by Lily Webb
“Not even for his father and girlfriend?”
“L-let me page him and ask, but I don’t think he’ll answer. He hasn’t all day since your meeting this morning,” Rose said as she reached for the receiver on her desk. My pulse quickened. Beau was one of the most responsible people I knew, so it wasn’t at all like him to avoid answering the phone — even if he was busy.
Rose smiled awkwardly at us as she held the phone to her ear. When after several rings Beau didn’t pick up, she shrugged and put the phone back on the hook. “See? Don’t take it personally.”
“Something isn’t right,” I whispered to Sam, and thankfully, he nodded his agreement.
“When’s the last time you spoke to Beau, Rose?” he asked.
She chewed her lip again. “Not since right after you left this morning when I brought him his mail. He told me he would be tied up working on the script today and to hold all calls that weren’t urgent.”
“And he hasn’t come out once, not even to use the restroom?” I asked.
Rose shook her head. “No. I’ve been here all day. I would’ve seen him if he had.”
Sam shot me a concerned look, and it was all the encouragement I needed. I strolled toward the door, but Rose fluttered in front of it with both her arms held out to block me.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan made it very clear he didn’t want—”
“Step aside, Rose,” Sam ordered. She swallowed hard and gave Sam a pleading look, but he glared at her until she gave in and drifted back to her desk.
Praying my suspicions were wrong, I took a deep breath and turned the door handle — but it didn’t budge, which didn’t make me feel any better. “It’s locked.”
“I told you he doesn’t want to be bothered,” Rose pouted.
I pounded on the door. “Beau! It’s me, Zoe. Open the door, your dad and I need to talk to you!” The only response was a sound like a dog barking. I glanced over my shoulder at Sam, who shrugged. Concerned, I pulled my wand from my robes and touched its tip to the door handle. “Recludo,” I whispered and breathed a sigh of relief when the lock clicked and the door opened.
I gasped when I stepped inside. Beau’s office was a mess. Shreds of paper littered the floor, scratch marks lined the back of the door, and the whole office smelled strongly of urine. “Beau? Are you here?” A bark from behind his desk startled me. A golden retriever charged out from around it and bounded forward to jump up and rake me with its paws. “Beau? Why are you in your dog form? What in Lilith’s name is going on in here…?”
Beau barked and trotted around the desk to hop up into his chair. He whined and rested a paw on a box. Puzzled, I followed him, carefully placing my feet to avoid the debris on the floor, and found a heart-shaped box of chocolates. My breath caught in my throat when I noticed two pieces were missing — and a corner of an envelope jutted out from underneath.
Against my better judgment, I yanked the envelope out and my body clenched when I saw Beau’s name written in an all-too-familiar hand on the front. “It’s another letter,” I mumbled as I tore it open without thinking twice.
If a man is all bark and no bite,
His words are nothing more than licks;
And if this dog wants to again stand upright,
Then he’ll have to learn some new tricks.
I dropped the letter and watched it flutter to the floor. Growling, Beau jumped down and took it in his mouth to shake it like a shark would its victim.
“Beau, no, stop that! We need it,” Sam said as he tried to pry the paper from Beau’s jaws without tearing it.
I whirled on Rose, who stood trembling with a hand over her mouth. “Where did this come from? You said you brought him his mail, was this in it?”
“I-I-I didn’t know, I—”
“Who sent it?” I interrupted, my hands shaking.
“I don’t know! I swear, I’m just an intern. The envelope was taped to the box. It’s not my business, I just bring it to him and—”
“It’s okay. Everyone calm down,” Sam interrupted. He’d gotten the letter out of Beau’s mouth without ruining it entirely, but it dripped with slobber.
“Who else has access to this floor?” I demanded as I scooped up the box of chocolates and turned it in the light to examine the remaining pieces. I could only assume Beau had eaten some — and that the candy had something to do with all this. Why else would he lead me straight to them?
