I was sitting in my tent, watching time slip away after our sharing session. Salvatore had been busy; there was so much to share, though not everyone was willing to give everything away—myself included.
For instance, Adam, a practical and learned fisherman, had acquired a nice, expensive set of fish-cleaning knives. Salvatore, responsible for handling the prey, demanded these knives for the fish-cleaning process, relieving Adam and others of that task. They only needed to catch and deliver the fish to the cooks.
This was frustrating for Adam, who was used to cleaning his own catch, but Damon, relentlessly using his authority as pack leader, forced Adam to comply, much to Mr. Hauptmann's displeasure. He wasn't the only one unhappy.
The men, arrogant in their assumption that everyone had packing expertise, lacked vacuum bags. Their saddlebags weren't nearly as efficiently packed as mine. Damon, irritated by his inability to fit everything in, demanded I share my vacuum bags, knowing they could be cloned magically so everyone could pack more efficiently.
Then a minor crisis arose: the persistent cold necessitated more clothing, and they quickly ran out of clean clothes, as laundry day was still some time away. Since I had extra clothes, I was forced to share again, allowing those with fewer clothes to select items from my supply. Damon even devised a system to ensure a fair distribution of clothing, with those who had less taking from those who had more, until the next laundry day.
I had a lot of clothes, and my angora shirts were soon refitted for Salvatores—a change I didn't mind. I was adopting a new attitude, going with the flow, and seeing how things would unfold within our pack. We hunted with Mimosa, our prey varying from kangaroos and deer to wombats and even the occasional reptile (though reptiles were less common in the colder climate).
Salvatores usually had their hands full extracting as much meat as possible from the carcasses and utilizing every part. We needed calcium, and bones were a good source, but roasting them took time, and we weren't always camped in one place for long.
However, we had a solution: change shape and eat the bones raw. There were enough bones for everyone, and the horses weren't bothered by the thirty felines busily consuming deer and kangaroo bones before curling up to sleep. I usually changed shape and went to my tent.
Most of the Salvatores, however, were lazy. Having used special spells to transform those like Dresden and Elena into felines, they simply curled up in their tiger forms, or, if they preferred, as snow leopards or other furry creatures. Thus, after our bone-eating feast, the camp was filled with sleeping felines.
We had a certain bone consumption quota three times a week, and it was hard work. I usually transformed into a tiger, though this didn't guarantee easier bones; I often ended up with femurs and large joints, making for a challenging meal. This, however, had its own drawbacks.
After our bone-eating feast, it was time to eliminate the resulting bone-related waste—a less pleasant task. Failing to do so promptly, however, resulted in a laxative effect, so I learned to push it out as quickly as possible to avoid the unpleasant pressure and discomfort in my asshole as my protectors acted, not waited around for bony poo to emerge.
Our pack was developing its creativity, each day bringing new revelations and methods. While I wasn't always lustful, my tent often hosted visitors with whom I'd converse on a variety of topics. The company varied, but my weekly Sunday night with the alpha male was always passionate.
It was our regular "fucknight," a routine similar to human sexual practices. There was no distracting Salvatore, whose lustful visits always found me equally receptive. I adapted to this routine surprisingly quickly, which amused me. However, this ease of training, coupled with my tendency towards routine, left me wondering how I'd manage after the trip.
Would forgetting Salvatore and Mariella, should they depart for the Azores, be easy? Or would the weekly need persist, perhaps with varied partners? Time spent on the trip made it a fun experience. We would soon return to warmer parts of Australia, but winter's approach meant the remaining time would likely feature more moderate temperatures. I hoped the remainder of the trip would continue to be as pleasant as it had been.
My frustration was mounting, starting subtly, but escalating as small annoyances accumulated. While I was part of the pack, I also craved independence and some time away from constant socializing. Ironically, I had several husbands who cared for me, consulted me on decisions, and even helped with everyday tasks.
For instance, it was my turn to do the laundry. I had prepared the sacks, detergent and was ready to begin my process. That day, the Salvatores were cooking; we had plenty of meat after a successful kangaroo hunt (ten in total!). We were no longer in the snowy region but in an autumnal forest near a wide river that I'd spotted from the air. I announced my intention to do laundry.
As I trudged through the forest, dragging the sacks, I heard footsteps and Number Six say, "Oh, wait up, baby. I'm free; let me give you a hand."
I raised an eyebrow as he took the sacks. I could have carried them myself, but, as I said, I had husbands.
He asked, "Baby, do you have blue or pink detergent? I was thinking pink might be better; I like the smell."
I calmly replied, "No, I actually have several pouches of yellow detergent from Mimosa, plus five strips from Mariella. I also have lavender-scented fabric softener."
Number Six scrunched his nose. "Nah, no lavender; it doesn't smell nice. Fine, I'll make it smell different. Let me think."
I rolled my eyes. Several pack members liked lavender, even if it wasn't my favorite.
We finally reached the river.
