A Pack of His Own - Ch. 13 (all readers) (Patreon)

Chapter Thirteen

            A day before the Spring Gala, a note arrived at the diner for Will, informing him that it was semi-formal attire, but that he wouldn’t need a full tie and blazer, simply a nice shirt and slacks, not jeans or shorts. Silversmith had also stressed that Will should be dressed in muted colors, preferably grays. Will spent far longer than he would’ve liked to admit trying to find a look that made him look both respectable and a little intimidating, but instead settled for not looking like a high school senior begrudgingly going to his first dance.

            He’d been told to wait at the diner, and Will had also been reminded that Chicago was a time zone ahead, so sure enough, at around two, Silversmith’s assistant Kelly came into the diner and gave the room a quick sweep. She was dressed much like she usually was – like a rebellious goth college student, black fishnet stockings, black bustier, black leather shorts, and a heavy black jacket hanging loose and open, her hair that unnaturally dark red wine color, her makeup a bit more on point than the last few times he’d seen her. This time she didn’t seem quite as dismissive of him as she had in the past, however, giving him more than a cursory glance, as if he’d somehow elevated his status in her eyes, and was no longer unworthy of taking seriously.

            “Hey Kelly,” he said to her when she entered, her eyes lingering on him a moment or two longer before giving the rest of the diner the once over.

            “Bowland,” she said to him. “You think you’re ready for this?”

            “Not really,” he joked, “but I don’t think that matters much. Besides, your boss is going to keep me safe, remember?”

            “Oh, I know,” she said, looking back out the window, making a gesture to Silversmith outside that it was safe to enter the diner. “The only thing he can’t keep you safe from is yourself.”

            When Silversmith made his way inside, Will took a look at the man with eyes that could now appreciate at least a little bit more about what he’d learned about the magician known as the Red Joker. He’d thinned down a little, but still looked slightly portly, his skin a deep shade of tan, his hair thinning but jet black, although there were flecks of grey he could see in the thick, bushy goatee the man had grown since Will had seen him last, far more hair than Will would’ve thought possible to grow in such a short period of time. He was dressed, much as he was previously, in a suit more befitting a college history professor than a deadly spellcaster, although the shades of crimson and red were woven in amidst the blacks and browns, and that did add a certain layer of gravitas to the man’s appearance. He still wore his silver, circular bifocal glasses, and his fingers were, as they had been the previous time, adorned with a few rings. In his right hand, however, he had an elegant gentleman’s walking stick, the wood a type Will didn’t immediately recognize, with ornate carvings layered with a crimson paint over them, none of which meant anything to Will except the one right at the knob where he held it – a stylized J and $ mixed together.

            “You look as ready as you’re going to be, Mister Bowland,” Silversmith said to him, his voice neither harsh nor judgmental. “Before we depart, let me go over the ground rules you are to follow while you are in my company at the Spring Gala. Accept no gifts, deal no insults and question no motives, aloud anyway, even in your most quiet of voices. There will be time for us to talk after the Gala, but while we are there you may ask me any questions that cross your mind, as long as they do not impugn other guests, and are asked respectfully. Take food and beverage only from those designated to serve it. They will be wearing a red arm band with a symbol on it like this,” he said, drawing a strange sigil in flames floating in the air for a moment before it disappeared. “Be sure to touch the armband before you accept your food or drink. If you do not feel a slight shock, let me know immediately, and I will handle the problem.”

            “Is that an issue?”

            “There are… certain members of our world that feel a need to try and use old laws, old compacts, old agreements in order to gain advantages for themselves, at the expense of those who haven’t spent centuries combing through the bylaws,” Silversmith sighed. “It seems like every year, there’s someone trying to enslave a new arrival, and every year, one of the Jokers has to step in and handle the matter.”

            “There’s more than one Joker?”

            “The designate ‘Red’ should’ve given that away,” he chuckled. “But yes, there is a ranking denoting the fifty-two greatest spellcasters in the world, and one joker for each color. I’m the Red Joker, and there’s also a Black Joker, who tends to the southern hemisphere. The hearts and diamonds are spellcasters in the northern hemisphere, the clubs and spades are all in the southern. Keep in mind, those colors are purely for the designates of the bearer of each rank. The color Red is also used to designate the houses of the tribes of Europe.”

