Dark Moon Wolf

by Sarah E Stevens

  I couldn’t help thinking about Mac, wondering if he ever would have felt that way. Loss and bitterness warred within me. To Mac, being Were was more important than anything. Than love. Than me. I wrenched my attention back to Alyssa as she continued.

  “We weren’t supposed to know he was a Were, of course—my sister and I. But I saw him change one night during a full moon, in the middle of the night. He had no way of knowing I was still up and happened to look out my window. I thought I was going crazy, so I woke my sister and we stayed up all night, waiting for him to get home. Waiting for an explanation.” Alyssa took a large swig of beer. “My sister Ashley was thirteen months younger than me; we were practically twins and just as close.”

  Oh crap. I took another drink and stared at the bottle, in lieu of Alyssa.

  “The minute Ashley heard about Weres and learned she was a dark moon, she started begging my dad to bite her. He wouldn’t, of course. Ashley was in tenth grade and it was an awkward time for her, socially. She was convinced becoming a Were was the solution.”

  The other three at the table looked at me for a long moment.

  I broke the silence after I couldn’t stand it any longer. “What did you think?”

  “Me? I didn’t want to risk it. Not until…not until several years later.”

  Brian reached across the table and took Alyssa’s hand; she turned up her palm and curled her fingers around his tightly.

  Ah.

  “So…” I wasn’t sure how to ask.

  “No. No. It wasn’t Brian.”

  “I wouldn’t bite her. It didn’t matter if she was a Were or not. I didn’t care.” Brian cleared his throat after his voice cracked.

  “Maybe you didn’t, then. But you would have.” At Brian’s glance, Alyssa rephrased. “You might have.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Eliza said and they turned to her, then Alyssa nodded and began again.

  “Right. Well, Brian wouldn’t bite me, but my sister’s boyfriend did. He bit both of us, at the same time, at our request. So here I am, a Were. Ashley died.”

  I knew it was coming, of course. I was pretty sensitive to verb tenses these days, and everyone had cautioned me death was a likely result of a dark moon getting bitten. Nonetheless, I winced at the raw statement, somehow made even stronger by the utter lack of emotion in Alyssa’s voice.

  After a moment, I said, “I’m sorry.”

  Alyssa’s mouth twisted. “Me too. I wouldn’t do it again, knowing what I know. It wasn’t worth it. My sister meant everything to me.” Brian tightened his hand on hers as she repeated, “Everything.”

  “Uh… How common is it, for a dark moon to die after being bitten?” I asked.

  “Nearly half the time,” Eliza said. I turned to her in shock, and she nodded confirmation. “In the past, only one in five survived, but modern medicine has helped. If a Were-trained doctor is around, the dark moon can be stabilized during the transformation—to some extent, anyway.”

  “And…” I wasn’t sure how much to press Alyssa, but I had to know. “And it was painful?”

  “Like my body was torn apart, molecule by molecule. Like melting in a crucible.”

  I looked down at the table, only to notice I’d been tearing the label off my beer bottle into teeny, tiny bits and rolling them into balls. I’d accumulated a little pile of them, right next to my now empty drink. I had the sudden urge to call Sheila, to call my mom, to talk to anyone who wasn’t involved in all of this Were drama and madness. Eliza must have sensed it, because she lightened her tone and asked if I wanted another beer. When I declined, talk around the table turned to lighter topics by unspoken common accord. I asked about all the rattlesnake skins, Brian revealed he was a mechanic by day and inquired about the damage to my car, Alyssa and Eliza talked about some recent mining activity in the area. I heard “mining” and assumed gold, silver, or something valuable like that, but it turns out Greybull’s mining claim to fame is bentonite, an expanding clay like the kind used in clumping cat litter. Who knew that stuff had to be mined? I definitely needed to remember to tell Sheila. Discussing the ignominy of basically mining cat litter broke the remainder of the tension and the rest of our time passed quickly. As soon as Eliza realized I was restless to rejoin Carson, we said goodnight, climbed down to the main floor, and headed out.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Alyssa’s story. I remained quiet all the way back to the MacGregors’ house.

