Free Night Owls by Lauren M. Roy Page B

toward the rare books room. He was, as Chaz might say, built like a brick shithouse. Val wondered if a blow from the fire extinguisher she kept behind the register would even have any effect on him, or if he’d only grin and shake his head at her like the bulldog did in the cartoons, when the cat finally got in a solid hit. “In there.”
    The woman’s grin widened. “Did the old man bring you a present today, Leech? Something that wasn’t his?” She leaned across the counter, dropping her voice. “We went looking for it, and it wasn’t at his house. He didn’t want to tell us where he’d hidden it, but he talked in the end.”
    “Screamed, really,” said the one on the left, the skinny one.
    Val gripped the counter so hard the wood groaned. Blood thundered in her ears; she wanted to lunge at them, tear at their throats and make them howl for what they’d done. Their rancid blood would make her gag, but it would be worth it, so worth it to make the Jackals pay. Her gums prickled as her fangs unsheathed.
    “All swept up, Val, just need to—” Chaz froze beside the rack full of maps as four heads swiveled toward him. The dustpan he carried dipped and spilled its sandy contents all over his shoes. “Val?” In his other hand, he held the push broom. He switched his grip on it, getting ready to bring it up like a baseball bat, but before he could, the right-hand Jackal moved.
    Its motion was a blur even to Val’s preternatural senses; to Chaz, it must have seemed to reach him in an eyeblink. She couldn’t Command him to run now: the Jackal’s hand slipped around his throat, its grimy black claws making indents in his skin.
    For his part, Chaz took it well. After his initial start, he stood calmly, still wielding the broom even though he didn’t have the range of motion to swing it. He glanced down at the wrist holding him and saw the fine, dark fur. “Oh. Uh. Fuck,” was the extent of his commentary.
    “How about you show me that book,” said the woman, pulling Val’s attention back, “and he doesn’t have to get hurt tonight.”
    “Val, no. Fuck these guys. Don’t—”
    Right Hand lifted his other arm almost casually and extended his index finger, the claw hovering less than an inch from Chaz’ eye. The unspoken threat shut Chaz up.
    “All right.” Val reached under the register and retrieved the key from its hook. “All right, you can have it.” She let it dangle before the woman, but pulled it back before the Jackal bitch could take it. “I’m going to have to let you in.”
    The woman growled. “You don’t want to piss me off, Leech. Whatever you’re trying to pull here—”
    “I’m not trying to pull anything.” Val set the key down on the counter. “If you pick up that key, it’s going to hurt like hell. It’s silver. Go ahead and touch it if you don’t believe me.”
    The woman jerked her head, and Left Hand reached past her to prod the key with the tip of his finger. As soon as his skin made contact, the flesh turned black. Tendrils of smoke curled up like a cigarette left to burn in an ashtray. The Jackal yanked his arm away and danced backward. He whimpered as he stuffed the injured finger into his mouth.
    Val had expected the woman to react at least a little. Instead, she watched her companion’s pain with clinical observation.
She’s not an alpha.
She didn’t smell like one, and an alpha never would have let Val get the drop on it the way she had last night.
But she might be fucking the alpha, or could be an alpha’s pup.
Val tucked that away to mull over later. Provided there was a later.
    The woman didn’t wait for the whimpering to stop. She shrugged and faced Val. “Fine. Lead the way.”
    As much as she loathed turning her back on a Jackal, Val stepped away from the register and headed toward the back. She took the aisle that Chaz and Right Hand were in, pausing before them to bare her fangs at the creature holding her friend. Up close, she could see beneath