            “The what now?”

            Silversmith rubbed his forehead with a handkerchief, as if the whole thing bothered him also. “It’s an imperfect system, believe me, Will, I’m all too familiar with it. Thankfully the only person really affected by it is me. But if you hear, for example, someone described as the Five of Hearts, that is a sign they are a very powerful magician and should be treated accordingly. We’ll talk about the Seven Tribes when we arrive. It’s going to feel like a lot of information being thrown at you all at once, Will, but you’re a very bright young man and I feel confident you’ll keep up.”

            “Then I suppose I’ll just trust you and we can be on our way,” Will said with a sigh. This did feel like it was going to be a lot to take in, but somehow Will knew he needed this crash course more than anyone, already a lifetime behind anyone else who had grown up with his lineage.

            “Good lad,” Silversmith said, gesturing over to Kelly. “Be on your guard, my dear,” he said to her. “There’s talk the Prodigal’s going to be showing up and attempting to insult me. Don’t fall for his baits or his attempts to draw us into something we have no interest in humoring him with.”

            “We’re not going to let him insult us freely, are we Master?” she asked him, a wounded tone to her voice.

            “Of course we are, my dear, and you’ll see why, should he engage us.”

            “I look forward to you demonstrating what I am missing, Master,” she said, offering a slight curtsy of respect to him. “As always, you know far better than your humble slut.”

            Silversmith rolled his brown eyes a little. “Lay it on a little thicker, why don’t you, Kelly? I don’t believe it’s thicker than peanut butter yet.”

            She grinned and turned her head away. “Your slut will try next time, Master.”

            “Let us be off,” Silversmith sighed, lifting the walking stick a foot or so off the ground and then pounding it down against the floor of the diner with a single thump. With that thump, the area around Will, Kelly and Silversmith began to swirl in a vortex of color and light particles, sparks of red lightning jumping around as the technicolor wash before the room started to settle down again, and Will could see they were inside some sort of large ballroom inside of a very expensive looking hotel or convention center, with a few dozen people scattered around the place, a long buffet table on one side of the room, a bar over in the corner, and a DJ stand in the corner. There also seemed to be a stage with a podium and a microphone on it, but no one was up there now.

            “Well, it looks like we’ve arrived before most of the guests,” Silversmith said with a slight smile. “That’s good for us. It’ll let me make a few introductions. Ah, I see the man of the hour’s right over there. Come come, let’s go introduce you to one of your contemporaries.”

            As the three of them made their way across the room, Will couldn’t help but notice that nearly everyone was dressed in a shade of green. Most of them were in either slacks and simple shirts, or in some cases jeans and t-shirts, like most of them had walked out of a Bruce Springsteen tribute act. A man in his early thirties seemed to be holding court with a handful of other men and women dressed in green, each looking over at Silversmith as the conversation suddenly died and all levity disappeared except for the man in the center, who grinned, extending a hand to Silversmith. “Hey there, Jonas,” the man said. “Good to see you again, and so soon.”

            “Captain Clarke, perhaps we don’t know each other quite well-enough to be on a first name basis, you might think?” Silversmith said to him, although it was hard to ignore the fact that there was a hint of a smile creeping in around the corners of Silversmith’s face.

            “I think if we all go around referring to you as Silversmith all night, I’m going to lose my fucking mind,” Captain Clarke said with a laugh. “Even if it’s just for this one night, call me Tommy and allow me to call you Jonas.”

            The man looked to be in his late thirties, short and muscular, with brown hair cut short and thick mutton chops that ran down the sides of his cheeks. He wore black horned rim glasses and felt more like a tiny lumberjack than someone in the supernatural world. There wasn’t anything even vaguely intimidating about him, and Will found himself liking the man immediately.

            “Alright, for one night, I suppose I can make an exception,” Silversmith said, the smile no longer able to be concealed. “Will Bowland, let me introduce you to Captain Tommy Clarke, Seventh Captain of the Green Wizards’ House. Tommy, this is Will Bowland, who is a new member of the Green Werewolves’ House.”

