by Raven Snow
"Then, you've come to the wrong town," I deadpanned.
Still, I liked them—some of them, anyway. That Boone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His leader, though, was interesting. He didn't talk like a biker—more like a professor. And Felly wasn't too bad either.
Because I'd ruffled their feathers, I brought the group a round of free drinks. I was about to move away when something caught the light of the disco ball, hitting my eye. It was a dainty diamond necklace, and it was strangely wrapped around Felly's throat. It didn't seem to be her style at all, and she picked at it absently.
Of everyone, the werewolves were the last to leave the Funky Wheel. I didn't mind because they purchased an inordinate amount of alcohol and pizza. It more than made up for a few extra minutes spent upright when I wanted to go to bed.
My boys were asleep once I got home. Peeking in on Cooper, I grinned at seeing him fight for space with Biscuit and Whale, my fat, orange cat, on his tiny bed. I tucked him back in and then crawled in with Wyatt, who was snoring adorably.
Chapter Two
I woke up the next morning to a pounding on the front door and the sound of Cooper complaining that Biscuit had spent the whole night outside roaming. Wyatt was already getting dressed, his suit pressed to perfection. Still in the clothes from last night, I stomped down the stairs, my feet falling with the same intervals of the insistent knocking. When I opened up, Vic was standing there in her bunny pajamas.
When I'd known her, she'd been the popular cheerleader with the body most girls would kill for. I much preferred her now, built like a brick house or one of those werewolves last night. Her blonde hair was dyed, making it look a little stiff, and she was usually wearing spandex.
"Where's your little Satan?" I asked, looking around.
"Hope's sleeping," she said, breezing past me.
Vic and I had reconnected—after years of hatred—at my high school reunion a few months ago by solving a case together. Unfortunately, she followed me back to Waresville to try and find some semblance of a life after her husband left her for the babysitter. Part of those efforts had been attending the police academy, which she’d just graduated from.
Wyatt came halfway down the stairs, stopping at the sight of his new partner. They'd only been assigned to each other a few days ago, but it was already giving me unparalleled joy. Wyatt was a very by-the-book, stoic type, and Vic was a bit more like me. Plus, she carried an illegal gun that could have passed for a cannon—a fact that irritated and worried Wyatt to no end.
"Kosher called and said the boss man wants us to go lend our expertise down at the crime scene."
"And you thought to do that in pajamas?" He was properly aghast.
I turned and raised an eyebrow at my soon-to-be husband. "What crime scene?"
He at least had the decency to shift under my angry gaze. "It's not my case—it's Kosher's. You can mess around with my cases all you want—"
"I can and I will."
"—but leave Peter alone," he kissed me on the forehead. "He'll kill you."
As I'd made it something like a hobby to get on that awful Officer Kosher's bad side, I insisted on coming along with them. Wyatt frowned but didn't try to talk me out of it, opting instead to mutter under his breath the whole way there.
"So," I craned my head around to look at Vic who was crammed in the small backseat. "What are we walking into?"
"My first murder," she squealed. "Well, as a police officer."
"It isn't your first, because you weren't assigned to it," Wyatt gritted out from the driver's seat.
"But with Harper—"
"Nothing you do with Harper counts as real police work."
I grinned, loving that we pushed him to interrupt a lady. "Any details Kosher gave you, Vic?"
"Just that the body was found in the woods behind your grandma's house."
"Uh oh."
My late father's mother was a witch and not like me either. She was possibly ancient, cranky, and liked to sacrifice children that wondered onto her property. She rarely left the house anymore, so it was almost impossible that she had an alibi for the murder. Not that anyone was going to try and arrest her. No one had the stones.
Gran lived in a plantation style house on a big hill with few neighbors. The house was freshly painted and the lawn newly mowed—both thanks to Wyatt. For years, the place had been one of the spookiest places on the haunted tours because of its disrepair. Unfortunately for the tour owners, most things in Waresville didn't look very scary or supernatural. But then, looks can be deceiving.
