oceancove

Who: Amelia Drake & Hugh Cadigan.
What: A promised, grown up dinner.
Where: Bocelli's Italian restaurant.
When: Evening.
Rating: TBD

Amelia had been kicked out of her own shop by Keita. The kitsune, who apparently was fed up with her pacing and the constant need to fix and adjust things had taken her shop keys and promised to close up and complete the nightly drop. Earlier in the day she had contacted Hugh, dropping into the conversation the dinner they had agreed on before he left the Cove. She hadn't expected the quick turn about and rapid fire discussion, and the decision to go out later that evening. The rest of the day, she was constantly in motion, and had made enough cupcakes and sweets to keep the shop open for the next six days without needing to bake anything. Only slightly worried about how she was going to unload the extra pastries on unsuspecting people, she left the shop, lead by a firm hand on her elbow, as Keita chattered about 'having a good time', and 'not worrying about opening the next morning'.

It was mid afternoon when she arrived at home. Far too early to get dressed for an evening out, she opted on cleaning the entire house. And painting the kitchen, which only created more mess, and the issue of paint on her hands, and the fact that no matter how hard she scrubbed it wouldn't come off. Deciding to peel the paint from her fingers, she plopped down on the couch, lost to the lure of daytime television.

The sun had started to set, sending long shadows into her living room. She clicked off the television, showered, and spent far too long deciding on what to wear. Amelia gnawed at a thumbnail, stared at the contents of her closet before selecting a cream colored halter dress that floated away from the body--leaving her hair loose and in waves. It was casual enough not to put on airs, but at the same time nice enough that she looked like she spent hours getting ready. Which she had, in her own roundabout way. Low rise black pumps and a black clutch were snagged at the last moment, and it wasn't until she was behind the wheel of her SUV that she had forgotten the jewelry laid out on the bed. It would have been a distraction anyway. Nerves would have caused her to play with it all evening, and that wouldn't do.

She wasn't sure why she was so nervous. It wasn't a date. Two adults having dinner, in a grown up setting alone. Amelia stabbed at the button to unroll the window, a flush coming to her cheeks at the flashes of the evening they had time they had before it was interrupted. She could almost hear Eamon's amusement.

It sounded like a date, the more she thought about it. Telling herself that it didn't matter, she pulled into a parking spot and turned the car off. The night was mild, streets quiet, despite it being early. She waited outside the restaurant, a little early.

Who: Amelia Drake, Hugh Cadigan
When: Evening
Where: Amelia's council office.
What: A reunion of sorts (round two.)
Rating:
Status: Ongoing and in progress.


The head of security at the council offices was a frail fey who everyone called Chuck. The only reason Amelia was able to be at her office without an entourage of eight or more wolves was because of Chuck-- and his hands of power. Amelia had seen the frail figure shatter, giving way to something darkly beautiful and utterly destructive. She nor Chuck ever spoke of the times she saw him use his abilities, and she didn't like to think on those times too often. They tended to bring nightmares. The offices were quiet, only a few representatives worked into the evening. She had stopped by Henry's office, to find that he hadn't arrived, or had already left. It was late enough that the vampire could move around comfortably.

Amelia preferred the quiet. She hadn't been in the offices since she had healed, and she liked that she could hear if someone approached. Someone- she had a hunch Chuck, had also installed a video surveillance system in her office and she could watch who wandered the halls. When she had taken her place on the council, she had gutted the office, fashioning it more to her taste. This office too, had dark woods, deeper colors and over-sized furniture. Decidedly masculine, though there were slight feminine touches.

She had been in the office for a few hours, gotten half way through old request forms when there was a knock at the door. Keigo Casimie, one of the humans who worked with the council and often ran the meetings let himself in. Work was set aside for polite conversation and the assurance that she would in fact be at the next meeting, and no they didn't have to worry about Eamon or Rammsteiner sitting in her stead. (Though, she figured they didn't want either of the wolves there for very different reasons.)

Nearly forty-five minutes later, and four ever present clove cigarettes, Casimie reached across her desk, shook her hand and took his leave. She could almost taste his want to ask what happened to Lida's body, or if she knew anything more than the small amount of information they had sated the press with.

She came across the file on Hugh that McKinnon's office had brought by. With a grin, she settled in to flip through it. Naturally, her thoughts turned to the other wolf, the abrupt call back to Budapest and her. Amelia's lip curled on reflex, annoyed at how Hugh was pulled back and forth. She wanted to keep a close eye on Hugh, her reasoning more personal than she'd like to admit.

