Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

“And you are… ?” Antoine asks.

“Shark.”

“No surname?”

“No.”

Antoine’s smile flickers. Shark can be intense. He’s staring at the man in the suit as if pondering whether or not to cut his heart out and eat it.

“If Prae’s here, she’ll vouch for us,” Meera says. “You’re correct — we don’t have a scheduled meeting. But she’ll want to see us.”

“What about the rest of your group?” Antoine asks, smile back in place. He waves at the soldiers in the Farrier Harrier. “I’m no expert, but those guns don’t look like toys. Will Miss Athim welcome armed thugs as well?”

“They’re our traveling companions,” Meera says. “They mean no harm.”

“What if I asked them to dispose of their weapons and leave the helicopter?”

“No,” Shark barks before Meera can answer.

Antoine’s brow furrows, giving the impression that he’s thinking this over, but I believe he knew exactly what he was going to say before he set foot on the roof. He doesn’t look like a man who leaves much to chance.

“I can’t admit you unless I know why you’ve come,” Antoine says eventually.

“We can discuss that with Prae if you tell her we’re here,” Meera replies.

“You’re fishing,” Antoine chuckles. “You want me to reveal whether or not she’s in the building. But I’m not prepared to tell you unless you answer my questions first.”

“It’s not your place to make a call like that,” Meera says icily. “Prae Athim is the CEO. I don’t know what your position is, but if you —”

“Actually, there’s been a recent managerial shift,” Antoine interrupts. “I am the current chief executive. If you wish to proceed, you’ll have to deal with me. Otherwise…” He shrugs.

“You’ve replaced Prae Athim?” Meera asks, startled.

“Not in so many words,” Antoine answers evasively.

Meera shares a glance with Shark. He’s frowning uncertainly. She doesn’t look sure of herself either. I decide it’s time for me to step in. I’ve been standing idly on the sidelines long enough.

“We’re here to talk about werewolves,” I mutter, drawing my shoulders back to create as much of an impression as I can.

Antoine blinks, his smile crumbling. “And you are…?”

“Grubbs,” I tell him, then correct myself. “Grubitsch Grady.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of you. Dervish Grady is your uncle.”

“Yes.”

Antoine doesn’t scratch his head — I doubt he’d ever resort to such a common gesture — but his fingers twitch and I think that’s what he’d like to do.

“Werewolves attacked Dervish,” I say softly. “At his home. In a team. Backed by people with guns.” I stare pointedly at the guards.

“This is an interesting development,” Antoine says after a short pause. He looks down at his highly polished shoes and this time I get the impression he really is thinking about what to say next.

When he looks up, his eyes are clear. “I think I’d better invite you down to my office. Will you accompany me, please?” He stands to one side and extends a hand towards the door.

“What about the others?” Shark asks, jerking his head at those in the helicopter.

“They’re not necessary.”