“If you’re really trying to be ladylike, say ‘breaks wind’ instead of ‘farts’,” Chelsea whispered to Erika.
“Got it.” Erika nodded vigorously. “Breaks wind. Much more classy. I’ve gotta stick with you—you’ll class me up in no time.”
“I mean, you’re fine the way you are,” Chelsea added. “But you asked.”
“Erika!” a woman called from down the street, hurrying towards them. “Is it true? Is he here?” She glanced over at Chelsea. “Hello, new person. I’m Barbara Tudor, owner of the Silver Peak Signal. Twenty-five cents a copy. All the news that fits, we print.” She said that all on one long breath. “Erika, I got some calls. Is Roman here?” she added.
“Yes, he is.” Erika pointed at the store. “He must be here on a grocery run. He just went into the Depot.”
“Oh, thank God.” Barbara breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I was going to have to lead with the crop report, but now maybe we’ll get something a little more interesting.”
A small crowd of shifters had gathered half a block from the store now, and they were crowded together, looking wary and watchful.
Why? He was just one man.
Two of the women in the crowd were arguing with each other. They were both in their fifties with graying hair. One of them wore a crocheted sweater and sandals and a dirndl skirt, and her untamed waves flowed down her back. The other wore a business suit, her hair was curled under in a sleek chin-length bob, and she held a stack of flyers. Their faces were mirror images of each other, despite their different styles.
“Susan, you did not actually bring campaign posters,” the wavy-haired woman said scornfully.
“I most certainly did. I’m the one with a work ethic,” Susan said.
“They’re twin sisters,” Erika whispered helpfully to Chelsea. “The one with the wavy hair is Lorena, our pack healer and owner of the Good Vibrations Crystals and More shop. Her sister Susan is an accountant. Also they’re both running for mayor. Election’s next month. I’m whispering. Is that ladylike?”
“Eh.” Chelsea shrugged. “Not really necessary under the circumstances.”
Erika frowned. “Hmm. Terrence told me I talk too loud and it hurts his ears, so I thought whispering might help. I just don’t get it, really. This genteel crap doesn’t come naturally to me.”
“Well,” Chelsea said, “If it doesn’t come naturally—”
There was a sudden outburst in the alley next to the store. There were loud, angry voices. Terrence flinched and ducked behind a lamp-post.
Oh, for the love of dog, Chelsea thought with contempt.
Barbara pulled a camera out of her purse but didn’t move any closer to the store.
“Wanna go see what it is?” Erika asked Chelsea cheerfully. Terrence shot her an appalled look.
“Be careful,” Barbara called to them. “He tends to throw things. And people.”
“Stay here and watch my dog. I’ll go,” Chelsea said. She had a feeling that if Erika got in a fight, it would make Terrence feel emasculated—not that it would take much to do that.
Nobody in the crowd was making a move to investigate the source of the noise, and now Chelsea could hear shrill wails of panic. Chelsea hurried down the alley and saw Roman, the sex-on-legs bastard, holding a tall, skinny teenaged boy up by the throat. He was doing it one-handed, without even breaking a sweat. The teenager was clawing at Roman’s hands and thrashing his legs, his eyes bulging out of his head. His face was turning bright red.
She strolled up to them, leaned on Roman and fluttered her eyes flirtatiously. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed; she could feel the bulge of his biceps right through his jacket.
“Ooooh, you are so strong,” she cooed. “I love a strong man. Can you put him down and pick him up again?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Roman said with a grin. He set the kid down, and as soon as he did, Chelsea, still smiling, slammed him upside the head with her purse so hard that he staggered back a step, more in surprise than anything else. He also let go of the teenager.
“I’m sorry,” he gurgled, cringing away from Roman. “My friends dared me!”
“Run,” she instructed the teenager. The teenager turned and ran, clutching at his throat and making wheezing noises.
“What the hell was that for?” Roman demanded indignantly. “Sweetheart, if you want to score a date with me, that’s not the way to go about it. I do like it rough, but I’m the one who gets rough.”
“A date with you? Oh, the very thought makes me come over with the vapors.” She pretended to fan herself with her hand, then added, “Not. I don’t date bullies who pick on children.”