Dark Moon Wolf

by Sarah E Stevens

  “Okay, go,” she said, one hand gripping the man’s arm.

  He wasn’t much to look at: a little shorter than six feet, skin the color of black coffee, hair about a week past needing a trim, a bit of a baby face and a genial demeanor. Muddy brown eyes surrounded his widened pupils. I would pass him on the street without a second glance—unless he acted like a crazy drunk. He peered over Eliza into Carson’s car seat. I made a mental note to thank her for not sitting this crazy guy next to the baby.

  Then he said, “Coochie coo, little puppy,” and broke into laughter again as chills shot up my spine.

  “Go! Julie, get us out of here. I don’t know how long I can hold him, and we need to get away from people,” Eliza said urgently.

  Shit! This drunk was our Were?

  The engine roared before I realized I turned the ignition. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself before switching into reverse and driving out of the parking lot. It seemed kind of risky to bring him back to our hotel, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, so I headed in that direction. My mind swirled.

  Eliza growled in the backseat, and I looked into the mirror to see her lunge and hold the man down with both hands. Sweat poured down her face—and mine, as I started freaking out about the two of them having a violent confrontation right next to my baby. Of course, Eliza looked kind of sexy and tough. Me, I just looked sweaty and wild-eyed.

  My incongruous thoughts were broken by the man dissolving into a fit of giggles. Eliza loosened her hold, though once again she made sure to maintain physical contact with our mystery guest.

  Sheila turned around in her seat staring at the two of them. I saw the tension radiating from her clenched muscles. We two humans were definitely in the midst of some fight-or-flight thing, but we weren’t sure what to do with the adrenaline rush.

  “Sheila,” I said in a low voice, not wanting to distract Eliza from her task. “Where the hell should I go? Back to the hotel? Do we bring him back to the hotel?”

  “Where else? I don’t know—we didn’t exactly plan where to take a hostage.” Sheila glanced at me. “Worst case, we ditch him there and find a new hotel.”

  By the time we pulled into the motel, my neck muscles were knotted and I was sure I had lovely pit stains to attest to my not-so-attractive nervous sweating. When I stopped the car, Sheila jumped out and ran to the back door, presumably to make sure the Were didn’t run away. Me, I ran to the other door, opened it, and unsnapped Carson’s buckles with shaking fingers. I snatched him from the car seat and backed away from the car. My baby, of course, woke up and started to scream. Great. Nothing like keeping a low profile while moving a hostage Were into our hotel room, right?

  Several anxious minutes later, we made it into the room without overly alarming any of the general populace. Eliza hadn’t let go of our mystery Were for a moment, Carson settled down in the sling and looked around with bleary eyes, Sheila paced next to the door. Our Were placidly spoke to the lamp on the bedside table. With the four of us jammed into the small room, already crowded just with the two beds, the luggage, and the baby paraphernalia, I wished I’d followed Sheila’s advice and looked into a more upscale hotel. Although in that case, she never would have found us.

  “Sheila,” Eliza’s voice sounded strained, “check his pockets for a wallet or anything else.”

  Sheila sidled up to the Were and gingerly reached into his back pocket to extract a fat black wallet. Backing away several steps, she flipped it open and pulled out a driver’s license.

  “Tim Rogers,” she read. “A New York driver’s license.”

  “Oh,” Eliza and I said in chorus. Eliza didn’t relinquish her hold on the Were—on Tim—but the set of her shoulders loosened.

  “Isn’t that the other council investigator?” Sheila asked.

  “Yes. What do you think, Eliza, does that mean he’s okay? Now what?”

  Eliza quirked her mouth to the side. “I guess now I let him go, and we have a talk.”

  “What are you doing, exactly, anyway?” I took a few steps closer to Tim, staring intently at the wall and giggling.

  “I, uh, I called the moon and kind of made him insane. Temporarily.”

  “Oh. Is that all,” I said. Sheila turned to stare at Eliza.

  “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

  “Whatever happened to staying in the car and just checking things out?” I demanded.