Who: Henry Doyle, Amelia Drake, Eamon Flood, & Connor Macrae
What: Shenanigans!
When: 4:14am, June 2
Where: Amelia’s home
Rating: That is so, so up in the air
Status: In-progress

When first discussed the plan had seemed innocent enough. Connor had mentioned it only casually over a dinner as a sort of throwaway just-so-you-know remark. He had made plans, as he told Henry as they each prepared their respective meals, to spend the evening with Amelia Drake. She had been a bit depressed of late and needed a bit of cheering up. They were going out for a few drinks, just to get her mind off of things. Henry had nodded at the time, muttered something about the plan sounding like a pleasant evening, and forgotten entirely about it…at least until the first photo of a penis was texted to his phone.

The text came in the middle of a meeting heralded only by a soft buzz of the vibration function on Henry’s Blackberry. Successive snapshots of various body parts (none of which were even remotely appropriate to a small-session council meeting) quickly followed the first image. He had tried, perhaps foolishly, to ignore them at first. But they kept coming relentlessly, occasionally intermixed with perplexing messages such as ‘WE GOT BEADS !!! GUESS HOW!!,’ ‘BODYSHOTS ARE BRILLIANT - WOO,’ and ‘DOES YOUR CREDIT CARD WORK FOR LAP DANCES?’. After the thirteenth photo of foreign testicles and the sixth shot of extreme nipple close-up Henry had quietly excused himself from the meeting.

Unable to search the Cove’s bars himself (that, certainly, would get back to his abandoned meeting-mates in a flash) Henry directed his driver to Amelia’s home. The lights shining in her living room briefly buoyed his hopes that the pair had decided to call it an early night but he found only Eamon there who, much like Henry, had been receiving similar pornographic images on his own phone for the past hour. Hugh Cadigan, Eamon had pointed out, was also receiving at least some of the same photos: his cell phone number appeared on quite a few of the graphic texts. Attempts to call either werewolf ended in voicemail and texts in reply received no answer.

That had all occurred hours ago however. Since then Henry and Eamon (both having decided to wait for the missing but apparently (given the still-incoming texts) jubilant pair) had watched three full-length football games (Reading vs. Swansea, Canada vs. Ecuador, Japan vs. Peru), two rugby matches (Reds vs. Crusaders, England vs. Barbarians), and half a cricket match (Ireland vs. Pakistan) on Amelia’s PPV-enabled television. They were in the midst of deciding between midget mud wrestling from Thailand and naked ski jumping from Austria when both paused. Somewhere out in the darkness someone, no, two someones, were singing very loudly and very, very badly.

“Connor,” muttered Henry.

“Amelia,” grunted Eamon.

They rose as one man and crossed to the door. There, coming up the path, just entering the long rectangle of light spilling down the porch and walk, were Amelia and Connor, both staggering, both beyond drunk, and both still singing albeit entirely different songs and at completely different tempos.

Who: Amelia Drake & Eamon Flood
What: Eamon cooks! (No really! He does! And well!)
When: Later-afternoon
Where: Amelia Drake's residence
Status: In Progress

Eamon was not, by most definitions, a domesticated wolf. He could, of course, cook and clean house and he did manage, more or less, to keep himself clothed in a wardrobe that was both clean and well cared for. He owned a vacuum cleaner (two in fact; a matching pair of Roomba-brand robot cleaners that he occasionally pitted against each other for augmented jousting matches) and he had a working garbage disposal (for the moment). He even recycled, although he refused to embrace the insanity of composting, claiming that the ‘tree-huggers’ had gone a step too far with that one. But something about Eamon, or perhaps more specifically about his rough edges, made people unwilling to consider him quite domesticated. Unwillingly evolved maybe, or, two steps above living like a beast but not, in the popular opinion at least, domesticated.

Which was why, most likely, so many long-term residents of the Cove were startled to see Eamon in the local pro-organic supermarket at all, much less schlepping down the streets with four reusable, 90% recycled-material, store-logo-bearing carrier bags, each of which were full to bursting. No one, fortunately, made the grave error of stopping to question him as he stormed down the street, muttering to himself in his native tongue about the sheer foolishness of 14 types of granola and something simply impolite about ancient grains and where the self-important checkout lad could stick them.

He was on to his opinions about fair-trade bananas (‘kiss my arse’) and monkey-picked tea (‘out of their fecking minds’) by the time he reached Amelia’s front door. He kicked rhythmically at the lower half by way of knocking, waited approximately a quarter of a second, then bellowed, “OI! HURRY UP! I’VE GOT FECKING KALE – WHATEVER THE FECK THAT IS – BRUISING OUT HERE.”

