He took another drag, eyes still fixed on the TV. “I’m waiting on Spooky to run a file check for me.”
The sound of Blue’s boot heels echoing in the hallway announced her arrival before she ever set foot in the room. A falcon Shifter, Blue strutted in as cool as a cucumber and switched on the trendy floor lamp behind the couch.
“Delivery,” she said, tapping Shepherd’s forehead with an envelope. When she bent over the corner of the sofa to drop it in his lap, her long brown hair tickled the top of his head and made his nose twitch.
In a gravelly voice, he said, “I don’t get mail.” Shepherd blew out another ring of smoke.
She yanked a red pillow out from beneath his head. “You do now. A messenger dropped it off a minute ago. Better take it before I let Wyatt have the first look.”
Wyatt rolled his chair across the room and reached out with grabby hands. “Gimme.”
Shepherd snatched the envelope and set his ashtray on the floor. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, ashes scattering onto his lap. Shepherd was a lot like the furniture in some of the rooms; he might not fit in with his surroundings, but after a while, you got used to him. He ran a hand across his buzz cut, a cigarette firmly wedged between two fingers.
Wyatt used his heels to propel his chair back to his desk, where he rummaged through a drawer and retrieved a box of chocolate-covered raisins. “Well?”
Shepherd ripped open the envelope with his teeth and spit the loose paper onto the floor.
Blue picked up his ashtray and set it on the end table to the right of the sofa.
“What is it?” I asked, watching him read the letter.
He wadded the paper up in his hand. “Something I don’t have time for.” Shepherd stood up and showered the floor with ashes. The muscles on his arms flexed and hardened as he dusted off his clothes. Shepherd spent a lot of time doing pull-ups, and it showed with nearly every subtle move he made. He tossed the paper into the wastebasket across the room and stalked toward Wyatt, who spun out of the way so that Shepherd could grab a file off his desk. “Send me the rest when you’re done.”
As soon as Shepherd left the room, Wyatt nearly tipped over his chair as he dove into the trash.
“What’s it say?” I whispered, sidling up next to him.
He smoothed out the crumpled paper and read it to himself. “Holy Toledo! This is an invitation from Mr. Patrick Bane.”
“You mean the guy whose party we crashed?” Mr. Bane was an elite member of society who belonged to the higher authority. We’d recently attended a masquerade ball at his mansion.
Wyatt set the letter on his lap and gave a throaty chuckle. “My favorite part is where it says Mr. Shepherd Moon. I never thought of Shepherd as a mister anything but a pain-in-the-ass chain-smoker. I bet he’s afraid he’ll have to put on a suit.”
Blue furrowed her brow. “What’s the invitation for?”
“I bet Patrick wants to extend his gratitude for saving his kid, so he’s inviting Shep over for dinner.”
I pursed my lips, remembering how Shepherd caught the falling boy. “Does Shepherd even know how to use silverware?”
Shepherd wasn’t the most affable guy, but I’d never held that against him. He didn’t usually attend events that weren’t work related unless they involved a glass of beer and game of darts. Better him than me. Dining with modern-day aristocrats wasn’t my style.
“We should show this to Viktor,” Blue said. “Whether Shepherd wants to go or not is beside the point. We have to maintain good relations with the higher authority, and this guy’ll be insulted if Shepherd doesn’t at least reply to the invitation.”
Gem struggled to her feet and skated over, collecting the paper and thoroughly examining every word. “Cordially invited. Alas, I never get cordially invited to anything.”
“Maybe someone should go with him,” I suggested. “Just to make sure things remain cordial.”
“Me!” Gem volunteered, raising her hand.
“Wait a second, wait a second,” Wyatt interrupted. “I’m his partner. It only makes sense that I go with him.”
Blue and Gem exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes.
Wyatt rose to his feet and lifted his nose in the air. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said, circling around them.
Gem carefully rolled backward on her skates and then leaned against the desk. “Feel free to go. But if Mr. Bane happens to have any ghosties wandering around his great big mansion, you might end up having an argument with them at the dinner table, completely oblivious to the living people around you. Wait’ll Viktor hears about that.”
