by John Conroe
“That was before the general population knew of their actual existence,” he said. “The wolf is out of the bag, so to speak.”
“Yes. Now the stakes are higher,” she said.
“What?”
“The supernatural society has long hidden behind the rest of society’s unwillingness to believe. Now they believe. Tell me, Sheriff, how do you feel about what that killer was able to do to that poor man?” she asked.
“It’s terrifying. And it makes me angry,” he admitted after a pause.
“And what do terrified and angry humans do?” she asked.
He studied her for a moment. “They attack,” he said.
“And humans today have machine guns, shotguns, explosives, robots, drones, computers, and night vision among other toys. And they outnumber the supernatural world by billions,” she said. “Vampires and werewolves are walking on eggshells at the moment. Did you happen to catch any of what happened this past summer with the Church of the True?”
“I did. I take your point, Ms. Renault, but if what you say is true, why haven’t other werewolves stepped in?”
Buck came back around the corner of the garage toting a plastic box that looked like it should hold fishing tackle rather than evidence-gathering supplies.
“One, because you probably have only one or two regular werewolves anywhere up here. Loners who don’t want to be near a pack. They’ll go into deep hiding with all this, not getting involved. And second, how do you know they haven’t stepped in yet?” she said, having come to a decision regarding the sheriff.
Buck had only heard the last part of their conversation, but he got it first, drawing a short, sharp breath of air as it hit him. The sheriff, to his credit, was only a few seconds behind.
“That’s why you figure out the scenes so quick,” Buck said.
She nodded without looking away from the sheriff, who was frozen in place. He smelled of surprise, disbelief, and a tiny bit of sudden fear. “Every police force should have a werewolf on the job. Imagine an officer with a bloodhound’s nose and the ability to hear a suspect’s heartbeat,” she said with a little smile.
“That would pretty much rock, if you could trust them,” Buck said. He didn’t smell of either fear or surprise, but maybe a bit of anger.
“There are a few of us who help out the NYPD from time to time, as well as a fair number who are already on the force. Werewolves tend to gravitate toward first responder jobs and military work. Pack-like hierarchy, a job that feeds our need to protect,” she said.
“Wolves don’t protect. Wolves kill,” the sheriff said.
“Wolves protect pack, and wolves kill to feed the pack,” she corrected him.
“Humans aren’t pack,” the sheriff countered.
“Oh? You know how we think? You don’t believe we form attachments and extend packness to friends and family and neighbors?” she asked. “My pack is varied and extended. Many of us were bitten. My mother is human. If some jackoff messes with her, there are dozens of weres who will protect her.”
“You’re her! You’re the one in the Washington videos!” Buck said suddenly.
“Of course she is, you moron,” Shorty’s gravelly voice said from the corner of the garage, where he was leaning. “Some cop you are. I knew as soon as I shook her hand.”
“Really? That fast?” Stacia asked.
“I watch a lot of television in the winter. Lots of documentaries. The wig’s good, but you’re really too pretty to disguise very well,” the guide said matter-of-factly.
She sighed. “My bo… a friend of mine said much the same thing,” she said, mouth twisting in annoyance at herself.
“And your, ah, friend let you come up here alone?” Shorty asked.
“My friend knows I can handle myself and he has offered his help, if it’s needed,” she said, thinking they were nowhere near ready to deal with meeting him.
“You gave me a false ID,” Buck said.
“That’s the direction you want to go? I tell you I’m a werewolf and you’re worried because I traveled here undercover?” she asked.
“You started our working relationship with a lie,” he said.
“Well, I go by Stacia, but the ID I gave you panned out, did it not?” she asked. He reluctantly nodded. “I was trying to keep this from becoming a media circus. There was always the chance it wasn’t a werewolf. But that identity will check out all the way up through federal levels. My mother’s maiden name is Renault. Her name is Lisa, but my middle name is Illisa.”
“You’ve revealed yourself now,” Sheriff Grable stated.
“Yes. Before, I thought the situation was cut and dried,” she said.
“But not now?” Shorty Kane asked.
“No, not now. Sheriff, the man in the garage was killed by a werewolf. So was Morris Alcombe. They just weren’t killed by the same werewolf. You have at least two, more likely three werewolves involved,” she said.
Chapter 8
All three men just looked at her. She waited. Finally, the sheriff rocked back, hands going to the belt of his civilian jeans, where he had a Glock 30 holstered in a DeSantis pancake holster. “You positive?”
“I’m sure that this were is a different individual than the one that killed Morris Alcombe. I’m certain they are both young men, newly turned to werewolf. That’s why I think that there is at least one more… the alpha who turned them.”
“You said this behavior is abnormal… horrific murders of humans,” the sheriff said.
“It is. Sheriff, who was the man in the garage?” she asked.
