Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella

by Cecilia Dominic

  “Are you sure?” He spoke with the phone cradled to his ear. “She seems so normal. No, I couldn’t get her to come out for lunch. Yes, she leaves at around five o’clock, and she’s always parked near me. Uh huh, a green Jeep Cherokee, license plate…”

  2

  I seem so normal? Who the hell is he talking to?

  The office felt cramped and claustrophobic, like there wasn’t enough air. My mind instinctively sought an escape route. The layers of cinderblock and concrete between me and the outside world bore down on me. I tried to force my breath into my stomach, to lengthen my gasps, but my body wouldn’t cooperate.

  Don’t change here, don’t change here…

  I ran back to my office and shut the door, the anxiety a band around my chest.

  Just act like everything’s normal, I told myself. There’s nothing to worry about. Leaving work now would only make you look suspicious.

  The wolf inside me paced and growled. It was one thing when it was business as usual, and she quieted, especially when children came to the office. This was different—someone set a trap, and she didn’t like it. My phone rang.

  “Lonna?” It was Paul. “Did you need me for something? I saw you outside my door.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, my tone falsely cheerful. It sounded manic, even to me. “I’ve been in here all morning.”

  “Well, I’m in my office if you need me.”

  My logical side wanted to keep him talking, to figure out who he sold me out to, but fear paralyzed me, and I couldn’t come up with a clever way to do it without giving myself away.

  “There’s one file I had a question about, but it can wait.”

  “Come by any time. You know I’m here for you.” He hung up.

  “He knows I heard him,” I whispered, my hand trembling as I set the headset in its cradle. The file pile seemed to shoot up in height, and the phone numbers on the page blurred. The urge screamed in my brain, run, run, RUN!

  Where, where, WHERE? I mentally yelled back. I couldn’t physically yell because my lips were sealed like in one of those dreams where something is after you, but it’s a struggle to move even a little bit, or you can’t at all. Again, my logical part asserted, Stay cool, act normal. You can’t find out what’s going on if you run.

  I grabbed my purse and walked out of the building. So much for logic. On the way out, I passed Paul’s office, his door cracked. I hesitated, fighting for control, to tell him I didn’t feel well, but I heard him on the phone again.

  “Yeah, she should be here all day. Come by any time.”

  That made up my mind. I didn’t know who or what was coming for me, but I wouldn’t be there for them.

  Whoever Paul talked to had my car description and plates, so I took a cab back to… Where? They’re probably watching my apartment, and I need to disappear, but not without money and at least a change of clothes.

  My cell phone rang.

  “Bellissima, are you busy today?” It was Giancarlo. “Can you meet me for lunch? Or brunch?”

  I forced my tone to stay casual. “I’m at work, but I’m not too busy. I’ll be right there.”

  “Come to the restaurant. I’ll have the chef make us something. Any requests?”

  “You and he know what I like. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I hung up so he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  Giancarlo worked as a sommelier in a restaurant situated in a multi-use complex off Sam Peck Road. He had one of the condos above a shoe store and bakery. When he woke up in the morning, he could look out of his living room window and see the restaurant, a cute little Italian place where we’d first met. I didn’t know how he did it. Why live someplace where work can reach out and grab you any time?

  I paid the cab fare and walked into the restaurant. It wasn’t open for lunch most days, so it was quiet. Giancarlo sat at the bar, nursing a Bloody Mary and holding an unlit cigarette in his hand.

  “Long night?” I asked and pecked him on the cheek.

  He waved the cigarette in a dismissive gesture. “I lost track of something important.”

  Maybe you should stop drinking so much. I only shrugged. “Did you find it again?”

  He smiled. “Si, I did, but it had me worried something had happened to it.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “What do you want for lunch? Giuliano got some nice salmon in.”

  I shook my head. “Just cheese ravioli for me.” His brother Giuliano was the chef and made the best filled pasta I’d ever tasted aside from my Aunt Alicia’s.

  “Comfort food? Has something happened, Bellissima?”

  “I don’t know.” And I don’t know how much I can trust you. He looked at me with his big dark brown eyes and ran a hand through his curly black hair. When I first met him, I was sure I’d seen his picture in an art gallery somewhere. He had the classic beauty found rarely in men anymore, at least not in the popular media, which followed a disturbing trend toward skinny and scruffy. I was familiar with his taut muscles, although his lovemaking style was a lot more reserved than one would expect for an Italian. I called it reserved. Wolf-Lonna called it “boring.”

  “Whatever it is, I will help you feel better. We’ll eat, and then you can come back to my place for dessert.” He put his hand over mine, and I was pretty sure he didn’t mean tiramisu.

  “I’m afraid I can’t stay too long,” I said, “but I would like to pick up a couple of things from your place.”

  He dropped his hand like I’d burned him. “What sorts of things?”

  “I need to grab the overnight bag I left there, the one with my makeup and everything in it.” And my emergency stash of cash and aconite.

  “Are you leaving me?” he almost whispered and put a hand to his chest. “You would not wound me so.” He took a long swig of his drink and I cringed.

  “I’m only going out of town for a few days, and the store doesn’t sell my concealer anymore,” I lied.