Wyatt plopped down on the couch, his eyes fixed on his skull belt buckle. “Point taken. I’m not a big fan of those intimate dinners anyhow.” He lifted his head, and a smile touched his lips. “Just remember, Rollergirl, it’s going to be a private dinner with a high-and-mighty political official. No studly men to admire, no dance party, and you’ll be subjected to stimulating conversation about the economy.”
“Point taken,” she parroted back. “What about Christian?”
I chortled. “I’m not sure if Mr. Bane is prepared for asinine remarks about his décor. Plus, Christian doesn’t eat, so between an imperious Vampire who eats candy and a chain-smoking caveman like Shepherd, it would be an award-winning dinner.”
Blue tapped her feather earring, her eyes downcast. “Viktor should decide. Maybe it’s not necessary.”
“Viktor should decide what?” our fearless leader asked. Viktor’s Russian accent was smoky and relaxed. Sometimes in conversation he would drift into his mother tongue, and then Gem was the only one who could understand him.
He stood at the door, his steel-grey eyes looking among us with great interest. Viktor was like a senior hipster, always making whatever he wore look like a fashion trend. His swanky loafers matched his brown chinos, and he had on a beige sweater over a button-down shirt.
The silver-haired fox stroked his short beard, his other hand in his pants pocket. “We’re not keeping secrets, are we?”
Blue crossed the room and handed him the creased letter. “This came for Shepherd.”
“Spasibo.” Viktor read the short letter and turned it over. “What an honor. I’m assuming by the condition of this paper that Shepherd has seen it.”
Wyatt snorted. “Shep isn’t going.”
“Nyet. He will accept this offer. I think it best if I send one of you with him to make sure he does not insult Mr. Bane. I cannot go. If Patrick wanted me to join him, he would have included me in the invitation. He will understand why I cannot send Shepherd in alone. Too much wine, and sometimes a man can divulge more information than he is permitted.”
I tied my hair back. “My vote goes to Claude.”
Viktor drew in a breath through his nose and pursed his lips. “I think another male companion would send the wrong message. Why would I send another man who was not invited? If Shepherd has a female companion, it appears more casual.” Viktor scratched beneath his chin and looked between us girls. “Raven, I want you to go.”
“But I’m not—”
“Ah-ah,” he said, wagging his finger. “No arguments. You have complained about not having enough work, so you cannot pick and choose. Everyone else has work, so you will take assignments as I give them.”
“He might be insulted by the fact I’m there. I was the one who let the kid fall, remember?”
“All the more reason to make amends.” Viktor left the room, Blue following behind.
“Picking Raven out of you three makes sense,” Wyatt remarked, pulling his chair up to his computer.
Gem glowered. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Wyatt grabbed his loose beanie and pulled it over his head. “No offense, ladies, but Blue is too much of a distraction to have at the dinner table. I think Patty would lose all interest in Shepherd, and Blue would end up the center of attention.”
I chortled and clapped his shoulder. “So he picked the troll. Thanks for pointing that out.”
“I don’t mean it that way. Blue distracts every red-blooded male with a pulse—even a stiff in a suit like Patrick.” He looked at Gem. “And you’re too much of a free little spirit on wheels. You’re liable to leave the table and start snooping through his rooms.”
A blush touched Gem’s alabaster cheeks. “Moi? I’d never do anything inappropriate.”
Gem liked snooping, and I could only imagine the temptation in a mansion like Patrick’s, which we’d all admired firsthand.
Wyatt pointed at me. “So that leaves you.”
I tugged at my sleeve. “Do I need to get dressed up for this?”
Wyatt chuckled. “A private dinner is rarely black-tie. Just avoid leather.”
“What about Shepherd? He wears that leather coat everywhere we go.”
“You can bet your bottom dollar he won’t this time. Viktor will probably handpick his outfit to make sure he doesn’t look fresh out of prison. I bet Viktor’s quietly freaking out over all this. If Patrick starts asking questions about Keystone, change the subject. Guys like him love getting the inside scoop. It makes them feel all powerful and shit.”