Hunter's Moon

by Rose Marie Wolf

  “I need to check on a few things,” she said distractedly. Davis followed her.

  “What do you need to check?”

  She paused in the doorway, turning back. “I’m going to find out more about this dead Simon, and see if a thing or two matches up.”

  “What if it does?”

  Claire's heart beat fast. She was afraid of what she might find. She wanted Simon dead, knew that Jason, Davis and the others wanted him dead, too. The closer they got to that goal, the more she realized she wanted it.

  “If it does,” she said, in a tone full of determination, “then Simon will be dead.”

  “Then we better get started,” Davis said, nodding in agreement. He followed her into the study.

  * * *

  The warehouse was still standing. Jason found that a bit surprising. After their raid upon Simon’s hideout, he had hoped it would’ve crumbled to the ground as some final admission of defeat. After three years, the place still stood. It hadn’t crumbled. Simon hadn’t been defeated. Jason wasn’t sure why he was shocked to see it still there.

  The years had not treated the place well. All of the windows were broken out now. The front door was partially open for any transient to come and go. It seemed dingy somehow, less intimidating.

  Jason stood beside the Camaro, his back pressed against the door. Glen stood beside him, looking over the warehouse and its surroundings. Somewhere in the distance a train whistle blew.

  “This is where your gut led us?” This time, Glen sounded more amused than surprised. He kicked at a stubborn pebble of gravel. It skirted against the door and metal siding, pinging as it did so.

  “Yeah.” Jason moved away from the car and approached the building. He had driven for what seemed like hours, not knowing where he was headed. He took turns, knowing he had to, but not why. This was where the path led him. The warehouse.

  What could they expect to find here? Jason wasn’t sure, but it had to be something. A strong instinctual feeling urged him forward. He took a few steps and stopped. Glen remained where he was.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he asked. Glen stared at him.

  “Why are we here, Jason?”

  “I told you, my damn gift brought me here.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, Glen, that’s all,” he continued, annoyed now. “Why does everything have to have a deeper meaning with you?”

  Glen walked up beside him. There was humor in his dark eyes. He grinned.

  “Because with you, Jason, there usually is.”

  The words angered Jason. He felt it blaze hot throughout his body, like a sudden fever. He let it go by closing his eyes, focusing his breath.

  “That’s not true, Glen,” he answered, then realizing his words might provoke an unwanted argument he added, “I don’t want to fight. I just want to get in there and find out why we’re here.”

  “Fine by me,” Glen said, apparently not wanting to argue either. “Lead the way.”

  Jason didn’t need the prompting. He crossed the spacious front lot and paused in front of the door. Instinctively, his hand went for his waist, but there was no gun there. He cursed under his breath.

  “Problem?”

  “Yes, we didn’t bring any weapons.”

  “Do we need any?” Glen asked and once again Jason caught the sound of mirth. He was beginning to hate that tone.

  “Perhaps,” he answered tensely. “You never know what we might run into.”

  “If there was anyone here, they would’ve already known we were here. That scary-ass skidding trick you did with the car would’ve told them that.”

  “Point taken,” Jason said, feeling his face grow hot suddenly. Had he lost his touch? Lately, when he went after the hunters, he stormed in, weapons blazing. He didn’t use stealth much any more. He would need to remind himself of that later. Stealth might be the most important weapon they had against Simon. “I would still feel better if I had a gun.”

  “We’re werewolves. Guns need not apply. I love firearms as much as the next guy, but we don't really need them all the time. Guns just get us into trouble. Remember the last time we used them?”

  Another point for Glen, Jason mused heatedly. He remembered the last time they had used weapons. They had been here, fighting with Simon and his gang. The guns had helped, but it probably would've ended better without them. They didn’t need them, but it didn't change Jason's thoughts on wanting one.

  “I would still feel better,” he said stubbornly. Not wanting to waste much more time, he pulled the door open the rest of the way and walked in.

  The inside of the warehouse was just as dismal and dirty as ever. Boxes and crates of car parts littered the floor, toppled over and kicked aside. There was a faint smell of blood, something that had been there long ago but faded. Jason wrinkled his nose at it. It was an old, unpleasant smell.

  He remembered first coming here, after Rose had been found and he wanted Simon’s blood. There had been a lot of fighting then. He spied bullet holes in the walls, in the crates. His gaze lifted, staring at the broken door of an upstairs office, Simon’s office. Jason’s back still hurt from having been thrown through it.

  Glen stepped away from Jason, walking slowly around the spacious downstairs. His footfalls echoed. He kicked aside a piece of wooden debris.

  “Not much has changed,” he said. “It still looks like shit.”

  Jason didn’t answer. He kept his guard up. If there was something lurking here, he wanted to confront it first, before it had a chance to do worse to him. As he looked the place over, he began to remember.

  Simon had charged at him, biting him. He could still feel the pain, though there was no scar, no permanent damage. He remembered almost dying, feeling every inch of his body in terrible pain. And then the wolf had given him strength, just enough to remain standing and kick Simon’s ass out the window, two stories up.

  It still shocked him that Simon had survived the fall. He was a full-blood but even that didn’t exclude him from death. Jason narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. Was that why he was here? To find out how Simon survived?

