Now it was a warren of interconnected bedrooms, kitchens, media rooms, storage areas and armories that served as the home to over half of Clan Tenerim’s forty-odd members and as a de facto home base for the shifters in Calgary.
Unlike the Lodge, which was neutral territory, the Den was definitely Clan Tenerim’s turf. Other inhumans came there on the Clan’s terms, and it looked like tonight, a lot of them had.
The Den’s parking spots were full and the street outside was lined with cars. A dozen or so burly-looking men and women, mostly wolf shifters with a couple of bears and one individual, who after looking at them for a good ten seconds I realized was a tiger shapeshifter, lounged around a propane area heater in the yard between the Den and the street.
I recognized none of them, and only one or two were Tenerim, from their features. All of them moved with the ready tension of soldiers and guards, and as I approached the complex, several of them drifted over to me, attempting and failing to appear casual.
“This house is closed, changeling,” one of them, a tall dark-haired man who I’d identified as one of the bear shifters—mostly by his height—told me. His tone was polite but firm. “We mourn one of our own.”
“I know,” I said gently. “I’m here to visit a child of Clan Tenerim, Mary.”
“I’m sorry, this house is closed,” he repeated.
I glanced up to the house, about to pull out my phone and call Mary, when the front door opened and Barry Tenerim hurried out.
“Not to Clan-Friends, Kal,” Barry told the hulking bear. “Nor to those who stood by us when our Alpha was killed. This is the changeling who was there.”
At the blond wolf shifter’s words, the change in the demeanor of the guards out front of the Den changed instantly. They went from politely threatening to casually respectful, stepping back to give me space and offering nods of greeting.
The young shifter offered me his hand, and then took mine in both of his when I took it.
“If you hadn’t been there, we would have attacked the bastard,” he told me. “And there would be three more sons of Tenerim being mourned tonight. You did the right thing, and you saved my life.
“Thank you,” he finished simply, then stood aside and gestured me towards the door, where Mary stood, waiting for me.
I barely made it to the door before I had every inch of my wildcat shifter girlfriend wrapped around me. For a moment, I froze under the impact, and then I wrapped my arms around her and held her gently while she sobbed into my shoulder.
Eventually, she let go and led me into a crowded living room. A growl from Barry that I barely heard vacated one of the loveseats, and we took a seat, clinging to each other for comfort.
Mary was crying. Nothing dramatic, nothing attention-seeking, just soft, quiet tears.
“He was more than our leader,” she told me through her tears. “He was our patriarch, our Alpha. He was a father to us all in so many ways. It’s hard to accept that he’s gone.”
I held her in silence. There was nothing I could say. I had known Tarvers a matter of weeks, not the years and decades of his Clan. He had been a good ally, a source of help and wisdom and, yes, a good friend.
“He was Clan Tenerim,” Barry said quietly. “It’s hard to describe, but this Den feels empty without him.”
Mary continued to weep, and I continued to hold her. The room was very quiet, and as I looked around, I saw we weren’t the only couple clutching each other for support, and no one else was talking.
After several long minutes, a man stood and crossed to me. Native by his features and coloring, his black hair was woven into long braids that fell to his waist that were tinged with gray. His skin was worn with time and sun, yet his eyes were bright, touched with an edge of felinity and carrying the full power of an Alpha’s gaze.
The cougar shifter was old, and given how shifters aged, it was easily possible this man had been born before Columbus set sail. He had seen a world of change, and the pain written in his eyes and face told of its prices.
“I am Enli,” he told me. “Folks around here call me Grandfather, as I am the oldest living shifter in this city.” His eyes bore into me. “I was the oldest shifter when MacDonald came here. I am Alpha of what remains of the Enli Clan—and yes, it is named for me.”
I bowed my head in respect. “What do you need of me, Grandfather?” I asked quietly. I doubted that the oldest Alpha in Calgary had come to see me just to introduce himself. While he didn’t speak for the Clans, I doubted any shifter had ever made a major decision in this city without talking to him.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” he continued, laying a gentle old hand on Mary’s shoulder. “All of us grieve for Tarvers, but you were there when he died. I have heard Barry and the other boys’ story. Now I must hear yours. I must understand everything that happened.”
“Why?” I asked frankly. I didn’t really want to talk about the Tenerim Alpha’s murder yet.
“Because if I do not understand, I may talk my grandchildren into a war that should not be fought,” the old shifter told me quietly. “With no Speaker, it is to me they will look for judgment on the actions of the Wizard’s dogs.”
I nodded, and sighed. “All right, I will tell you what I can,” I told him, my drawl quiet in the near-silence of the Den.
The story wasn’t easy to tell. Mary sat next to me, holding my hand throughout. I was stunned at how angry I found myself growing as I told the old cougar what I had seen, what I had heard, everything that had led to a servant of the Wizard killing the leader of the shifters.
Grandfather listened well, the fruit of centuries of practice, I suppose. He said little, a grunt here and there when needed to encourage me to speak, a pointed question to bring up details I hadn’t thought of. He managed to wheedle more details out of me than I had thought I knew.
In the end, the story ran out, and I found myself weeping—half from grief and half from rage. The old Alpha laid one of his hands on my shoulder and the other on Mary’s.
“This is a harsh time,” he told us. “It is through the strength of individuals and their bonds to each other that we will survive. Draw on each other’s strengths and those of those around you. Only as a Clan, only as a people, only as friends and lovers and family will we survive.”
I bowed my head over his hand, holding tight to Mary. Enli squeezed both of our shoulders and then stood, as there was a commotion outside. Men shouted; I heard Kal’s voice among them as an argument clearly proceeded.
It ended with the door to the house being flung open, and two men in the black suits of Enforcers stepped in. They hadn’t drawn weapons, and I was amazed they’d made it through the guards outside without being torn to shreds.
A sudden rippling shift of motion and a dramatic increase in tension led me to realize that I was probably the only person in the room who wasn’t armed, and one wrong word could start the war Enli had said he wanted to avoid. A war that would represent a huge failure of my attempt to protect the Wizard!
“This house is closed to outsiders,” said a man I didn’t recognize, though he shared Tarvers’s bulk and features. “We mourn my father. Your kind are especially not welcome,” he snarled at them.
“We are here to deliver the verdict of the Magus,” the lead Enforcer, a dark-haired man of much the same mold as every other Enforcer I’d seen. He had no visible tattoos, but I was sure they were there.
“Speak your piece,” Tarvers’s son growled.
“A group of members of this Clan attacked an Enforcer-protected human business without provocation,” the Enforcer said flatly, apparently oblivious to the slowly growing rumble of growls around the room.
“Inhuman gifts were used in full sight of humans, two of whom were badly injured, and a business and production facility in service to the Magus has been forced to temporarily close its doors.