Roundtable Redcap Read online

  Roundtable Redcap

  Providence Paranormal College Book Six

  D.R. Perry

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2016 D.R. Perry

  Cover by Fantasy Book Design

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  Version 2.0 June, 2021

  ebook ISBN: 978-1-64971-831-0

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-832-7

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  One Summoner’s Tale

  Connect with the Author

  Other LMBPN Publishing Books

  Chapter One

  Fred

  The Dennisons had no idea what they were getting into when they let Josh have a party at the end of Exam Week, even though they were werewolves. As I straightened my arm to devour fourteen New York System wieners, I suspected they might understand now. The delivery guy from the hot dog joint had said his manager wouldn’t send any more over. Mr. Dennison crossed them off a list and called a different place, ordering wings this time.

  I headed to the tiki bar set up across from the empty food tables. I bumped Lane Meyer in the shoulder. He turned and hissed at me, then laughed when I fake-screamed at his fangs. Then, I dropped my glamour and showed him whose scary mouth was the boss.

  “That never gets old for you, huh?” Lane tossed his long hair, blue this week, chuckling.

  “Nope. You?” I scanned the bar for something to drink.

  “Maybe in a century.” Lane pulled the celery out of his Bloody Mary and tossed it at the trash. He missed. No one cared.

  “Where’s the kegs?”

  “You must have drunk them all, man.”

  “Oh. Well, dang it.” I snapped my fingers.

  “You sound like your old man when you say ‘dang it,’ dude.” Lane raised an eyebrow.

  “And you sound like a surfer when you say dude, bro.” I snorted.

  “I am a surfer. Sort of. And now you sound like a meathead, mofo.” Lane put one hand on his hip.

  “They say you are what you eat, so I am a meathead. Sort of.” I grinned, then winked. “And now you sound like a hipster.”

  “Harsh!” Lane winced. “Ow, sick burn!”

  “Coulda been worse. I could be a Spectral Magus.”

  “Thank the gods of rock-and-roll you’re not.” Lane smiled. “Last thing I need is a literal ray of sunshine.”

  We laughed harder than one of Lane’s concerts rocked. My fanged buddy fell off his barstool, Bloody Mary and all. But he didn’t spill a single drop.

  “Epic vampire reflexes, Lane.”

  “That’s what she said, Fred.”

  “Eww, d-bag central.” A vaguely familiar girl with straight dark hair down her back brushed past me to grab a fifth of vodka off the bar. She tumbled some into the red plastic cup in her hand, then poured cherry cola on top. I couldn’t read the Sharpie-inscribed name on it, just the letter “I.” She stalked away, huffier than a steam engine. I stared.

  “Where’s your snappy comebacks now, Fred?” Lane held up his drink with one hand and brushed himself off with the other.

  “Huh?” I scratched behind my ear. Redcaps don’t scratch our heads because of our caps. At least they don’t itch.

  “The last time a chick dissed us for being d-bags, you said something about tea bags.”

  “Oh. Forgot.” I hadn’t. I just didn’t want to for some reason I couldn’t define just then. But I couldn’t admit that to Lane.

  “Whatevs, mofo. It’s totes cray-cray to hear you hold back like that at a party.” Lane winked. “According to your hipster friend, at least.”

  “Dude, I’m this close to having to tithe.” I put my thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate. “Cut me some slack. Be a hipster friend, not a hipster fiend.”

  “I’m gonna miss you, Fred.” Lane leaned on the bar, staring into his drink instead of kicking it back. It was like an arrow to the heart for me sometimes, the way he could go from roll on the floor laughing to down in the dumps. His mood swings didn’t seem to have that kind of effect on most other people, but that made sense, at least. He was one of my best friends, after all.

  “It’s only for a year.” I slapped my hand on the tiki bar for emphasis. It only shook a little.

  “And a day.” Lane leaned his chin on one hand.

  “Thanks for the reminder, I needed that.” I elbowed him. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Man, I don’t know. I thought you’d actually avoid being on the five-year plan.” Lane turned his head, looking up at me. “Ever since we were Academic Probation twins in Freshman year, I’ve been using you as an example to follow.”

  “At least it’s faerie magic pulling me away and not bad grades.” I shrugged. “The example will still be there, even when I’m not.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Lane’s head shot up at the sound of guitar feedback. “Dang it, dude, That’s my cue.”

  “Knock em undead, bro!” I waved at Lane as he stepped up on the patio Night Creatures had set up as a stage.

  As the opening riffs to The Sweater Song by Weezer started, I walked around the back of the allegedly kegless bar. The steel in my work boot’s toe bumped something that clanged. I should have known our pack’s Umbral Magus did a spell to play “hide the keg from the Redcap.” I felt around with my hands until I found the tap, then laid on my back to get my mouth under it. After that, I reached up and opened wide, about to pull the tap and deliver foamy, hoppy goodness to my taste-buds.

  “Now, you hold it right there, Redford!” a playful female voice called. “Smile!”

  “Huh?” What felt like a zillion camera flashes blinded me.