Luckily, I didn't have to visit my psycho grandma this trip, and we parked away from her house. The three of us cut through Mrs. Gib's backyard to get to the tree line. Her flower bed was overtaken with weeds. She didn't have much time to garden now that my grandmother had turned her into a toad.
Kosher and a bunch of uniforms were waiting around some crime scene tape. He had a large belly and bushy sideburns, making him look even older than his middle age status. Still, he was mean as a rattlesnake and we'd clashed from day one.
Wyatt and Kosher did a manly handshake, and then his eyes fell on me. "You brought a date, Bennett?"
It was clear he wanted to say a different word other than date, but he wouldn't dare in front of Wyatt. My beau was a pretty easygoing guy; you could say any insult to his face, and he'd just smile and tip his hat. Say something about me, however, and he went charmingly medieval.
A man with marks on his nose where glasses should have sat was lying on the ground just in front of the dense trees. He was completely naked and had the kind of face that made you want to pinch cheeks. His body was in disrepair in a grotesque way. I cocked my head to the side, trying to look for clues around the body while not getting any closer. I was pretty sure Kosher would slap me for interfering.
"James Niddle," Kosher said to Wyatt, shooting disapproving and hostile glances my way.
Grinning from ear to ear, I gave him the one finger salute. Wyatt saw, and he frowned at us both. Luckily, even if my fiancé wasn't on my side, Vic was. She stuck out her tongue at Kosher even as she was taking notes over everything he said.
"We think he was mauled by some kind of animal," Kosher said.
"The teeth marks were my first clue."
Everyone but Vic glanced at me for a second and went back to police business. While Kosher was telling them about the tourist from Michigan who hadn't really known anyone in town, I inched closer to the body. Seeing something between his fingers, I crouched and grabbed it, being careful not to touch the body. Cops are picky about that.
I'd barely grabbed whatever it was before I felt hands clenching the back of my shirt. With a growl, Kosher dragged me—kicking and screaming—over the damp ground and away from the body. Hastily, I stuffed what I'd stolen into my pocket.
Wyatt removed his hand from me, shaking his head, but didn't otherwise interfere. He knew Kosher and I were like oil and water.
"You," he said, pointing a finger in my face, "stay out of my investigation. This time, I'm getting promoted, and I won't have you screwing up my chances like you did on the last case."
I raised my eyebrows, remembering the case of magical counterfeit money that was supposed to have been Kosher's ticket to becoming a detective.
"Maybe if you'd actually managed to bring in the real mastermind, or contribute anything of worth at all, you wouldn't be stuck with that dingy, silver badge."
"You—"
Wyatt, finally at his limit, separated the two of us, sectioning us off to separate ends of the crime scene. In response, I pouted like I was Cooper's age, Vic joining me. She didn't have the pouty lip down, though, because she was too excited about her first big, official case—never mind that it wasn't hers or official.
I pulled the evidence out of my pocket, eyeing it and sharing the view with Vic. It was grey fur, coarse, and meant to keep whatever creature it belonged to warm.
Frowning, she asked, "Think that's from the kill
er?"
"Likely." I picked at it with my fingers. "I've got a theory, at least. A bad one."
"All our theories are bad until we prove them right," Vic said eagerly.
Glaring at Kosher with unveiled distrust, I moved back towards Gran's house. Vic followed me like I had a leash around her throat, and we were soon standing in hostile territory. Inside the house, I saw a curtain move, a telltale sign that Gran was watching and likely waiting for an excuse to magically kick our asses from her lawn.
I told Vic about the werewolves that had rolled into town last night. Her eyes bulged, and she made a strange choking sound in the back of her throat.
"There are werewolves now too?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, no, the list of supernatural creatures starts and ends with witches. Sleep soundly knowing that."
Shrugging, she said, "We've only worked on magical cases together."
"That's because I'm a witch—stick to what you know," I said. "And Waresville has a higher population of witches than anything...else."
