But Nina snatched the broom from Harry just as quickly and held it at Guido’s pointed chin. “The hell we will.” She whisked the bristles of the broom under his nose. “Now what did you give him to make the bad werewolf go away, Guido? Cough it the fuck up—do it fast, or I’ll knock your head off your shoulders like I’m knockin’ a baseball into left field.”
Mara snapped—like a brittle rubber band, her guilt, remorse, anguish over what she’d done to Harry sent her right over the edge she’d tried so hard to cling to. “Nina, knock it off now!” Stalking toward the vampire, she yanked the broom from her hands with such force Nina actually stumbled backward.
While catching Nina off guard with her strength was surely reason for internal applause, or possibly ducking for cover, Mara didn’t have time to consider the consequences. She just wanted them to stop quarreling and figure this out calmly. “Sit! All of you!” she ordered, pointing to the tipped-over chairs in the middle of Guido’s dingy storefront.
Nina’s eyes glittered, but she did as requested.
Harry’s lips had the audacity to curve into a smile—a saucy one at that. “Who knew meek, little lab rat Mara Flaherty was so take-charge?”
She threw the broom over her shoulder and glared up at him. “Who knew quiet, unassuming, numbers guru Harry not Harold Emmerson was such a complete ass?”
“Hot,” Harry said with a sexy growl, snapping his likely flossed-twice-a-day white teeth in her face while dragging a chair upward to sit down.
She fought the surprise on her face. Harry was so arrogant and cocky with the change. In all the time she’d lusted for him, he’d never used the word hot unless he was referring to his coffee or the temperature outside. His hormones were rampant, and if they didn’t get him to at least try and get a grip, trouble could ensue.
She’d seen this exact behavior in adolescent werewolves. When childhood met adulthood for a male werewolf, that pulsing rush of growth, their coming of age, was all consuming.
Posturing and pushing the limits were all part of a process out of control, needing harnessing. Harry was displaying similar traits, and if anyone knew how wild things could get, it was Mara. She’d lived through Keegan and Sloan’s teenage years.
Turning to Guido, Mara narrowed her eyes, urgency spurring her fears and her willingness to press for information. “What did you give Harry to make him think you could reverse his plight, Guido? Be specific—I want every detail. And don’t you dare tell me it’s some kooky secret practice, spawned from a long line of witch doctoring you can’t share because it’s some forbidden family secret—because your family lives in Staten Island and they’re Catholic, Guido. Not a Roman Catholic in the land believes in the spells and curses you say you can perform. You weren’t just hatched a witch doctor. And you’re definitely not the African witch doctor you claim to be. You’re half Italian, half Jewish. I know because I spoke to your mother, Angelina, on the way over here. She misses you, by the way. She said if you’ll just come home, she’ll make your favorite ziti and meatballs. So spit it out—or I’m going to show you I’m not so meek and mild.”
Guido’s thin frame sank inward, slumping in the chair Nina swiftly slid under him. His face was full of sorrow. “My mom said that? I miss my mom. I really miss her ziti. Can’t duplicate it to save my friggin’ life.”
“So why don’t you just go home, Guido?” Harry asked in a sudden sympathetic tone, much more like the Harry she’d fallen “in her mind” in love with.
Guido put his bare, thin arms on the table, dropping his eyes to the rough-cut surface as though he were ashamed. “I can’t go home. I can’t ever go home. Look, this is how it went down. I’m just a Jewish guy from the Island who didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. Ten years ago when I was twenty-two, I was in the Peace Corps in Africa. I met this guy. He was a little unusual . . .”
“Pot, meet kettle,” Nina crowed, pointing to his lavish headdress with varying colors of feathers and beads, the red paint circling his eyes, and the white slashes just under his cheekbones. “Now get to the point because all this stallin’ just gives me more time to decide how I wanna fuck you up.”
“This,” he said, plucking at the feathers surrounding his headdress with bony fingers, “is just for the show. People aren’t going to show up and believe I can cast spells, et cetera, if I don’t look the part. So I play the part.”
“But you don’t always cast the right spells, do you, Guido?” Nina sneered, tapping the splintered table with a finger. “My friend Darnell tells me you suck at this. He says you’re a hack, and you’ve screwed the pooch more than once. So what should we expect for poor, fucked-up Harry here? He’s already nothing like the dude I talked to on the phone. He’s currently pushy, demanding, thinkin’ he’s a real lady-killer, and hormonally out of whack—not the norm for our brainiac Harry, according to Mara here, his coworker and resident fantasyland dweller. So you’d damn well better tell me what else I have to prepare for. ’Cus if you made shit worse, I need to know how hard to beat your quack ass when the time comes for punishment.”