Gone Witch

by Nova Nelson

  The matriarchal structure of werewolf society had taken some getting used to when I’d first arrived, but it was slowly becoming second nature; male weres took the last name of their wives, not the other way around.

  “Yep. To one of good ol’ Lucent’s half-sisters nonetheless.” Then she added, “Werewolf family trees don’t always branch outward.”

  “Does he still live in the Outskirts?”

  “Of course. It’s usually either the Outskirts or Hightower Gardens for us werewolves. Not a lot of middle-class running around. I’m one of the few exceptions. The rest have either married a different breed or moved to an entirely different realm.”

  “Any chance he’s as dangerous as Lucent?” I asked.

  Jane arched an eyebrow at me, though Stu was the one who responded. “You’re up to something, Ms. Ashcroft. Is there anything we should know?”

  I flashed him a paper-thin grin. “Nope.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say that if someone were to go talk to him about a crime, that someone would want back-up.”

  Stu shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Ms. Ashcroft, you got to stop doing this on your own. Or make this the last time. Or, at the very least, bring along that boyfriend of yours.”

  I felt my muscles tense. Was Jane staring at me? Jane was probably staring at me. I would have been staring at me, if I were her, trying to figure out if I would correct Stu about my relationship status.

  Eh, it was just Stu. What the heck, right? “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I mumbled so no one but Stu and Jane would hear.

  The deputy leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back and staring down his nose at me. “Is that so?” He leaned forward then and whispered, “Is it because of the”—his attention flickered to Jane—“that thing you told me.”

  “She knows,” I said. “And yes.”

  Stu reached across the wide countertop and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry to hear that. He’ll come around, though.” He broke the contact and used the hand to bring his coffee mug to his lips, but paused before taking a sip. “He’d be a real idiot not to.”

  “That’s what I told her,” added Jane.

  “I stick by what I said, though,” Deputy Manchester continued. “You need to take backup. And once you and Culpepper sort things out, he’ll be your guy. I can’t always be the one to have your back when you get into trouble, you know. I gotta sleep sometime.” He sighed heavily. At least after today I’ll have a little extra help.”

  “After today?” I said.

  Stu was staring at me sideways. “Well, sure. I assumed you knew that’s where he was today instead of here.”

  It clicked into place like a punch to the side of the head. “Tanner?”

  Stu nodded. “He has his interview with Sheriff Bloom today. Right about now, actually.”

  I turned to Jane. “Did you know about this?”

  Pressing her lips tightly together, she gave me a clear “don’t you start with me” look. “Of course I didn’t. He just told me he was staying home sick.”

  “He lied,” I said, dumbfounded. Up to that point, I hadn’t been aware Tanner could lie. Not a bald-faced one like that.

  “Of course he lied,” Jane said. “No one tells their place of employment where they are when they’re interviewing for another job.”

  “Place of employment? He owns it.”

  “Co-owns,” Stu corrected around a mouthful of warm pie.

  I pointed at the deputy. “Don’t you get cute with me. I told you not to shark my people, Manchester.”

  Stu waved me off. “I did nothing of the kind. Culpepper’s wanted to get into this line of work for years. I opened a door and he came running in.”

  It was probably true, but it still left me raw.

  I turned to Jane. “Do you know your brother’s address?”

  “Is he a suspect in something?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give you his address if you promise me one thing.”

  I waited.

  “If Fritz seems at all guilty, tell Stu right away so we can lock his hide in jail. It’s been a long time coming for that one.”

  “And take back-up,” Stu said. “Doesn’t have to be me or Culpepper, but take someone.”

  I glanced hopefully at Jane, who laughed. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. If I never saw Fritz again, that’d be too soon.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I have someone else I can take.”

  “Stringfellow?” asked Stu.

  Both Jane and I blurted, “What?”

  “Of course not,” I hissed.

