"Watch it, Bucky," Esmé warned, hand on hip, but Vivian knew she would have been disappointed if he hadn't noticed.
"You ain't workin' tonight," growled the owner, Terry O'Toole, from behind the bar. "What you doin' here?"
"Can't tear myself away from you, honey," Esmé said, and slid oh so sweet and slinky into a chair.
Vivian saw Tooley color slightly, and saw the twitch of satisfaction on his lips. "She ain't drinkin'," he snapped, pointing at Vivian with a dish towel.
Vivian shrugged. "Not me." She sat down with her mother and crossed her legs in a way she knew made them look a mile long.
"I know you're under twenty-one," Tooley added, as if someone had argued with him, and he began to polish the water stains vigorously off a glass no one would look at too closely anyway.
"Hi, Brenda," Esmé said to the waitress who appeared. "We'd like two orders of grease on a bun with all the trimmings. A draft for me and a Shirley Temple for my baby."
"Make that a Coke," Vivian said.
Brenda winked. "Want me to goose that?"
Vivian shook her head. "Nah. The old lady needs to keep her job."
"Old lady!" Esmé squealed, and Brenda left giggling.
It wasn't until they were wiping the crumbs from their mouths that more members of the pack came drifting in, some still yawning from after-work naps, others ready to raise the devil. Tooley's was the place to go, the place to find out where the party was.
Most of the wolf-kind came to Vivian and Esmé's table and greeted them. There was no new leader yet, and Esmé was the widowed queen. And a tasty morsel, too, Vivian thought. She could see it in the eyes of the males and the tight smiles of their mates. A female on the loose was a dangerous creature; she could challenge another bitch for a male she fancied. Some of those male eyes strayed to Vivian, too, and she preened at the thought of being a threat. She and Esmé exchanged knowing looks, their lips plump, curved, and smug.
The group around the TV was larger now, swelled by wolf-kind. Two were males who'd run with Astrid. A cheer went up. The game had turned.
Vivian noted a couple of bikers sauntering over to their table. It was the same two from the other night - Skull and his sidekick. They never learn, she thought.
Before the bikers reached the table Bucky was there with two of his buddies - Esmé's age-mates still in their prime. They loomed, they tightened their fists to make their biceps bulge, and they grinned a toothy invitation. The bikers swerved and headed for the exit instead. It was no secret which males usually won any barroom brawl at Tooley's.
As the bikers reached the door it slammed open and they parted hastily to either side.
Lucien Dafoe came stumbling through. He was a mess. Blood covered half his face and still dripped from a gash on his forehead. He clutched his left arm, which dangled uselessly from his side. His shirt front was in tatters, and whatever had shredded it had also shredded his chest. Cotton stuck in the wounds like papier-mâché.
Esmé rose and Vivian with her, her claws unsheathing, heart pounding. Whoever attacked them, she'd be ready. Around the room the pack stood.
"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Skull asked. The other biker gawked through the door. He flinched when a howling devil stormed in - Astrid.
"You coward!" she shrieked at Lucien. "You piece of shit!"
The bikers looked at each other, shock giving way to sniggers.
"What's going on here?" Tooley stepped in front of the bar, a scarred old baseball bat in his hands. A couple of regulars moved to back him. "I don't want you bringing trouble into my place," Tooley said.
"Chill, man," said Bucky. "Family business." He pointed a finger at the bikers and they left in a hurry.
"I'll get you for laughing," Lucien called after them. It was more whine than threat.
The pack drew in from around the room and circled Astrid and Lucien.
"Come on," said Esmé, gripping Vivian's arm tight with excitement, and they joined the others.
Two human women slipped hurriedly out the door. A man trailed after them, casting curious glances back. Some of the others around the bar looked like they would be happy to follow.
"Who did this?" Esmé asked for all of them.
"Who do you think, you asshole?" Astrid spat, and Vivian wanted to smack her.