Chapter Sixteen
Havermouth, Present Time
Seeing as her morning coffee had ended up on the floor, Aislen dressed and made her way into town. Diana Boyston saw her the moment she joined the queue at the coffee shop, but this time she did not protest, and had Aislen’s long black on the counter ready by the time she reached the front.
“Now, that’s service,” Aislen approved as she swiped her card. “Thank you.”
She took her coffee with her for a stroll. Rhett was just opening his tattoo parlour for business, and their eyes met through the window. He met her at the door, opening it and watching as she walked by him. She looked around with interest.
The interior was as decidedly masculine and modern as the exterior, painted the same dark grey, the floor polished concrete. The walls were hung with framed examples of artwork. One corner had been enclosed into a little office, remarkably neat and organized, and there were three stations against the wall, with screens that could be pulled around to give the customer privacy if they wanted it.
Rhett had closed the door behind him and stood by the wall.
“I am glad that you pursued your dream,” she said to him. “It suits you, this place, and this profession.”
“Thanks,” he said, carefully neutral.
“This town is fucked up, you know that right?” She flicked open one of the black leather-bound albums holding designs not displayed on the walls. “The way your people treat others as disposable, the way you sexually assault women-”
“Is it assault?” His voice was sharp as he interrupted. “You are holding us in comparison to humans, by human standards and human ways. As you very well know, we’re not. We are hunters. We are more observant of behaviour, our eyesight is sharper, our sense of smell stronger. We can smell,” he emphasized the word, “things about a person that you cannot even imagine. Pheromones, Aislen, do not lie.
“Is it assault,” he pushed away from the wall and stalked towards her, “If the body says yes but the mouth says no?”
“Yes,” she told him in exasperation. “The mouth says no for a lot of reasons, Rhett, as you bloody well know. Your people aren’t that different from humans. The standards for your alpha males,” she sneered the words. “And the standards for your women are not equal either. A man’s sexuality is encouraged and rewarded whilst a female’s is something she should only share with her husband.”
“How do you know these things about us?” He stood so that their bodies were almost touching. Whether to seduce or to intimidate, she was not sure. “How is it that you are so well informed on so many secret things, Aislen? What are you?”
The door opened and a group entered, laughing amongst themselves, pausing as they saw Rhett and Aislen. From their appearance, the tattoos and piercings, the style of their clothing, Aislen realized they were employees. “Sorry, Rhett,” one of them said uncertainly, all three aware that they had walked into a private conversation.
“It’s fine,” he stepped back from Aislen. “Aislen, you might remember Fletch and Ebony from school. Alex was a few years older than us…?”
“Aislen,” Ebony’s smile was openly friendly. “I love your dress.”
“Thanks,” Aislen twirled, and winked over her shoulder. “I’d best be off,” she dropped her finished coffee into a bin. “Nice chatting to you, Rhett.”
“Aislen,” he followed her to the door as his three staff members moved into the studio, beginning to prep for their day. “Be careful,” he said softly. “There’s a lot of talk about what you said to Diana Boyston yesterday, and people remember what happened with Alfred Boyston five years ago… It’s alright for you to say these sorts of things to Heath, Cameron, and me. But, to others, it’s dangerous if they realize just how much you know. And you can hurt people with what you say. I don’t think that you realize how much damage you do.”
“There you go again,” she said, anger and sorrow at war. “Holding me to different standards than the people around you. If they provoke me,” she jabbed her finger into his chest. “Then they will learn just how dangerous I can be. You tell them that, Rhett Salem. Tell them to buy my fucking house so that I can get the fuck out of dodge.”
She stalked away down the street, knowing that he stood and watched her until she was out of sight, but refusing to turn and acknowledge it.
The skip bin that she had ordered the day before was being delivered when she reached her house, and she watched as the driver positioned it on the gravel before going inside and tying her hair up in a scarf. She worked methodically through the house, stripping out anything that she could find that was personal, leaving drawers and cupboards empty behind her and slowly building a pile of boxes in the hallway of things that she would have put into storage near her apartment.