  “Oh em gee, Instagram that now, Kim!” Only one man I knew actually talked in leet-speak. Well, maybe he was a dragon man. Well, maybe he was just a dragon.

  “Oh, come on, Trogdor the Blaineanator.” I reached for the tap, not caring whether I had spots in my eyes at that point. “Can’t a guy get a drink at a bar for crying out loud?”

  “Sure, a guy can. But a Redcap shouldn’t drink the Special Reserve all by himself.” Josh stepped out from behind Blaine and picked up the keg. I knew he had to be enhancing his strength with wolf shifter power to do it. “I had Maddie hide this so we all could have some. You get one pint, just like the rest of us. After that, find something else to drink.” He handed me the red cup he’d just poured, and I downed it in one go.

  “Sure, fine, okay, whatever.” I sat up and spotted the dark-haired girl’s leftover vodka. “This’ll do.”

  With the bottle as my companion, I pushed through the crowd back toward the food table. Chicken wings had arrived. I looked up to see Beth, Josh’s sister, staring right at me. She put
a phone to her ear, propped her prosthetic leg up on a picnic table, and ordered thirty pu pu platters. Good call on her part. I gave her a mental thumbs up since my hands were full of honey sriracha wings. And screaming buffalo wings. And blue cheese dressing. And habanero bacon wings. Wings Over Providence was the best. I’d miss them more than beer once I went to the Under. I sighed.

  “You need some wet-naps, Fred?” Jeannie La Montagne always seemed to know what was missing in any given situation, like the Mom friend she is. I nodded instead of answering, realizing she’d probably already caught on to the fact that I was more bitter than sweet about this party.

  “It’s not so bad, Fred.” I took the moist towelettes from Jeannie and turned to see her djinn boyfriend, Ismail. “The king orders takeout, you know.”

  “Did they have takeout back in 1916 or whenever it was you tithed?” I tossed the dirty napkins at a trash can and made it this time. “Three points!”

  “Two.” Ismail shook his head. “And no, but Gemma Tolland told me the king let her grandfather bring in pizza during her year and a day. That was in 2013.”

  “Good to know,” I grinned. “But you should grab some wings while you have the chance because I’m not slowing down the old gullet for that piece of gossip.”

  Jeannie and Ismail each grabbed a basket of wings, and I went back to polishing the rest off. It was definitely stress-eating, but I told myself I could keep going since wolfing down a truck-ton of food helped power my magic. We’d been getting randomly attacked by a heavy-hitting Extramagus since December, so I had an excuse to keep my strength up.

  I dumped a whole basket of wings in my mouth, not much caring about the sauce dripping down my chin. Or the bones. Redcap digestion rocks. We can literally eat anything because that's how our faerie magic works. I chewed, thinking about how Public Enemy Number One's attacks had gone down up until this point. I had something wrong.

  The attacks weren't random. That Extramagus had targeted members of Josh’s pack with laser precision. Lynn Frampton almost died, so did Henry Baxter. Maddie May and Nox Phillips almost lost their magic. Josh got poisoned by a cockatrice, and when Kim Ichiro used a Luck charm to save him, her dad aged about twenty years. Blaine’s step-dad did actually die. Professor Watkins was still technically breathing, but only because no one could find his brother to ask if they should pull the plug.

  I was next. Everyone in the pack knew. Probably PPC’s Headmistress Thurston, too, by now. But she was also in the hospital. It’d be especially bad for me if Ismail’s theory were right and the Extramagus sided with the Sidhe Queen. My dad was one of the king’s Dukes, and I loved him more than almost anyone in the world. The magical jerk always targeted two people who either loved each other already or were destined to. So, someone in my immediate family had to be the other target.

  Mama almost never left the house, and she had a veritable army of ghosts protecting her everywhere she went. But my brother had to go to school for the rest of the week which was warded against anything without a body. That Extramagus wouldn’t be heartless enough to attack a ten-year-old kid like Ed in the middle of a school day, would he?

  “Hey Fred, usually you’re the one devouring everything, but what’s eating you?”

  “Urp!” I turned around to see Tony Gitano at the edge of the shadows by a round stone table. When I beckoned to him, he just shook his head, crossed his arms, and jerked his chin at the table. I snagged the rest of the wings, headed his way, and held out a basket of wings to him.

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Tony nodded but kept his arms crossed. “Which is good because I’m not really on the guest list, anyway.”

  “They aren’t either, but Josh isn’t kicking them out.” I pointed an elbow off toward a crowd of Magi and changelings who kept to a day schedule. “Come on, Tony. At least sit down while I eat and drink.” I jerked my chin at the stone table.

  “Fine.” He sighed, glancing off toward where a certain platinum-haired owl shifter danced to The Night Creatures covering the best song ever, Golden Slumbers by The Beatles. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m on the pack’s naughty list. But it’s your party. I won’t make you drink alone.”

  “Thanks, man. I understand why you’d probably rather dance than sit here with me. Grab that vodka?” I gestured with the baskets of wings covering my hands and most of my forearms.

  “Sure thing.” Tony snagged the bottle I’d left on the food table, which now looked like a wing night nightmare.

