Our pack because though I wasn’t a werewolf, I was still a member of the pack-which was unusual but not altogether unique. Our pack had money for investments and to help support the wolves who needed help. Today was, apparently, a day for budgets. After that, I expected that I’d be sorting through what I needed and what I absolutely needed.Ībove Jesse’s music, I could hear male voices discussing the pack budget and plans for the next six months. When I finished, I’d compare the final list with my budget. I like Jesse’s music, and I hummed along as I sorted through what I didn’t want, what I wanted and didn’t need, and what I needed.

Werewolves can hear music played over headphones, but it’s not nearly as annoying as music over speakers. She also told me that if she hadn’t told him that her mother let her play whatever she wanted (true-you don’t lie to a werewolf they can tell), he probably wouldn’t have been willing to compromise on the headphones. Jesse had told me once, before her father and I got married, that she suspected that if she were playing Big Band music or Elvis or something, her dad wouldn’t have minded her playing it on a stereo. The headphones were an old compromise that predated me. Her door must have been open or I wouldn’t have heard it. Music wafted down from upstairs out of Jesse’s headphones. It wasn’t really tooled up, but I could take care of most simple issues. A few of my oldest customers-and a few of my brokest customers-I had bring their cars out to the big pole building at my old place. Meanwhile, I sent a lot of my customers to the VW dealership. It would be months before the shop was up and running, but some items were going to take a few months to order in, too. We’d managed to scavenge some tools out of my shop when a volcano god toasted it, but a lot of things got warped from the heat-and other things got demolished when the rest of the building collapsed.

I flattened the page and compared the specs of their cheapest lift to the next cheapest. A few more weeks, and the heat would hit in full force, but for now we only had the occasional windstorm to complain about. It was early summer yet, cool enough to leave windows open. If something dire was going to happen, in my experience, it would happen whatever I was doing-and waiting around was singularly useless. I also had no way to tell if the walking stick had caused my panic over something real, or if I’d had a nightmare and that had called the walking stick. I hadn’t forgotten last night, but I could hardly sit and do nothing, waiting for something dire to happen.

Fire touched by patricia briggs