It didn’t occur to him that Amelia had neither requested nor kale nor known, technically speaking, that he was coming over…with food or otherwise.

Who: Amelia Drake, Hugh Cadigan
When: Evening.
Where: Amelia's home.
What: Welcome to another round of will they-won't they and hurry up and say something already. In all honesty? Wine, two friends and memories.
Rating: Pg-13
Status: Complete.

The day had remained clear, though windy. Amelia had opened a few of the windows allowing the wind to blow through the house, which to her, had started to smell like a hospital despite many people telling her otherwise. With supervision she had been allowed to go out on her deck, and she had spent a few hours watching the waves pound at the beach, and the few die hard beach combers walk back and forth scanning the dunes for hidden treasures.

She had allowed her mind to wander, a dangerous thing for anyone who had gone through something traumatic. Amelia, after a few days had started to brush off the severity of the attack. Her pack, her second, had done exactly what they should have done. She owed Eamon and Connor her life, a fact that had weighed heavily on her mind and conscious. She knew Eamon had done his job, but the fact that she still couldn't answer Connor's questions, or explain things to him wore on her. Even after calling her parents--something she had forbade everyone from doing, and explaining what had happened she still couldn't find the words to ask for help.

Amelia had left her bedroom, again taking up residence on the balcony. After a nap, and kicking most of the guard, save the one that had moved into the house next door, temporarily, she called Hugh. The phone rang, went to voice mail, words failing her once more. She hung up, leaned heavily against the railing on her balcony. She watched the surf for a few more moments, and sent him a text message.

Come over-- No politics. Just food, wine and conversation. ~A a coward's way out really, but really didn't care. She flipped the phone open once more, Just really want to talk to you. Amelia figured that would prove that she wasn't out for his blood, or to give him a headache. She got up, closed the sliding glass door and headed downstairs. The house was clean, thanks to one of the elder female wolves, who had not only cleaned, but cooked and did her laundry as Amelia protested from the couch. There was a box of cupcakes left on the kitchen table, Amelia took that, the bottle of wine from the last time Hugh was over, and two glasses and set up the living room.

Who: Amelia Drake, Ilsa
What: Ilsa's primary reaction is still "well that's crappy"
When: mid-afternoon, while in a break at the shop
Rating: PG
Status: Completed

The news was unsettling. When the rush of afternoon customers at Sugared finally died down, she sent off a quick text - in case Amelia wasn't okay, but felt like saying she was - because it was a roundabout way of preserving the other person's ability to lie. It seemed the courteous thing to do, given the circumstances. Werewolves didn't always have the luxury of admitting it if they weren't fine.

First:

back. new hire is cute. he told me. i know you have a league of puppies to do your bidding, but let me know if theres something i can do

After pressing send on it, she felt a little less on-edge. She slid into a chair, somewhat tired out from a day back in the busy shop after a frankly lazy vacation, and absent-mindedly sent off another:

if nothing else i can send over a boozy cake. with or without cake

Who: Lillie and Amelia Drake.
When: The night of May 12th, after Lillie sees Joseph home. Before sunrise.
Where: Amelia's place.
What: A little girl time.
Rating: PG.
Status: In-progress.

It had been a little too long since Lillie had spent time with one of the only females she called a friend. In truth, Amelia was far more than a friend - she fell into that incredibly adolescent category of best friend. A presence that had lasted longer than a few weeks or months, gone on to transcend the boundaries of years, and become a confidante. And for Lillie, that sort of companionship was hard to come by. She didn't trust easily, didn't have a reason to, but ever since the time spent sharing pieces of their lives they might not dare to disclose otherwise, there had been an undeniable friendship. It had lasted for years. Amelia was the one Lillie went to with the big and little things, and now that a very big one had happened -

- well, this might not go without incident.

After making sure that Joseph was safe - literally tucked into the bed he slept in, with the lights off, shades drawn and the pressure of her lips at the corner of his mouth - Lillie slipped from his window and turned her path to the opposite direction. It was late, but it seemed likely Amelia would still be awake.

Lillie didn't bother calling before going to Amelia's. She hadn't in the past, and she had a good, strong feeling her friend wasn't going to be too fond of staying in the hospital for very long. It was one thing to be fettered and fussed over (which could be bad enough), but another entirely to be caught in a sterile, white room (completely out of the question). Hospitals had their purposes, but they didn't exactly rank high in preferred sleeping conditions.

There was still a good, heavy cover of night by the time she knocked on her friend's front door. (Imagine that, a vampire knocking. Hilarious, really.)