            Tommy looked at Will with a slight smirk and then moved to shake his hand. “Good meeting you, Will. I’m a little curious how you’re a ‘new’ member, though, considering werewolves are trained from birth how to keep their heritage in check.”

            “My mother took me away from the other werewolves and never told me about my heritage, so I just discovered my lineage last year,” Will said. “So I didn’t grow up around werewolves, and have a lot of catching up to do.”

            Tommy shrugged it off with a light smile. “I think you’ll do fine, kid. And if you aren’t, well, I’m always looking to do solids for people who I wouldn’t mind owing me one.”

            Will laughed a touch nervously. “Silversmith told me not to take on any debts while I’m here, so somehow I don’t think I’m going to take you up on that.”

            “Tommy might be an exception to that rule,” Silversmith laughed off. “But still wisest to not owe anyone anything. Tommy’s a good egg, though, one of the few other mages I would say you can openly take at his word.”

            Tommy smirked, fishing a toothpick from his pocket, setting it on his lips. “Now Jonas… are you implying that you can’t trust most mages?”

            “Implying?” Silversmith cackled. “No, dear boy, I’m flat out stating it.”

            “So, there are seven Captains for each tribe?” Will asked, trying to sort the hierarchy out in his head, but still lacking key touchstones.

            “No no, seven Captains for each House of each tribe,” Tommy said. “Good heavens, Jonas, you really haven’t taught him anything yet, have you? Let me tell you the important aspects quickly, Will. You’ve got seven tribes – Dragons, Elves, Faerie, Human Wizards, Shades, Vampires and Werewolves. Each tribe is divided into seven houses – Green for North American, Blue for South American, Red for European, Orange for Asian, Yellow for African, Indigo for Australian and Violet for the rare Antarcticians. That means there’s 343 of us pretentious fucks who have titles scattered around the world and some degree of authority when it comes to dealing with magical goings on.”

            “There’s some prestige with being made a Captain, I take it?”

            “Some, but I wouldn’t try and buy a cup of coffee with it,” he said to Will, shrugging a little. “It’s mostly a lot more responsibilities and expectations and not a whole lot of benefits.”

            “Oh I meant to ask you, Tommy, how did your Captain’s Day celebration work out?” Silversmith asked him. “Did your father’s little gift prove useful in the least?”

            “Very useful indeed, Jonas, so thank you for that.”

            “It was your legacy, my boy, so you needn’t worry about thanking me for that.”

            Will noticed how the conversation between Silversmith and Clarke almost seemed to suck out all the oxygen of the group, no one else wanting to dare strike up a conversation until a curvy brunette woman stepped over towards him, her eyes intensely focused.

            “I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s feeling a little overwhelmed,” she said to him. “I’m Sarah Winterscross, Initiate of the Green Wizard’s House. This is my first Gala as well, so I’m just as nervous as you are, I imagine.”

            “Sure,” Will laughed, “but I imagine you’ve got training in defensive spells and the like, whereas I’m just a guy who can transform into a big dog if needed.”

            “Never underestimate the power of a big dog,” Tommy said, taking a swig from his drink. “There have been plenty of times where a werewolf has saved my ass. There’s a reason most mages cultivate a couple as friends.” Tommy reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. He was about to extend it to Will, then glanced over at Silversmith and grinned. “I offer you this card of paper without expectation or intent other than to present you with my contact information. I ask nothing in return. Will you accept?”

            Will looked over at Silversmith, who bristled with quiet amusement then nodded to him, so Will turned back and took the card, tucking it into his pocket. “I accept and thank you. Should I find myself in need of contacting a mage, I’ll be in touch.”

            “Oh, even if you just want someone to shoot the shit with, give me a holler, Will,” Tommy said with a smirk. “I’m happy to swing by your neck of the woods any time you want someone just to help offer a little insight into the world behind the Veil, free of charge.”

            Silversmith pointed to him with a smile. “I’ll remember that you said that, Tommy, so if you think this is some way to get a favor out of Will—”

            “Honest, Jonas, I’m just looking to make more friends, that’s all,” Tommy said with a laugh, rolling his eyes as he glanced over at the opening doors. “Ugh, the pompadours are here.”

