We’d already lost so much, but there was so much, much more that could crumble beneath our feet. Every step was a question mark. Every move—a domino. And all we could do was make the best decision we could at the time and hope that the entire house of cards didn’t come fluttering down around our shoulders.
CHAPTER 11
Menolly grumbled about having to take my Jeep, but I told her to stuff it. Vanzir laughed from the backseat. We headed toward Doug Smith’s house—which was located up on Queen Anne Hill, one of the highest hills in Seattle. The neighborhood was somewhat upscale, and I realized that I was surprised a werewolf would have a house there. So much for my own prejudices.
While I drove, peering through the streaming rain that was making my windshield wipers work overtime, Menolly told Vanzir what Trenyth had wanted. Vanzir remained silent for a moment, then cleared his throat.
“I know you love your father, but that’s a shitty thing to do. Ten to one, if he’s banging the Queen like you say, she convinced him to play along with it.” He leaned forward, peering between the front seats. “Camille and I don’t have much in common, but she’s all right. And she’s doing what she needs to be doing. Chances are your daddy just doesn’t like the fact that she married Trillian, and when the Queen offered him a good excuse to slam the situation, he ran with it.”
What he said made sense. Hell, I’d been thinking the same thing myself for the past hour or so. “I guess we could ask Grandmother Coyote what to do.”
Menolly let out a sharp hiss. “Camille already owes Grandmother Coyote payment from last time she talked to her. Remember? The Hag told her that a sacrifice had already begun. Maybe that’s what this is.”
“I don’t think so. I think it was Henry’s death, to be honest, but I’d never mention my suspicions to Camille. I wouldn’t want her to feel responsible.” I swerved to avoid a dog that darted out in the street and, since there were no oncoming cars for now, switched to brights until we got into the city proper.
“She already feels responsible. I don’t think she’ll ever get over feeling guilty for the old guy’s death. But you two hens are overlooking the most important point. The important thing isn’t what started this mess but how to deal with it. Are you going to stand with her, or are you going to let them run over her?” Vanzir slapped the back of the seat behind Menolly. “Either of you bother to let your father know how you really feel about this?”
I darted a quick glance at Menolly, who looked rather nonplussed. And it took a great deal for Menolly to look nonplussed. “We sent messages back to him with Trenyth . . .”
“Messages? Like, Gee, Daddy, I don’t like what you did to my sister? You two are such a piece of work. How can you be so deadly, so beautiful, and such wimps at the same time? Hah.” Vanzir leaned back, crossing his arms, and shook his head. I glanced in the mirror, and he gave me that arched-eyebrow look that says gotcha.
“He’s right,” I said after a minute.
“Yes, but I wasn’t going to let him know for a while. Allow me a shred of dignity.” Menolly let out a sigh—purely for effect.
Must be nice at times, I thought, to be able to avoid inhaling in the perfume department or the laundry soap aisle. Shaking my head, I brought my mind back to the subject at hand.
“So, are we going to fire up the Whispering Mirror and give Father hell?” I asked softly.
Whistling softly, she nodded. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
Vanzir laughed gently from the backseat.
As I parked along the street, I had a creepy feeling. Doug’s house was a two-story monstrosity with small windows dot-ting the surface. No lights burned from within, and the yard looked overgrown, even for this time of year. The only light came from the lamp on the front of the house, illuminating the porch steps. Or rather, the stone slab landing that passed for a porch.
As we climbed out of the car, a set of broken stone steps led up to the yard, which sloped up to the house. I glanced at the mailbox on the curb. It was partially ajar, and when I yanked it open, mail spilled out. Frowning, I gathered the letters back up, glanced at the name on them—Doug Smith, so yes, we were in the right place—and shoved the bundle back in the box.
Leaves in burnished shades of copper and brown and yellow littered the overgrown weed patch that passed for a lawn. The walkway itself was cracked, foliage growing through the patches to further push apart the stone path. Ferns and low-growing evergreens ringed the house, nestled beneath the windows and walls.
