The Killing Moon

by V. J. Chambers

  She should never have given it to him. What had possessed her?

  It was his damned sexy voice. When he asked her for things in that voice of his, it was so hard to say no.

  God, she hated Cole Randall.

  She’d go out running again, but she was clean now, and she didn’t want to get sweaty again. Besides, it was late. She’d hoped to be able to slide into bed and fall straight to sleep.

  Too bad she couldn’t get Cole out of her head.

  She couldn’t even distract herself with work, because work was all about Cole as well. Everywhere she turned, there he was.

  She couldn’t think of any subject she’d discussed recently that didn’t have to do with Cole.

  Except maybe at Chantal’s office. That was odd, actually, because those sessions were usually about nothing but Cole. But last time, Chantal had mentioned Fredrich Sullivan.

  Dana went to her computer. She needed something to distract herself. Fredrich Sullivan and his outdated ideas about werewolves would have to do. She hadn’t done much reading on this since she was a teenager, right after she’d become a wolf. She remembered that it had been really boring and idiotic. That was what she needed. Something boring to put her to sleep.

  Fredrich Sullivan was old enough and dead enough that most everything he’d written was free on the internet somewhere, and it didn’t take long before Dana found the text of one of his papers and began to read.

  Forty-five minutes later, she wasn’t even close to being sleepy. This stuff was ridiculous. She was too busy giggling to be bored. Even if it wasn’t necessarily accurate, it was still engrossing. In some ways, it was her heritage. But she wasn’t thinking about Cole anymore, so that was a plus in her book.

  Sullivan had actually believed that female werewolves went into heat, like regular wild wolves. He had spent ages of time trying to figure out how to test them for estrus, since they didn’t seem to do it seasonally like animals did. He conducted and published a bunch of really embarrassing interviews, asking these women all kinds of super personal questions about their sex drives. In the 1920s. Some of the women were clearly clueless about sex and seemed worried about natural phenomena like pubic hair, which they mistakenly thought only grew because they were wolves.

  It was a train wreck. Dana couldn’t help but read until the end of the article.

  The webpage it was compiled on acknowledged that Sullivan eventually gave up on his theory that werewolves went into heat. Reluctantly, it seemed. Personally, Dana was pretty sure that Sullivan was just a big horn dog who wanted to ask groups of women about the changes in their vaginas. The interviews were probably masturbatory material.

  She noticed that by the time Sullivan had given up on his heat theory, he was in his sixties—an older and less excitable man.

  Anyway, since she was wide awake and definitely entertained, she decided to read another article.

  This one was about wolf packs. This was something Sullivan had never given up on, even though later researchers denied that it was true. They said that Sullivan expected werewolves to behave more like animals, so his observations were filtered by his own prejudgments. After all, no one before Sullivan had acknowledged that werewolves had even a shred of humanity. Before his work, the general way to deal with werewolves was to kill them on sight.

  The wolves that Sullivan observed, then, were tight-knit communities that hid what they were from other people. They often traveled like gypsies, never staying in one place for too long. If anyone figured out what they were, they would all be in danger.

  Because of this, it was easy to see why Sullivan had assumed the wolves lived in packs. As she read through his article, Dana realized she probably would have assumed it as well.

  “Every pack I have encountered has a male and female alpha, just as a pack of wild wolves does,” wrote Sullivan. “They are the matriarch and patriarch—often the progenitors of the line of wolves. Often a pack is a group of family members, all related by blood. In rarer cases, the wolves may be tied together not by blood relation, but because of the transference of the wolf by bite. In the case that a wolf has bitten and changed other wolves, he is the alpha over them, and they behave as if they are his offspring.”

  A female alpha, huh? Dana hadn’t even known about that. She’d sort of assumed that alpha wolves were all male, maybe because she’d read too many romance novels in high school, and had only heard the term alpha male used in that context. But it sounded instead like Sullivan had observed couples as rulers of these packs he’d seen.

  Of course, he was completely off base. When Dana had been turned into a werewolf, she certainly hadn’t become a beta to anyone. She wasn’t part of a pack. It was all nonsense. Truthfully, the social structure of wild wolves—animals—was apparently relatively similar to the social structure of humans. It was easy to see why Sullivan had seen wolf packs where there were only people in groups.

  “The alphas cannot control the members of their pack,” wrote Sullivan. “They have only two bits of influence over them. They can force a member to shift into a wolf whenever they wish or to shift from a wolf into a human. They can also call members of their pack. The wolves tell me that a call manifests like a strong desire, almost an obsession.”

  Dana looked up from the computer screen.

  Wait. Chantal didn’t think that Cole was...

  Dana’s alpha?

  Dana stood up. She began to pace her room. No, that was crazy. There were no werewolf alphas. She didn’t buy it. Not one bit.

  Sullivan was crazy. He was outdated. He’d been proven wrong.

  The SF had been functioning for decades, and none of the wolves who worked here functioned in a pack. There was no hierarchy. There were no alphas. If something like that were possible, the SF would know about it. She worked for the organization that knew more about werewolves than anyone else in the world.