            With the main doors opened, a dozen or so people dressed in mostly blacks with streaks of green highlighting parts of their outfits flooded into the room. They almost all had black hair, although a few of them had brightly artificial colored punkish hair colors. Most of them looked like they were wearing two or three extra layers, some of them dressed in borderline Victorian or even steampunkish clothing. All of them were extremely pale skinned, and as a few of them started to get closer, Will could see the fanged teeth.

            “I see they’re as inconspicuous as ever,” Silversmith grumbled.

            “That’s the part of North America I never could stomach,” Tommy muttered. “All the damn vampires.”

            “Thanks Grandpa,” Will said. “I’ve seen ‘Lost Boys’ too, you know. How much of that’s real?”

            “What, the myths about vampires? About as much is true to the myths about werewolves, so, bits and pieces of them, but not nearly even half,” Silversmith said. “They have problems with sunlight. They can transform into bats. They need to feed on blood. But there’s plenty of ways to kill them beyond a stake in the heart. And they don’t give a shit about garlic.”

            “Nor crosses either,” Tommy said. “But they’re not all bad. Some of them are a bit uppity and self-centered, but there’s a couple of decent souls among them. Here comes one now. How goes it, Theresa?”

            A couple of slightly less foppish vampires strolled over towards the group of mages, one a woman in a rather stylish goth attire with striped green and purple leggings, her hair dyed a dark forest green, as if she was trying to be on theme. She looked to be the age of a typical college student, but knowing that she was a vampire, Will decided to imagine she was much older than that. She was slender and had an elegant face, lovely in the right light maybe.

Accompanying her was a man who looked like he’d been rejected from every Cure cover band he’d ever auditioned for, with heavy makeup on his face, dark red lipstick applied liberally and with only a bare modicum of skill, his black hair in the biggest shock explosion hairdo Will had ever seen in person, as if a black haired gorilla had touched one of those static electricity generators.

“Hey Tommy, the bar’s open, right?” she asked upfront.

“Have you have ever known us wizards to throw a party with a paid bar?” Tommy said, crossing his arms over his chest like he was almost offended.

“I suppose not,” she said with a soft smile. “It’s one of the few redeeming things about your lot.”

“Theresea Watson, let me introduce you to Will Bowland, newest addition to the Green Werewolves. Will, this is Theresa Watson, of the Omaha Coven, a subdivision of the Green Vampires’ House. She’s known to get around a bit, though, so don’t be surprised if you see her in your neck of the woods from time to time,” Tommy said.

“How do you know where my neck of the wood is?” Will asked curiously.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tommy asked with a laugh. “Silversmith established the new sanctuary under your name, so pretty much everyone here is going to know you run Will’s Crossroads Diner in Boulder, Colorado. I figured you knew the sort of celebrity that sort of thing was going to bring you amongst our circles.”

“I think I figured it was more of going to be a local kind of thing,” Will said. “I knew they were somewhat uncommon, but I didn’t think it was quite that big of a deal.”

“There’s only 13 per continent currently, William,” Silversmith said to him. “So yes, it is, in fact, that big a deal. And yours has security personally ensured by me, which makes yours especially safe ground. Starting a fight at Will’s Crossroads Diner is tantamount to signing one’s own death sentence. You’re going to have a front row seat to some of the most interesting political discussions for the next few decades.”

“Any particular issues the Fangs are going to bring up tonight, Theresa?” Tommy asked her. Will could tell there was a sense of familiarity between the two, like Tommy might’ve been in trouble for calling them ‘Fangs’ under other circumstances, but because they knew each other well enough, it was taken as a friendly jab rather than an insult.

“I think just the altercation that happened over in Virginia a few months back,” she said with a sigh. “That’s between Captains, though. I’m just here to throw around my support and enjoy the free drinks, mostly. I don’t know how you tolerate it, Tommy, the politics of it all. I think it would drive me mad, having to keep track who’s friendly with who, who’s annoyed by who… it’s ghastly, and more importantly, it’s boring.”

