jenny, we have got to have a serious talk about your ex-boyfriends," Genie concluded.

"He was never a boyfriend," Jenny said firmly.

"Here's a recent picture," Genie added.

"Yeah, that's George T," Jenny nodded. "Really, he should be in jail for that outfit alone."

"Jenny," Orange said breathlessly.

"I mean, yeah, he should be in jail for rape and murder and stuff," Jenny said, "but that shirt alone should be illegal."

"Jenny, that's her," Orange said, horrified. "The woman with him. That's Corrie."

"Oh my God," Jenny gasped.

"Wait, Jenny told me about this," Genie said. "Corrie is the woman you met a few days ago jogging... the damsel in distress in a bad relationship?"

"Yeah," Orange said seriously.

"Damn," Genie sighed. "She's in a really bad relationship. Have you heard from her at all?"

"No," Orange shook his head. "We've got to help her, Genie. I mean..."

"I know," Genie said. "I know... but how?"

"I might have an idea," Jenny said.

In Shadow - Ch 15 - Safe Spaces

"I can't believe you did that!" Jordan hissed, trying to keep their voice down. 

It was late, far later than the couple had planned to get home. The house on Olde Mill Lane was quiet and still in the warm end-of-summer night. Upstairs, Jordan knew, little Amber would be long asleep, and they really didn't want to wake her.

"It was a fake," Aadi said, cheerful voice bursting with energy despite their own struggle to keep it down. "I couldn't let them hang a fake in the gallery, could I?"

"So, you thought the thing to do was write 'This is a Fake' on a priceless painting... with a felt tip marker!?" Jordan choked out.

"It was all I had," Aadi smiled. "Besides, it's not a priceless painting. It's. A. Fake." 

"Let's not fight about it," Jordan sighed.

"Come into the living room," Aadi suggested. "We'll sit, relax, maybe watch a little TV before bed."

"Yeah," Jordan agreed. "Oh... looks like Abbey and Amber are packed."

Aadi kept a smile on their face but ached a little inside.

"Hey, you two," Abbey called from the couch. "How was the gallery show?"

"You're still up," Aadi said brightly.

"Aadi got arrested," Jordan put in.

"Detained," Aadi corrected brightly.

"Oh, I have to hear this," Abbey laughed.

"... so, then gallery security tackled Aadi and took them away," Jordan finished the story.

"Kevin was a lovely man," Aadi smiled mischievously. "Such nice muscles."

"They took you to jail!?" Abbey asked, balanced halfway between laughter and shock.

"I've been to Big House," Aadi said dramatically. "I've seen things. It changed me."

"You spent two hours in county jail," Jordan laughed. "Then the gallery figured out that the painting was actually a fake and agreed not to press charges. I think they're hoping to just sweep the whole incident under the rug." 

"So, you're all packed," Aadi said, trying to keep their customary good cheer.

"Yeah," Abbey said. "Jake's coming tomorrow morning to take us to my cousin in Evergreen Harbor. I'm sorry Aadi but..."

"Lions and tigers and gangsters, oh my," Aadi said with a laugh. "Not exactly the quiet, peaceful artists' community. We understand."

"Completely," Jordan agreed.

"In fact," Aadi said, turning to their lover.

"Nope," Jordan said simply. "Abbey has to go away to take care her baby, and I'm staying to take care of my boo... and that's final."

--------------------

"You've got everything you need?" Aadi asked.

"Thank you," Abbey said. "You two are the best. I still feel like I'm running out on you."

"Girlfriend, don't even," Aadi said firmly. "You have to look after our little niblet."

"And you know you're welcome back once things blow over," Jordan said.

"Oh, I have to go," Abbey laughed. "Bye, you two."

"Aa'hii bye," Amber babbled sadly.

"They're going to be OK," Aadi said, a little sadly, watching Abbey and Amber head down the walk.

"They'll be OK," Jordan nodded.