  She rubbed her face. She wasn’t going to be able to get to sleep anytime soon, was she?

  She wondered if Chantal would prescribe her sleeping pills if she asked for them. But that would require telling Chantal the truth, that she was still as obsessed with Cole as she ever had been. That she wasn’t improving at all. And that would mean that she couldn’t see him.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Why did she want to see him? Why had she given him her bra? She crumpled into a ball on her bed, her arms around her head. Sometimes, it was all simply too much.

  * * *

  “Nothing,” Avery said, slumping in his desk chair. “Nothing at all. I don’t see anyone on the list of potentials that Cole sent emails too. You?”

  Dana stood over his desk, holding her half of the potentials list. “No.”

  “Of course, it doesn’t help that those emails don’t have to be real names.”

  “Right. Anyone can give any name they want when they sign up for an email address.” She sighed. “King is going to be really upset. She said we had to narrow that list down somehow.”

  He picked up the list and rattled it. “We’re basically saying that anyone on this list could suddenly go rogue again and start killing. Right? We don’t know how, but we know Randall’s got something to do with it.”

  “We’re nowhere,” said Dana.

  He slapped the list back on the desk. “Well, he’s communicating with them somehow, right. It doesn’t seem to be email, but that’s not the only way to get in touch with someone.”

  “That’s true.”

  “We keep a record of people he calls? People he sends letters to?”

  “I... don’t know.”

  “Well, I think we better find out.”

  * * *

  Dana was surprised to find the waiting room of Chantal’s office in disarray. Usually, the room was a calm, ordered arrangement of soft couches in muted colors and potted plants. Now, it looked as if someone had torn it to pieces. The plants had been overturned, the soil spilled out all over the floor. The couches had been ripped and slashed. The magazines that us
ually sat on tables had been thrown all over the floor.

  Dana walked two feet inside and stopped in astonishment, her hand going to her mouth.

  Chantal appeared in the doorway to her office. “Who is that?” She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail on top of her head. She wasn’t wearing makeup. She looked haggard and worried.

  “Um, I had an appointment?”

  “Oh, Dana, the secretary was supposed to call you.”

  Dana held up her phone. “Battery’s dead.”

  “Well, your appointment’s canceled. All the appointments are canceled.” Chantal touched her forehead with the back of her hand. “Someone will be in touch with you when we get this sorted out.”

  The destroyed waiting room was between them. Dana took a step towards Chantal, but then stopped because there was dirt in her way. She didn’t want to track it all over everything. “What happened?”

  Chantal shook her head. “Vandalism?”

  “Why would someone vandalize a psychiatrist’s office?”

  “I think vandalism is generally pointless.” Chantal folded her arms over her chest. “All my files were pulled out and scattered over the floor. They took my computer apart. Maybe they were looking for something, but I’m not going to know what until I get everything organized.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Dana. “Have you told the police?”

  “Of course. I filed reports and everything. I don’t know how hard they’re going to work on it. I work for the SF, and we both know how the police feel about werewolves.”

  Dana nodded. “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “Thank you, Dana, but no. You’re a patient. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Just go home. We’ll be in touch when sessions can resume.”

  Dana looked over the mess of the office. “Someone should be helping you.”

  “My secretary will be, as soon as she gets done calling all my patients. I’m all right.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Dana said again.

  “Thank you.”

  Dana turned to go.

  “Oh, Dana?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you still recovering? Thinking about him less?”

  No. I snuck down to see him, let him feel me up, tangled my tongue up with his, and then gave him my bra. “Yeah. I’m doing lots better.”

  “Would being able to see him help the case you’re working on?”

  “Yes,” said Dana. She needed to see Cole.

  “Think you could handle it?”

  “I...” Dana paused. “Yes,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster.

  “I put in a request to block your access card from the lower level,” said Chantal. “I’ll get that revoked.”

  “Thanks,” said Dana.

  “I just don’t know when we’ll be able to see each other again, and I don’t want to stop you from doing your job.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Chantal sighed. “You’re sure you’re doing better?”

  Dana plastered on a smile. “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  “Ha! Got one,” said Avery from across the office.

  Dana got up from her desk, where she was pouring over the list of potentials and a list of people that Cole had sent letters to. “Again?”

  “Again.” He was grinning.

  She walked over to him.

  He pointed. “See? Right here. Same name. Both lists.”

  She glared at him.

  “That’s two for me, and zero for you.”

  “Whatever, Brooks. I made that potentials list. I think that affords me at least a twenty point lead.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, no way. No way. You’re a sore loser, that’s all.”

  She rolled her eyes and went back to her desk.

  “And don’t even try to tell King about it without me,” he called after her. “This is me. All me.”

  She sat down at her desk and went back to her halves of the lists. Two potentials had already received letters from Cole. Their theory was that Cole was contacting people to tell them to wolf out and kill people. But if that were the case, shouldn’t they find evidence that Cole had contacted Beverly Martin, Arnold Phelps, Trent Bailey, and Coraline Shirley?