“I’m hoping to eventually make a difference and remind the houses that they aren’t all as different as they seem to think they are,” Tommy said.

“A noble endeavor, Mister Clarke,” Silversmith said. “And an enviable dream. One that I truly hope isn’t destined to fail.”

“My old man taught me to dream bigger than big, Mister Silversmith,” Tommy said, rolling the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “You, of all people, should know that.” Silversmith gave Tommy an odd look at that but said nothing.

“Looks like the Elves are here,” Theresa said, scoffing a little bit. “I swear, and they call our fashion sense odd.”

Will could see why the vampires were scoffing at the Elves fashion sense. If the vampires were the goths and the mages were the classic rockers, the elves were definitely the New Romantics, dressed in frilly, puffed-up clothing and hair that Will hadn’t seen since the last time he’d watch the Best of the ‘80s on VH-1 and it had been a double header with Flock of Seagulls and a-ha. The amount of hairspray that had just entered the room was ridiculous. Will expected the entire group of them of be singing Adam Ant songs as soon as the karaoke kicked in.

“How long do elves live for?” Will asked Silversmith as quietly as he possibly could.

“About five or six hundred years or so,” Silversmith replied in a low tone of voice. “They shouldn’t be kicking up too much of a fuss here tonight. They don’t have the strongest of numbers here in North America, so they’re here more just to keep up on things.”

“They’re certainly easy on the eyes,” Will remarked casually, noting that the elves all had a certain sense of beauty around them, the women beautiful and the men handsome in a slightly effeminate way. “They all like that?”

“Mmm,” Tommy said. “Elfin beauty is a hard thing to resist, but better for you not to get mixed up in their kind. They tend to be devious, scheming, conniving, manipulative, petty, vindicative, deceptive and duplicitous.” His voice sounded like it had some experience behind it.

“They also tend to be phenomenal fucks in the sack or wherever you happen to get lucky enough to bed them,” Theresa said with a catty smile. “We’ve even managed to convert a handful of them to our team, before the Accords settled that kind of nonsense.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t have a couple of them in the pocket of one of your Captains, Theresa,” Tommy laughed. “No need to be modest.”

“Again, Thomas, far above my paygrade,” she sniffed. “And beneath my interests. I’m a simple woman with simple tastes. I don’t need to go in for exotic meals.”

“Does each group have such a distinct dress style to them?” Will asked.

“You hadn’t noticed that nearly all the werewolves you encountered look like they might have been roadies for Nirvana back in the 90s?” Tommy asked with a chuckle.

“It’s Colorado,” Will shot back. “Flannel’s almost an identity out here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the grunge look for most werewolves across the globe, so yes, I think you can at least generally realize what tribe someone’s with based on how they dress, although if someone’s a mage and not a human, that can complicate things a bit,” Silversmith said to him.

“Looks like only two Dragons again this year,” Tommy said, nodding to the pair of people who had entered the room. They were dressed in brightly colored patterned lounge lizard suits, a man and a woman, each of whom looked to be in their forties, his suit mostly in golds and blacks, hers in mostly crimson and cream. “Dorothy and Ezekiel again, it looks like.”

“Siblings or partners?” Will asked.

“Neither,” Silversmith said. “Zeke tends to keep an eye on the West Coast and Dorothy on the East Coast. Dragons aren’t as plentiful as they used to be, so there’s only a dozen or so each continent, so much so that we don’t really even know who many of their Captains are, simply because they choose not to engage with us all that much. They’re a bit insular of a society, but they still want a say in how things are done, which is why they pop up at the Galas, in case there’s actually a policy decision made again, instead of a great deal of internal bickering.”

“Dorothy’s a bit uptight, but Zeke’s not a bad guy,” Tommy said. “He and I have been known to come to an understanding every now and then. Dragons are like any other phenomenally dangerous creatures – don’t mess with them and they generally won’t mess with you.”

“I don’t like to even get near them,” Theresa said. “They’re simply too powerful to offend accidentally. In fact, it looks as though your friend Zeke is headed this way, so that will be my cue to scoot. Good seeing you again, Mister Silversmith, Tommy. Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Bowland. I do so hope our paths will cross again.”