  Stu, who’d jerked away when we’d both rounded on him held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. It’s just that he seems to be your go-to for getting into trouble. And hear me when I say this, Ms. Ashcroft: if you’re going into the Outskirts to confront a Scandrick, you better believe you’re heading straight into trouble.”

  “I know that,” I said. “And I have great back-up in mind. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

  Jane and Stu exchanged a glance that showed just a little too much doubt.

  “Whatever you say,” said Jane before she wandered off to set menus in front of Peter and Zeke Abernathy, two middle-age werepanther brothers who farmed land just beyond the crescent spread of the Outskirts.

  “He’ll come around, Ms. Ashcroft. I promise.”

  I didn’t meet Stu’s eyes as I wiped off the countertop next to him. “I’m not even thinking about that,” I replied, which was a lie. I still thought about it all the time.

  Or rather, all the time when I wasn’t actively working to distract myself. And speaking of which, I had a fantastic distraction in my near future, if only I could get my presumed back-up to agree.

  Although, for some reason, I didn’t think confronting an unstable werewolf in his own home in a dangerous part of town would be quite the way Landon wanted to spend his evening …

  Chapter Twelve

  “Seriously, Landon. It’ll be fine,” I said as we walked down the desolate street in the Outskirts.

  Behind us followed our familiars, though they kept their distance from one another. Grim wasn’t too keen on Landon’s bobcat familiar, Hera, tagging along.

  Landon wasn’t too keen on accompanying me to the Scandrick compound in the far reaches of the Outskirts, meaning no one was thrilled about this side trip. Not even me.

  Okay, I was a little thrilled. At least it kept my mind occupied.

  I’d never explored the Outskirts because why would I? I happened to enjoy living (for the most part), and while Medium Rare and the block around it was safe enough, the rest of the neighborhood left something to be desired; namely, personal safety.

  When Jane had described where Fritz lived as a compound, I knew it would be a hard sell to get Landon to come with me, so I didn’t mention that detail. It wasn’t that he was a chicken, exactly. He simply preferred the cerebral arena of conspiracies more than the dangerous nitty gritty of investigation.

  And me? Did I enjoy the dangerous stuff?

  I’m inclined to say no, yet when one finds oneself in the same situation enough times, one must assume there’s some sort of payoff to keep coming back.

  I thought of Dr. Phil’s catch phrase, “And how’s that working for you?” when people kept doing the same dumb thing over and over again.

  Honestly, though, heading straight into dangerous situations was working for me just fine. Hadn’t killed me yet, and it had led to such desirable outcomes as solving murders and … making out with Tanner’s best friend, leading to the break-up I was so eagerly avoiding.

  So, like I said, everything was just fine.

  “Remind me of your plan again,” Landon said, his voice a low whisper even though we were the only ones on the dirt road leading between increasingly dilapidated buildings.

  “We’re just going to talk to Fritz, see if he’s heard from her. We know that the two of them were …” I cast a sideways glance at Lando
n and reconsidered my words. “We know he was in love with her, so maybe something happened with her circle and she had to go into hiding. For all we know, she could be out here. If anyone’s thought to check the compound, I doubt they’ve actually done it.”

  “Hold up. Compound?”

  Fangs and claws. “House. Or, um, collection of houses. Not a compound, per se. Just a gated community.”

  Landon rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. I bet there’s virtually no difference between where we’re going and Hightower Gardens.”

  “I mean, they both have a lot of werewolves,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

  “Right. Hightower Gardens has werewolves with a lot to lose by killing two witches and their familiars, and the Scandricks have nothing to lose by doing that. But you’re right. Same thing.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t tell you all the facts because I knew you wouldn’t come with me.”

  He held up a hand between us. “Oh, I know why you didn’t tell me. But you’re wrong. I would have come. Otherwise I would’ve been the guy who let Nora Ashcroft go get herself killed in the Outskirts because he was too cowardly to tag along.”