  No, the voice inside his head said, the voice that he was growing used to. It issued another order: upstairs.

  He didn’t like being psychic. It was more of a burden, not a gift. He hated it. But once again he turned his gaze upstairs.

  “Jason,” Glen called from across the room. His voice bounced off the walls. “What are we looking for?”

  “It’s upstairs,” Jason said. He began to climb the metal stairs, his boots ringing off each step. Glen followed him, silent save for his shoes pattering on the stairs.

  Jason walked toward the broken door. Glass crunched under his feet. He pushed it open with one hand and stepped in. The room was exactly as he had last seen, except the large window across from him was broken. Bits of glass still clung to the pane, most of it scattered around the floor. Papers and folders cluttered the floor, trampled on with bloody footprints. The desk lay on its side. Jason couldn’t remember it having toppled over.

  “This place shows promise,” Glen said, trying to joke, but Jason ignored him. Jason stepped forward and picked up one piece of paper. It was brown with dried blood. He could barely make out the words. He crumpled it up and tossed it aside.

  “I’m not sure what I am looking for, but I’ll know it when I see. Start looking through the papers.” Even as he said this, he set to work. He bent and retrieved a folder. As he did, papers and photographs spilled from it.

  A photo slid across the floor and landed at Glen’s feet. He picked it up.

  “Who is it?” Jason asked.

  Glen hesitated, staring at the picture. Then, without words, he turned it around so Jason could see it.

  “No.” Jason quickly moved forward and wrenched the photo from Glen’s hand. Rose’s face looked up at him. “This is from the PRDI.”

  “Yes, from one of the old files, the one that was stolen,” Glen answered. He sounded uneasy.
“I had always assumed Simon took it, but to actually see it—”

  “The bastard.” Jason crushed the photograph in his hand and let it drop. “He had her picture here, doing God knows what—”

  “Stop, Jason, before you make yourself angry.”

  “I’m already angry,” he yelled. He kicked a pile of papers away. They skidded across the floor and scattered against the turned-over desk.

  Jason began to tear the room apart, grabbing things and throwing them, kicking ferociously until he finally collapsed in the middle of the floor. He sat there for the longest time before he sniffled. He hated giving into his emotions like that. He composed himself and glanced up.

  Glen had taken a few steps forward, but had stopped. Jason could see the pity in his face. Was he really that much of a mess?

  “It’s all falling apart again,” he said, in a gruff voice. “I knew Simon was alive and I did my best to find him but I failed. I failed.”

  Glen opened his mouth to speak, but Jason climbed to his feet before he had the chance. “I failed Rose, again. I failed her in the worst way.”

  “You didn’t fail anyone,” Glen finally said.

  “Yes, I did. Don’t you see? Rose was going to leave me because of my failure. She was going to leave!”

  “Is that what this is about?” Glen asked, softening his tone. “Rose leaving you?”

  “It’s about everything!” Jason exploded. “It’s about Rose, it’s about Simon, it’s about everything.”

  “Just calm down—”

  “I can’t calm down. It’s all falling apart, all over again, only worse this time. Simon is back and he has Rose. Rose—” He choked on her name again. He swallowed and began again, “Rose is going to leave me, Glen, and I don’t blame her.”

  Glen got annoyed, quickly. “You didn’t fail her, Jason. She still loves you. She’s just—” He paused, not sure how else to say it. “She’s scared, Jason, scared of the future. She told me.”

  “She still loves me?” Jason scoffed. “If she loved me, she wouldn’t want to leave me.”

  Glen lifted his hands in defeat. “I’m not fighting with you,” he said, but Jason no longer seemed interested. His attention was averted to the floor where the hundreds of papers lay scattered.

  “Maybe this is what brought me here,” he said, absently. “Maybe I was supposed to realize how much of a failure I am. Maybe I’m supposed to be the one leaving…”

  “Jason, you know that’s damn nonsense,” Glen said.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Jason brought his eyebrows together, making a point above the bridge of his nose. “Wait a minute,” he said softly, thoughtfully.

  “What?” Glen asked as Jason stooped down, picking up a handful of papers from the floor. There was another photograph.

  It was another woman, with dark hair and gray eyes.

  “I know this woman,” Glen said, looking at the photo in Jason's hand. “It’s Davis’s mom. This must be how Simon found her. He stole her file, too. Shit, who else did he steal?” He bent down, shuffling through papers, looking for more familiar names. Jason didn’t respond. His attention was suddenly drawn to a black folder on the floor. He snatched it up.

  “These people,” Glen said, after a few minutes, “I knew some of them. They were all killed years ago. That bastard…”

  “Bastard is too good of a word for him,” Jason said, coldly. He looked down at the plain black folder in his hand.

  “What is it?” Glen asked, “What did you find?”

  “This,” he said in a gruff tone as he thrust the folder forward. Glen took it and looked down at the name printed on the label.

  “Simon Conner.” It was Glen’s turn to scoff. “This is his file.” He opened it. There was a picture of a teenage Simon, looking surly and unpleasant.

  “He is good at covering his tracks,” Jason said as he stood, peering at the photograph with Glen.