Number Six looked at it worriedly, saying, "Oh baby, let me find us a safe place. There's a hell of a current here, and it's not wise for you to tumble into the river; you could get banged up fast."
As if I would ever tumble into a river! Oh my god, this overbearing care was sometimes so frustrating. I could swim and even shapeshift, but no, he saw me as a frail little thing needing protection. He walked along the riverbank and then conjured a frame with magic—a way to wash our laundry using the current.
We could put the clothes in sacks, let the river do the work, and avoid the need for me to wash each garment individually, even though I actually find it fun. But no, I was being protected again. I had no choice but to let my overprotective husband put detergent into the bags, making sure they weren't too full.
He then strung the bags into the river, where we left them for a few hours. The current immediately grabbed them, tossing the loosely filled sacks. The detergent began to foam slightly, and, to add a touch of luxury, he conjured a lavender scent into some lilacs, placing them in a special pouch within the sacks for a later release. This crude washing machine, conjured by him, was surprisingly effective.
We began walking back to camp, but I stopped when I spotted a particular orchid. It was small, not so fancy looking, but it had seven petals with a tinge of blue, rare for natural orchids. Damon frowned, grabbing my wrist.
"Don't touch it with bare hands," he warned. "You can't be sure if a wombat or someone hasn't peed on it. No need for skin irritation."
I bit back a retort and let him examine the orchid.
He asked, "What's so special about this one?"
I explained, "It's a rare subspecies, but nothing spectacular—no commercial or medical value. It's one of my rescue species. I have a few specimens in my plant lab in my Italian castle, but I could take more. This is the only one for quite a distance, and this species needs several individuals to produce seeds. This one will probably perish here."
Number Six plucked the orchid from the ground; it vanished from his hands. "It's now in the magic house," he said, "along with knowledge of your other specimens in Italy, so the witches can work on preserving them. You know, we have a plant museum and conservatory, so they'll be relocated there eventually. However, Giselle and others are very interested in finding your plant lab."
I rolled my eyes. I was sure they were, but it was mine, not theirs. Again, this constant sharing ground my teeth in frustration.
He then asked, "Do you have many rescue species, and where?"
I replied, "A few here and there. Sometimes it's frustrating being a botanist, knowing how rare some species are. For example, I have a single daisy plant family specimen in my lab in Moldova. It's redundant, as the fly species that used it as a nectar source died out 30 or 40 years ago, even from zoos. I found a few and brought them to my lab. They're cute but useless to nature, as nothing pollinates them. Their nectar is specifically designed to attract those flies, and other insects find the smell repulsive. It's just another rescue, and I'm not sure if I'll ever have time to try to propagate it or if I'll just let it live out its days in my lab. It's just one flower."
Number Six furrowed his brows and said, "Well, I just told this to Number One, the pack leader, so it's up to him to decide." I took a breath, swallowing my sharp retort. It seemed that whenever I shared a personal project, it instantly became a pack project. This irked me; I wasn't willing to share my plant-tinkering, a long-time stress reliever. The mere thought of others interfering in my lab and examining my species made my hair stand on end.
Back at camp, I overheard several Salvatores discussing how to cultivate and utilize my plants, particularly their seeds. Meanwhile, Mariella excitedly described plans to enhance the pack's reputation with special shows featuring my rescue cases and collections from my world-saving missions.
This sparked another secret, one I carefully guarded, unwilling to let Magic House seize it prematurely. I intended to eventually introduce my pack to this secret—a rescue case focusing on fauna rather than flora—a bittersweet situation, as I'd given these creatures the best possible life.
Ironically, my conscience often urged me to spend more time with them, though scheduling conflicts prevented it; I hoped to rectify this during the next holiday. My secret?
Several rescued octopi. During an emergency mission in the Amazon, I discovered a secluded cove with its own unique ecosystem: five octopus species, their shrimp prey, and various plants. Unfortunately, the Horatio, and his fight club ship, had spilled oil and trash, polluting the cove and rendering it uninhabitable.
I had just entered the cove when I noticed its destruction. I rescued twelve octopuses—representing five species—along with enough shrimp and plants to sustain them. However, less than a year later, the cove was emptied for the construction of a human trafficking observation station on the Amazon River.
With no other option, I housed the octopuses in large aquariums. During Bridgette's time, she had enchanted these aquariums, resulting in my octopuses living to a remarkably old age, yet remaining healthy. I named them, spent considerable time with them, and developed strong bonds.
They were intelligent, affectionate, and clearly enjoyed my company. I refused to simply hand them over to the Magic House, as they were my responsibility. My plan was to eventually introduce them to Damon and Mariella, gauging their reactions to see if they would accept them.
I knew Damon loved nature, but recalling Jake's fear of rats, I realized I needed to carefully manage their introduction. My future plans also included the plants, recognizing the uncertainty of the future and the secrecy surrounding my octopuses, even from Magnum.
I was unsure about Wulfe's knowledge or opinion; his intentions remained unclear. I devised a plan to subtly gauge everyone's feelings, relying on my ability to appear innocent and make my inquiries seem casual.