  Chapter Ten

  Eliza, Carson, and I left Greybull the next day, determined to get a few hours of driving under our belts while the baby took a nice afternoon nap. Since the car hadn’t been ready until after lunch, Erin urged us to stay one more night and start fresh the next morning, but I felt way too antsy to oblige. I found myself continually looking over my shoulder, startling at random noises, convinced our mysterious enemies somehow knew we were on the way and would take steps to deter us. But instead of more prowlers or blue sedans, we had a string of well-wishers dropping in to say goodbye to me and Carson. Don Reid the pharmacist, at whom I now smiled in shared knowledge, Ian’s friend Dave, the Sanchezes, and Lily Rose all stopped by to see us off. Strange, how quickly I’d been adopted into this little community and I wondered how much of the warm feeling was small town America and how much was pack, the real meaning of pack. Certainly Carson was much more relaxed and stranger-friendly than customary. Perhaps his little Were senses smelled the affinity he held with these otherwise unknown folks.

  I found myself hugging Erin fiercely, teary-eyed at saying goodbye to this generous woman who’d opened her heart and home to me and Carson. I vowed I’d be back soon and I’d make a serious effort to visit these new relatives.

  All partings uttered and good wishes given, Eliza and I sped down the highway, grimly intent on our covert mission.

  Five hours into our trip, my cell phone rang and I knew without looking it was Sheila. She’d texted me several times in the last few days, asking if I were okay, and she’d called me the night before. I hadn’t answered. I just didn’t know what to say. Strangely enough, it was easier with my parents: I’d spoken briefly to my mom and told her I discovered Mac had been murdered while investigating a case and I visited with his family for a while. She was worried about me, of course, but also glad I made an effort to reach out to Mac’s family since they were, after all, Carson’s relatives. My mom was definitely of her own generation and couldn’t claim to understand my decision to raise Carson by myself, but she was also unconditional in her love and support for me. I basked in that for the duration of our phone conversation and the unspoken—Werewolves, murder, me playing Librarian Detective—didn’t present a big obstacle. I guess in some ways, it seemed natural for kids to hide certain things from their parents. With Sheila, however, the truth loomed so large and insurmountable before me I didn’t know how our friendship could survive it. Or survive without it.

  Eliza must have read my grim thoughts. “Is that your friend Sheila again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  I glanced over at Eliza, sharply, but she kept her gaze on the road. “Am I allowed to tell her? What about pack law?”

  “Well.”

  “Um, ‘well’ what?”

  “Well, yes, there’s pack law. But you’re not exactly pack, are you? Conceivably, you could have told Sheila about Carson’s transformation before you even knew what it meant—before you’d even heard of pack or pack law, right?” Eliza glanced over at me. “If you’d told her before you even came to Wyoming, then she’d already know. How could you get in trouble for that?”

  “Actually, I imagine all too well how I could get in trouble for that. Isn’t it possible I would still be blamed for telling a human about the existence of Werewolves?”

  Eliza’s brow creased in delicate lines. “I’ve been thinking about it for the last couple of days and I’m just not sure. There might be a loophole. After all, you’re human—dark moon wolf, yes, but huma
n. And you’re the mother of a very strong full moon. I don’t think they’d take drastic action against you or Sheila. They need to keep you as an ally and they need to preserve access to Carson. At most, they might pledge Sheila to secrecy or…something.”

  I considered Eliza’s logic for a few minutes, before slowly shaking my head.

  “I don’t know. Earlier you explained if Mac had told me about Were life, the council might have had us both killed. I’m not sure I’m willing to gamble Sheila’s life on a loophole.”

  And so I didn’t call her back.

  ****

  Three and a half days later, we arrived in Las Vegas. I’d reaffirmed that car travel with a four month old was the ninth level of Hell. Eliza took it in stride, even the car seat diaper changes and the seven-umpty-million stops for feeding, pacifier retrieving, and other things designed to save our eardrums. So much for my pipe dream Carson would love his new car seat and spend his time happily cooing or napping.

