Stolen (Otherworld #2)(15)

"Shouldn't everyone in the Pack have been aware of the possibility?" I said. "No offense, Jer, but I really would have appreciated a warning."
"To be honest, the thought never crossed my mind. I never tried to discover whether my grandfather's story was true or not. The point seemed moot. I have no interest in other beings, and we're safer if they have no interest in us. Yes, I suppose one of you could accidentally come across one, but considering how few of us exist, and how few of them exist, the chances of not only meeting but recognizing each other seemed infinitesimal. Certainly it's never happened before, not in my lifetime or my grandfather's. Now it appears these witches have been aware of us for a very long time. I never considered that possibility."
"Are you admitting you made a mistake?"
His lips twitched in the barest smile. "I'm admitting to an oversight. It would only be a mistake if I considered the possibility and chose to ignore it."
"But if werewolves did sit on this council at one time, why isn't it in the Legacy?" I said, referring to the Pack's history book.
"I don't know. If as Ruth says, werewolves broke from the council, they may have chosen to remove that portion of their history from the Legacy."
"Maybe for good reason," I said, brushing my fingertips over my burned arms.
Jeremy glanced at me and nodded. "Maybe so."
***
At the cabin, Jeremy washed and dressed my burns, then asked if I was ready for bed or wanted to stay up longer.
"Were you staying up?" I asked.
"If you were."
"If you were, I will, but if you're tired…?"
"Are you tir-" Jeremy stopped. A small half-smile flitted across his lips and I knew what he was thinking. We could go on like this all night, neither of us willing to voice an opinion that might inconvenience the other. With Clay or Nick or Antonio, I made my wants and opinions known without hesitation. Survival of the loudest. With Jeremy, his unerring civility resurrected my upbringing, and a simple choice could evolve into an endless "After you," "No, I insist, after you" farce. If Clay were here, he'd make up our minds for us before the second round of the dance. Without him, we were on our own. 
"I'm going to stay up awhile," I said.
"I'll keep you company."
"You don't have to."
"I know. We'll sit on the deck. Go out, and I'll fix us a snack."
I went outside. Minutes later, Jeremy followed with two glasses of milk and a bag of cookies.
"Nothing stronger around to dull the pain," he said, handing me the milk. "You'll have to settle for simple comfort."
Jeremy sat beside me. We gazed out over the water for a few minutes, the crunch of cookies echoing in the silence. Smoke from a campfire floated across the lake.
"We should build a fire," I said.
"No matches."
"Damn. Where's Adam when you need him?"
Jeremy gave a half-smile. "We'll have a bonfire for you back at Stonehaven. Plenty of matches there. Marshmallows too. If only I can remember how to carve a roasting stick."
"You know how?"
He chuckled. "Hard to believe, isn't it? Yes, I did some camping as a child. Dominic used to rent a cottage every summer, get Tonio and his brothers out of the city, back to nature. They'd take me along."
As Jeremy lapsed into silence, I struggled to think of a way to keep him talking. Jeremy didn't discuss his childhood. Not ever. I'd had hints from others that it wasn't the most idyllic youth, but Jeremy kept mum on the subject. Now that he'd cracked opened that window, I wasn't about to let it close again so easily.
"Where did you go?" I asked.
"Not far. Vermont, New Hampshire."
"Was it fun?"
Another half-smile. "Very. I didn't care about the back to nature part. Stonehaven has all that. But it let Tonio and me play at being real kids, to play with other kids. Of course, we met other children at school. But we always went to private school. As Alpha, Dominic enforced that for Pack sons. If their fathers couldn't afford to send them, he paid for it. Strict environmental control. Home for weekends and holidays, minimal interaction with humans. On vacation, though, we could cut loose, so long as we used false names and all that."
"You had to use fake names? How old were you?"
"Young. Tonio was older, of course. But I was the one who made up our stories. It was fun, actually, inventing a new identity every summer. One year we were minor nobility visiting from England. Our accents were atrocious. Another year we were Mafia brats. Tonio loved that one. Gave him a chance to practice his Italian and make the local bullies quake."
"I can imagine."