“Gary was the Assistant Principal at Fetter Central School,” the sheriff replied.
“Assistant principal? Was he disliked?” she asked, remembering her own high school years.
The three men shuffled a bit, exchanging glances. Buck answered her question. “Gary was a hard-ass. He handled all the discipline and he had a tendency to go a bit overboard.”
“Would you say there are people, former students, who hated him?” she asked.
All three men nodded.
“This one is younger than the other, the one that killed Morris. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. He’s also a smaller wolf than the other one, which means he’s likely to be smaller in man form as well,” Stacia said.
“You think someone killed Gary? Somebody who hated him from school? And someone killed Morris because he sold the mill?” Buck asked.
“That’s what it seems like. The worrisome part is that it appears that an older were is recruiting angry, disenfranchised individuals and turning them into angry, disenfranchised werewolves. They’re being allowed to act out their anger in the most vicious way possible. And they’re cannibalizing at least the heart of their victims,” she said.
“Why would they do that? They have to know that this will draw attention,” Buck said.
“It’s going to draw enormous attention. DOAA will come in like gangbusters, and the media will follow. Fetter will become a circus,” she said, pronouncing DOAA as Doe-ah.
“DOAA? Those the feds?” Sheriff Grable asked.
“Yeah. We think they were the ones building those robotic centipedes last summer, but they wouldn’t admit it or admit to losing control of them,” she said.
“I watched all that on TV,” Shorty said. “That young man you were carrying after the battle… that your young fella?”
“He’s my friend, not my fella,” she said.
Shorty looked thoroughly unconvinced. “Maybe you should give him a call. Being outnumbered and all.”
“She’s not outnumbered. We outnumber them,” Sheriff Grable said, giving Shorty a glare.
“Wasn’t meaning to offend you, Sherm, but fighting a pack of werewolves is a whole different thing then poachers, pot growers, and old Alfie Coolidge stealing lunch meat at Keegan’s Market,” Shorty said.
The sheriff looked ready to explode, but Buck interrupted, his gaze still on Stacia.
“Just what are we facing? What can we expec
t?” he asked her.
Stacia, who had started to protest Shorty’s suggestion to call her friend, had stopped herself and was visibly considering it before the sheriff had spoken. Buck hadn’t missed that change, and it concerned him. She seemed like the type to handle things herself and if she hesitated on that, then he wanted to know why.
“Changing people into weres isn’t easy. The virus doesn’t work with everyone, and the people who fail to make it die. So whoever is doing this would appear to be experienced. We know of two; are there more? How many are we facing?” she asked.
“Well, we can make a list of people who’ve gone missing, purportedly left the area, or died recently under odd circumstances. As for the rest, can’t you, I don’t know, sniff them out?” Buck asked.
“Yes, if I get near enough to smell them. But they can also scent me, which would cost us the element of surprise,” she said.
“What if we mask your scent?” Shorty asked.
She started to shake her head, but then remembered something. “My friend’s roommate’s sister used perfume to block her scent several times to good effect. Maybe we can do something similar.”
“Your friend’s sister’s roommate? Why was she blocking scent?” Sheriff Grable asked.
“No, his roommate’s sister. My friend goes to a unique school. Supernatural students. His roommate, Mack, and Mack’s sister aren’t supernatural. But as teenagers, they hunted down and executed the werewolves who killed their parents,” she explained.
“Maybe we should get them up here,” Shorty said.
“She’s like seventeen. Might not look good for the county, plus she probably has midterms,” Stacia said sardonically. “Okay, as to what you’re facing. They are faster than you are and maybe three times stronger in human form. Most weres have two shapes: human and wolf. They’ll be bigger in wolf form, which makes the physicist types go bonkers with conservation of mass and all that. They can hear your heartbeat and smell your emotions. Makes them difficult to trap. In human form, they’ll heal from a broken arm in an hour. In wolf form, they heal major wounds in minutes. Silver-induced wounds won’t heal at all. Fire will kill them, and they have extra-dense muscles and bones so they can’t swim. Drop them in a river or pool and they’ll drown. Decapitate them, they die.”
“What about the two-legged version?” Shorty asked.
“Older weres can sometimes learn to take a middle form, half-wolf, half-man. We call it beast form or combat form,” she said.
“You took that form in Washington,” Shorty said.
“I did,” she said.
“But you’re only twenty-one, according to your license. Unless that was a lie too,” Buck said.
“The date was off a bit, but I’m twenty-one,” she said, frowning.
“He’s wondering how you’re old enough to be able to learn that beast form thing,” Shorty asked.
“I’m a special case,” was all she said.
“So these feds are going to show up? These DOAA types?” Sheriff Grable asked.
“Like a freight train. Going to ramrod right over you and everyone around here. They have experience with weres but handle things like the whole bull-and-the-china-shop thing,” she said.