  It didn’t seem like they had.

  The two potentials that he’d contacted had never killed anyone. And they weren’t a matched pair. They hadn’t been turned into werewolves together at the same event, like she and Cole had—or Beverly and Arnold, or Trent and Coraline. Were they the next two wolves to go rogue? Why was Cole contacting them? What did it mean?

  They needed answers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Um, well, I totally got bit by a werewolf last year, and it meant I missed prom, which sucked,” said Amber List, twirling a curl of hair around her forefinger. She was standing outside her car in the driveway to her house. Dana and Avery had been waiting twenty minutes for her to come home. “But nothing’s screwing with prom this year. Literally nothing. I won’t let it.”

  Dana looked the girl up and down. She was wearing a ridiculous outfit that showed off way too much skin. But there was no denying that the girl was attractive. You know, for a teenager. Why was Cole sending her letters?

  “That’s great,” said Avery. “But we’re actually here to talk to you about something else.”

  “You said you were from the SF, right?” Amber smiled brightly. “Isn’t werewolves what you guys, like, do?”

  “We’re here about Cole Randall,” said Dana, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Who?” said Amber.

  “The werewolf serial killer,” said Avery. “He sent you a letter.”

  Amber made a face like she was thinking. It looked like it hurt. “Oh, yeah. I remember. I sent him a letter because I thought he was cute, and he totally wrote me back.”

  Dana’s eyes narrowed. Cute, huh?

  “You realize this guy killed werewolves like you?” said Avery. “You happen to fit his profile exactly.”

  “Oh my God, I do?” Amber’s eyes lit up. “That’s crazy. Wait until I tell everyone. He didn’t say anything like that in the letter.”

  “What did he say?” said Dana.

  “I actually still have it. You want to see it?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said Avery.

  “Okay.” Amber started up the walkway to her front door. “It’s in my bedroom. Come on.”

  They followed her into the house.

  “Amber, are you helping these nice folks?” asked her mother. Her mother had been really worried that Amber had done something wrong. She’d wrung her hands and said, “She runs wild sometimes. I don’t know what to do with her.”

  Amber stuck out her jaw and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Mom.”

  Once they were in Amber’s bedroom, Amber slammed the door shut. Then she turned to them and whispered, “Um, you didn’t tell her you were here about Cole Randall, did you? Because she would not like that at all.”

  Avery smirked.

  “Just show us the letter,” said Dana.

  “No, not until you promise,” said Amber.

  “Listen,” said Avery, “you exchanged letters with a killer. A man who would have had no problem ripping out your throat. You did it because he was cute. You want to explain that to me?”

  Amber shrugged self-consciously. “I don’t know. He is cute.” She turned to Dana. “Don’t you think he’s attractive?”

  Dana’s mouth went dry.

  Avery glared at the both of them. “All I’m saying is that maybe I should tell your mother regardless. You got a death wish or something?”

  “No,” said Amber, wide-eyed. “Not at all. I just did it ‘cause... I don’t know, just ‘cause I could. I mean, my friends thought I was all brave and stuff and I liked the attention, I guess. People think I’m weird because I’m a wolf, you know? So, like, I have to pretend that I like being weird or else they’ll start feeling sorry
for me or something. Or being mean. That’s all.”

  Avery raised his eyebrows.

  “Look, the letter wasn’t even all that interesting or exciting or anything. He’s really weird, actually. Either of you guys ever talk to him?”

  Dana nodded.

  “Did he tell you that werewolves have a sacred purpose in the balance of the planet?”

  Dana smiled. “Yeah, I’ve heard some of that.”

  Amber went to her desk and dug through it until she found an envelope. “My letter was kind of flirty. His was just... creepy.”

  Dana relaxed, feeling much better all of the sudden. “He didn’t flirt back?”

  “Gray.” Avery glared at her.

  She turned away, ashamed.

  Amber handed him the enveloped.

  Avery read, “Take your place amongst the way of the wolf and embrace your duty, little moon sister.” He raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

  “You’ve not had any other contact with him?” Dana asked.

  “No,” said Amber.

  “Have you ever shifted against your will since leaving the SF?”

  “No. I have control over it now. I won’t shift ever again.” She looked alarmed. “That’s true, isn’t it?”

  Avery folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope. “We’re going to need to make a copy of this. We’ll get it back to you.”

  * * *

  Cole’s letter really didn’t say much. It was two paragraphs long, and it spouted the kinds of stuff he’d said to Dana when he’d had her locked up. Things about how the world was out of balance and how werewolves were part of a natural movement to get things under control. He urged Amber to stop fighting her nature and give in to the werewolf. If he was communicating with her, it wasn’t overt. If he and Amber were working together, she hadn’t given any indication. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t lying.

  Overall, they were no better off than they had been before finding the link between the potentials and the letters.

  Dana was thinking that something was a little strange. She remembered something that she’d been reading the night before in Sullivan’s papers, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She just knew that it sounded familiar, and that it might be connected to what was going on. She needed to get back on her computer and look at it again.