  “So what’s our plan?” I asked, as we exited the highway and rolled into central Las Vegas.

  “Most recent scene first, don’t you think? Let’s go to the park where Carlos was murdered.”

  “Hey, Eliza?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your sense of smell is a lot better in wolf form, right?” I asked.

  Eliza turned, regarding me with narrow eyes. “Yes. Why?”

  I didn’t answer, but just grinned at her and pulled into a conveniently located grocery store. Carson sat snoozing, for once, so I idled the car in the shade.

  “Be right back,” I said and quickly opened the door.

  “Julie Hall.”

  “What? I’ll be right back. Stay with Carson.” I dashed into the store.

  When I came back to the car holding a street map and ostentatiously dangling a brand new red dog collar and leash, Eliza collapsed back in the seat and groaned theatrically.

  Smiling widely, I used my breeziest voice. “Well, you can’t just walk around the park without a leash, can you? I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the law.”

  “No one is going to believe I’m your…pet dog.”

  “Sure they will. You’ll be, what, some sort of wolf hybrid? A husky-wolf cross. Or that big dog—a Great Pyrenees-wolf cross. Or something. I know you’ll be very, very well behaved, won’t you, Fluffy?” I patted Eliza on the top of the head, enjoying the moment immensely.

  Eliza closed her eyes and groaned again.

  “Only for you, Julie. And for Mac.”

  My zany mood evaporated like a bubble hitting the sidewalk.

  “For Mac,” I said and cleared my throat. “Where’s this park?”

  ****

  We stopped and asked for directions only twice, which I considered a minor miracle. When we were close to the park, Eliza told me to pull over. She unbuckled her seatbelt, pulled the flickering shade around herself, and lay there on my passenger seat, a large buff-colored wolf.

  I leaned over and fastened the collar around her throat. Good thing I’d bought the largest size they had.

  “Act like a dog now, Fluffy. Don’t forget,” I said, gaining back some sense of humor. “And don’t shed in my car.”

  Eliza’s mouth lolled open in laughter and she scratched one ear vigorously, causing my poor small car to bounce about.

  “Bad dog,” I muttered. I drove the last few blocks and tried to no avail to find a shady parking spot—Las Vegas in June is HOT. As I cut the motor, Carson woke with a squeal. Good timing, for once.

  When I unhooked Carson from his car seat and picked him up, he spotted Eliza—or Fluffy, I reminded myself—and squealed again. He made little “uh, uh, uh” sounds and waved both his hands in her direction. I opened the passenger door and Eliza hopped out, staying right by my feet as I awkwardly used my free hand to snap on the leash. She sat back on her haunches.

  “Come on, uh, Fluffy,” I said. With a gentle tug, I led her in the direction of a lone tree, where I could sit and tend to Carson. My baby liked being out of the car. He stretched and curled his little body like a caterpillar, then lifted his toes up to the breeze. He took turns staring at his feet, the leaves, and the big furry wolf lying next to us. I wondered if he could tell she was a Werewolf. I wondered if she seemed like kin to him.

  The park wasn’t crowded, which made sense since it approached noon in the middle of June. Like I said, Las Vegas was hot. Anyone with any sense was probably inside or at the pool, so only a few brave souls roamed the park. One little girl pulled her mother’s hand in our direction.

  “Mama, mama! Doggie!” she cried.

  The woman smiled at me. “Is your dog friendly? Can my daughter pet it?”

  “Yes, she’s very friendly,” I said, wondering how Eliza liked being referred to as an “it.”

  The two came over and the little girl eagerly plunged her hands into Eliza’s fur. She patted her—mostly gently—and said, “Good doggie, good doggie” over and over. Eliza reached up and licked her cheek, which caused a paroxysm of giggles.

  When the two left, I stood up, stretched, and said, “Okay, Fluffy. Let’s get down to business. You lead.”