She stood there for a moment, pondering this. Instead of waiting for her, I told my friend to take good care of Wyatt and headed towards my grandma's porch. The curtain moved again on my approach. Opening up the door, I stuck my head in for a scant second.
"Borrowing your car, Gran. Thanks—bye!"
I was gone before her foul, cursing words were out of her mouth and before she could hobble to the door and smite me in a more personal manner. The keys, as always, were in the car. This was Waresville, and this was Julie Hanes, wickedest witch of all. No one would be stupid enough to try and steal her car.
No one but me that is.
Daniel, the alpha from last night, had explained to me in between drinks that the little quartet was in town to earn some quick cash and then bail. He was trying to find a flower shop or garden that would take him on for a week or so, asking if I'd heard of anything. I hadn't, as Waresville's main exports were fear and pound cake.
His words, though, had given me an idea for spying on one of them. I had a plan on how best to spy on almost everyone in Waresville, including Wyatt. The woman-hater, Butch, had oil all over his clothes. It could've been a symptom of owning a bike, but it wouldn't hurt to check the local mechanic’s.
Unless Butch was the killer. Then it would hurt a lot.
Resigning to a drive-by, for safety reasons, I tried to peer through the open garage to the very back where a couple of men stood. One could have been Butch, but from the distance, I couldn't be sure.
Humming and tapping my finger on the wheel, I went around the block. What would Wyatt want me to do in this situation? Probably turn back for home and forget all about this werewolf business.
Gran's old rust bucket, however, made the decision for me. The car made a horrible screech, lurching. I directed it towards the side of the road, yanking on the wheel with all my strength just to get it to move a centimeter. I was about a foot away from the curb when the car just stopped, the engine giving out a final death rattle.
"Well,” I said to the imaginary Wyatt in my head, "it is the only garage in Waresville."
I bounced over to the garage after locking up the useless car. Tony, the owner, saw me coming and smiled. He was a surprisingly slender man that looked like he'd seen the inside of one too many crack houses. Wyatt distrusted him and always did the work on our cars himself. As a fellow former druggie, I embraced him with open arms.
Metaphorically, of course. The smell was too strong for literally.
Wiping some dirt and muck off his hands with a filthy rag, he said, "Welcome, Harper. Can I do something for you?" He was craning around me, squinting into the distance.
"Wyatt's not with me," I told him with an ironic smile. "Don't worry about flushing your stash."
"I quit."
"Of course." I paused, trying to see if I could make out my prey amongst all the cars and dirt. "You didn't happen to hire someone recently? Pot belly? Unfriendly? German?"
His eyes sharpened at that last one. "Oh, you mean Butch. A bit reclusive, but he does good car work. Are you requesting him?"
"You bet."
Tony pointed out where Butch was working and then ran off to haul Gran's useless car over to the mouth of the garage. As it was only a block away, it didn't take long. While I was waiting, I crept closer to Butch, making my footsteps and breathing as quiet as possible.
When I was about two yards away, he threw down his wrench and growled—a real growl. "Would you stop that? I smelled you the moment you walked in the door."
"I'm flattered," I said. "I think."
He turned around, not bothering to take off his protective eye gear or put down the tool he hadn't thrown. "What do you want?"
Just then, Tony arrived, towing Gran's car. It came to a screeching halt a couple feet in front of us, smoke pouring from the engine—something I'd failed to notice. Butch eyed it with skepticism.
"I'm good, but I'm not a miracle worker."
"Just give it your best shot," I said in a chipper voice, "and I'll be back to check on you. Periodically."
I left with Butch's growl still sounding in my ear, congratulating myself on finding the perfect way to check up on the gang without making myself too conspicuous. For all I knew, this wasn't a werewolf kill, and I'd owe the whole group an apology they'd never get. I didn't think I was going to get that lucky, though.