Who: Hugh Cadigan and Amelia Drake
When: Not too long after Amelia's attack in Croswell Square
Where: The Cove General Hospital
What: After learning that she's been attacked, Amelia's knight in not-so-shining armor arrives at the hospital
Rating: PG (unless something goes horribly awry which, considering these two, is not out of the realm of possibility)
Status: In progress


Amelia's text message couldn't have come at a better time. Hugh had spent the better part of the morning in the company of Ian Rammsteiner, Cove pack gamma and -- if the decor of his home was anything to go by -- a walking example of the stereotype that the Germans had no sense of humour whatsoever. (The man made ice floes look cuddly.) But he was erudite and well-connected and there were a couple of times that Hugh could have sworn he even attempted a smile. His perspective on pack politics jived with some of the opinions Hugh was hearing at home, even though he could sense Rammsteiner was trying to put on a progressive face for the sake of the interview. Everyone knew that Rammsteiner was a traditionalist. It was one of the things that assured him a place in the middle of the pack. Well, that and his propensity to give long, extremely detailed history lessons; good god, that man could drone. He was halfway through a treatise on the increasing importance of recognizing an independent Croatia as it related to information technologies (Hugh had started the conversation with a compliment about Ian's Blackberry), when his own phone chimed from his pocket:

Need a favor. I was wondering if you'd be willing to help with the puppy. I'm stuck. Call either way. -Amelia

That was a hell of an innuendo, Hugh thought. And if it wasn't an innuendo, it was even more of a surprise -- Amelia Drake, asking him for a favor? The possibilities. He had already resolved to help, of course; had done so the second he'd read the text. But he spent the next twenty minutes half-listening to Rammsteiner pontificate, while he came up with at least twelve ways to respond to Amelia's request, all of them snarky. Snark was the least he could do. He was still waking up in the middle of the night, convinced Eamon was hiding in the bushes with an air horn.

By the time his phone actually rang he had constructed a pitch-perfect response. He had raised the phone to his ear, smirk so wide that it threatened to split his face. But instead of Amelia's rich and sultry alto, Hugh heard an Irishman's brogue, screams and whooping sirens. His stomach dropped through the floor. Rammsteiner was looking at him with either concern or contempt; the Bavarian's expressions were almost indistinguishable from each other.

"Amelia's been attacked," Hugh said.

"Oh dear. By whom?" Ian's voice was as smooth as a French tablecloth.

Hugh scooped his phone into his pocket and got to his feet, yanking his briefcase to his shoulder. "I don't know. That was Eamon. She's been --" his breath rolled around in his chest "-- I've got to go."

"Of course," Rammsteiner said, rising easily to his feet. "My god, I do hope she's all right. You will let me know, won't you? After you've seen her?" He accompanied Hugh to the door and administered a firm squeeze to his shoulder. "Please do. If anything happened to her, I don't know what we'd do. I really don't."

- - - - - -

Hugh called all three hospitals in the Cove before finally locating Amelia at Cove General, in the heart of the city. The on-duty nurse hadn't been able to give him specifics over the phone -- HIPAA policy existed, even among supernaturals -- but he'd learned that it was a particularly brutal attack. Amelia had survived. Her attacker had not. He parked (askew) in the porte-cochere outside of the main hospital entrance, blowing past a pregnant woman in a wheelchair and a group of schoolkids on a field trip. Every knock of his heart behind his ribcage was an injection of adrenaline. It surged through his fingers and behind his eyes, and left a sour taste in the back of his mouth. He practically charged the elevator when the doors opened. 'Rode the interminable agony of expectation to the fourth floor where a nurses' station and a floor roster directed him to a room down the hall.

The door was closed.

He put his hand on the handle. To his senses, the metal felt impossibly cold.

He pushed down, and stepped inside.

Who: Amelia Drake, Eamon Flood, Connor Macrae, Lida Garrett(NPC), others.
When: Early afternoon.
Where: Croswell Square (street market with local street vendors), The Cove General Hospital.
What: Amelia finds that she's not as secure in her position as she believes herself to be.
Rating: R. (violence)
Status: Closed and complete.

Amelia had gone into the bakery only for a few hours, to intercept Keita and post a sign that they were closed due to pack business. Promising the kitsune that he would still get paid, she offered the suggestion that he go visit Yuuta. Visibly happier, she watched as her employee left. She returned home, did the breakfast dishes, and went to her office. She answered a few emails, all dealing with pack concerns that needed to be raised at the next council meeting. Business taken care of, she sat back in the plush chair, reaching for her personal cell phone.