The house was old, weathered and wind-worn. The paint peeled from the sides, chips as big as my hand missing. The windows opened in, and screens had been nailed over them rather than properly set into place. The front door was located up yet another steep set of stone steps—I counted fourteen of them. An ironwork rail guarded both sides, and I was cautious not to touch it as we climbed the narrow stairs to the landing. The last thing I needed was a nasty burn.
I paused, then pressed the doorbell. We could hear the chimes sounding from within. After a moment with no answer, I pressed the bell again, and pounded on the door. Nada.
Glancing at Menolly, I pulled out my pack of lockpicks. Very few people knew I owned them, but they came in handy, and after being locked in a room by a harpy while a shop-keeper got killed, I’d quietly reassured myself I’d never be stuck in a room again. At least not one with easy-open locks. A moment later, I heard a faint click. I turned the knob, and the door swung ajar.
Quietly, I pushed the door open and sidled in, listening for any sound, looking for any movement. But the house felt cold and empty. I motioned for Menolly and Vanzir to follow me. Menolly shut the door behind her.
The hallway was tiled, but the tiles were worn, as was the paint on the walls. This place was badly in need of fixing up. I edged forward, motioning for them to be quiet. A peek into the darkened living room showed that it was as empty as it seemed.
Vanzir tapped me on the arm and, in the lowest of whispers, said, “Maybe he’s asleep?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Menolly, why don’t you head upstairs and check it out—you’re quieter than both of us combined.”
As she slipped past me, silent and moving like a shadow, I found myself hoping that Doug Smith would be in his bedroom. Best scenario: He’d wake up and freak out that we were in his house. I’d rather face that than think about potential alternatives.
I motioned to Vanzir. “Quietly—very quietly—check out the living room. I’m heading through there.” I nodded to an opening that led into what looked like a large kitchen-dining area. The walls had a stucco texture, and from the décor, I’d say that the house was stuck back in the sixties or perhaps the early seventies.
As I crossed into what was, indeed, the kitchen, I scanned the room. Nobody there. In the dim light filtering in from the backyard where a floodlight shone over the alley, I could see a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, encrusted with dried food. Flies buzzed around the plates.
Curious, I glanced in the fridge. Several open containers on the shelves proved what I thought I’d find. It was impossible to tell what the food had been; a flourishing colony of mold covered the tops of whatever the leftovers had been. A cantaloupe rested on one shelf, falling apart. I shut the door. Menolly wasn’t going to find anybody upstairs. That much I knew. Wherever he was, Doug Smith hadn’t been home in quite awhile.
Vanzir poked his head through the archway. “Nothing. Menolly’s checking out the basement. I think I found the site of a scuffle, but it’s hard to tell without turning on the lights.”
“Hold on till she gets back. I don’t think she’s going to find anybody or anything down there.” I spotted a roll of paper towels and tore one off, wiping my hands on it. Even touching the dishes in the sink had left me feeling dirty.
Just then, Menolly returned. “Nobody in the house.”
“Thanks.” I flipped on the light, flooding the room. The kitchen looked worse than I imagined, pots and pans and dishes filling the
sink and drain board. A cutting board with a rotten tomato and stinking meat sat on the counter. It looked like someone had been in the middle of fixing dinner when they were suddenly interrupted.
“Go find the light for the living room,” I told Vanzir.
We followed him in and, as a dim lamp illuminated the room, I saw what he’d been talking about. A desk sat in the corner, a rundown sofa faced a television, and a bookshelf, overflowing with books, rested against one of the walls. But the room was tidy, if a little threadbare. Except for a spot near the desk. One of the drawers had been yanked out and was upended on the floor, its contents spilling across the rug. A lamp had been knocked over, its bulb broken. And one corner of the desk was clear—with papers scattered around the floor.
I knelt near the mess. Brown spots spattered the beige rug. “Menolly, take a look at this. Ink or . . .”
She squatted beside me and leaned down, inhaling deeply. Her nostrils flared. “Blood. Those are drops of blood.”
“Crap.” As we looked farther, we found more of the splatters. “I guess we should call in Chase. This doesn’t look good.”