  “No shit. He stole his own file from the PRDI to save face.”

  “Did you know he was in the file system?”

  “No.”

  Jason and Glen scanned the files quickly. The most recent date on the file was about thirteen years ago. Across the front page of the folder was a bright red stamp which read Deceased.

  “I was eighteen when these were last updated,” Glen answered. “That was way before I got further involved with the Institute. It says he’s dead.”

  “I know. Wonder what he had to do to pull that shit off.”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense.” Glen closed the file. Jason grabbed another folder, but didn’t open it.

  “There are dozens of these things here. How many weres did he kill?” he asked, but he really didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Too many,” Glen finally got out. He held out his hands for the files and Jason handed them over. “Some of these people I’ve heard of. I don’t know if they are alive or dead.”

  “Probably dead,” Jason said, once again with a hint of bitterness in his voice. He moved away from Glen and crossed the floor. Glass crunched loudly under his boots. He stood near the window. Blood had dried to an ugly dark brown along the sill. Simon’s blood. He took a bit of satisfaction in it, but it wasn’t enough. Simon survived. He was alive, and he had Rose.

  “I’m getting really tired of this,” Jason said, low.

  “There’s another folder here with the name Conner.” Jason looked at him. Glen was flipping through the file.

  “This must be Simon’s father, this other Conner guy.”

  “Simon has a father?” Jason chuckled darkly. “I always thought he was just spawned from hell.”

  “Yeah, me too. Fortunately, that’s not the case. He has a father. He stole his file too, probably to cover his tracks again.”

  “He’s too damn good at that,” Jason replied. He didn’t need to wonder why Simon did it. If he had been in the same situation, he might’ve done the same. He sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Maybe that was what we were supposed to find here.”

  “The files?” Glen asked. He scratched at the goatee on his chin. “Maybe. I think we should take them to Claire. She might be able to use them in her search.”

  “I hope so,” Jason said, but there was a nagging feeling that there was something more here, something he wasn’t touching on. He couldn’t figure out what it was. “I don’t think going to the PRDI would be such a good idea now. We’ve got other things to do. Learning my…gifts…will just have to wait a bit longer.”

  Glen nodded that he understood and grabbed up a few more of the files. He held them in his arms, overburdened with the stack. “Let’s go then. Seems like we got a lot to do, now that we got what we came here for.”

  “I don’t know if that’s all we came here for,” Jason added in a low breath as Glen led the way. He looked back over his shoulder at the dried blood on the window. Once more that annoying voice within him whispered a command: Look. Observe. Smell.

  Jason did none of these things. He was tired of listening to the voice for tonight. He had more important things to do than follow his gut instinct once again. Instead, he followed Glen down the stairs and to the car and they left for the cabin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Claire read aloud from the newspaper article she had found online.

  “‘A fire was reported in the early morning hours of July 5th at the Conner residence of Meadow Wood Drive. Firefighters arrived on the scene to extinguish the blaze,’ Yadda yadda yadda…” She skipped the next few sentences, skimming them over until she found what she was looking for. Beside her, Davis fidgeted nervously. This could be it. This could be what they had been looking for all along.

  “Here it is.” She read, “‘Joshua Conner, age forty-seven, along with wife, Anya Wilson-Conner, forty-five and son, Simon Conner, fifteen, were found dead at the scene. Funeral services will be held Monday.’”

  “Do you really think that’s the Simon we’re looking for?”
<
br />   Claire stared at the screen, reading the next few lines to herself. She sighed after reading then looked at him. “I don’t know. If it is, then he faked his own death.”

  “That sounds like something Simon would do,” Davis reminded her. Claire hated to admit it but he was right. “But he was fifteen. He was a fucking kid.”

  “I know.” Claire ran a hand through her hair, smoothing its short strands away from her forehead. “Fifteen is awfully young to be so clever and devious.”

  “This is Simon we’re talking about, Claire. He was born that way.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said thoughtfully. She pushed her chair away from the desk and sighed heavily again. It quickly turned into a yawn, which she stifled with the back of her hand.

  “You’re tired.”

  “Not really. I’m fine.”

  “You’re a horrible liar.” Davis half-smiled at her. Claire couldn’t help it and returned one of her own.

  “Yeah, I am. I’ve been up for a very long time. There’s just been so much going on.”

  “I know. Maybe you should get some rest.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I have to do this. We have to find Rose.”

  “You can’t do that if you fall asleep at the computer,” Davis pointed out. Recognizing her defeat, Claire sighed.

  “Yeah, you’re right. A couple hours sleep wouldn’t hurt.” She stood from her seat and stretched, arching her back. She caught Davis looking at her, but he turned away when she lowered her arms and stifled another yawn.

  “I guess I’m going to head back. I’ll do some more searching after I’ve rested.”

  “Why don’t you just rest here?” Davis asked. “You don’t want to fall asleep behind the wheel and get yourself killed.”

  “I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t want to impose. I’ll just go.”

  Davis opened his mouth to say something, but the door to the study opened and Cheyenne appeared. She was human once again and fully dressed. Her long blonde hair fell loose down her back and over her shoulder.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, “am I interrupting?”