"Need a favor. I was wondering if you'd be willing to help with the puppy. I'm stuck. Call either way. -Amelia" The text message to Hugh offered no apology for Eamon's actions, and she was still debating on whether she'd apologize to the foreign wolf. She had already smoothed things over with the residents, and taken care of the fees that Eamon's light and sound show had racked up. She got up, locking the office door behind her. Thundering down the stairs (as she could never walk delicately down any flight of stairs) she approached the man sprawled out on her couch.

"Want to go out?" The day was slightly overcast and a strong wind had pushed clouds in. From her position in the room, she could see the ocean, waves higher than normal, a dark frothy gray. "There's the street market today. I wanted to go pick up a few things."

Arm in arm with Connor she lead him down to Croswell Square which was only a few blocks away from her place. What had been massive tennis courts had turned into a street market. Vendors sold home made goods, tourists stopped to fawn over trinkets and vases with shells stuck to them. It was crowded, but not too terribly, Amelia keeping a close eye, on Connor making sure the man didn't get too overwhelmed by the near constant stimulus of people, scents and noise.

On their way to the market, Amelia had sent two other texts. One to Lida, a friend since before she came to the Cove, inviting her out and to play hookey. The other to Eamon with the addition that Hugh would never to think to look for Eamon at a street market. She brightened when her name was called, grinning broadly as Lida came over. The other woman was a bit shorter than Amelia, and stockier, but Amelia knew just how strong the woman was. Even without the boost of lycanthropy. The platinum blonde woman smiled charmingly at Connor and introduced herself.

Out of habit, Amelia looked around, it was rare for her and Lida to be out in public together. Though Lida didn't hold a high rank she was close enough to Amelia to be considered leverage. Attention turning back to Connor and Lida, she decided to step in and 'rescue' Connor before Lida somehow managed to convince him to walk down the aisle with her.

"Heard Hugh talked to Eamon." Lida's smirk was wide and evil. "Little bastard hasn't come by my place yet."

"Yeah, Eamon's going to be showing up here. Behave and keep your hands off of him." Amelia shot back, smirking. "Hugh says that he's bidding his time. Apparently the last time you talked he got the impression you didn't like him very much."

Who: Connor Macrae & Amelia Drake
What: Connor becomes Amelia middle-of-the-night houseguest
When: May 8, very early morning
Where: Amelia Drake's home
Rating: PG-13 (violence)
Status: Complete

Connor made it nearly three nights without Henry before he gave in and stumbled, shattered, into a cab and headed to Amelia's. The vampire had advised him ask his pack leader for sanctuary (Henry's word, not Connor's) from the start, pointing out that Connor's worsening night terrors and mounting exhaustion would make living alone, even for the brief period of Henry's absence in London, problematic. Connor had countered that he was a grown man, thank you very much, and he didn't need to be cared for by a babysitter, no matter how kind and attractive or pancake-capable. Henry had only shrugged, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'idiot' and left for the small, private airport he favored.

Connor had found the money and the card for the cab company with the number circled in red pen only after the vampire had left.

The night terrors had not, as Henry predicted and Connor secretly suspected, disappeared on their own. Instead they had worsened, driving the young werewolf into a pattern to downing multiple sedatives every 8-10 to gain and hour or two of uninterrupted sleep, then surviving on a vile brew of Red Bull and espresso to keep him awake and functioning the rest of the day and evening. The 58 hours since Henry's departure felt like a month.

The cab driver had not looked at all surprised when Connor, still dressed in his jams, dropped heavily into the backseat of the car. He was half-way to Amelia's before Connor remembered to give him a destination. Henry had, obviously, called ahead of time with a warning to keep an eye out for a bedraggled werewolf in need of a ride.

The cabbie had helped him up to Amelia's porch before taking off at a fast clip, apparently not all that interested in seeing how the pack Alpha would respond to a house guest arriving at 1:43 in the morning. Connor, for his part, pressed the doorbell and held it. He didn't intend to, he just couldn't bring himself to move again.

Who: Amelia Drake, Thomas McKinnon.
When: Wednesday May 4. Noon.
Where: The law offices of Horace & Walpole
What: The alpha seeks legal council (and plans to throw as many wrenches into Hugh's plans as she can)
Rating: Pg
Status: Complete.

The day was dazzling and borderline hot. The sky stretched out impossibly blue and clear, the streets were busy with people, and the occasional tourist. Amelia had kicked a group of school kids out of her shop, knowing full well that the school day hadn't ended early. Keita had proven himself as a competent employee, and the shop was quiet enough that he could handle it by himself for a few hours. While he was filling the displays she snuck into the back and retrieved a briefcase filled with files and reports that she intended to give to Hugh eventually. She just wanted to make things a bit more difficult for his employer.