  “Oh, that makes sense. You women.” He shook his head, and I sensed he hadn’t believed my flimsy excuse. “Tell me when you’re coming back, and I’ll make dinner for you.”

  We ate lunch and made small talk. The chef kept bringing out little bites of this and that, and before I knew it, it was already one o’clock, and I suspected I wouldn’t need to eat for a week. In spite of the carb coma, I managed to make the rest of my plans, so by the time Giancarlo dropped me off, I’d come up with Plan B.

  The best place for a hunted wolf to run is to the protection of her pack, assuming they’ll still have her. That last part had my stomach tied in knots.

  My dream car Maddie lived in one of the garages my apartment complex rented out for storage purposes. She was a dark blue Mini Cooper convertible with tan top, and I liked to ride around with the top down on nice weekends. I was trying to keep the mileage on her low in case I needed to sell her for quick cash at some point, so my fifteen-year-old Jeep was my usual mode of transportation. Plus, it would cushion me better against any impact from a distracted SUV-wielding driver. Without my intending her to, Maddie had become part of my secret identity, and Paul didn’t know about her. Neither did Giancarlo. I had him drop me at the new strip mall that backed up to the complex so I could “pick up something.”

  There were no fuchsia overtones to the apartment smells today, and I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I held. The garages had been added on as an afterthought, so they were at the back of the complex, and I didn’t have to go back to my building. It would have been nice to pack some clothes, but thanks to raiding Giancarlo’s apartment, I had a full set along with toiletries. I’d have more where I was going, and a lot of other baggage I didn’t want to think about.

  When I opened the garage door, I closed my eyes and inhaled the smells of leather and a little whiff of the chemical odor that cars always had. She’d just had an oil change and tune-up, and when I started her, the engine purred.

  An answering rumble rolled through my chest. Wolf-Lonna liked th
e Mini Cooper. “It’s closer to the ground and maneuvers more like us,” she said. “It’s almost as good as being on four feet.”

  With a smile, I closed the top and pulled the car out, making sure the garage door was securely closed behind us. Then it was out the side entrance and on to the back roads and the place where I knew I was safe even if I was less sure of my welcome: Crystal Pines. I caught a slight aroma of fuchsia when I turned out of the apartment complex, but it didn’t linger, and I grinned.

  So long, wizard!

  A few hours later, I pulled into the Crystal Pines subdivision. Formerly the small Ozark village of Piney Mountain, it had turned into a weekend community for rich city folks who wanted to get away from it all but not really. I remembered I hadn’t called Joanie to tell her I was coming, so I pulled into the row of parking spaces by the diner. It was after the lunch rush, so there were plenty to be had. My stomach growled.

  I likely won’t have a job when I get back, I told myself. I don’t need to spend money eating out.

  A knock on my window startled me, and I looked up to see the craggy face of Matthew Grunden, the town’s social worker, peering in at me. He waved, and I wiggled my fingers back at him.

  “Nice car,” he said when I got out and stretched.

  “Thanks. It was a splurge last year after one of my P.I. cases went really well.”

  “You deserve it.” He kissed me on the cheek, but I didn’t miss the sniff he gave me. I wasn’t offended—I did the same thing. At least it was facial cheeks and not the other ones. He was one of the original members of the Crystal Pines pack, having been turned by one of the contaminated vaccines in the hands of evil scientists.

  “So what brings you up here?”

  The answers tumbled to the forefront of my mind, and it took me a moment to organize them. He misunderstood my hesitation.

  “It’s hard to think on an empty stomach. Let me buy you coffee.”

  “I’m fine,” I started to protest, but the growling noise from my abdominal region in response to a whiff of something savory and meaty caught me out in the lie.

  He smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “Not a problem, young lady. It’s been too long.”

  “How are the kids?” I asked once we got settled in a booth and the young waitress gave us the patented Crystal Diner “one minute” hand sign as she poured coffee for a couple of guys who looked like regulars the way their butts molded to the stools.

  “They’re doing well, and the last one of them finally went back to school this week.” Matthew grinned. “They’re like puppies and have already sorted out their hierarchy. Simon Van Doren has taken the alpha spot with Johnny Jorgens as his beta. The other four fall in line well.”

  “Any effects from being experimented on?” I shuddered. Although my memory had blocked the trauma of my own experience in the cave by the river, enough of the residual emotion remained that I still reacted, a classic Posttraumatic Stress reaction. All I knew was I lost my high singing range after screaming from being forced to change from human to wolf through chemical means. At least that’s what the others had told me. That and maybe it was a good thing I didn’t remember, although I wondered. It’s disconcerting to have hours missing from important memories.

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to tell since they’re going through so many other adjustments. I’m keeping a close eye on them in both their forms.”

  The waitress approached, pad in hand. “Hey, Matthew. What can I get you folks?”

  “What is that amazing smell?” I asked. “You’re venting it outside.”

  She laughed. “That’s our special today, a Philly cheese steak sandwich on one of Holly’s mini-baguettes. It’s got all the fixins and comes with fries.”

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll have mine medium rare, and I’ll do a tea as well.”

