Dark Moon Wolf

by Sarah E Stevens

  Then she gave me an equally dramatic though no less sincere hug that ended in a little shake. “Are you okay, Jules?” Her blue eyes searched my face.

  I nodded, dumb with surprise and relief. “I am okay. I think. Unless I’m going crazy or something.”

  “Going crazy? Jules, you’ve always been crazy.” Sheila turned toward Eliza, who’d released Carson from his car seat and watched us with a bemused look.

  “You must be Eliza Minuet, Mac’s friend?” Sheila stepped toward Eliza, who juggled Carson to shake hands.

  Eliza turned to me and said, “Julie, why didn’t you tell me Sheila was a Witch?”

  A moment of silence hung between us, during which I stared at Eliza. Then I turned to Sheila, expecting to share a laugh. But Sheila didn’t laugh. Instead, her blue eyes narrowed and fixed on Eliza. Her usually dramatic stance tightened into something coiled and contained.

  “Julie, step away from her,” Sheila said, a note of urgency in her voice.

  I didn’t move.

  “You’re a Witch?”

  Eliza held up her free hand. “Calm down, Sheila.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Sheila snapped. “Who are you? What are you?”

  I took Carson from Eliza, stepped between the two of them, and spoke in a light tone. “Sheila, this is Eliza. She’s a Werewolf. Eliza, this is Sheila, my best friend. Who may or may not be a Witch and has some serious explaining to do.”

  I looked from one to the other. Eliza remained at ease, seemingly amused by this turn of events. Sheila’s spine was utterly straight, her hands clenched by her sides.

  I said, “I suggest we continue this inside, unless you both want to create a scene?”

  With those words, the tableau broke. Sheila continued to watch Eliza, I grabbed the diaper bag from the car, and we filed into the motel.

  Sheila perched on one of the two queen beds in the air-conditioned room. Eliza dropped lithely onto the opposite bed and lounged on one side, sporting a small grin. I laid a blanket on the floor between the beds and put Carson down where, oblivious to the mood around him, my baby proceeded to kick and coo at the ceiling. I joined Sheila on the bed closest to the door.

  “Sheila, how did you get here? How did you find us? What the hell does Eliza mean, you’re a Witch? A Witch?” I said.

  Sheila held up her hands, fingers spread wide. “Since when do you run with Werewolves?”

  “Uh, since my baby turned into a Werewolf, since I found out Mac was a Werewolf, since I learned he was murdered by someone who knew he was a Werewolf, and since that same someone’s been trying to kill me—or Carson.” I jabbed her shoulder with my finger. “Don’t avoid the question. You’re a Witch? A Witch?”

  “Jules, are you sure she’s a Werewolf? And not…something else?”

  Sheila looked askance at Eliza, who held up one finger, pulled wispy shadows across to cover her body, then almost instantly lay in wolf form on the bed, her mouth open in what definitely looked like a grin. Sheila bolted upright, scrabbling off the back of the bed toward the door, but halted mid-step. Almost as suddenly, Eliza’s buff-colored body wreathed in darkness again and she sat upright, crossed her legs, and held out her hands in a placating gesture.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Truly. I should have warned you. I just thought hours of talk could be quite easily replaced by a demonstration. You know, a picture’s worth a thousand words and all.”

  I rubbed the prickles from my forearms. “It’s okay, Sheila, really. She’s not going to hurt you or anything. But she really is a Were and quite a powerful one, at that. What else would she be?”

  They both ignored my question.

  “What I want to know,” said Eliza, “is how did you find us?”

  Sheila shot another narrow look at Eliza, gave a theatrical sigh, and shrugged her shoulders to indicate the Werewolf had passed some sort of test. Sheila addressed her answer to me.

  “You said you were in Las Vegas. I hopped a direct flight from Medford—cost me a fortune, by the way, walking up to the counter and getting a seat on the next flight, but I suppose, dear Jules, you’re worth it. And worth the favors I called in to have my classes covered.” She winked at me. “You always stay at the same motel chain. I’ve sadly failed to improve your taste in that regard. But, in this case, your habits came in handy, because it only took me a few phone calls to figure out where you were staying. Elementary, dear Watsons.” She gave the two of us a small bow.