At midday, she filled her car with items that she had decided to donate and drove through town to the church. As she hauled the bags to the little charity shop to the side of the main church, she could hear the choir practising.
The bird-like old woman manning the charity shop’s desk peered at her over her bifocals. “Do I know you dear? You are not a member of this congregation, are you? I cannot remember seeing you around town…”
“Aislen Carter,” she told the old woman. “I’m just here to empty my dad’s house.”
“Ahhh,” the woman nodded thoughtfully. “I am sorry about your father. I remember your name. Got yourself into trouble with those boys, didn’t you?”
“The Triquetra.”
“Hmm, grand name, the Triquetra,” the woman replied with disapproval. “For a bunch of bully-boys, don’t you think?”
“It was that sort of thinking that got me into trouble,” Aislen winked.
“Anne Mason,” the woman said, holding out her hand.
“Nice to meet you Anne,” Aislen took her hand, and saw a flash of Anne’s past, and other bully-boys, Alfred Boyston amongst them. “The Triquetra aren’t the first bullies in this town,” she observed softly and with sympathy as the wounds of those past bullies were recalled with as much sharpness of feeling as if it had been forty days and not forty years.
“Every generation,” Anne agreed. “And this town just turns a blind eye to their behaviour. Boys will be boys,” she tsked in disagreement with the statement.
“Hmm.” Werewolf alphas will be werewolf alphas, was more appropriate, Aislen thought, but she kept that to herself. “It’s really not good enough, is it?” She told Anne. “It always made me wonder, why the people of this town don’t stand up and demand better.”
“Sometimes people just need someone strong to stand up behind,” Anne replied. “And all the strong people seem to leave this town as soon as they can.”
As she returned to the car, Aislen decided to take a detour and peek inside the church as she had never been in there before. The choir members were just leaving, and she pressed herself against the wall to give them space to pass without brushing up against her. However, they inevitably did, with flickering moments of their lives passing through her mind.
The choir master and organist were collecting up the song books. She stood and looked around the ancient, little church with its original stained glass windows, and the pews that had seen so many generations of Havermouth’s arses and knees that the wood wore the scars of usage. A pretty, little house for the sinners of Havermouth, she thought, sourly.
“Can I help you?” Pastor Gale asked from behind her. She turned and looked up at him and saw in his eyes that he knew who she was. Heath took after him, the same white-blonde hair, the same grey eyes. “I am surprised that you would set foot inside the House of God,” he commented quietly, so as not to be overheard. “Without fear of combusting.”
“I’m surprised that you don’t worry about the same,” she replied with dislike. “What is God’s position on sleeping with your flock, pastor? Or offshoring church money?”
“Malicious rumours,” he replied with a tight smile, his grey eyes as cold as his son’s. “Spread by lying tongues. And yours is very loose with other people’s secrets, always has been. It raises the question, Aislen Carter, how precisely you know the things that you know?”
“Intuition, I guess. That and tarot cards. Well, been nice chatting,” she turned to leave, but he reached out and caught her shoulder, filling her mind with images of his misdemeanours like a list of sins and abuses of power.
“What is it that you want?” His voice was hard. “What will it take to get you to leave this time?”
“I have no intention of sticking around,” she replied. “After the funeral, I’m gone.”
“Good,” he pulled his hand back as if repulsed by the feel of her. “Safe journey, and God bless.”
“Fuck you too,” she smiled sweetly and left, shaking her head. It was no wonder, she thought, that Heath had turned into Mr. Ice, when his father was such a stone-cold bastard. She sighed as she got into her car. She couldn’t believe that she was feeling sorry for Heath.
It was a good sign that she should get back to work stripping the house, so that as soon as the funeral was over, she could get the fuck back to the real world, and her life in it.