“He’s going to want to know why we’re in the house. Like it or not, we’re breaking and entering,” Vanzir said. “But . . . I guess we could say we were just worried. Checking up on the guy for a friend. Which is ultimately true. If Nerissa’s friend is worried about him . . .”
“Yeah. We may have committed B and E, but that doesn’t matter. Whatever happened here . . . so not good. I wonder if there are traces of Wolf Briar around. I can’t smell anything. Whatever happened took place a while ago.” I stood up and pulled out my cell phone. The FH-CSI headquarters was fourth on speed dial, right after Camille, Menolly, and home.
Chase answered. “Johnson here. What’s up?”
“Delilah. We’ve got a problem, Chase. Besides Amber, we’ve got at least one other—potentially three more—missing werewolves. And we know this one didn’t go without a fight. We found blood on the carpet.” I gave him the address and then turned to Vanzir. “Dude, can you go out and bring in the mail? There might be some clue in there.”
He nodded, then sprang out of the house.
Menolly shook her head. “So, two down, one to go. Want to make a bet Saz Star Walker isn’t going to be home, either?”
We waited, sitting on the porch steps, until Chase and his team pulled up. He frowned as he saw the open door and the lights on in the house. As they came up the steps, I held up my hand.
“Save the lectures. We got word he was missing, and I was asked to look in on him. With that Wolf Briar crap around, we weren’t taking any chances. It looks like Doug’s been gone awhile.” I pointed to the stack of mail. “We just pulled that out of the mailbox, in hopes there might be some clue. And he’s not the only one. Franco Paulo, another werewolf, has been gone too long for comfort. His fiancée is freaking. And we need to check on a Saz Star Walker tonight.”
Chase and his team spread out through the house, taking fingerprints, looking for evidence, tagging and bagging things. He handed me a pair of gloves. “Now you can help. Check in the desk. Look for an address book. Something to give us next of kin, so we can find out if this is just a robbery.”
“Robbery? With blood spatters?” I cocked my head, and he shrugged.
As I nosed through Doug’s desk drawers, I thought about the Were’s life. The house was fairly sparse. The kitchen showed a place setting for one. No photos on the walls, nothing to show friendship or family. It all seemed rather sad, actually.
Stopping short, I held up a clothbound volume. What have we here?
Yep, I thought as I flipped through it, an address book. I sat down and riffled through the pages. First place to look: under the letter S. Surely his parents or siblings would be there. But nobody by the name of Smith was listed. However, I did see Saz Star Walker’s name. I showed Chase, then went back to F and sure enough, Paulo Franco was listed. And Katrina was in the book, too. There were a few other scattered names, including one for the Loco Lobo Lounge—a hangout for members of the Loco Lobo tribe. Exo Reed’s Pack. Had Doug been a part of the LLs? Only one way to find out.
I put in a call to the number and, even though it was late, someone answered on the first ring.
“Loco Lobo Lounge. Jimmy Trent here. What can I do you for?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m wondering if Doug Smith is there? Can you page him, please?”
“I could, but I guarantee you he ain’t here tonight. I haven’t seen him in two weeks.” Jimmy sounded distracted, and the music in the background blasted out of the phone so loud it was a wonder he could hear me.
“When was the last time you saw him? My name is Delilah D’Artigo, and I’m on the board of the Supe Community. We need to contact him.” If anything, that might pull an answer out of him. And I was right.
“D’Artigo? The Delilah D’Artigo?”
“One and the same.”
“Doug was in about two weeks ago. Last I saw of him and his buddies.”
His buddies? I frowned. “You talking about Paulo Franco and Saz Star Walker by any chance?”
“Yeah. How’d you know? Hey, the guys aren’t charged with causing trouble, are they?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
I sighed. “Not that I know of, no. Thank you.” As I hung up, all I could think about was that they might not be causing trouble but that they were in trouble was beyond doubt. Unless they’d suddenly dropped everything, bled a few drops on Doug’s floor, and taken off on a road trip without telling anybody.
Chase tapped me on the knee. I stared at his fingers for a moment, remembering other places his hands had been. Places that had welcomed him in. But now . . . Oh fuck it. Best to stop that line of thought.