  Sheila jumped in. “Jules, Eliza, can we talk about this when we don’t have a currently-insane potential-ally Werewolf giggling in our hotel room?”

  Right. Yes. Of course. I gestured Eliza to proceed.

  Eliza drew in a deep breath, then released Tim’s arm. All three of us tensed as we watched him. For a few seconds, nothing seemed to change. Then he stopped giggling, but remained staring at the wall. In the next instant, he whirled around to face us. He dropped into a crouch, arms raised. His eyes widened in alarm, pupils no longer dilated. My skin felt tight from the energy spilling into the room, and I noticed Sheila hugging her arms as if to ward off a chill. Tim and Eliza remained still, both ready for sudden movement, their gazes locked as if they were the only two in the room. One of them growled softly; I couldn’t tell which.

  I cleared my throat and tried to speak once or twice before sound emerged. “We’re here to help you, Tim. We’re sorry—Eliza’s sorry—she called the moon on you. She thought you were one of the enemies.”

  Tim didn’t respond, so I continued my halting explanation. “We’re on the side of the council, trying to figure out who murdered the Weres and kidnapped Kayleigh.”

  I saw the effort Eliza extended as she forced herself to drop her hands, stand in a relaxed pose, and take a step backward. She took a deep breath.

  “It’s true. I’m Eliza Minuet, from Roger MacGregor’s pack in Wyoming. This is his son, Carson.”

  Tim’s gaze moved between the three of us—four of us, actually, since he definitely noted Carson. He gradually straightened, though I had the feeling he might still pounce at a moment’s notice.

  “Well, I must say this was a bizarre way to introduce yourselves, if indeed you mean me no harm.” His mild voice was utterly at odds with the sense of deadly energy that still radiated from his figure.

  “I apologize. I thought you might be one of the Weres responsible for all of this,” Eliza explained again, hands open and spread wide.

  “We don’t know anything about the Weres involved,” Tim said.

  “Actually,” I said, “we do. Suzy Zhang reported a strange Were visited her—called himself Taylor Dunn—and asked a lot of questions about you and Kayleigh. He’s not too tall, blond, and has a beard. In the course of their conversation, she told him which hotel you were at.”

  Tim looked at me for a moment, before he nodded and his shoulders relaxed.

  “All right,” he said, “If we’re going to work on this together, I need to know everything you know. And I want to know how a full moon,” he gestured to Eliza, “a Witch,” he tilted his head to Sheila, who had been silent through this whole exchange, “and, apparently, a dark moon with a full moon pup ended up as part of this investigation.”

  Sheila extended a hand in a grand gesture. “It’s a long, long story, Tim Rogers. I, for one, need some sustenance before this exchange. And perhaps a glass of wine. It’s been a very trying day.”

  Eliza laughed, I rolled my eyes, and Tim just looked puzzled. Leave it to Sheila.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even though we were all conscious of the grave danger Kayleigh might be in, we decided Sheila’s point had merit. Funny how relief from fear made us all hungry. After taking care of mundane details—changing Carson’s diaper, returning Tim’s wallet, introducing ourselves fully, etc.—we piled back into my car and headed to a nearby brew pub. We ordered food and drinks and started from the beginning.

  Now that we weren’t trying to abduct him or make him insane, Tim turned out as genial as he appeared. I wondered how strong a Were he was—
after all, he’d been overcome by Eliza pretty easily—but I reminded myself of the incongruous Lily Rose and tried not to jump to conclusions. I almost asked him outright, but realized at the last minute it might be a rude question. I’d find out from Eliza later.

  Tim listened intently to Eliza recount our meeting with Suzy, raised his eyebrows at our brief explanation of Sheila’s witchcraft, and nodded as my history with Mac apparently explained both Carson’s existence and our vested interest in the investigation. Tim didn’t seem surprised our presence in Vegas wasn’t sanctioned by the council; apparently, he had gathered as much from our unorthodox grouping and behavior. He listened with a neutral expression to our speculations about a traitor within the council, nodding in agreement with some of our points. In trade for our stories, he told us about the last few days and Kayleigh’s disappearance.

