by Ally Shields
As she woke her muscles with a brisk run through the park, Ari mulled over the leads they had, focusing on the two she needed to follow: contact Victor to see what, if anything, he knew about the money or drugs, and find the thirty-something woman who came to Club Dintero with Angela. If Andreas was right about the woman’s species, and Ari had no reason to doubt him, Steffan, the werewolf representative on the Magic Council, topped the list of people to see.
As frequently happened, the werewolf’s name brought a grin to her face. Steffan. Wolf. A word play too obvious to miss. Ari chuckled and lengthened her stride to match the tune now running through her head.
* * *
By mid-afternoon she’d cleared up some routine matters for the Council and left a message for Victor to call. Since the vampires wouldn’t be awake for hours, she moved to her next task. Finding Steffan was easy.
Ari parked her Mini Cooper in front of Steffan’s suburban home. When she heard laughter from the back yard, she found him sweating it out in a volleyball game with a mixed company of friends, including half a dozen shirtless guys. Her day was looking up already. A beer keg stood at the far end of the net. Judging by the level of laughter, the missed shots, and werewolves’ great tolerance for alcohol, she assumed they’d been at this a long time.
“Hey! How could you have a party without me?” she called.
Steffan, one of the shirtless guys, turned at the sound of her voice. “Ari! Come join us!”
“Love to, but I’m a working girl today,” she yelled back.
He tossed the ball to a buddy, grabbed a T-shirt from the ground, and pulled it over his head as he sauntered toward her. The casual observer would never guess Steffan was a werewolf. He was a cool, jazzy, redhead with burnished copper locks and beautiful long eyelashes. His sociable personality made him a people magnet. Women longed to marry him, or at least take him to bed, and guys sought him as a friend. A party person, a bender of rules, and the last guy you would picture involved with the serious business of the Magic Council. It seemed equally unlikely you’d find him howling at the moon.
Steffan wasn’t a natural born. During college, he’d fallen in love with a werewolf. She also had a wolf lover who resented the competition; he attacked Steffan and left him bleeding in the woods. The girlfriend found Steffan in time to save his life, but he was infected with lycanthropy. Ironically, their relationship didn’t survive his transformation, and the girlfriend returned to her original lover.
Somehow, Steffan hadn’t turned bitter. He embraced his new strength, his self-healing, the pack life and even the monthly run in the woods. He’d quickly risen through the ranks of his pack and was elected to represent them on the Magic Council. Ari and Steffan met shortly after that and had now been friends for six years. He was one of the Council’s hardest working members. He chaired two committees and was the chosen go-to guy for unusual or complicated problems that involved any of the lycanthrope families.
Ari and Steffan greeted each other with a hug of mutual affection. They hadn’t had a chance to talk for five or six months except at Council meetings, so it took a few minutes to catch up. Finally Ari got down to business and asked about new wolves in town.
“French-speaking women,” she specified.
“Well, that does narrow the field.” Steffan pursed his lips. “Interesting you should ask. We’ve got our eyes on a possible pack right now. Canadians. Strangers pass through the area all the time. When they settle in but shun the rest of us, I get worried.” He waved a hand toward the keg. “How about a beer while we talk? At the house. Where it’s more private.”
Ari waited on the wooden deck while he collected their drinks. She leaned on the rail, watching the wolves’ festivities, a pack party to celebrate a member’s promotion in his day job. Ari felt a brief pang of envy at their easy camaraderie. Someone always at your back. A Guardian’s life was so often solitary.
Steffan returned and handed her a beer. Cold and bitter, just the way she liked it.
He leaned one arm on the deck rail. “About four months ago a pack, maybe ten or twelve men and women, moved in from Canada. They’re staying in an old house at 13th and Vine. Leader’s name is Louie Molyneux. Tough-looking thug. Pack’s not friendly, at least not with us, but so far no trouble either. No visible employment. At night they hang out at the vamp clubs. It’s off behavior but not necessarily bad.”
“So why are you watching them?”