"Great fun, until the kids started offering us their ice cream money. Tonio drew the line there. Integrity above all, even if it meant turning down extra food. We were debating whether to admit the whole mob thing was a hoax when Malcolm showed up to take me back to Stonehaven. Early as always."
Malcolm had been Jeremy's father, though I never heard Jeremy call him by anything but his first name.
"He missed you?" I asked.
Jeremy laughed. Not his usual chuckle or half-smile, but a whoop of laughter that startled me so much I nearly dropped my cookie.
"No," he said, composing himself. "Malcolm most assuredly did not miss me. He did that every summer, stop by to see how I was doing. If I was having fun, which I always was, he decided it was time for me to come home."I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
Jeremy continued, "After a few years, I started out-maneuvering him. As soon as Malcolm arrived, I'd have a massive attack of homesickness. Desperately miserable. Dying to leave. Then, of course, he'd make me stay the rest of the summer. The Sorrentinos played along. They knew what it was like for me at home." He gave a wry half-smile. "You, Clayton, and me. Three housemates, all with rotten childhoods. What are the chances?"
"Clay had a good childhood."
"Barring the small matter of being turned into a werewolf at the age of five and spending the next few years hiding in the bayou, eating rats and drunks."
"I meant after that. After you rescued him. He's always said he had a good childhood at Stonehaven."
"When he wasn't being expelled from school for dissecting the class guinea pig?"
"It was already dead."
Jeremy chuckled. "I can still hear him saying that. Over thirty years later and I can hear it perfectly. Clay's first Pack meeting. I'm trying to pretend everything's fine, not let anyone know about the expulsion. Then Daniel roars in and announces it to the whole Pack. 'Clayton got kicked out of school for cutting up a guinea pig.' Clay tears into the room, marches over to Daniel, glares up at him-they were the same age, but Clay was at least a head shorter-and shouts, 'It was already dead!'"
"Which explained everything."
"Absolutely." Jeremy smiled and shook his head. "Between the dissected class pet and the toy animal fiasco, I had to question whether I was cut out for surrogate parenthood."
"Toy animals?"
"Clay hasn't told you that one?" Jeremy drained his glass, picked up mine, and stood.
I grabbed his pant leg. "Tell me."
"When I come back."
I groaned and waited. And waited. Took him much too long to pour that milk. Playing the whole thing for full effect.
"Toy animals," I said when he finally returned.
"Right. Clay had problems with the other children at school. I assume you know that."
I nodded. "He didn't fit in and didn't try. Small for his age. Antisocial. The accent only made it worse. I wondered about that when I met him. He said he'd lived in New York State for twenty years, but he sounded like he'd just stepped off the train from Louisiana. He said when he was a kid, other children mocked his accent. So he kept it. Clay's perverse logic."
"Anything to set him apart. So, after the guinea pig disaster, I home-schooled him until the following September, then sent him to a different school and asked the principal to notify me of any behavioral problems. I swear I spent three afternoons a week in parent-teacher conferences. Mostly it was little things, but one day the teacher said Clay was having trouble at recess. The other kids were complaining that he was following them around, watching them, that sort of thing." 
"Stalking them," I said. "Scouting for weaknesses."
"Exactly. Now, I wasn't worried he'd do anything. I was very strict on that point. No devouring classmates." Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Other parents warn their kids not to talk to strangers. I had to warn mine not to eat them. Anyway, this teacher says Clay isn't showing an interest in normal recess pursuits, like playing with toys. Toys. I knew I was missing something. Clay was the most un-childlike child I'd ever met, so I tended to forget he should be doing childish things. After the conference, I drove straight to the toy store and bought bags of toys. He ignored them all… all except this set of plastic animals-cows, horses, sheep, deer, camels, and so on. He'd take them into his room and stay there for hours. I congratulated myself on my great insight, assuming he liked the animals because he felt some kinship to them. Then I found the book."
Jeremy paused.
"What book?" I asked, because I knew I was supposed to.
"Gibson's Guide to Animal Anatomy. He'd stolen it from the school library and dog-eared a bunch of pages. So I took a closer look at the plastic toys. They were all marked with strategically placed red Xs."