Just before the male dragon was within range, Theresa and her male companion, whose name Will never had caught, moved to excuse themselves, heading off in the other direction.

“Typical vamps,” Sarah said, reminding Will she was still standing next to him. “A little bit of real power shows up and they scatter like cockroaches.”

“Be nice, Sarah,” Tommy said to her, his tone offering only the slightest hint that he had authority over her.

“I am being nice,” Sarah replied cattily. “Otherwise I’d have used something much less pleasant than cockroaches.”

“Well, then I’ll remind you that vampires have excellent hearing, and you’re likely to have just insulted my friend and her companion, so perhaps—”

“Oh shit! Sorry, Theresa,” Sarah whimpered, uncertain if the vampires were still within earshot of the conversation with their improved senses. “Vampires and dragons just don’t seem to mix, for reasons I don’t understand.”

“Mmmm,” Zeke said, stepping up towards the circle. “I think it has to do with them being afraid of fire, and of my kind being able to generate it rather easily.” Will had to admit, there was something personable about Zeke right from the start, as if the man was happy to be courteous and to cultivate new friendships. He reminded Will of the kind of guy he would see at the bar buying several people a round, just to keep everyone in the right spirit. “Is this the werewolf causing such commotion with the human hunters, Silversmith?”

“Through no cause of his own, Ezekiel, but yes, this is Will Bowland. Will, this is Ezekiel Longame, First Captain of the Green Dragons’ House. Essentially the highest-ranking dragon on the continent. He’s also the King of Diamonds, so be aware, he’s not someone to be trifled with lightly,” Silversmith said to Will.

Zeke reached out and shook Will’s hand before Will had even realized he was extending it, a slight chuckle escaping Silversmith’s lips. “Dreadfully sorry about the hunters, old chap. Usually they know better than to go hunting off the reservation, but it sounded like the head of that particular cell was several pieces shy of a chess set, if you catch my drift. Shouldn’t happen again, especially now that you’re a made man.”

“You make it sound like I’m in the Mafia, Mister Longame,” Will chuckled.

“Please, William, call me Zeke,” the Dragon tutted with a cryptic smile. “I hope that you and I will become at least acquaintances, if not actual friends. I do so enjoy being on friendly terms with the Sanctuary keepers.”

“You can take Zeke at his word, Will,” Silversmith said to him, nodding to the Dragon. “Unlike most of his kind, I’ve found him to be remarkably thoughtful and jovial.”

“You make us out to be horrible creatures, Jonas,” Zeke said, shaking his head. “Each dragon is a unique creature and should be treated as such.”

“Mmmmm… dragons are one case where a little extra paranoia won’t go amiss,” Tommy said with a smirk. “No offense, Zeke, but you truly are unlike any other dragon I’ve ever met.”

Sarah sighed, shaking her head. “Well, shit. Guess the party had to end at some point,” she muttered. “It looks like the Prodigal’s here.”

Will turned to glance at the door and there was a tall, lanky erudite man dressed in a white suit with light blue pin stripes, a sky-blue fedora atop of his head. He had a large shock of red hair peeking out beneath the hat in a sort of wild flop that hung partially over his eyes, and a pendant with a jewelstone the size a large man’s fist hanging around his neck. He looked like David Bowie and Andy Warhol had produced some sort of mutant hybrid, although there was a certain undeniable style to the man’s look, and he carried with him a walking stick of his own, made a dark wood, almost blackened and charred, but still somehow polished and smooth. His hands were covered by thick white gloves.

In tow, the man had a woman with him dressed in 1920s flapper clothing, a dress that was slinky and yet somehow also seemingly scaled, green stripes through red streaks, like a Christmas present, her hair jet black, her skin pale white, her eyes edged into fine points.

“And he’s got his dragon plaything in tow,” Tommy sighed. “Jonas, don’t you think it’s about time you put all this quarreling to rest and just settle the issue?”

“You’d be doing us all a favor, Mister Silversmith,” Sarah mumbled.

“Who’s the Prodigal?” Will asked his host.

“Unfortunately, dear William, I do believe you’re about to find out…”