Steffan slowly shook his head. “Beats me. But I’m not the only one feeling uneasy. My pack mates are talking about it, asking questions. No one has seen this group on night runs or in furry form. Almost like they want to hide the fact they’re werewolves. Can people in Canada be so naive they don’t recognize a wolf?” He rubbed his nose and grinned. “It smells wrong. I’ve even wondered if the missing red wolf from Goshen Park isn’t part of the pack. Anyway, I’d bet money that’s where you’ll find your French-speaking woman.” He downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow.
Ari’s interest sparked when he mentioned Goshen Park. This was a pack she’d like to visit. “Any suggestions on how to approach them?”
“Don’t go alone. Can’t your police buddies call the she-wolf down to the station?”
“How? They have all these legal rules. And we don’t even have a name. Besides, I’m beginning to think I need to get a look at the entire pack.”
He shrugged. “Then some of us will go to the house with you.”
Ari thought about it. She might get a foot in the door, but she’d sure spook the Canadians. She’d hate to have them run before she knew if they were guilty of anything. “Thanks, but it feels too early for a showdown. Now that I think about it, I’d rather not do this on their turf at all. Not if I can think of another way. I’ll stay in touch.” She reacted to his quick frown. “Don’t worry, Steffan, I’ll figure it out. But thanks. And thanks for the beer. Sorry I interrupted your game.”
“We’ve got all night. Yard lights. Come back later when you’re not on the job.”
“I’ll try.”
Steffan cleared his throat in disbelief, and Ari laughed.
“I promise. I’ll try,” she repeated. And maybe she would. Someday. When she had the time to let her hair down.
She returned to the street, climbed into her dark green Mini Cooper, and gave the car a friendly pat before starting the engine. After rescuing the car from a salvage lot, Ari had bonded with Mini during restoration. Now when something bugged Ari, she often went to the garage just to talk it over. Not that the car talked back. That was the best part. Mini just listened.
So as Ari drove home, she and Mini hashed it over. And inspiration came to her. The Canadian werewolves hung out at vampire clubs. With a little help from Victor or Andreas…if she could talk one of them into helping her.
The idea had gained momentum by the time Ari reached home. On impulse she dialed the club to leave a message. It was still too early for the vampires, but she now had two reasons to talk with them. When a female voice answered, she asked to leave a message for Victor or Andreas.
She nearly dropped the phone when an unmistakable voice came on the line.
“This is Andreas. How may I be of service?” Suave, charming, magic tamped down.
“Hi,” she said, a little tongue-tied with this unexpected development. They hadn’t parted on such good terms. A little prep time for this conversation would have been nice. “This is Arianna Calin.” How could he be up this early? It wasn’t dark yet.
“How delightful to hear from you.” He didn’t sound delighted, but at least his tone was neutral.
OK, Arianna, your turn again. What in the world was she going to say to him? She’d expected to have time to work out the details before anyone called her back. Deep breath. Improvise.
“I know where the she-wolf is,” she said. “The one who was with Angela that night at the club. At least, I think so. But I have a problem and need your help.”
Pause. “I’m sure I should be
flattered, Ms. Calin, but why involve me?”
“I need someone connected to the vampire bars and club owners. And you must want to get Victor off the hook.” She ignored his less-than-welcoming tone and tried to establish a little rapport. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but I could really use your help. At least hear me out.”
“I fail to see the benefit for me. Victor has what I believe you call an airtight alibi.”
“Nothing’s airtight. He’ll be a suspect until the killer is found. Besides, didn’t you want this murder solved?”
“Indeed. On that we can agree.”
“Then help me.” Seconds passed without a response, and Ari sighed. “Think of it like this. Once this case is solved, you’ll be rid of me. No more trouble at the club. No phone calls. Life goes back to normal.”
That got a chuckle. “An occurrence greatly to be desired. All right, Ms. Calin, I promise nothing, except listening. What would be my part in this plan?”
“It’s simple really. You contact the other club and bar owners. I’ll give them a police sketch of the she-wolf based on your description. When someone sees her, they call me. Or if they won’t do that, they call you, and you call me.”