With the promise to come back in a few hours, Amelia stepped out of the shop. She had parked the SUV in the alley across the street, since she normally walked from work to home. Plus, the car made it so she couldn't be surprised by anyone. She had a feeling Hugh would have more than a few words to say to her once Eamon was done with him.

It wasn't too difficult to find the law offices, and by the time she parked, her cell phone had blown up with messages. Having a strong suspicion that it had to do with Eamon going to visit Hugh, she turned her phone off, storing it in the glove compartment.

The office space was attractive, building quiet. Amelia approached the receptionist's desk, the blonde woman looking rather bored behind the impressive desk.

"Appointment?" Exactly how the woman managed to speak behind the wad of gum in her mouth, Amelia didn't know, and was slightly impressed.

"I don't have one, but would you do me a favor, and ask if Mr. McKinnon could spare a moment of his time? Henry sent me." Inwardly she cringed at dropping not only her name, but Henry's. The receptionist looked at her, Amelia smiled, unfazed by the look.

"Your name?"

"Amelia Drake." It only took the receptionist a few moments for the name to register. Amelia watched as the blond disappeared down a hallway, out of sight.

Who: Hugh and Amelia
What: A working dinner
When: Saturday evening
Where: Amelia's place
Rating: PG
Status: Complete


There was a debris field on the beach when Hugh returned from his morning run.

He'd been making a valiant effort to stay in shape since coming to the Cove, the better part of his exercise regimen in Budapest being made up of running from one diplomatic liaison to another, and his proximity to the ocean opened up miles of jogging track in either direction. Storms had pushed in early this morning but by the time Hugh laced up his trainers the clouds had moved off and the sky had started to lighten until it was the colour of mother-of-pearl. He did three miles without stopping -- pretty good for the old wolf -- and doubled back, sneakers slapping against the damp dark sand. As he rounded a bend in the beach he looked up to see a crowd gathered around several piles of metal and fabric, stretching far into the distance. Drawing closer he'd heard a sharp pop! and a spurt of air, like a valve being released; beside him, a curtain of orange fabric started bellying up like a bon-bon.

Hot air balloons.

The twists of metal weren't wreckage at all, but aluminum frames for ballooning baskets; the people weren't stunned witnesses to disaster, they were part of the Cove Hot Air Balloon Enthusiasts Society, whose posted flyers around the downtown area had for weeks advertised their annual weekend balloon regatta. Hugh had dropped the hood of his sweatshirt and watched as balloonists in shorts and matching t-shirts (with their club's signature line "I GET HIGH" branded on the back) inflated and wrangled a dozen or more balloons, then took off in them, silhouetted against the clouds like colourful punctuation marks.

Hugh had always had soft spot for air travel. When he'd been young -- no more than eleven or twelve -- he'd gone with his father to Cardiff, where Messrs. de Rozier and Réveillon had exhibited their revolutionary ballon design, complete with a human passenger, to the delight of a standing-room-only crowd. It was remarkable to think that, less than two hundred and thirty years later, Hugh would be jetting around in a contraption that could take him from Cardiff to Miskolc in less than four hours.

He sat and watched the regatta for a while, clapping and whistling with the rest of the crowd whenever a new balloon was successfully launched. He had flight on his mind for the rest of the day.

When he arrived at Amelia's home later in the evening, promised bottle of wine tucked underneath his arm, he could see the balloons in the distance. They moved so slowly that they did not appear to be moving at all; only the matchstick pops of their ignition burners told you that there was real activity going on beneath the bubble. Hugh hoped to be able to follow their example.

This was business, after all.

He shifted the wine into the crux of his elbow and rapped on Amelia's door.

Who: Henry Doyle and Amelia Drake
What: It remains to be seen
When: Thursday, April 28 near midnight
Where: Dusk, the Cove streets, & Henry's flat
Rating: PG, ostensibly.
Status: Closed & completed

The post-11pm Thursday crowd at Dusk was, for the most part, very much the corporate crowd. Men in suits and women in suit sets sat by themselves at the bar or tables nursing drinks and trying to recover from a too-long night at the tail end of a too-long work week. Most had briefcases or stacks of files (manila colored for most, colored for those with an office manager who considered themselves whimsical) with them. Laptops were common. Smartphones omnipresent. The majority of patrons kept their eyes on the mounted televisions, watching sports scores and news items tick by at a near-mute volume. A few unlucky souls shuffled through the paperwork; their days were either not yet done or, in the case of those representing the Cove's nocturnal factions, only mid-way through.