“So why not let them handle it?” the sheriff asked.
“Because if you point them at a known wolf, they’ll likely succeed. But investigating multiple unkown weres? Not so sure how they’ll do with that or what cost your civilians will pay,” she said. “And I have to stay out of their way. They would love to do something stupid and detain me.”
“Why exactly would that be stupid of them?” Buck asked.
“Because many weres they’ve captured have simply disappeared. There are people, extraordinarily dangerous people, who will object if that happens to me.”
“Like that Gordon fella or the vampire princess?” Shorty asked, fascinated.
“Chris would have an issue. Tanya maybe not,” she admitted.
“Or that young fella you were carrying? What’s his story?” Shorty asked.
“He would object. Loudly and forcibly. That would be a big, big problem. Or him and Chris together.”
“The God Hammer would come looking for you?” Buck asked. Shorty gave him a look. “What? I saw some of the footage. I just didn’t obsess over it,” Buck said. “Anyway, would they take on the government?”
“He bombed New Hampshire from orbit, Buck,” Shorty pointed out.
She nodded in agreement. “Chris would negotiate first. Declan… hmmm,” she considered for a moment, thinking about her recent suspicions, then shuddered slightly. “Anyway, we should figure this out as much as possible before you lose control. That fur sample… did you send it to a lab?”
“Yes. Won’t get there till tomorrow, but we asked for a rush on it,” Buck said.
“That will likely trigger DOAA, although they may just have a computer program that searches for animal mauling reports or news stories. Two of those in forty-eight hours will get a lot of attention,” she said.
“I still don’t see why I wouldn’t want to just call these feds in? You’ve as much as said that they can handle werewolves,” the sheriff asked.
“I met the Directorate the same night I got bitten. If Chris Gordon hadn’t found me before they did, I would have been torn to pieces by the werewolf they were hunting and then, if he hadn’t hidden my wound, I would have disappeared into a government lab somewhere. These are not friendly, happy folks, Sheriff. They will be here and they will go through your county with a fine-toothed comb looking for threats, which they get to define. It will not be fun, healthy, or beneficial for most of your constituents. But do what you want,” she said.
“You’re saying its best to just figure out the perps involved and hand them over?” Buck asked, an edge of disbelief in his voice.
“If they hadn’t murdered and cannibalized two men, I would seek to find them and help them. But these are two lost causes, although they probably should have a clean death as opposed to whatever hell DOAA will put them through. Anyway, I would like to keep helping you track the suspects,” she said.
“What do you suggest?” Grable asked.
“I want to Change and run down this scent trail. Probably not going to tell me much, but it’s worth a try. Then we need to look into anyone in this small town who is acting differently. Getting into fights that never would have happened, displaying unusual athletic prowess, bragging about new prospects or conversely, people who have suddenly withdrawn from society, stopped normal habits, changed personalities, you know… just different.”
“You’re going to turn into a werewolf right here?” Grable asked, looking uncomfortable.
“Well, I’ll go around the corner. But when I come out, I’ll be in wolf form. A big, white wolf. Please don’t shoot me or let your deputies shoot me,” she said, waving to the two other deputies who had appeared behind Shorty sometime during the last fifteen minutes. They both looked confused, which would be normal even if they had heard the whole conversation. Grable looked at where she was pointing and swore slightly, just under his breath. She heard him anyway.
“Ah, it’s the last night of the full moon, so that tends to make us a bit edgy,” she said.
“What are you saying?” Buck asked.
“If you try to pet me like a dog, I’ll probably bite your damned hand off,” she said. “But I won’t mean it,” she added with a smile that didn’t fool any of them.
“Right, got that guys? No petting the big wolf when it… she comes back,” Grable said.
Stacia sighed and stepped around the corner of the house. She quickly stripped off her clothes, folding them as she went. If she’d been with her team, she probably wouldn’t have bothered to seek privacy, but these men would get caught up in watching her strip out of her clothes, and that made her uncomfortable.
Naked, except for the two amulets around her neck, both threaded onto stretchy cord, she calmed herself, listening to the thud of her own heart whil
e her fingers fiddled with the amulets. One was a tiny white soapstone wolf, sitting on its haunches. That was from Chris. The other was a piece of quartz, hanging in a basket of copper. That was from Declan. He normally made amulets from Rowan wood, but werewolves were allergic to Rowan or, as it was also known, Mountain Ash. His source of wood was the massive old Rowan tree behind his aunt’s restaurant. This quartz had come from the ground underneath the tree. She wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten the stone from underground without hurting the roots of his precious tree, but she suspected his massive golem-like construct, Robbie, had been involved. The copper wire holding the stone had been painstakingly shaped into runes that he would normally have carved into wood. It had to have taken hours and hours to get exactly right. She’d mentioned something about that and he’d just smiled and shrugged.