“Me, Rose, Beau, and his producer, Katelyn,” Sam said as he passed me the letter. I hurriedly shoved it into my bag like it might curse me if I held it for too long.
“How does Beau’s mail get up here?”
“I bring it up from the receptionist’s desk when I come in every morning,” Rose said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, he’s gotten so many of those letters lately that I didn’t think anything of it. Every day for the last month or so there’s been at least one. I haven’t read any of them, but I don’t think he reads them either.” She pointed at his desk. “He usually just puts them in a drawer at the bottom.”
I dropped the box of chocolates on the desktop and reached for the biggest drawer, but Beau growled and put his paw on my hand to stop me. “I need to see, Beau,” I said. He whimpered, staring at me with his pitiful, watery eyes, but relented. Before I could change my mind, I yanked the drawer open and couldn’t believe my eyes: he’d stuffed at least a hundred similar letters inside. There were so many that a few spilled over the sides of the drawer. I didn’t need to read any of them to know that whoever sent them was responsible for Beau’s predicament.
I glared at Beau. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about this?” He whimpered and lowered his head.
“Why isn’t he shifting back?” Sam asked.
“Because he’s trapped in his dog form.”
A puzzled look swept Sam’s face. “What? But that’s not possible—”
“Look at the scratch marks on the door and take a good whiff of the room,” I interrupted. “He’s been locked in here because he couldn’t open the door himself.” I turned to Rose. “You didn’t hear him barking in here all day?”
She shook her head and wiped moisture from her eyes. “No, I swear. I didn’t hear a thing.” As much as I wanted to put the blame on Rose’s shoulders, I couldn’t. She seemed far too shaken to have any guilt, and I knew from my old fairy roommate that fairies were physically incapable of lying or being lied to; they were walking — er, flying — lie detectors.
“And you’re sure only the people you mentioned have access to this floor?” I asked Sam.
“Well, and anyone he might’ve invited up,” Rose said. Her lip was bleeding from where she’d chewed it raw.
“Like who?”
“Marissa Knight,” she said to the floor.
“Who’s that?”
“Someone who’s styled herself the de facto leader of the shifters for years,” Sam answered for her. He looked completely befuddled, so at least I wasn’t alone. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why someone like Marissa would pay the rising president of Channel 666 a visit — she wanted influence… and maybe more.
“When was the last time she was here?” I asked Rose.
She bounced back and forth from foot to foot and refused to meet my gaze. “This morning, right after Mr. Duncan left for the Council meeting. She wasn’t here long.”
“I thought you said Beau told you he didn’t want to be bothered by anyone?”
“He did, but that was after I let Marissa into his office. He wasn’t happy.”
I opened my mouth to voice my exasperation, but the elevator dinged in the hall and a female shifter Sam’s age stormed out, her lengthy brown hair trailing behind her like a living cape. She pinched her nose as she entered Beau’s office. “What on Earth is going on here? Where’s Beau? He’d better have that script finished.”
“Zoe, meet Katelyn, Beau’s executive producer on Moon Grove Tonight,” Sam said. Katelyn glanced from the golden retriever standing next t
o me to Sam and back again, her eyes widening.
“He’s trapped in his dog form, so I don’t think he’s been doing much writing,” I said, as if it made sense or explained anything.
“What? How?”
“Not sure, but I think it has something to do with these,” I said and picked up the box of chocolates.
Katelyn scoffed. “Great, just great. How am I supposed to run a farewell show without the anchor we’re saying goodbye to?”
“I think we have bigger bones to pick, Kate,” Sam said, “Like getting Beau back to normal.” Beau barked to agree.
“Where can I find Marissa Knight?” I asked the room.
Katelyn raised an eyebrow at me. “Why?”
“I need to talk to her about Beau’s, uh, condition.”
“What makes you think she had anything to do wi—”
“She was the last person to see Beau before this happened,” I interrupted. “We don’t have any other clues.”
