by Megan Morgan
“Yeah, like I said earlier, I been to Nashville.”
“Thank you for that, too. Now let’s get back to you.” She picked up the recorder. “If you have no further questions for me?”
His eyes glittered. “Just one.”
She smiled. “I’m not married. I’m devoted to my career right now.”
“No boyfriend either? Thought you might be with that uptight jerk you’re working with.”
She laughed. “Holden? God, no. He works in my department. I groaned when I got the memo he’d be accompanying me here.”
“So no boyfriend?”
She set the recorder in the middle of the table. “We’re going back to you now.” She turned it on.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
She sat up straight, all business again. “Do you know where the Wolvites make their lairs?”
He sat back, hands on the table, arms spread wide. He could pick up the table and toss it aside if he wanted to. Toss it aside to get to her…
“They usually hunker down either right on the mountain or at the base of it, in the caves out there. We’ve flushed ‘em out before, out into the holler and picked them off from the hillsides. Best way to do it.”
“Could you show us where those caves are?”
“You ain’t Lycan. If they set on us, you’d be in trouble.”
“I’m a good shot.” She smirked. “A very good shot.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I see that piece on your hip. Gotta say, it looked better on your thigh.”
“I’ve taken marksmanship classes. More than what’s required for field work.”
“My Daddy taught me how to shoot. Took out my first Wolvite when I was eight.”
“I have my CMP Expert badge for a pistol and Sharpshooter badge for a rifle.”
He whistled. “You wanna go hunting while you’re here?”
“I thought you wanted to have dinner.” She snatched up the last cheese stick and bit into it with gusto.
He grinned and leaned forward. “You ought to come to my house, let me make you dinner. My Daddy taught me how to shoot, but my Mama taught me how to cook. I can make cat-head biscuits and gravy, steak and cornpone, hull some beans.”
She pushed the recorder toward him. “Tell me how you track the Wolvites.”
“By smell.” He leaned in closer. “You ever tried moonshine?”
“How many do you think are in the area right now? Best guess?”
“A whole mess.” He tilted his chin down and looked her in the eyes. “Why don’t you come to Jack’s place with me tonight? We’re gonna hang out in his barn, blow off some steam. Been a long week.”
She scowled. “You’re going to hang out in a barn after dark?”
“Wouldn’t nothing step foot on Jack’s land with all three of us there.”
“You know I can’t condone that.”
“Don’t have to. Just come with me.” He sat back and smiled widely.
“How about this,” she said. “If I go to this—barn thing—with you tonight, you’ll take me out tomorrow and show me where the caves are?”
“I can handle that. And maybe after we go out in the woods, I can take you home and cook for you.”
“You’re pushing it.” She clicked off the recorder. “Really pushing it.” She grabbed up her satchel.
“Oh, hey, I got something for you.” He reached over in his seat, picked something up, and handed it across the table to her. A small book, with a faded brown cloth cover. It looked hand bound, the pages uneven, the spine secured with leather ties.
“It’s from my Grammy,” he said. “She told me to give it to you. I told her about you.”
She stared at it. “What is it?”
“One of her books, reckon it’s got her spells and potion-making recipes in it. Wrote it herself.”
Lorena blinked. “I can’t take that.”
He thrust the book at her. “She’s got tons of ‘em. Maybe it’ll help, so you can dive into all that information you’ve got to learn.” He laid it down in front of her.
She gaped at it. Her own grandmother wrote out little books like these.
“This is your grandmother’s wisdom, though.” She reached out and gently touched the cover. The fabric was soft and smooth. “I can’t take it from her.”
“Like I said, she’s got tons.”
“What…did you tell her about me?” Her cheeks warmed.
“You’re a witch, but not good at it.” He opened his hands. “She’s not a big fan of science. Expect she’d like it more if you studied that instead of a textbook.” He nodded at the book.
She picked it up, carefully.
He finished off his coffee. “Reckon we ought to clear out of here. Dinner rush will be on soon and we might just sit here all night.”
She held the book in both hands, rubbing her thumbs over the cover. “I need to get back, anyway.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.” He slid out of the booth.
She grabbed up her things and stuffed them in her satchel. She kept the book out, though. She stood up beside him, once again aware of his height and girth. “All right. I guess I should bring my gun, just in case.”
“You’ll be in like company.”
Deacon walked up to the counter. She tried to contribute to the bill, but he refused. She stood near the door, book clutched to her chest. She tried not to stare at him, but her wandering eyes betrayed her. His jeans fit him just right. The flannel across his shoulders strained as he moved his arms.
He followed her outside and walked her to her truck.
“Thank you for lunch, snack, whatever it was,” she said. “And this.” She patted the book. “Thank your grandmother for me, too.”
“Hope it helps you out.”
“I’ll see you tonight.” She hit the button on her keychain to unlock the doors.
“Might wanna wear something warm.” He strolled toward his own truck a few feet away. “Might be a bit airish. Always is this time of year.”
She opened the truck door and slung her satchel inside.
He cleared his throat.
She looked around at him. “Yes?”