  Eliza snorted softly at her posturing. “And you’re a Witch.”

  Sheila opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked at Eliza, looked at me, and made a little moue.

  “Speechless? Sheila?” I punched her lightly on the arm. “What the hell is Eliza talking about?”

  Sheila swiped her long bangs away from her face, took a deep breath, and turned to face me. “Yes, I’m a Witch.”

  Funny. As soon as Eliza had said the words they rang true. Yet hearing them from Sheila’s mouth jarred me into numbness. Two worlds I thought were separate—my “real” life in Oregon and this new life that included Carson-the-Were-pup—crashed together. This time, I was the only one living in an illusion. I looked at Sheila, my best friend, the person I trusted with all my secrets, the one who often knew my mind before I did.

  Apparently, I didn’t know her at all.

  “You’re a Witch. You’re a Witch and you never told me? Did you know Mac was a Were? Did you know that was the reason things weren’t working between us? Why didn’t you tell me? Who are you?” The words tumbled out almost before they entered my mind. Carson reacted to the tone of my voice and paused in his kicking.

  “Jules! Julie. What do you think I should have done? ‘Hi, I’m Sheila. Would you like to get coffee? By the way, I’m a Witch?’ ” Sheila shook her head and a note of bitterness crept into her voice—bitterness I didn’t expect from my exuberant, confidant friend. “Oh, believe me. I’ve tried that. I’ve spent my life trying to draw these boundaries.”

  She twisted her mouth, paused to regroup, and then continued in a normal tone. “I didn’t know Mac was a Werewolf. Actually, until now, I’d never met—never knowingly met—a Were.”

  Eliza cocked her head. “You can’t tell I’m a Were?”

  Sheila spread her hands wide. “I’m sure there are ways to tell, probably certain spells I could use to scry. I could research it. But, no, just meeting you like this, I would have no idea.”

  “Interesting. Well, you clearly smell like a Witch,” said Eliza.

  Sheila let loose a peal of laughter. “Whatever that means. I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

  I looked between the two of them, as they shared a small smile.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. “Sheila?” My voice came out thicker than usual, and I swallowed hard.

  Instantly, Sheila stopped laughing and placed a hand on my arm. She spoke quietly.

  “Jules, I’m a Witch, but it’s still me. Growing up, I was always a little—different. A little fey. The other kids knew it, I think. They—well, never mind that. When I was twelve, Granny Emma told me I was a Witch, as was she, and her grandmother before her. The gift often skips a generation.”

  I kept my gaze on Carson. I sensed, rather than saw, Eliza nod.

  “My grandmother taught me. It was…miraculous. Marvelous. I spent summers with her in Maine and those were the best months, the best times of my childhood. Finally, I understood what was going on, why I was different. I found peace with myself.”

  I looked up to find the full force of Sheila’s gaze turned on me. Her blue eyes held mine and I saw something in them, something that maybe mattered more than her being a Witch, a vulnerability my friend had never shared. Maybe not with anyone.

  After a moment, she pulled back and made a finis gesture with her hands. With a lighter tone, she said, “So, yes, I’m a Witch and I’m glad you know. I should have known you could handle the news, Jules.”

  I nodded slowly.
“Okay. So, what does it really mean to be a Witch?” The word still felt weird on my tongue, but as I uttered it, Sheila flashed me a huge smile. I smiled back, and tried for a lighter tone. “Hey, I didn’t even know there were real Witches, but I suppose if Werewolves actually exist, then the field’s wide open. Who knows what we’ll meet next: Zombies, Goblins, Fairies, Vampires, Unicorns?”

  I glanced at Eliza, who rolled her eyes.

  “Most of the magic I do is minor: enchanting small objects, scrying, working with dreams, things of that nature. I could manage more complicated spells, but I’d have to look them up and study for a while,” Sheila explained.

  Eliza started to speak, but I interrupted her.

  “Look them up? Look them up where?” I asked, ever the librarian.

  “My granny left me her spellbooks and journals. They’re not very well organized, so it takes me a bit of browsing. They go back generations in my family.”

  “My grandmother left me her collection of ceramic chickens,” I said, then realized how inane I sounded when both Sheila and Eliza turned to look at me.