“What?”
“The mail dates back to three weeks ago.” He held up a letter. “This is postmarked the earliest. By the time stamp and city of origin, I’d say . . . yeah, three weeks to the day.” He riffled through the envelopes. “Looks mostly like bills. No personal letters. Some ads. A Penthouse magazine.”
“Three weeks. That coincides pretty much with what Katrina was saying about not seeing her buddies. Tomorrow I’ll talk to Paulo’s fiancée. What about Saz? Should we stop over at his place tonight?”
Chase began gathering up his gear. “Yeah. I’ll tell my crew to stay here, finish, and then be prepared to head out in case Star Walker is missing, too.” He followed me outside with the others behind us.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.
“Oh, I’m just peachy. I lose my boyfriend, we’ve got missing werewolves up the yin-yang, and my sister just got disowned by our father all in twenty-four hours. I’m dandy, Chase. Just dandy.”
“Disowned? Who? Not Camille.”
“Yes, Camille. Not only that, she’s banned from Y’Elestrial. Don’t worry yourself over it. It’s our problem, not yours.” I knew I sounded bitchy, but I couldn’t help it; I was feeling bitchy.
Chase stopped and turned, taking me by the shoulders. He ignored the others as they delicately passed by us.
“Listen, Delilah. This is hard on me, too.” He ducked his head. “Don’t think it isn’t. But I have to figure out what the hell is going to happen in my life now, and I can’t do that if I’m worrying about a girlfriend, a lover, or anybody in that capacity. What if I decide I don’t like this? What if the Nectar of Life fucks me up for good? I didn’t have the chance to go through the proper rituals, and I’m having a hard time. Yes, I’m very grateful to still be alive, but this seriously has fucked with my head. Good god, woman, you really don’t think I just woke up and thought, Wow, time to ruin Delilah’s life?”
I caught my breath, shivering. Not only was it getting cold, but his words slapped me like a wet blanket. “No,” I said softly. “No. I don’t think that. You’re right. I’m just . . . things are so weird right now that I don’t know what to think. All our foundations are being shaken.”
“I’m still here for you—as y
our friend, as a brother . . . as someone who cares. I just can’t take a chance on loving you. I could end up hurting you again, worse. And that would be very bad.” He pulled me into his arms, and I leaned against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I mumbled against his shoulder. “I feel so convoluted right now. And there’s so much at stake.” He held me tight, patting my back, calming me, and finally I eased away from him, staring into his eyes.
Chase gazed back at me. There were sparkles in his eyes that I’d never seen before—magic, a hint of it, crackling back there, waiting to break out. And when it did . . .
“You’re right,” I said, inhaling a long, slow breath. “You need to concentrate on the changes you’re going through. I’m not a weak-willed person. I just miss having you around. But Chase, I’m not begging you to come back, and my life won’t end because we’re no longer dating. I’m a big girl. I can handle change.” Giving him a soft smile, I headed down the sidewalk to my Jeep, where Menolly and Vanzir were waiting.
Chase followed, catching up to me before I opened the driver’s door. “Delilah—you know there’s nobody else, right? I’m not looking for any other pussycat.”
The gentle grin on his face made me laugh.
“There’s the smile I know and love. I’ll meet you over at Star Walker’s. Drive the speed limit, you hear?”
“Aye, aye, sir!” I jumped in the driver’s seat, fastened my seat belt, and without a word, took off for Saz’s house. Somehow, Chase’s humor had managed to break through the gloom, and even though I felt on the verge of tears, I was smiling.
Saz lived in the dregs of town, along junkie row, hooker hangout, whatever you wanted to call it. The back streets that we were navigating were definitely on the wrong side of the tracks. The address Yugi had dug up was a four-plex town house. If Doug’s house had seen better days, this dump had seen better centuries. The carport looked two shakes and a nasty gust of wind away from crashing down, and I made certain not to park beneath it. It seemed the other tenants had the same idea—none of the slots were filled, though I saw lights shining in two of the units.
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