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Gerry's sons Tom and Martin were, as their father had said, quite respectful, and they soon got down to the business of showing me the ropes. The kitchen was a bit smaller than I'd expected, but Tom and Martin knew their way around, and they showed me how to navigate the place without bumping into anything. I soon found myself relaxing around them, and before long, I found myself engaging in their banter. I hadn't been able to banter with anyone in a long time, and it was refreshing to be able to let go and have some sorely-missed fun.
As we worked throughout the afternoon - the boys with their cooking and me with my dishwashing - I got to know their stories, and, feeling confident, shared a little bit of my own past. Tom had been orphaned at a young age, his coven wiped out by a werewolf pack considered to be his coven's mortal enemies, and Tom himself had almost been killed when he was discovered two days later. Gerry had come to his rescue, and had fought the scouts off singlehandedly, before taking Tom home to raise alongside Martin, another orphan who'd also lost his entire coven to the same pack. I didn't want to name names, but remembering how Father hated witches, I wondered if perhaps his pack had been responsible.
As it turned out, I was right.
"Your grandfather started it all," Tom told me, his face sombre with remembered pain. "His daughter - your aunt - had married a witch against her father's wishes, and he vowed revenge on my coven. He went one step further and tried to have your aunt and cousin abducted, but my coven was able to send them to safety across the Channel. Sadly, your grandfather put a hit on her, and she and her baby died two days after they made landfall in Paris. My father responded by exterminating almost all of your pack in response, and it's a damn shame your grandfather didn't join the rest of his miserable mutts across the Wheel." He took a deep breath. "Sorry. It's a really sensitive subject for me, and I don't blame you at all."
"I understand," I assured him. "You don't have to tell me any more if you don't want to. I take it, though, enough of Grandfather's pack survived to keep the family name going, so to speak?"
Martin nodded. "Yes," he said. "And he called in favours from other packs to send their females so his few remaining males could breed and produce cubs, your father amongs them. He also got warriors, who then proceeded to exterminate Tom's coven. They'd done the same to mine, after one of your other aunts married one of my uncles, and, well, let's just say Dad was furious when he found out about Tom's coven. He's a halfie, but he respects witches, and he made sure to teach us everything he knew about witches, werewolves, and all supernatural creatures."
"What's a halfie?" I asked.
Tom grimaced. "A werewolf with no wolf," he said. "I'm sorry, Mercedes. That's the term werewolves use, and it's not flattering at all. Dad took it in stride, though, and he takes pride in it."
"So that's how he recognised what I was," I said, more intrigued than uspet. "I have to ask something else; is this place ringed with spells?"
"Bingo," Martin said. "He's been keeping tabs on you ever since you were a cub, and for good reason." He paused to take a roast out of the oven, and as he put the final touches on it, he qualified. "You were an outcast, not because you weren't 'girly' enough for your mother's tastes, nor because your wolf was born a runt. You were outcast because you were stolen from your real parents at birth. Your mother was barren, so how she got your sister is anyone's guess. I'll wager she stole Faith like you were stolen."
I was thankful I was up to my elbows in hot, soapy water - but despite my stunned surprise at this revelation, a lot of things clicked into place in my mind. "So that's why Gerry made this place safe," I said. "I wouldn't have been able to get the help I needed otherwise. Is Father's reach that strong?"
"He's got the entire United Kingdom ringed in spells to ensure you could never get a helping hand from anyone," Gerry said from the doorway. He took Martin's roast and added his final not-entirely-unexpected bombshell. "I'm planning on giving him hell for that, by the way. No one mistreats my daughter and gets away for it. I've got twenty-three years of blood vengeance to deliver to your father, and now that you're safe with us, he won't damn well know what hit him. Excuse me." He left the kitchen, roast in hand, and I took a deep breath to calm racing nerves. 107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL9MNzlOc6S
"Sorry," Martin apologised with a lopsided smile. "Dad's like that. And truth be told, your former father isn't entirely blind. He's got tabs on you as well, and while he doesn't have an exact location, he's narrowing it down. He's going to hit the Park before sundown tomorrow, and once he's found The Naff, he'll come down on it like bloody vengeance."107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGCZ9KRIIY5
I clenched my fists under the water. "Over my dead body," I vowed. "He can try, but he's going to get a face full of my fist if he thinks I'm going to go back to him quietly to suffer more abuse."107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqFZrJEtwCR
We resumed our work in companionable silence, and though I'd only known them for a short while, I knew the boys - my brothers - and Dad would fight tooth and claw to keep me safe so I could finally tell my story. My "father" - George - was going to be in for hell of a shock when he brought his vengeance down on Dad's pub. Dad was likely to go hammer and tongs at him, and I could hardly wait.
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