Page 31 of Filthy Fae

I was about ready to kill someone.

My glower turned menacing as I peered up at the speaker in the corner of the room, and a low growl escaped from my throat. A man across from me jumped to his feet, grabbed his briefcase and rushed away. Smart man.

Before today I had never heard the song in my life. After sitting in this waiting room since nine this morning, I knew the damn words by heart. The licensing office in Eureka was a small boxy room, the wallpaper a drab gray, the office chairs about as comfortable as sitting with a spike up your ass for hours on end. There was a long queue to register your paperwork, a long queue lining up to get a number, and then an even longer queue waiting to get an ass-killing chair.

When Lance had suggested that I take this side quest this morning, I knew it was a fucking mistake. But I also knew that ever since that bitch queen threatened my mate, all I’d been thinking about was wringing her neck. Scarlet had her own way of dealing with the fae, and if I went to the crime scene, I’d just fuck up all her diplomacy methods and undermine her alphahood. So, when Lance had suggested I head over to the witch council, I’d reluctantly agreed.

"Number eight-hundred-thirty-nine." The mechanical sounding words came over the loudspeaker. “Number eight-hundred-thirty-nine at window two.”

Shoving my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the slip of paper with my number. Eight-hundred-thirty-nine. I attempted to navigate between the rows of chairs and people clogging the way. A troll with three-foot horns had managed to pass out in her torture chair, and I was attempting to gently wake her when the voice came over the loudspeaker again.

"Final call for number eight-hundred-thirty-nine.”

“Don’t you dare!” I roared across the waiting room. The man sitting in cubical two leaned out, his mouth falling open like a fish. He looked me over once, taking in my scars, beard, leather jacket, old jeans, and motorcycle boots, and then he quickly ducked into his booth. I was used to that. Most humans took one look at me and crossed to the other side of the street. Yelling at the man had the added benefit of the troll startling and rearing her horns up while everyone else in the room cleared out of my way.

As calmly as I could, I walked to the cubicle, pulled out a metal chair, and settled across from the pale, wide-eyed wizard. The man pushed up his glasses, cleared his throat, and said, “Welcome to the MPO. Are you applying for magic licensing for your home, vehicle, or… ahem, body?”

“None of that.” I pushed a piece of paper across the desk at the balding, middle-aged human. “This thing attacked the alpha of the Six Rivers pack last night, and I want to know what it is.” I looked at the man’s nametag and added, “Mr. Higgins.”

Mr. Higgins cleared his throat but didn’t reach for the paper.

“Look, sir, this is the Magical Permitting Office.” His voice grew breathier by the second. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Immediately.”

I slid the paper further across his desk. “The creature was about eight feet tall. Smelled like death. It had a broad chest and thick muscles under whitish gray skin. It didn’t have eyes or a nose, just slits for nostrils, but it had a huge tongue and…” I stopped myself from saying the word cock and tapped the paper instead. “When I killed it, it exploded into acid.”

The man opened his mouth, looking like he was going to say something, but he snapped his jaw shut as his gaze dipped to the page where I’d drawn the creature in detail from every angle. He took in a shuddering breath.

“Yeah, I was pretty sure this was your problem,” I said with a curt nod. “And no, this isn’t just a magical permitting building. It’s the Mage Union of Northern California, Local eight-thirty-six, making this first-floor just a tiny fraction of what you witches and wizards do through this building, even though the only area you’ve reported for use is this magical licensing office. I might be a dumb werewolf biker, but I do know that a creature walking around with no eyes that reeks of decomposition is undead, meaning it came from one of you fuckers.”

I leaned back in my uncomfortable-as-fuck metal chair and gave the office worker my most menacing glare, the type of glare that had made rival pack alphas show me their throats. “So, tell me this. Why is the Mage Union concealing their presence from the new werewolf alpha and sending undead creatures to attack her? And why the fuck did I have to wait four hours in an assembly line from hell to ask you that?”

Mr. Higgins gulped, tugging on his collar like it was choking him. He muttered, “I’m going to call office security. We wouldn’t do that. This is just a licensing building. That’s all. There are no registered necromancers in the area.”

The phone at the man’s desk rang out a shrill note. When the man looked down at the lit phone screen, his face paled even more. His hands shook as he reached for the phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?” His voice sounded like he just chain-smoked three packs of cigarettes. “This is Harry Higgins.”

I knew I should feel guilty for making the office worker nearly shit himself, but I couldn’t muster any emotion right now. These assholes had moved onto established pack land right after my father died, and according to the tax records Lance had dug up last night, they were spending a lot more money than would be justified on a licensing office. I came in here claiming to be from the alpha of the area, and they sidelined me like I was just some human who wanted a magical upgrade on my car.

The man pursed his lips and nodded at the phone before pushing away from his desk and standing. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

Now I was a “sir.” Interesting.

Harry Higgins was a head and shoulders shorter than me, and when I stood, he seemed to shrink even more.

Sighing, I blew out a breath. “Thank you for your help.” It was a grudging appreciation, but this guy was just a gear in a big machine. That machine might be plotting to kill my mate, but this cog probably had nothing to do with that. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable at your place of employment.”

The man didn’t even look over at me. He just led me through the office building and out the back. He opened a big metal door out toward the alley, and I was about to tell the bald human that he better not be showing me out when a man stepped in front of the door. This man looked like a lumberjack in flannel with a large beard Santa Claus would envy. He was tall and barrel-chested but looked like he was more muscle than fat. He wore heavy work boots that had clearly been used for hard labor.

“You here to help me or to throw me out?” I asked as I stood in the doorway.

“Help you.” The Lumberjack grinned, showing two prominent dimples. “And hoping that’ll get you to leave.”

“Fair enough.”

The Lumberjack leaned over. “How ya doing there, Higgins? You want to take your break now?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Harry said.

As soon as I stepped outside, he slammed the door behind me. I couldn’t help but notice that the door had no handle from the outside.