  “What?” asked Eliza.

  “Never mind. So, do Witches have a central archive? Or, uh, covens that keep records? Have you―”

  “Julie, can we talk about the books later?” Eliza broke in. “I’m worried Kayleigh might not have much more time.”

  Sheila said, “Who’s Kayleigh?”

  ****

  By the time we brought Sheila up to date on the situation, it seemed like days later, though only a half an hour had passed. Sheila handled the whole scene with remarkable aplomb, considering the worst thing she had imagined dealing with was a depressed and desperate me. But here she was, learning about rogue Weres and murders and human enemies and kidnappings. And she’d shared her secret. I was a bit worried she’d pull a maternal role and start to chastise me about returning to Oregon and letting the experts solve this crime. Instead, she gamely took in the situation and signed up for the fight.

  Even though we were in a hurry, Sheila gave a brief explanation of her magic. She said witchcraft consisted of calling on the four elements and using one’s will to manipulate their energy toward the desired effect. Each spell needed specific manifestations of the elements in order to have the best rate of success. For instance, a scrying spell worked best with a smooth pebble representing earth, though spells related to dreaming worked best with plants serving as the earth-totem. It all sounded pretty complicated to me—no wonder her granny left her multiple volumes of material.

  “Talk to me about the scrying spell,” said Eliza, sounding just a hair short of commandeering. “What do you need and what would you see?”

  “I focus the spell on a particular person and see them at that moment. I need…Let’s see. It needs to be someone I’m familiar with or I need a personal item from that person. I need a smooth pebble, preferably a black pebble, about so big.” She held up her finger and thumb an inch and a half apart. “Spring water in a metal, silver-colored bowl—doesn’t have to be actual silver, any silvery metal works. A candle, lilac-colored, but unscented.”

  “What about wind?” I asked.

  “My breath. That’s one of the most commonly used forms of wind, luckily.”

  “Yeah, especially since the other stuff is so specific. A lilac candle? Can’t you just say light purple?”

  Sheila arched her brows. “Certainly one could say light purple. But holding the idea of lilacs in one’s mind aids the spell.”

  “Uh-huh.” I loved the lofty tone from someone suddenly very comfortable being the resident expert Witch.

  I wasn’t a hundred percent sure why I felt snotty all of a sudden. From the looks Eliza and Sheila gave me, I acted a bit rude, too. Sheila—exuberant Sheila, who actually had men stop in their tracks to watch her as she passed by, who was smart and savvy—was also a Witch. Sitting in a room flanked by Eliza and Sheila, I felt powerless and all too human.

  Carson, being held by Eliza, started to cry and twisted his little head, looking for me. I took him into my arms, glad someone needed me, anyway, and he immediately rooted against my shirt. Great. Here we were, the Three Musketeers: Were woman, witchy woman, and warm-milk-on-demand woman. If we found the bad guys, maybe I could just squirt them to death.

  While I sulked and nursed Carson, Eliza and Sheila continued to discuss our next steps. Eliza wanted Sheila to try scrying for Kayleigh, but Sheila said she needed more than just a name and a description for the spell to work. So we had only one option, head to the Silver Token and see if we could find Kayleigh’s possessions.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Silver Token motel ended up being as cheesy as its name and announced itself with a huge neon sign showing a blinking silver coin dropping into a slot machine. A smaller sign announced “Vacancy.” As I slowed to pull in the parking lot, Eliza said, “Wait, drive past.” Since I didn’t have my turn signal on anyway—whoops—I continued down the road.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Eliza cracked the window a teensy, weensy bit and tilted her head back.

  “There’s a Were nearby. Did you see anyone hanging around outside the motel or on the street?”

  Sheila and I shook our heads. My heart beat hard, but I fought to drive normally.

  “Hopefully, he couldn’t scent me, since I’m in the car,” Eliza continued.

  “Do you recognize the Were?” I asked, then answered myself. “I guess not, or you wouldn’t be worried about it.”

  “It’s one of the Weres from the park where Carlos was murdered,” Eliza said, with a grim set to her mouth.

  Damn. I’d hoped it might be some random werewolf gambling away his savings.