  “Split one?” Matthew asked. He patted his flat stomach. “I’m trying to watch my girlish figure, and my wife will have dinner waiting for me.”

  I agreed. I tried not to look at the empty corner booth, where I’d first seen and fallen hard for the wizard who got me into this mess to begin with. Peter Bowman had snared me with a glance of his ice-blue eyes—probably why I’d only dated brown-eyed guys since.

  “No one’s heard anything about him,” Matthew said, following my gaze. He’d been with us that morning, and although I had long ago forgiven him for calling me to come up here, neither of us had forgotten. He’d said at the time that Peter Bowman was the good brother, the town lawyer, and Leo Bowman—now Joanie’s lover—the screw-up. It turns out everyone had had that one backwards except Joanie, who had sensed Peter’s tendencies from the first glance. After the Wolfsbane Manor incident, Peter had disappeared with his wife and kid, and Leo, realizing how dangerous his brother could be, went after him. He’d lost the trail and had come back to rebuild and claim Joanie.

  No one came back for me.

  I shrugged to loosen the resentment in my chest. “I guess that’s good and bad. It means he hasn’t hurt anyone else.”

  “Not that we know of.” He dismissed Peter with a jerk of his head. “So let’s get back to you. Why are you up here? Joanie said you and she only hunt as spirit wolves, and that only when you happen to run into each other.”

  I ignored his invitation to talk about my strained friendship and instead stirred lemon into my tea as I tried to sort out my thoughts. “Things have gotten strange in Little Rock,” I said. “Have you seen Kyra lately?”

  He shook his head. “No, she stopped hunting with us around the end of December, and none of us have seen her since. I’ve driven by her parents’ place, and it looks deserted.”

  I explained about how someone was impersonating me and talking to my clients, and about Paul’s lunch invitation and phone calls.

  “That is, indeed, very strange,” Matthew said. “Are you sure he was talking about you?”

  “Pretty sure. His attitude toward me the past few days has been suspicious. Did Kyra act any differently on your last hunt?”

  He looked out of the window. “Maybe a little. She seemed distracted.”

  Our food had arrived, and I took a big bite of my sandwich. “I forget how good the food up here is,” I mumbled once I swallowed.

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t think you city girls’d be so impressed. It’s just simple fare for us country folks.”

  “Sometimes simple is better.” I looked at my sandwich and fries. I didn’t tell Matthew about the fuchsia wizard mystery because all I had were dreams and hunches, which weren’t enough to build any kind of case or even to know where to start. Actually, I did know where to start—with the intriguing Doctor Fortuna, who definitely had something fishy, or should I say fuchsia, about him. Not that I’d gotten close enough to smell him. My suspicion of him came from a combination of instinct and the suspicious timing of his appearance. That was another reason I was up here: Joanie had amassed quite the collection of books on shapeshifters and magic, and she had been a research professional before the Incident, as we called it. If there was something in there that applied to the other mysteries, she would know how to find it.

  “That may be true, but be careful,” Matthew admonished. “You’re different from the rest of us, so it’s not surprising someone has singled you out.”

  I looked at him, startled. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He fidgeted with his straw wrapper, which he’d curled into a corkscrew. “I got a phone call a few weeks ago asking about our pack. The person said they were from the government, and they were following up on the Cabal-Hippocrates scandal. I don’t remember much of the conversation, but they asked about you in particular.”

  “Why me?” But I knew the answer.

  His brown eyes held both curiosity and pity. “You were turned by magic, not a viral vector. Someone is curious about you because of it.”

  The dance of my heartbeat in my throat made it difficult to speak. “Was it a man or a woman?”

&nbs
p; “That’s the other disturbing part of the phone call. I admit my memory isn’t as good as it used to be, but I don’t remember as much of it as I should. I don’t even remember the gender of the caller, only that there was some sort of accent.”

  “Why didn’t you call or email me and tell me?”

  “That’s the other thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I would think about it when I was driving or another time when I wasn’t near my computer or couldn’t use my phone, but I never remembered when I had the means to do so.”

  A chill went down my spine. Apparently I had attracted some unwanted attention, but I still had no idea from whom, only that they were powerful enough to manipulate memories.

  We talked about mundane things as we ate the rest of our sandwiches, but when he walked me to my car, he put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes.

  “Be careful,” he said. “I didn’t want to say this inside where I could be overheard, but there have been strange smells in the woods, and none of us hunt alone anymore.”

  With those disturbing words, he closed my car door for me and waved to me as I pulled away.

  3

  I had been so freaked out by someone being after me, perhaps more than one, that I hadn’t noticed the scenery on the drive up to Crystal Pines. Now, brain on overload, I took a deep breath to focus and tried to orient myself.

  The buds had just started appearing on the trees in Little Rock when I left. Here it was still winter with a few bulbs poking their green shoots out of the ground, and a few crocuses opened their faces to the dim sunlight. Yes, the clouds had cleared, but the air had a damp chill that went straight to my bones. I hummed a happy tune, but then I remembered I’d never called Joanie to tell her I was on my way. The thought of seeing her again human face to human face without the limitations and barriers imposed by our spirit forms made my stomach clench, and I regretted eating all my fries.