“Why this elaborate scheme? If you know where she is, why not arrest her?”
“Can’t. The victim’s human, which means we have to follow human law. The she-wolf’s staying on private property. Until we know a lot more than we do now, we have to snag her in public where we don’t need a search warrant.”
“And if you find her in one of the clubs, what do you propose to do?”
“Well,” Ari filled in the details as she went. “If there’s any doubt about her identity, maybe you or Victor could go along and point her out. Then I’ll talk to her.”
“You make it sound easy. And, in the event she does not wish to talk, what then?”
Hmm. Good question. Ari hesitated, weighing her choices.
“Or is that where I come in again? Please, tell me you don’t expect me to hold her hostage until she complies.” Andreas’s voice held a strong undertone of amusement.
“Don’t be funny. Let me think about it,” Ari said, struggling to keep her annoyance in check. After all, she was asking for a big favor. “You know, I never expected you to answer the phone and ask all these questions.”
“Then why did you call?”
His question was so reasonable she swallowed her irritation. “I was going to leave a message,” she admitted. “OK, here’s the plan. If she refuses, I’ll take her into custody and put pressure on her at the police station.”
“You intend to arrest this woman inside my club or some other owner’s club?” Andreas wasn’t amused anymore. Incredulous, maybe.
“Not unless I have to,” Ari protested. “I think she’ll talk to me. Give me some credit, Andreas. I don’t intend to start a riot.”
“You astonish me. I assumed that was exactly your intent, and that you expected me to put down the uprising. I’m relieved your expectations were not so grand.”
“Cut the sarcasm,” she said. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, this is my only chance.”
“I cannot agree. Consenting to an arrest inside my club strikes me as a very poor business decision.” He paused. “I am not unsympathetic, but Club Dintero is a reputable establishment. I intend to keep it that way. Come up with a better proposal, and I’ll reconsider. And I will put some thought into it myself.”
“This is urgent,” Ari said. “The killer could get away. Or kill again.” She wondered if he was brushing her off. Maybe she’d pushed too hard.
“Then you should move quickly to find a better plan.”
That was the best she could get from him. At least he didn’t say no. Not entirely.
Chapter Ten
Once she was off the phone, Ari flopped on her couch and tried to come up with ideas to make her plan more acceptable to Andreas. When she finally realized that dusk had darkened her windows, she abandoned her efforts, began a kitchen search for food, and prepared to go on patrol. She’d just bitten into an apple, while contemplating the skimpy contents of her fridge, when Martin called. The elf served as Guardian for the rest of Riverdale, including the suburbs. Mostly wolf country.
Martin’s voice vibrated with tension. “Ari, we’ve got a mess on our hands! There’s been a vamp fight at Hartley Park. Two dead, their heads torn off. Third vamp got away. Probably headed your direction. Toward home. We’re searching the streets, but no sign of him yet.”
“A public fight? What brought that on?” She knew vamps sometimes settled disputes through violence, but never where the community could see it.
“Haven’t heard. But this big vamp’s really out of control, on a rampage. I notified the Council and the vampire court. Don’t try to take him by yourself, Ari. He’s over 250 pounds, built like a sumo wrestler, long black hair. His name might be Christopher. Here’s Steffan. Maybe he can tell you something more.”
She heard rustling on the other end, then Steffan’s voice.
“He’s right. It’s a mess here. There must be two hundred lycanthropes milling around. An impromptu Were Fest. But I wanted you to know a couple things right away. The vamps in the fight were brought here by that Canadian pack. Strange coincidence, right? That’s not the weirdest part. I’m being told the vamps were drunk. Is that even possible?”
Ari hardly heard the rest of the conversation. What Steffan had said made no sense. Vampires were resistant to spells and charms, even her stuns, and drank alcohol without visible effects. Prescription and recreational drugs were the same. Vamps simply didn’t get drunk or high. Witnesses had to be wrong. But whatever was going on, she couldn’t think of anything more dangerous than an Otherworlder who was out of control. Especially a vamp.