  Under the guise of a slow walk, Eliza led me around the park. We passed a play structure tenanted by a few hardy preschoolers, then followed a trail toward empty basketball courts. As we neared a stretch of sand laid out for volleyball, Eliza’s fur stood up. She growled, deep in her throat. The rumble made my own pulse quicken.

  “Shh, Fluffy,” I said with a gentle tug on the leash. Her growl subsided, but her massive ears swiveled this way and that. Her head dropped to the ground and I let the leash hang slack, following as she crisscrossed a ten-foot patch of ground. She moved slowly, nose pushing into the scrubby grass. I scoured the area with my own gaze, looking for some trace of struggle, some sign of events, but found nothing my human senses could perceive. Dammit. I kept looking for something. Like a footprint from some weird-soled shoe we could trace back to a custom designer who only sold to one person in Las Vegas. A cell phone carelessly dropped out of someone’s pocket. A key that opened a safety deposit box with all the answers. Something of that nature. An actual clue.

  After Eliza finished that area, she swung her muzzle to follow a winding path back through the park. She stopped to snuffle once or twice, cleared her nose with a whuff and continued head-down to a parking area on the opposite side of the park. She crossed back and forth across the pavement, sneezed, and sat up to look at me.

  “All done, girl?” I said.

  She pushed her wet nose into my hand and I reflexively petted her, scratching her ears and running them through my hands. Her fur really was soft. She closed her eyes in pleasure, then turned and gave me a huge sloppy lick on the hand.

  “Gross, Eliza,” I said, wiping my hand on my cropped pants. “I mean, Fluffy.” She grinned at me, white teeth gleaming in the desert sun.

  “Ready to go back to the car?” I asked. She stood and wagged her tail, so I took that as a yes.

  When we got back to my car, Carson squawked in disapproval and tried to squirm out of my arms. Muttering apologies, I snapped him back into his seat, took off Eliza’s leash and collar, opened the front door for her to bound in, and went around to my side.

  As I slid into the driver’s seat, Eliza said, “I can’t believe those people really believed I was a dog.”

  I jumped, hand flying to my throat, then turned to face her. She lounged in the passenger seat, not a hair out of place.

  “Jesus, Eliza. You changed right there, where anyone could see you?”

  “Who’s going to see me?” Eliza gestured to the empty park.

  “Well…okay. You startled me.”

  “Serves you right. ‘Fluffy.’ ”

  I started the car, desperate for air conditioning. “So?”

  Eliza sat silent for a moment. “Well, Carlos was killed there, no doubt. I could still smell the blood.” She grimaced. “Two Weres have been to the scene. I think one of them was there more re
cently than the other. Scent from at least five humans, some of whom may have been police. I also smelled a German shepherd, probably with the officers.”

  She let out a breath and shrugged. “Hard to tell the sequence of everything. It happened, what, five or six days ago? And the damn park has sprinklers, which doesn’t help the scent trail.”

  “Did you track the Weres back to the parking lot? That other lot?”

  “Yes. Both of them. One may have been following the other—one of them definitely walked around the parking lot for a while. I think the other went straight to a car.”

  “Okay. So what does that tell us?”

  “Nothing.”

  I glanced at Eliza, surprised by her bitterness.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. So what? There were two Weres. We knew there were Weres. Who are they? Who were the people? Why did they kill Carlos? Why was his body discovered right away when Mac was missing for days?”

  Eliza shook her head. “Maybe we’ll find something where Mac was killed.”

  My throat tightened. “Okay.”

  ****

  We visited the site where Mac’s body had been found, in an alley that looked like any other alley. With no clues and no scent trails, this long after his murder.

  Feeling less than hopeful, we moved on to the motel parking lot where Mac’s head had been found. The motel didn’t look like the site of a murder. It looked like the kind of place that boasted weekly rates and, one imagined, had long-time residents setting up meth labs in their dingy bathrooms. Even standing at the site, somehow Mac’s death still didn’t seem real to me. This place was unmarked by the event, no signs or new bits of knowledge.

  Eliza prowled the perimeter of the parking lot, presumably preserving the hope of finding some helpful information, but after fifteen minutes, even she conceded defeat.