  We turned a tight bend around a long, windowless slaughterhouse and were immediately met with a straight view of the compound at the end of the long road.

  “See?” I said, gesturing toward it. “Just like Hightower Gardens.”

  It was not, in fact, anything like Hightower Gardens. For one, Hightower Gardens didn’t see a need for guards. And the fences were iron posts, not impenetrable stone that fanned out in either direction from the main gate farther than we could see from this angle.

  “I didn’t even know this existed,” Landon said. “I’ve never seen any census records indicating this as residence. And judging by the size of it, there could be hundreds of Eastwinders living in there.”

  “If the census workers here are anything like the ones where I come from, they’re not paid nearly enough to bother with a place like this.” I rolled my shoulders back, opening up my lungs for a deep breath. “Shall we?” I asked.

  “No thanks,” said Grim. “You kids have fun.”

  I turned and glared at my familiar. “You knew what you were getting into. I straight up told you it was a compound.”

  “Right, but— Ohhh … You can’t smell all the fresh blood, huh?”

  “Fresh blood?” The shock caused me to say it aloud, and Landon emitted a wobbly whine behind me. “I mean,” I said stiffly, “fresh mud?” Over my shoulder, I added for Landon’s sake. “Grim wanted to roll in fresh mud after this. Dogs, huh?”

  “Not a dog,” Grim corrected. “A grim. Not even remotely the same.”

  Landon wasn’t buying it. “We’re already here, Nora. I’m not turning back. Besides, Hera already told me about the blood a few hundred yards back. She promised not to taste any, but I’m not so sure. Let’s just get in and out, okay?”

  I nodded, and we approached the gate.

  When we were within twenty yards, a gruff male voice hollered down at us from a small platform above the gate. “State your business.”

  I took the lead. “We’re here to talk to Fritz.”

  “You with the Coven?”

  “Thank Moon, no!” I said.

  The man’s laugh sounded like steel wool over brick, but a moment later, the gate began to open.

  “Well played,” Landon said, “with that ‘thank Moon’ stuff. Drawing on the main commonality between witches and weres. Smart.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” I said. “I occasionally pay attention to things. Especially when they could be useful for not getting me shredded.”

  We approached, and the man from the platform was already waiting on the ground for us as we reached the threshold of the compound. “Names?”

  “I’m Nora Ashcroft and this is Landon Hawker. Those are our familiars, Grim and Hera.”

  He eyed each of us suspiciously. “That cat might not like this place.”

  “No offense,” Landon said, “but I don’t think any of us are going to like this place.”

  The man chuckled. “Fair enough. Half the wolves who live here don’t like it themselves. If there were any other way to keep us safe from you settlers, we’d take it, I assure you.”

  “We’re not here to cause any trouble,” I assured him. “By the way, I didn’t get your name.”

  He blinked rapidly before narrowing his eyes at me. Did no one ever ask for his name? Or did the compound have so few new visitors that there wasn’t occasion for introductions?

  “Rufus Boone.”

  “Boone? Is there a Boone pack?”

  He nodded. “Sure is. We don’t stray far from home, though, so it doesn’t surprise me you haven’t heard of us.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Landon said. “You’re one of the original families. The Boones fought in the war.”

  “The Boones died in the war, too,” Rufus added. “Most of us, at least. That’s why we keep to ourselves. And why we turn away most visitors … especially witches.” He scowled at Landon, and I stepped closer to draw his attention away from the poor North Wind.

  “We just want to talk to Fritz. There are rumors going around about him that we don’t believe are true. We want to get to the bottom of it so we can tell the Coven to back off. We’re trying to avoid any trouble here.”

  Rufus was silent for a moment, his eyes roaming up and down my body. “Not sure who you think you are. If you have the power to get the Coven to back off of a werewolf they’ve set out to destroy, you might be more powerful of a witch than I ought to let inside these walls. I could save us both a lot of trouble and tell you that whatever rumors you’ve heard about Fritz, they’re probably true. Not one of our shining stars. How he’s survived into adulthood, none of us around here can fathom.”