Henry sat by himself at a table for four, a lone island of un-humanity, in a dark suit and tie. His fashion sense skewed towards the formal to begin with, but this tailored look was work wear, his unofficial uniform when serving in his official capacity at the vampire representative to the Council. It made his complexion seem paler than it actually was, highlighting his heritage in a way his usual checks and grays did not, and was perceived by some of his non-vampire colleagues as imposing, which was rather the point.

Henry's early evening, the equivalent of morning for his pulse-having compatriots, had been filled with Council business of a strictly faction-based flavor. The complaints were unremarkable. The dhampirs felt the vampires were self-impressed and paternalistic. The vampires felt the dhampirs were reckless and unmindful of their place. One constituent was angry about the number of streetlights the city had erected near their home, claiming that they represented a light-bias that was unfair to dark-loving species. Another was furious because the local High School library had added to their collection an incredibly popular novel series written by a mortal that portrayed vampires both incorrectly and, Henry had to agree, unfavorably. A third had brought forth a petition advocating the legalization of human-hunting for food, claiming it was no different than werewolves hunting deer, something that they were permitted to do. Henry had forwarded this list on to the police, with recommendations that they keep an eye on the signees for awhile.

He had taken his 'lunch' break at Dusk simply for the escape, although it was a limited form of freedom. He had had to bring some of his files with him, not to mention his laptop, although here he could at least stop from time to time to watch the television when something of interest came on. At the moment it was the Premier League results that had caught his attention. Over the course of his long life Henry had supported every team on the tables (simply for the sake of variety, of course) so his emotional response to the results was something of a perpetual mixed bag. The adjusted standings flashed off, replaced by an animation that served as the segway to an item on NASCAR. Henry looked away, disinterested now, and grimaced at his computer screen. In the three minutes it had taken for the league results to play, his in-box had gained another 13 emails, all of them flagged as 'Important.'

Who: Keita, Amelia Drake.
When: Afternoon.
Where: At Sugared.
What: Keita meets the big bad wolf and somehow ends up with a job.
Rating: G/PG
Status: Finished.

( Thankfully I don't taste like cheeseburgers. )

Who: Amelia Drake, Hugh Cadigan
When: Evening. A few days after this
Where: Hugh's hotel room.
What: An apology- of sorts.
Rating: Pg
Status: Closed.


Spring had arrived at the Cove. The day was warm enough for Amelia to leave the front door of the shop open, enticing more people to come in and pick up a little something to snack on. On the gentle breeze the calls of gulls and terns could be heard, along with the pleasant scent of ocean air. Now, the sun was beginning to set, long shadows creeping along sidewalks and storefronts. Amelia rang out the last customer, locking up behind them. The kitchen was already cleaned, and it wouldn't take her long to clean the small cafe area.

Twenty minutes later, the eatery was sparkling clean, orders for the next day laid out on the counter, and the money for the day's takings tucked carefully inside a deposit envelope in her purse. She cast one last look into the kitchen, gaze landing on a brightly colored bundle. She had pulled it together on a whim, knowing that it wasn't a proper apology, but she'd be damned if she delivered a formal apology for the insinuation that she couldn't run a pack. Guilty conscious winning, she snatched up the box and left the shop, flipping the sign before she left.

After she had exploded at Hugh, she spent most of the evening out, and when she returned from the shop the next day he was gone. Amelia had checked with the B&B and found out that he wasn't staying there. Which left the other places he had mentioned. It had only taken one call, and a mild threat to find out that he was staying at the Hilton.

The hotel was one of the larger ones in the downtown shopping area. She was greeted cheerfully by a perky blonde behind the counter. Another mild threat, and she was given the number of Hugh's hotel room. The elevator jerked and whined as it climbed to the proper floor, Amelia again remembering why she preferred to take the stairs. Counting off the doors, she stood outside of the room, studying the number. Knowing she would have no explanation as to why she's standing outside a room, she raised her hand and knocked.

Who: Connor Macrae, & Amelia Drake

When: April 19, slightly more than two hours after moonset

Where: The beach

What: Pack Alpha meet Pack Omega

Rating: PG-13

Status: Closed and completed

Connor had been running for hours. Long enough that his lungs and legs had seared and burned and then, left unattended for so long, had dulled into no more than a constant ache. Stitches in his side had become purls, and his vision was obscured by both a thick haze of stinging, blur-inducing sweat and a damp veil of his own similarly soaked hair. His skin was chilled, although he didn't notice this, and his clothing was wet enough with perspiration that some people he passed had mistakenly assumed he had been swimming. He had crossed the three towns that the Cove encompassed twice already and was now running the length of the community's coast, sending up churning sand in his wake and earning dirty looks from seals disturbed in their pre-dawn basking.

