Once the cattle were sent through the shoot to the feeding area, the Nosferatu were ferried from New Orleans near the river bank to Algiers. There they were loosed upon the cattle to gorge on as much blood as they wanted. The idea was to have each so satiated that they would be easier to manage around humans during their daily or nightly chores.
Once the Nosferatu were ferried back across the river, the Loup Garou from the North, West and East packs were allowed into the feeding area to rip through as much meat as their stomachs could handle for the exact same reason.
And lastly, the Chenilles, Abigail’s brood, were ferried across the river to the compound and allowed to feast on the marrow of all the bones that remained.
This maniacal ritual occurred every day without fail between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m., when most of New Orleans was either asleep or too drunk to understand or care about what was going on. They used a family-owned ferry for the transports, something not easily obtained in New Orleans. But it was nothing that a little magic and a lot of money greasing the right political palms couldn’t manage.
Aside from tending the feeding shoot, Charlie was also responsible for a thirty-one-year-old, hard working farmhand named Bootstrap from Ville Platte, Louisiana, and Kale Martin, a forty-six-year-old wrangler from East Texas.
The men were paid well and had free housing in a two-story ranch house near the front of the property. The one thing Viv appreciated most about Charlie, Bootstrap and Kale was that they never asked questions. They worked hard and kept their mouths shut. Not once had any of the men asked about the cattle sent through the shoot. Their job was to keep the livestock area full, the cattle healthy and fat, then send whatever was ordered through the shoot each morning.
The North End pack of Loup Garou that lived beyond the gate where Viv stood now clocked over three hundred strong, all of them Originals. Not the watered-down version of werewolves that existed in other areas. Viv was responsible for all of them, but she had worked hard at putting together a strong team of leaders to manage different territories.
Viv let out a heavy sigh. Some job she had. People thought that just because you were a witch, a real witch, not a Wiccan wannabe, all you had to do was snap your fingers and everything became beautiful. You got exactly what you wanted when you wanted it and how you wanted it. Nothing was further from the truth.
“Miss Viv,” called Whiskers, a small female Loup Garou with blond fur. She peeked out from her den, a bramble of bent tree branches that wasn’t far from the fight taking place center court. “Please make it stop. Warden and Milan I mean. They’re going to kill each other!”
“Aw, let them have at it,” said Moose, another Loup Garou hiding fifty feet away. “It’s healthy to see a good fight every now and again. Puts a little spark in you, you know?” Moose was one of the largest Loups in the Northern pack, but not the brightest bulb in the lamp.
Yazdee, a female Loup who denned with Whiskers, gave Moose a little growl. “You’re sick, you know that? Leave it to a guy to watch two other males fight to the death over a little tail. I mean, I don’t get it. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of females to go around.”
“Yeah,” Moose said, “but we’re talking about Stratus here. Everybody wants a piece of that alpha female when she’s in heat. Hot stuff there, baby doll. Hot stuff.”
“Pervert,” Whiskers barked.
“Prude,” Moose shot back.
Yazdee snorted. “Better a prude than pitiful. If you’re so hot for it, why aren’t you in the middle of that tangle?”
Moose grunted and ducked back behind a thicket of trees.
Amid the chaos, Stratus lay with her head resting on her paws at the door of her den, which sat on the opposite side of the compound in direct view of Whiskers and Yazdee. She watched the fight, her expression flickering from curiosity to boredom.
A growl rumbled so close to Viv it made her jump. The mauling, biting and clawing were reaching a fevered pitch. She threw a quick glance around the compound. It seemed most, if not all, of the Loups in camp had gathered in a wide circle to watch the fight. Everyone kept a safe distance away.
The two alphas in combat were Warden, the North End alpha, whom Viv had chosen to mate with Stratus; and Milan, who belonged in the East End pack. Evidently, Milan had found a way to sneak in, hoping to get a piece of Stratus’s action.
Viv thought about having Socrates go fetch Jaco, who oversaw the East pack, but the last thing she needed right now, leader or not, was another alpha thrown into this mix.
Finally, after attempting another binding then a freezing spell, both of which failed, Viv let out her own little growl. She ran her hands down her arms, mumbling words beneath her breath. Immediately, all that was visible of her was the vague silhouette of the tall, slender, black-haired woman who stood there seconds ago. Invisibility was a hard accomplishment for any witch, yet at thirty years old, she nearly had it down pat. Partial invisibility was better than none at all.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Socrates asked, suddenly standing at attention. “Do you think you can simply walk in there and physically stop those two alphas from ripping each other apart?”
Viv grabbed a two-by-four that leaned against the gate and said, “Watch and learn how simply, cat.”
She reached for the huge latch that bound the gate to a silver pole but before she could pull it up and open, Socrates rammed into her shins and began to hiss. He darted in and around her legs, threatening to trip her if she took a step.
He hissed again, loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Viv. Some things are stronger than magic. Put your anger aside for a moment and feel what’s coming from that lair. You’ll see and understand why your spells have been ineffective.”
“Get out of my damn way or you’ll get a swift kick that’ll land you right in the middle of that mess.” She put a hand on her hip, knowing full well, as did he, that her threat was empty. For once, she gave in to his suggestion. She reined in her anger and allowed all of her senses to stretch to full alert.
She knew what was going on and for all intents and purposes, there was only one way she could see to stop it. She couldn’t call Charlie, Bootstrap or Kale out to help. They had never even seen the Loup Garou. They had never been allowed on this end of the property. Her sisters would be useless, for their spells only worked for their own broods.
Pondering all of it put Viv in an even crappier mood. It was eight o’clock in the morning, when normal people usually sat down for coffee and eggs, and here she was dealing with this. She just wished for a normal life. Often dreamed about what that might be like, feel like. Just as she often wondered why certain people were born a certain way. Some rich, some poor, some white, some Asian. Others Chenilles, another Nosferatu. Or as Socrates had so aptly put it moments ago—a Triad.
It was hard enough having been born a triplet when life seemed to be about “finding” oneself. How did you find yourself when you were a tether of three? And an odd tether at that; a tomboy prone to wrangling cattle and sharing a beer with one of three cowboys. Her sisters carried themselves with grace and reeked of femininity. She, on the other hand, usually reeked of sweat.
Even as children, Viv and her sisters never dressed alike, each seeking their own identity. Aside from the need for singularity, they had always remained very close. Oftentimes, if one of the sisters wasn’t feeling well or even experienced a startle, the other two felt it just as strongly. In fact, she was surprised with all she was going through right now that Abigail and Evette weren’t here standing beside her. Surely they had to know something was going on with her.
Maybe