  “So,” he concluded, “she’s been missing for just over a day. Mac was missing for four days before his murder, so hopefully she’s still alive. It’s actually a good sign she was kidnapped, I think, since Carlos was murdered right away. Carlos must have been onto something forcing them to kill him immediately. But we don’t have time to waste.” He ran a hand over his head, leaving several of the tight dark curls standing straight up. He explained he’d already retraced Kayleigh’s steps through the city, confirming her presence at two police stations and an animal control office before losing her scent. He hadn’t sensed any other Weres at those locations. He’d returned to the Silver Token to see if traces of anyone staking out those rooms remained.

  I stared down at my nearly untouched pint of stout. No, I didn’t like stout, I hadn’t forgotten, but somehow ordering it made me feel closer to Mac. In a weird and kind of painful way. A silly notion and right then, I really wished I’d ordered a pale ale after all.

  Eliza leaned forward, articulating clearly, “Tim, do you have access to Kayleigh’s things? Her personal possessions?”

  He nodded, gaze moving to Sheila’s face.

  “All right then,” said our Witch as she lifted her glass, “bottoms up and let’s get to work.”

  ****

  Of course, it wasn’t quite that easy. They dropped me back at our hotel first, so I could put Carson to bed before he lost it completely. Sheila took a moment to nick into the office and pay for another room; she was lucky enough to get one next door to Eliza and me. While Sheila made arrangements and Tim was in the bathroom, Eliza checked in with me.

  “Will you be all right alone here for a while?” she asked quietly, searching my face. “We need to get Sheila’s supplies and I’m not sure I trust Tim enough to send Sheila alone with him.”

  “Do you think he’s a traitor?” I kept my voice equally low and my eyes trained on the bathroom door.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t found anything suspicious, but…” She shrugged.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. I’m pretty sure she knew I lied, but she let my words stand.

  “You will be fine. If I could be in two places at once…”

  Tim came out of the bathroom and Eliza smiled at me, squeezed my arm tightly, and turned to include him in the conversation.

  “So, Tim,” she said lightly, “you know this area better than we do. We need to find a silver metal bowl, a smooth black pebble, and a lilac-colored candle. Any ideas?”

  ****

  After the three of them left, I locked the door. Actually, I locked three locks on the door and closed that little weird metal bar thing they have in hotel rooms. I checked the lock on the window. Then I made sure the room phone worked, just in case I needed to call 911 or something. And I confirmed I had cell coverage. Just in case. Because I would be fine.

  Carson definitely picked up my tension, because it took almost forty-five minutes for me to get him to sleep. Finally, he conked out on one side of the hotel bed, and I slid from his side to sit with my back against the headboard, knees up and hugged to my chest. The room was almost totally dark, just enough light for me to watch my sweet little boy breathe. I told myself to stop looking at the clock; they’d be back soon and the shopping just took longer than they’d expected. I tried to slow my breathing to Carson’s and mimic the relaxed abandon with which he sprawled on the bed.

  No good.

  I got to my feet, paced around the room and, against my better judgment, went to look out the window. I knelt down, eyes level with the sill—I’d read in some mystery novel you were less of a target if you didn’t put your body where expected—and carefully prepared to twitch aside the curtains to peek out.

  I practically jumped through the roof when someone tapped on the door. Dammit! My heart imitated a jackhammer for a moment and I sank back, hand to chest, catching my breath. The tap came again, this time in a shave-and-a-haircut pattern, probably Sheila. To be on the safe side, I checked through the curtain and confirmed Sheila, Eliza, and Tim. I checked once again through the peephole, just for surety, unlocked my gazillion locks and that metal bar, and opened the door.

  “Carson’s sleeping,” I said. “What the hell took you so long? I’ve been freaking out.”

  Sheila winked. “Can’t rush perfection, Jules.”

  Eliza raised her eyebrows and elaborated. “Our friend Sheila wasn’t happy with the seven million shades of light purple candles we found at the first store, so we had to go to a different store to find the perfect lilac candle. Then we had to stop at Tim’s hotel so he could retrieve something of Kayleigh’s.”