Telling Steffan she had to go, Ari strapped her ankle holster in place and slipped in the Cobra D22 derringer with its two rounds of silver bullets. It wasn’t lethal to Otherworlders, except at unbearably close quarters, but it might slow a vamp or get his attention. She shrugged into her leather jacket, checked her silver dagger. The knife was specially made, modeled after the F-S Fighting Knife once carried by US Marines. She never left the house without it and trained with it regularly. Once she verified her bracelet and pocket pouch were stocked with spells, potions, and extra ammo, Ari hit the streets.
She made a fast call to Ryan. This wasn’t his fight yet, but it would be if humans got in harm’s way. He agreed to have his officers step up neighborhood patrols and notify Ari if anyone sighted the suspect. Given the vampire’s size, he should be easy to spot.
Ari made the usual evening rounds, stopping in pubs frequented by vamps and a wine cellar owned and operated by wee folks, the unofficial town criers for Olde Town. Word of the fight was spreading, but slowly. Probably because it happened on the eastside. A quick sweep of Goshen Park turned up nothing. Ari backtracked to canvas more of the vampire strip. No rampaging vamp. No Canadian wolves. She listened for gossip about illegal magic or drug use but didn’t hear anything on that either.
It was after one in the morning. Ari was on her second trip through the vampire bar district when she heard the screams and sirens. She sprinted toward the commotion coming from the Second Chance Saloon, a dive that catered to members from the roughest vampire nests. She arrived as Ryan’s police cruiser squealed to a stop.
Yelling and shrieking, pushing and trampling over each other, panicked humans and Otherworlders jammed the bar’s parking lot. Adding to the confusion, a crowd continued to pour out the pub doors. Ari jumped in the bed of a parked truck to see over the crowd. A solid mass of watchers encircled two male vampires and their victims.
The neon bar lights reflected from a dark pool of blood surrounding one of the victims. The body, minus the left arm, lay still, already beyond help. The other victim thrashed wildly to break free from the grip of his vampire attacker.
Ari leaped into the crowd, shoving and pounding her way toward the survivor. As she
broke out of the circle, she heard a sharp explosion behind her. She spun quickly looking for some lunatic loose with a firearm. The crowd parted and began running. She lost sight of the bigger vamp, but the other stood fifteen feet away, his hands around the throat of his victim. Ari shot a stunner in hopes of breaking his death grip. The blue flame caught the vamp in the thigh. He turned toward her. Wild, rolling eyes, showing white, attempted to focus. When she hit him in the other leg with a second stun, the vamp dropped the victim, but instead of moving toward her, he crouched, snarling, defending his prey.
She inched forward. If she could get close enough to snatch the victim… The vamp hissed, spittle dripping from his fangs. He suddenly rushed toward her, long arms swinging. Before he could pin her in a death grip, she kicked up, catching him hard on the jaw. Knocking them both off balance, Ari fell on her side, rolled to her feet, and grabbed the dagger. The vamp hurled himself toward her, ignoring the weapon. No hesitation, no flinching. Momentum carried him straight onto the blade, and his body hit her as a dead weight. The blade pierced his heart. And a silver dagger is as good as a stake.
Ari shoved the leaden body away and looked for the other vamp. He crouched near the building, a line of police officers and drawn guns facing him. Big guy, long black hair, fangs and clothes splattered with blood. Christopher.
She scrambled to her feet, yelling “Stop!” and ran toward them, hoping to end this without another death. The big guy had other ideas. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. He charged the officers. They opened fire with a deafening roar. The vampire staggered and crumbled under the heavy barrage. Silver bullets. It was over in seconds. A heavy smell like burnt sulfur hung in the air.
Police officers rushed to tend to the victims. The human was dead; the other victim still had a faint pulse. The fur on the back of his hands indicated he was a weretiger, the only reason he survived. Paramedics arrived and transported him to the Otherworld hospital, but he’d do most of the healing himself. Fluids would help. Once he was strong enough to complete the change into tiger form, he’d mend quickly.