The exhaustion, which had long been held at bay by an unnatural reserve of anxious energy, exploded onto the scene without warning. He made a misstep, then two, and by the third it was all over. He crashed face first into the wet sand, thrashed a moment, then flipped over to avoid an undignified death by dirt and hermit crabs. His long, sucking gasps for air were blocked from his hearing by the ringing in his ears, as was the slow roar of the sea as it ebbed and flowed according to it's nature.He flinched as the first foray of salt water hit his side, but only out of shock, and didn't react again when the next brushed up against him.

Believing himself to be alone Connor didn't restrain either the laugh or the sob that welled up within him, nor did he feel the least bit awkward about giving himself a fierce hug.

"Well done mate," he whispered to his other, moon-summoned self, "you didn't kill anyone this time. A brilliant improvement, that."

Who: Hugh Cadigan, Amelia Drake
When: Undetermined; certainly after the death of the pack alpha
Where: Seattle–Tacoma International Airport (and beyonnnnd!)
What: A reunion (of sorts)
Rating: PG
Status: Complete


They designed prison blocks with more imagination than the Prague-Ruzyně International Airport, Hugh decided. The enormous concrete barracks and control tower looked like something out of a gulag, rather than components of the Czech Republic's biggest hub for air travel. (The alternative being to rent a two-prop plane from a farmer in Prostějov, where the ratio of cows to humans was roughly 5:1.) Even so, Hugh had been grateful to get off the ground in what appeared to be a serviceable airplane, staffed with a competent flight crew, and an in-flight showing of Inception (comically dubbed into Slovak). Hugh unpacked his laptop when they leveled out at 23,000 feet. His computer, a Toshiba Qosmio G-35-AV660, was a little clunkier than he would have liked, but it had an extraordinary amount of memory and he could run encryption software alongside a game of Minesweeper if he so chose. While he waited for the machine to boot, he raised the shade on his window and looked out at the pillowing, piling clouds as they rolled past the window. Thunderheads glowed in the distance. Hugh wasn't afraid of flying, but he hoped those thunderclouds would stay far, far away.

He accessed his e-mail account from the mainframe and waited while his computer chewed through various lines of encryption. Finally, his inbox popped up on screen and registered one new e-mail:

To: cadiganh@audaxindustries.com
From: alenichevm@audaxindustries.com
Subject: FILE # 267G-61 [EYES ONLY]

Hugh had to chuckle. With all the bells, whistles and super secret handshakes his employer believed in, it was surprising that the message didn't come with its own self-destruct button. He typed in a secondary password and scanned the e-mail's contents. Details were limited and much of what they appeared to know was no more than pure speculation. Hugh knew how pack elders felt about speculation. Which is why they're sending me, he thought. He read through the rest of the e-mail and fired off a response to Maniel, the pack beta, who would be coordinating the information channels back in Budapest. He spent half an hour watching Leonardo Di Caprio run around with a bruised, beaten dog expression, then turned off the light above his seat and fell asleep to the sound of forced air being run through the ducts above his head.

They landed in Seattle a little after noon the following day. Hugh rubbed the sleep from his eyes and lumbered off the plane, collecting his suitcase from baggage claim. His phone was sorely in need of a charge, and he a shower. He was still wearing the suit he'd been in two days ago when Maniel had pulled him out of the conference. He splashed some cold water on his face in the men's room. 'Adjusted the powder blue tie at his throat. Standing elbow-to-elbow with the frequent flyers, Hugh imagined that he was just like them: off to Los Angeles, or maybe Chicago, making the rounds as a titan of industry, a family at home and a station wagon in the driveway. His phone buzzed weakly, delivering one last text message before the battery died:

WE SUSPECT TREACHERY WITHIN RANKS. PROCEED WITH ABSOLUTE CAUTION. - M.

Okay, so he wasn't quite like the rest of them.

He hauled his bag onto his shoulder and stepped out of the terminal onto the sidewalk, raising his arm for a taxi.

Who: Amelia Drake, Eamon Flood
When: Sunday, April 17th. Afternoon.
Where: Eamon Flood's home.
What: The new alpha introduces herself to the current second.
Rating: Pg
Status: Closed and completed.

( Meetings and conversation. )