  He took a swig, then winked before sitting at the stone patio table with me. The rest of Josh’s Tinfoil Hat pack thought Tony was more than a little hinky, possibly suspicious. I didn’t. We’d worked for Dad together since High School. I always thought Tony meant well, even when his methods and motives seemed muddy. He couldn't help it. His Mafioso dad didn't give him the best example growing up.

  “You mind if I drop the glamour?” I looked around. No one else was over in that corner of the Dennison’s ginormous yard.

  “Go ahead. That’d be great.” Tony proceeded not to flinch or even blink as the pointed ears, gray skin, and sharklike teeth of my actual appearance revealed itself. Actually, he grinned, which was nothing new for Tony. I always wondered why and figured it was about time I asked.

  “How come all this never freaks you out?” I ate the paper baskets the wings came in. Why? They had bacon and delicious sauce all over them. Redcaps can digest paper and all kinds of stuff other people can’t, with no problem. And apparently, cat shifters like Tony could watch like it was the most normal thing in the world. I ran my tongue out to lick my fingers, worried when I noticed the beginning of a fork in it.

  “I’ve seen too much, man. You don’t even know.” He shrugged, then pushed the vodka in my direction. The bottle was still three-quarters full, so I guzzled it. Alcohol didn’t do much to Redcaps, even as changelings. It’d take a case of fifths to get me tipsy on any other night. I had no idea nothing was normal just then.

  “Fire in the belly!” I giggled, then blinked. Tony tilted up around the edges. No, he didn’t. That was the edge of my vision.

  “You better go to the Under, like tomorrow. You should have done it yesterday.” Tony sighed. "But even Gnomes can't go that far back in time."

  “I know. But I couldn’t. Can’t.” I took another pull from the bottle, then peered blearily at the label. Regular plain old vodka shouldn’t make everything spinnier than a gyroscope. Whee!

  “You have to, or you’ll break some laws.” Tony glanced over at the Night Creatures. Well, not really. He kept on looking at the girls dancing in front of them. No, just the same one from before—Olivia Adler, the owl shifter who took Ritalin so she could be diurnal. I didn’t understand what Tony’s deal was with her. Girls are just people, like guys. Before I asked, he went on, “Exams are over. What’s stopping you from going already? I mean, what about tonight? Things could really suck for you if you stay any longer. You could go now.”

  “Got a job tomorrow morning.” I blinked and shook my head, wondering why I wanted to sleep my bleariness off suddenly. “Should only take half the day. I can wait that long.”

  “You really should call in tithed to work, man,” Tony grinned, creepier than the Cheshire cat. For once, that hinky smile unsettled me. My vodka-marinaded brain couldn’t wrap around why.

  “Can’t. ‘S for Misser Kazsschin—um—Kazymin—uh—Kazynski.” I leaned my head on my hand and missed. The stone table felt icy, refreshing like the glass of water I probably should have had instead of grain alcohol. The carvings in the stone were lumpy but reminded me of those old fashioned rubber ice bags, the kind you dump cubes into and then use as a pillow. “He broke ‘is hip. Gotta build ‘im a ramp, make doors bigger. Hey, why can't I talk?”

  “Slipped you a magical mickey, Fred.” Tony reached out toward the cap on top of my head, then winced as I slapped it away. “Sorry, man, but this is how it’s gotta be.”

  “Ugh.” That lame slap had taken all my s
trength. “Need my cap. Jerk.”

  “I know. That’s why I have to take it.” He reached out again, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him. I could barely believe he’d touch the thing, especially without the glamour making it look like a Paw Sox hat. Without glamour, my cap was gnarly. Also sticky. Cats can’t handle sticky stuff, so I kept telling myself Tony wouldn’t really take it, right up until the moment he did.

  A tingle of magic made the hair on my head stand on end. Even the stuff under my cap. Whatever device Tony was using to touch it had passive magic, but it was persistent. I wondered what kind of magipsychic gadget he had there, especially since the magic in it felt and smelled like faerie. There was no way for a cat shifter like Tony to have his own magic. Only four items like that existed. All of them were way too rich for Tony’s blood, and three were for the wrong shifter species.

  “There.” I heard Tony moving away. The tingle stopped, and the stone table heated under my cheek, almost like the sun warmed it. “Now it’s all set.”

  “All set what now?” But I was alone. Tony had gone. So had my senses.

  “Fred!” A big hand clapped me on the shoulder, and the voice that came with it had a Cajun accent. My friend Bobby Tremain, the bear shifter, had an accent like that. “Fred! You gotta get up, big guy, come on.”

  “Come on, Big Red.” I felt another hand on my other side, lifting my arm. “Well, maybe that’s not a good thing to say, under the circumstances.” I wondered what circumstances Blaine Harcourt meant, exactly.

  “Can it, Trogdor. And both of you get out of my way.” The snarky woman could only be Lynn, Bobby’s mate. “This is serious business.” Fingers that felt more like icicles pressed against my neck, and I shivered. “Pulse is normal all things considered. Sit him up, then open his mouth.”