  “What do we do now?” Sheila asked.

  Eliza answered slowly, “Well, this is what we wanted, right? To find one of them? I think we head back to the motel, with the car windows shut tightly. You park the car and we look around. Even if it’s a hostile Were—which we don’t know for sure—there are three of us, which they can’t expect. I’m a full moon wolf. A very strong full moon wolf. And I’m already on my guard.”

  Sheila and I looked at each other through the rear-view mirror. After a long moment, I said, “Mac was a full, too. And now he’s dead.”

  Eliza set her jaw. “Fine. Then let’s just go home, is that what you’re suggesting?”

  I turned the car back toward the Silver Token.

  “Don’t worry,” said Eliza, “we might not even get out of the car.”

  My palms sweated against the steering wheel as we turned into the parking lot. Through the windows, I saw a couple in the office, probably checking in. A man walked toward one of the room doors. Several people piled into a cab, looking pretty drunk already at seven in the evening. A woman paced back and forth along the walk, talking into her cell phone and gesturing as if the other side of her conversation could see her. I glanced into the backseat and saw Carson had fallen asleep—which was good, at least he wouldn’t call attention to us. With a nod from Eliza, I pulled the car into an empty spot near the office.

  The motel room doors opened onto the cement walkways on either side of the parking lot, with exterior metal staircases leading to a second floor. The staircases, like the room doors, were coated in peeling green paint that had seen better days. The motel’s once-white siding had aged to an unfortunate gray, and most of the rooms had curtains drawn tight to the outside world.

  “What now?” asked Sheila, leaning over the seat. “Can you scent the other Were?”

  “Mmm, maybe,” said Eliza. Suddenly, shadows slid over her, hiding her completely from sight even though we sat mere inches from her in the same car. We heard, “stay here,” then the door opening and closing.

  “Shit, Eliza,” I hissed, peering through the window.

  I couldn’t see her. I knew she was there and it seemed as if she ought to be visible, if I could just force my eyes to focus. Alternately, I felt I should see some sort of cloud of darkness, if not Eliza�
�s actual form. Instead, my eyes continued to slide from the very spots I wanted to watch, as if the entire evening darkened with a subtle haze that lacked direction or focus.

  “What the hell?” Sheila exclaimed.

  “She called the moon, called on it to shift light and darkness. She’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to kill her when she gets back here.”

  “Can the other Were sense her through that?”

  “I have no idea. I imagine she can’t hide her scent.”

  We waited for a few minutes. I noticed Sheila—like me—glanced in all directions as if we should see something.

  “Should I…should I lock the doors?” My hand hovered over the button.

  “What if she needs to get back into the car in a hurry?”

  “Damn you, Eliza. What happened to looking around?” I studiously unclenched my hands. “Is Carson doing okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s still fast asleep.”

  “I hope no one can scent him in the car.”

  A sudden cackling laugh broke through the ambient noise of the night and caused both of us to bolt upright. I grabbed the steering wheel reflexively, heart pounding. The shrieking laughter continued, coming from the staircase at the far side of the motel. A man stumbled down the last few green steps, seemingly drunk, and weaved down the walk. He stopped mid-stride, one foot in the air, and extended his hands to the sky. Dropping to one knee on the pavement, he declaimed in a loud voice, “Oh blessed night, oh angel darkness, oh silver mother moon, watching all your children!”

  I relaxed incrementally. “Only in Vegas,” I said to Sheila, as the drunk man continued to bellow poetry at the top of his lungs.

  The next moment, Eliza stood at the man’s side. She grabbed him around the shoulders and walked him toward our car. He turned to her in mixed confusion and pleasure, stumbling slightly.

  “Do I know you?” he slurred in a loud voice. “You smell like cats.”

  Eliza appeared nothing more than solicitous as she collared him the last few feet to the car. Keeping one hand on him, she wrenched open Sheila’s door and said, “Front seat.” Eliza’s face was coated in a film of sweat, and she breathed hard through her fixed smile. Sheila quickly scrambled out of the car and into the front seat, upon which Eliza got into the backseat, in the middle, next to Carson, and pulled the man in after her. She reached over to close the door, hitting the door lock firmly.