“Oh, uh, that’s awkward,” Katelyn said. “I dunno where she’s at now, but she’s supposed to make some sort of statement at the biker joint she owns over in the outskirts of the Werewolves’ Qaurter later. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask Beau to cover it for tonight’s show, but it looks like that job’s getting tossed to Olivia.”
Perfect! I could hit two shifters with one spell. If she was like any of the other political leaders in town, I doubted Marissa would be helpful with my questions, and if that turned out to be true I suspected I could use my time as a reporter at the Moon Grove Messenger as a way to weasel into Olivia’s good graces. If there’s one thing reporters love, it’s gossiping among each other.
“How convenient. I’ve got questions to ask both of them,” I said. “What’s this biker bar of hers called?”
“The Shifty Saloon,” Katelyn said, “But I wouldn’t go alone if I were you. They don’t take kindly to anyone who isn’t a werewolf or a shifter, and they really only tolerate shifters because Marissa owns the place and they know she’d club them if anyone tried any funny business. She’s a real bear like that,” she said and everyone in the room laughed, but I missed the joke.
“Then I guess it’s your lucky day, Sam. You’re part of the Council now, time to play the role,” I said and he shot me a horrified look but eventually found his courage.
“Okay, okay, fine. But before we go, let’s take Beau back to the town hall for the time being to keep him safe and fill Heath in on all this. Rose can clean up the office in the meantime,” he said, and though Rose grimaced, she didn’t object.
“Good idea.” I crouched and patted Beau’s head. “I’ll figure out who did this to you, I promise.” He whined his worry, but I stood, stuffed the box of chocolates in my bag, and the three of us headed for the elevator.
When the doors closed, Sam turned to me with a concerned look.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You know about Beau and Marissa, right?” he asked, grimacing. Beau whimpered and covered his face with a paw.
“No… What about them?”
“They were dating before you came into the picture. Marissa left him for Mitch Harris.”
I felt like I’d been punched. “What? Mitch Harris, my old boss at the Messenger, dated Marissa? Well, now I know what Beau meant when he said he and Mitch didn’t like each other because of girl trouble.”
“It’s a small town, these things happen,” Sam said with a shrug. “I just thought you should know.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I muttered, but all I could think about was how much more suspicious the knowledge made Marissa. What had she and Beau talked about this morning?
I had to find out.
Chapter Four
No matter how much time I spent in the area, the Werewolves’ Quarter of town felt no friendlier, not even as Head Witch. The werewolves weren’t a welcoming group of people — but turning into a wild beast once a month and the prejudice that came along with it would make anyone leery of outsiders.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, though I suspected he was trying to comfort himself more than me.
“I’m fine. I just don’t know what to expect.” I’d considered taking Beau with us if for no other reason than there would be strength in numbers, but when Heath ordered two hulking gargoyles to go with us, I decided we didn’t have much to worry about. Not even the fiercest werewolf would stand a chance against their stony physiques.
“There probably won’t be any hospitality, knowing Marissa. She’s all business and manages people a lot like she manages her bar — it’s her way or the highway.”
“I imagine you have to be that way with a clientele that’s a little rough around the edges.”
If Sam hadn’t pointed the building out to me as a bar from across Fang Street, I might’ve mistaken it for an abandoned nuclear bunker. Its walls were cinder block and plywood covered each of the windows. But “rough around the edges” didn’t begin to describe the unsavory-looking men and women hanging outside the entrance to the Shifty Saloon. Scowling werewolves in leather vests, chains, and combat boots milled around the door or near their motorcycles, smoking and nursing beer bottles from brands I didn’t recognize. None of them looked happy to see Sam and me.
Sam gulped. “Just try to keep your head straight. We shouldn’t have any problems as long as we keep cool,” he said, though he looked anything but as he followed my line of sight to the gathered bikers. As if they noticed us staring, the two closest to the door fluffed their leather vests like strutting peacocks to show us how intimidating they were.