“Um…” He had one hand tucked in his pocket, and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “I’m sorry, about this.” He extended the arm with the bandage. “About how I teased you this morning. I didn’t know about your Mama.”
Her stomach fluttered. “No, you didn’t. So there’s no need to be sorry.”
“There is though, I mean, I shouldn’t have been acting that way regardless.”
She smiled. “Thank you. All is forgiven.”
He smiled too, and waved. “I’ll see you tonight. Eight o’clock.”
She nodded and climbed in the truck.
She let him pull out first, and waved as he exited the parking lot. She set the book on her lap, opened the cover, and flipped through it. Neat, even handwriting, in various colors, filled the pages. Some had sketches of plants and rocks. This little handwritten tome probably held more wisdom than all the textbooks about witches combined. And he’d given it to her.
Maybe he sensed the old, buried hope deep inside her that she might one day get back to her roots.
Chapter 4
“A little gift goes a long way to endear yourself to a woman.” That’s what his Grammy said.
By the look on Lorena’s face when he gave her the book, Grammy was right. He wasn’t tugging at heartstrings when he apologized, though. He was truly sorry he’d acted a fool.
When he picked her up, Lorena had on the same outfit but with a black leather jacket over top. She still wore her gun on her hip.
“Where does Jack live?” she asked, after he opened the door for her and she climbed up in the cab of his truck, all swift and graceful. She might have been a city girl, but she moved like she was born in the backwoods.
“Just a piece outside of town. Not far from here.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver�
�s side.
Once inside the cab, her perfume taunted him. Subtle and flowery, the scent made the back of his neck prickle. Where did she spray it on her? Could he snuffle around and find all those spots on her body?
“I see you’re at least well-prepared.” She looked at his gun rack in the back window. “Since you can’t obey rules.”
He started up the truck. “Apparently you can’t obey them, either.”
They headed down the road. Closing in on eight o’clock, it was nearly pitch-black. That was October for you. He liked autumn, though. The leaves were pretty and the heat died off, and the hunting was good. The turning of the seasons helped him appreciate the beauty of his home even more.
“You look through that book any?” he asked.
He had his eyes peeled for Wolvites; hopefully, the bastards stayed in the trees. His options would be to hit them or get out and shoot. Either would ruin the mood so early in the evening, and hitting one would mess up his paint.
“I did,” she said. “It’s very thorough. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I never did much understand the business of witches.” He kept his gaze firmly on the road. “But I always sat in awe of my Grammy.”
“The same with mine. She could do some amazing things.”
“Maybe you’ll turn out like her, if you read that book.”
“I don’t know about that. I think I’ve taken the opposite path of most witches.”
“Seems like being yourself is all you need. It don’t go away, does it?”
She didn’t respond. “What about you?” she asked instead. “Does being Lycan make a difference in your life?”
He shrugged. “Besides making me immune to Wolvites? I don’t know. Daddy always said we have better senses, sharper hearing, better sight, good sense of smell.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know the difference, though. I been this way my whole life. I don’t know how other people experience the world.”
“Makes sense.”
“Reckon it’s supposed to make you stronger, too. Me, Jack, Zeke, we’re all pretty hardy. Fast, strong. But again, it’s just who I am, and a lot of men can get strong, especially doing farm work. Don’t know if I’m particularly special or just average.”
“You’re supposed to be very good at hunting and tracking, too.”
“Well, I been hunting since I could stand up. I still can’t say that’s anything special. You live ‘round here, you’re pretty much born with a shotgun in your hands.”
She chuckled. “You sound like me.”
“How’s that?”
“You have this thing, but you haven’t figured it out. You’re like, ‘maybe it is what I am, maybe it isn’t.’ That sounds like me, when my powers accidentally activate. Maybe it was something inside of me, or maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
He glanced at her. “Reckon we get each other, then.”
“Guess we do.”
They didn’t cross any Wolvites on the drive. Jack lived on a small farm, handed down from his parents, and that was how he made his living. Deacon worked it sometimes, when the mood struck him. Farm animals tended to get skittish around Lycans, though. Jack’s wife Melanie usually took care of the animals, and before she came along, any help he hired.
Deacon didn’t even have to drive all the way up to the barn to see the party was already in full swing. The barn doors stood open and a huge bonfire flickered in the barnyard. People stood around in the yard and circled the fire. Jack usually got a nice crowd on Saturday night, mostly friends who worked all week and wanted to have a good time.
Deacon parked his truck with the other cars and trucks in a field between the house and barn.
“I gotta get the beer out of the back,” he said.
“Beer?”
“Why, yeah. You show up at your cousin’s party without booze, you’re likely to get thrown out of the family.”
“Should I have brought something? A nice bottle of wine, perhaps?”
He snorted. “A box of wine, maybe. That’s more our style.”
She laughed and they got out of the truck.
While Deacon retrieved the case of beer from the back, Lorena looked around. The darkness hung thick around them, the sound of the party muffled. No Wolvites around, though. He could smell nothing but the crisp night air and burning wood. Someone nearby had an oil leak, too. He heaved the case of beer onto his shoulder and slammed the tailgate shut.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Wolvites don’t like fire.”