  “Oh.”

  Standing behind Eliza and Sheila, Tim held the shopping bags. So now we knew where he stayed. He looked less and less like a traitor.

  I asked, “Are we doing this in Sheila’s room?”

  “That would make the most sense,” said Sheila.

  “Eliza, do you think Carson will be safe in the room, if I turn the baby monitor on and lock him in and I’m just next door?”

  Eliza looked around the parking lot, considering. “I think so. We’ll be right there. But if you feel safer, you can stay with Carson and we can handle the scrying.”

  I was torn: it felt unnatural to leave Carson right now, even to go next door. At the same time, I wanted to witness our so-called Witch at work and I wasn’t sure I could handle waiting alone.

  “Eliza, will you stay on high alert? With all your senses?”

  When she nodded, I made my decision and told myself not to second-guess everything. I checked on Carson one more time—still sleeping peacefully—placed the monitor right next to the bed, and locked him in. Once in Sheila’s room, I sat by the shared wall, somehow feeling an added closeness. Immediately, I turned on the receiver part of the monitor. I knew I was over-reacting a bit: when at home, Carson was often much farther away, but this felt like more distance. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if the hotel environment was to blame or the potential deadly danger we faced. Okay, that was a lie. I was sure the reason was the deadly danger. But even if I was in the room, what help would I be? Me, the powerless human? I let out a breath and turned my attention to Sheila’s preparations.

  Sheila spread out one of her scarves on the carpet and arranged the items carefully. She uncapped a bottle of expensive mineral water and poured it into the bowl. Picking up a small rock Eliza said they’d bought in the gardening section at the superstore, our Witch held it tightly for a moment, before releasing it into the bowl where it sank with a faint plop. She set the lilac candle behind the bowl, so she, sitting cross-legged, the bowl, and the candle were in a line.

  “Tim?” she said, not lifting her gaze from the bowl.

  “Here’s Kayleigh’s brush. She uses it frequently.” Tim handed the brush over. It wasn’t remarkable, just a tortoise shell brush with no evidence it belonged to a kidnapped Werewolf.

  “Perfect.” Sheila studied the brush for a moment, closed her eyes, ran her fingers along it and even brought it to her face. She untwined one long blonde hair from the tines and, with a slight hesitation, wrapped it around the candle. She then placed the brush directly
in front of her, nearly touching the bowl.

  Looking up at us for the first time, Sheila took a breath, released it slowly, and nodded. She leaned forward, struck a match, and lit the candle.

  I found myself holding my breath, even as Sheila blew carefully on the surface of the water. Small ripples moved in the bowl as the candle flame danced. The water fell still—as still as the four of us in the room—and Sheila gazed intently into the bowl.

  Several minutes passed with the baby monitor’s faint white noise the only sound in the room. Suddenly, the candle flared, its flame shot up several inches, and then just as quickly guttered. A thin coil of smoke curled upward as Sheila sighed deeply and sat back. She pressed her palms against her eyes, rubbing firmly, then looked at us all.

  “Give me a minute, folks,” she said. She flopped back on the floor, apparently oblivious to the fact this was a motel and the carpet was none too clean. She closed her eyes again.

  “Wow, am I going to have a headache. I guess I’m a little out of practice.” She opened her eyes. “Okay. I saw her, so she’s still alive. That’s the good news. The not-so-good news is she’s confined, locked in a room, and it looks like she hasn’t been treated very well.”

  “Describe the room,” Tim said.

  “Off-white walls, beige carpet, both on the run-down side. Stains on the carpet. One door and a window with heavy dark curtains—I couldn’t see anything out the window. No furniture except for a mattress, a bare mattress on the floor. Kayleigh lay there, curled on her side, wearing what almost looked like a hospital gown? She had visible bruises on her arms, on the inside elbow, almost like track marks.” Sheila roused herself on one elbow. “Don’t you Weres heal quickly? Does that mean the bruises are recent? How long would they take to heal?”