“Right, keep cool. How hard could it possibly be?” I knew Sam wouldn’t take the lead if his life depended on it, so I marched across the street toward the bar, zigzagging through the dozens of expensive, shiny motorcycles that lined the parking lot in disorganized rows. The image of a werewolf tearing through Moon Grove on the back of a rumbling bike almost made me laugh, but I caught myself. It was far from the most absurd thing I’d seen in town.
I couldn’t imagine where Marissa intended to hold a press conference that people would see or hear — unless she wanted to do it inside, which seemed like a bar fight waiting to happen. As I got closer to the entrance, raucous laughter floated out from inside and something that sounded suspiciously like glass shattering. I tried not to think about what might’ve caused it.
“Where do you think you’re going, little witch?” a werewolf demanded as he blocked my path to the front door. A thick, untamed handlebar mustache ran down each side of his face and twisted off in braids that dangled to his chest. His arms were nearly as thick and powerful as those of the gargoyles, but I tried not to let him catch me looking.
“That’s Head Witch to you, furball,” I said as firmly as I could. Despite the trembling in my fingers, my voice came out stern and confident. “I’m here for the press conference, so why don’t you just step aside.”
The werewolf raised his eyebrows and chuckled, impressed. “You’re feisty for a witch. I like that, but I don’t remember your name being on the guest list.”
“I wasn’t aware the Head Witch needed an invitation.” Hopefully, if I kept reminding him of my position, he’d get the picture.
“I couldn’t believe it either,” a female voice said from behind, and I turned to find the most PV-friendly face I could’ve imagined: Olivia Starr’s. Her piercing olive, cat-like eyes sparkled mischievously as she regarded me. She had a brown leather bag slung over one shoulder, large enough to carry a laptop and maybe a pad of paper, and her makeup was flawless even in the dim outdoor lighting.
“Unfortunately, they’re sticklers about the rules around here.” She reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like a press badge. She flashed it to the werewolf who grunted and stepped aside to allow her in. I made to follow, but he blocked my path again.
“Not so fast. Unless you’ve got one of those badges, you aren’t getting in. Those are the rules.”
Flustered, I turned to Sam for guidance. “Do som
ething,” I hissed.
He threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “What am I supposed to do? No one said anything about an invitation. If I’d known, I would’ve gotten it before we left.”
“You’re a shifter, aren’t you? Doesn’t that buy you some sway?”
“Definitely not,” Sam said, avoiding eye contact with the werewolf bouncer who seemed to have lost interest in us. Without me noticing, a line of werewolves and shifters had formed behind us. Shouting drifted up from farther back in the line, and the werewolf bouncer nodded at his colleague to deal with it.
“Look, if you’re not a member or don’t have credentials, I need you to step aside for everyone who does,” he barked.
I couldn’t think of anything to say off the top of my head, so I pulled Sam aside to regroup. “What are we gonna do now? I have to get in there.”
Sam opened his mouth to answer but never got the chance because the shifter behind him crashed into his back and nearly knocked him over. Our gargoyles sprung into action with growls, forming a wall of solid concrete between the action and us, blocking my view. By the time I’d peeked around the gargoyle’s frame, the situation had already escalated.
“No cutting in line, buddy!” a hulking shifter who looked like a walking marble sculpture shouted at the man he’d just shoved into Sam.
“What am I doing? You’re the one who just cut in front me,” the thinner shifter growled and despite the darkness, I could’ve sworn I saw his teeth grow.
“Come on, Zoe, let’s just get out of here. I don’t like this,” Sam hissed as he pulled on my arm to create more distance between us and the fight breaking out nearby. It seemed like no matter what paranormal species they were, if you put a bunch of males together in a small space, they’d find a reason to fight each other.
“No. I didn’t come all the way here for nothing. We’re getting into that bar.”
The more muscular shifter spread his legs in an offensive stance, ready to pounce. “I didn’t cut in front of anyone. It’s not my fault you’re old and developing cataracts.”