  “Be that as it may, we’d still like to talk to him. It’ll only be a minute.”

  Rufus adjusted his stance, rocking his head back and sighing heavily. “Yeah, okay. I’ll send an owl ahead to let him know.” When he extended an arm, hardly a second passed before an owl landed on it. No designated mail perch, no bell to ring. It was almost like telepathy, but as far as I knew, werewolves didn’t have familiars.

  “Have you ever seen that before?” I asked Grim.

  “Yep. Did you think witches came up with the owl system?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Nah. Werewolves and owls have worked together since time unknown. Witches adopted the method, but it’s never worked as well.”

  Rufus pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, stuck it in the owl’s talons, then said, “Fritz” and the bird was off. Then the guard stepped out of the way, giving us space to pass, and provided directions to Fritz’s home. “He should be there, given it’s the afternoon and he doesn’t do anything for work anyway.”

  I thanked him, and Landon called Hera closer to his side. The tension between her and Grim was seemingly forgotten as the four of us closed into a tight formation. When was the last time a witch had entered the Scandrick compound? Had Grace come here? Or did Fritz go to her house?

  From what I knew of Grace, what I’d seen of her in pictures, she would draw quite a bit of attention coming here. So if she had, I could probably ask any one of the werewolves whose staring eyes followed Landon and I down the street.

  The compound was set up like a mini Eastwind with shops and restaurants and rows of homes.

  Except it wasn’t nearly as pristine or friendly as downtown Eastwind, and I doubted they had the equivalent of Fulcrum Park. Every building needed serious renovation, and we kicked up dirt with each step down the unpaved streets.

  Conversations slowed then halted as each werewolf turned from his or her daily happenings to stare suspiciously at the four of us.

  It felt a little like walking through a hostile Munchkin Land. I was looking for a distraction. Landon was looking for hope. Grim was looking to survive long enough to enjoy the bacon I’d promised him for coming along, and H
era, if I understood correctly, was looking for an opportunity to eat someone and thus start the rampage Landon had been carefully avoiding by feeding her a strictly vegetarian diet.

  When we finally reached the end of the brown dirt road, arriving at the doorstep of Fritz’s boxy, wooden home, I knocked and waited. What if he didn’t get the owl yet? Back in Texas, knocking on someone’s door unannounced could have dire consequences, and the stand-your-ground laws in the Scandrick compound were probably even more loosely interpreted than back home.

  But then I heard a voice shout from deep inside, “Yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming,” and I allowed my shoulders to unknot just the slightest bit.

  The werewolf who answered didn’t look anything like what I’d imagined. Basing my guess entirely on the state of the home’s exterior, Jane’s disdain for her half-brother, and Rufus’s less-than-stellar character sketch, I’d expected Fritz to appear in a stained white shirt, scratching a beer belly and whipping the party end of a mullet behind his shoulder with a shake of his head.

  But there was no scratching, and, thankfully, no mullet. Instead, Fritz was a tall, strong drink of water. Green eyes stared down at me as he leaned against the screen door, propping it open with his shoulder in a way that showed off the thick cords of his biceps. He wore an unstained white T-shirt, and as his attention flickered between each in our party, I tried to guess which parent Jane shared with Fritz. His skin was darker than Jane’s, not quite as dark as Ansel’s, but I could make out distinct freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose and down the tops of his cheeks like rocks tumbling down a mountain side.

  “Fritz?” Landon said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Landon Hawker and this is Nora Ashcroft, and we—”

  Fritz placed a large hand on Landon’s shoulder, shutting him up immediately.

  “Hold up,” said Fritz. “You say Nora Ashcroft?”

  Oh boy. This was not a place where I wanted my reputation to precede me. Not after I was responsible for getting both Slash and Lucent, two Scandricks, thrown into jail. I should have picked an alias.