"I'll make sure of it," Jake said firmly. "Moonwood Mill looks after its own. Which brings me to some people I want you two to meet," he added, waving over a couple Aadi had taken for wandering tourists.

"Aadi, Jordan, this is Lux Demarco," Jake said as the couple came up onto the porch. 

"Pleased to meet you," the tawny-haired woman said with a smile. "Everyone calls me Demarco."

"And this is Etta Blackwood," Jake said, nodding to the other.

"Hello," the fair-skinned blonde nodded curtly.

"They run with my sister, Rory," Jake continued, "and they're going to be staying in the area. Like I said, we look after our own... and that includes you two. Now, I need to catch up with Abbey. Don't want her and Amber sitting in the truck too long. You've all got my number. I leave you in Demarco and Etta's capable hands."

"So... you two are, like, werewolves then," Aadi said brightly.

"Aadi, really." Jordan shook their head at their lover's insistence on such fantastical notions.

"'I'm telling you, I heard it. Howling. Those werewolf tales are true,'" Aadi quoted.

"Sorry, Aadi's been playing too many video games lately," Jordan laughed.

"It's OK," Demarco smiled. "I used do that too... 'then I took an arrow in the knee.'"

"I knew Rory letting you guys get a computer was a bad idea," Etta chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Don't encourage her."

"Anyway to answer your question Aadi - I am, Etta's not," Demarco said, "but she knows more about both spooky stuff and shady stuff than almost anyone I know. We've got your back."

"Right," Jordan said skeptically.

"So, where are you staying?" Aadi asked.

"We were going to rent rooms in Finchwich," Etta said.

"Or maybe just set up a tent in the woods," Demarco added.

"No, no, no," Aadi said. "We've got plenty of room here in the house. I mean, if you're going to be 'looking after us' you may as well stay here. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Jordan nodded after a moment. "We've got plenty of room. Stay."

"It would be easier," Etta allowed cautiously.

"Deal," Demarco smiled. "And we'll only need one room."

"Lux!" Etta gasped, her fair skin suddenly blushing furiously.

"What?" Demarco laughed. "They don't mind." 

"Consenting adults, girlfriends," Aadi grinned.

"So, we're going to look around the place," Demarco said. "Then we'll grab our things and get settled in. Cool?"

"Cool," Aadi said. "Lunch is at noon. I'm making veggie pasta salad."

"You've been warned," Jordan said. 

"Everyone loves my veggie pasta salad," Aadi said, as the couple disappeared inside.

"Checking the perimeter?" Etta said softly.

"Yeah," Demarco nodded. "I want to know what we're dealing with, if we have to defend this place."

------------

"We've got a room all ready for you," Lilah McGee said. "Marty has been puttering around putting the finishing touches on things, and Arthur is thrilled to see his little cousin."

"Thanks for making a place of us," Abbey said.

"Don't think twice about it," Lilah said. "The pack looks after its own."

"Always," Jake nodded.

"Are you staying for dinner, Jake?" Lilah asked.

"No, thanks, I need to get back," Jake sighed. "I swear, I can't leave the Mill for a day without something coming up."

"The burdens of leadership," Lilah smiled.

The burdens of leadership. That's what Kristopher had always called being pack leader... a burden and a privilege. Now, Jake's burden and privilege. He sighed. He was doing his best. 

Lilah would look after Abbey and Amber. Aadi, Jordan and Mill Lane couldn't ask for better than Demarco and Etta, if Jake couldn't do it himself. It still rankled a bit, having to leave the house... his house... to be guarded by others, and Wildfangs at that. The burdens of leadership. 

Lost in thought, he almost missed it. A familiar scent, buried under the stinks of Evergreen Harbor, but there, nonetheless.

Well, he thought, isn't that interesting. Better to say nothing. Better to go and leave what hasn't been seen remain unseen. What hasn't been said, remain unsaid.

When the time came, he would be ready.

Moonwood Mill looks after its own. 

---------------------

Author's note: It's. A. Fake. :)