“I know that.” She fell in step beside him. They tromped through the grass toward the barn.
“Everyone here is strapped.” He continued to reassure her. “And three of us is Lycan. On the chancy notion those buggers do get a wild hair, they’re gonna be in for trouble.”
“Unless they hit us in a pack, like they did when they ambushed you guys.”
“Don’t worry so much. Lookit, we got everyone staring.”
Indeed, as they approached the barn, all eyes were on them. The conversation died to a murmur. Folks weren’t looking at them, so much as her.
Jack approached them, beer in hand.
“Hope you didn’t come to break us up,” he spoke to Lorena, his voice light but wary. “It’s hard to give up our weekend tradition.”
“I’m not here to shut you down.” She sighed. “Seems like it’s pointless.”
“She ain’t here to put her foot down,” Deacon said. “She’s with me.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, is she?”
“She’s my date.” Deacon passed by him. Lorena didn’t correct him. “You owe me,” he murmured to Jack.
Jack followed him. “Just put that with the rest.”
“I will. You’re welcome.”
The partygoers seemed to realize quickly Lorena wasn’t there to lay down the law. They also seemed curious about her. Before Deacon could get a beer and pop it open, he’d already lost her to the crowd. He wandered off to find his cousins and collect his reward money.
* * * *
Someone shoved a beer in Lorena’s hand and led her to the fire, where a group gathered around her. Everyone had questions.
She told them about the efforts they were making to track down the Wolvites and come up with a plan to eradicate them. She had to be careful what she gave away though, and not allude to the other work they were doing here. She didn’t have the authority to talk about it. Most of her listeners paid close attention. Some brought up concerns about safety. She wanted to say, “Stay inside after dark like you were told, idiots.”
Inevitably, people drifted away. She finished her beer and someone promptly gave her another, though she intended to go easy on the alcohol.
A lanky man with sandy hair stepped up beside her. Deacon’s other cousin Zeke, if she wasn’t mistaken. He towered over her and she had to look up at him.
“Zeke, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his baseball cap to her. Like Deacon and Jack, he was ruggedly handsome, but in a more slender, sleeker way. The family had good genes. “Deacon told us you’re a witch, like our Grammy.”
“Not a very good witch, I’m afraid. I’m kinda unpracticed.”
“Our Grammy says she can talk to the spirits in the trees.” He gazed toward the thick wall of trees beyond the flat, open field next to the barn. “Says they tell her when bad things are coming.”
“My grandmother could do the same. She didn’t call it spirits, though. She just said she could converse with nature. She knew when bad weather was approaching. Sounds like it comes in handy.”
“She knew these Wolvites was coming, said she felt them.”
“Interesting.”
He took a drink from his beer can. His eyes were darker blue than Deacon’s.
“So,” he said, “what sort of lies did my cousin tell you to get you to hang out with him tonight?”
She laughed. “My interest is mostly professional.” Mostly. “The whole Lycan t
hing, it’s relevant.”
“Me and Jack both bet him fifty dollars he couldn’t catch your interest. He’s terrible with women.”
She tightened her fingers around her can. “Oh?”
“You oughta hear his Mama, how she nags him about settling down.”
Doubt blossomed in her gut. Was Deacon’s interest real, or just a quest to earn some money and get into her pants at the same time? She wasn’t good with men either, but even if the two of them weren’t relationship-bound, she wouldn’t be treated as a conquest.
“It’s his own fault, really.” Zeke shrugged. “He pays too much mind to those old Lycan codes.”
“Lycan codes?”
“Our Grandpa put notions in his head when we were kids. Told us how in the old days Lycans had one woman, their true mate. Love of your life, and all that. He said those women were usually witches, that Lycans and witches made a strong bond. But I think Grandpa just said that cause our Grammy’s a witch.”
Her doubt turned to alarm. She wouldn’t be trussed up for marriage, either. “Is that so?”
“Reckon I fell for it too.” He smiled sheepishly. “My wife’s a witch, but I didn’t court her cause of that. Jack married him a witch too. Thing is, our Grammy is a ball of fire, and our Grandpa, well, he’s a ball of mud. So I don’t pay too much attention to those sappy tales of his. He’s just been smitten with her all these years and he’s trying to impress her, I reckon.”
“Are there other Lycan codes?”
He waved a hand. “It’s all talk. About as washed out as our Lycan blood.”
A shout sounded and her stomach lurched, but it was only Deacon and Jack. They stood near the barn and Deacon waved to them. She and Zeke walked over.
“Look what I got.” Deacon held up a mason jar full of what looked like water.
Lorena eyed the jar. Zeke adjusted his hat and made a sound in his throat, both cautious and dismayed.
Jack grinned at her. “My Daddy’s still a moonshiner. I know it ain’t quite legal.”
“This is so stereotypical.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Feds. That’s a whole other department.”
“It might be stereotypical”—Deacon unscrewed the lid from the jar—“but we still do it around these parts. You ever tried it?” He held the jar aloft. “White Lightning, straight from the mountains.”