The walk home was pretty boring for my and Waresville's standards. No one tried to stuff me in the trunk of their car and drive off. There were no explosions, murderers, or even a petty theft to keep my mind occupied. All I had to think about was that Niddle man and the lack of clues I'd been able to get off him. It's a dark day when an investigator wishes for more victims.
All the cars but mine were gone when I got back, but Wyatt had been there recently. On a note placed in between my wipers, he explained that he'd taken Cooper over to his parent's for a late breakfast. I was supposed to join them as soon as I got back from where ever the hell I'd went. His words, not mine.
Whistling and crumpling up the note, I threw it to the side and walked merrily inside. Nothing made me as happy as disobeying Wyatt or dodging visiting his horrible mother. To do both in one swoop made this into a good day.
I shut the door behind me and went towards the kitchen, fishing around in the fridge for some leftover pizza—the food of the gods. I chomped on it cold and was headed for the dining table when I heard a creak from the kitchen. Pursing my lips and reluctantly setting my pizza aside, I slipped over there. I tried for quickness over stealth, just in case someone with Butch's hearing was waiting for me.
It was a good idea in theory.
Standing in my living room was a completely naked man. He was tall and skinny, so much so that I could count his ribs. There were scars all over his body and his hair—wherever it was—was a familiar shade of sand.
Biscuit, in human form, looked just as confused as I did. We stared at each other for a moment before I broke the silence.
"Werewolf, huh?"
He nodded.
I shook my head. "You didn't happen to eat anyone last night named Niddle, did you?"
His voice was rusty, like he hadn't used it in years. "I don't think so."
"Comforting."
The sound of a car pulling up sent me into a frenzy. Waving at him frantically, I told him to change back. If Wyatt saw him like this, I'd be in big trouble. Biscuit would also have to find a new home, robbing me of the chance to get an insider's perspective on werewolf behavior.
Pulling back the curtain and feeling shamefully like my grandma, I alternated watching Wyatt and Cooper coming towards the house and Biscuit changing back into a wolf—or the family dog as it turned out in this case.
It was, frankly, a little disgusting. His bones cracked and bulged at strange angles, like someone was playing with a putty version of Biscuit. He made pained, half grunting noises no matter how much I told him to shut up.
Wyatt walked through the door
with Cooper and made a beeline for me. Instead of being angry about my deliberate skipping of a run-in with his parents, he looked mainly bemused. He pressed a kiss to my nose, weakening my knees, and gave Biscuit a scratch on the head.
"Biscuit!" Cooper squealed, patting his knees and calling the werewolf over.
Before he could lumber over to my kid, I grabbed Biscuit by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to the door. "No time for play. I'm taking Biscuit with me for a little drive."
"Why?" Cooper asked, looking suspicious. He was probably wondering if he needed to protect Biscuit from me. Ha! If he only knew.
"Protection," I said. "There's a killer running around out there. Can't be too careful."
That made Wyatt frown, because he couldn't remember the last time I'd been careful—if such a time had ever come to pass. Before either of them could say any more, I tugged Biscuit to the rusty, old bug I drove and peeled away from the Victorian.
"Can you change in the front seat?" I asked after a minute.
He just stared at me, tongue hanging from his mouth.
"Guess not."
I wrenched over to the side of the road with enough force to send Biscuit flying into the dash. Since he was a werewolf, I doubted he'd even bruise. Still, it felt good to let out a little frustration on the ancient engine.
He got out and changed into his human form. Not even bothering to avert my eyes—neither of us was interested—I pulled a large pair of sweats from the back. Once he'd slipped into them, he joined me in the car again. There were circles under his eyes, and he looked even thinner than before. I wondered if multiple changes required a lot of energy.
"First off, what's your real name? Hard to treat you like a person while calling you a dog treat."
"Biscuit is fine," he said, shrugging. "I really don't remember going by anything else."
"You don't remember your name," I said dryly.
He nodded earnestly, so I just shrugged it off. I didn't have the strength to beat it out of him, and he didn't seem to be lying. That didn't bode well for the rest of my questions.
