Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella

by Cecilia Dominic

  A crash in the kitchen almost knocked me into a change. I whirled around and darted out of sight from the back of the house.

  For the next few minutes, the only noise was my breathing, and my mind whirled. Should I change? If the events of the night before had been real, I would end up too exhausted to meet Jared for lunch if I changed again.

  But if I didn’t, what would happen to me? I needed more information.

  The only weapon I could find in the coat closet was an umbrella with a wicked-looking tip. That would have to do.

  I waited for about ten minutes but didn’t hear anything else. Hoping that whoever it was had left through the back door after they’d given themselves away, I crept toward the kitchen. It was still pre-dawn, but CLS gave me excellent night vision, another advantage I didn’t want to acknowledge.

  When I got to the kitchen, I flicked the light on. The room was empty, the door closed and the deadbolt turned to lock.

  What had made the noise? Some sort of creature? It would have to be a big critter to have made the crash.

  I walked around the island and found the culprit. My grandmother’s wooden rolling pin lay on the floor.

  I turned tail and ran like a spooked puppy.

  I snatched my jacket out of the front hall closet and locked the front door behind me with shaking fingers. The leather provided some protection against the cold but not against the full-body shiver that tried to make me find a corner and curl up into a little ball. At least the sun was already up, and the sidewalk was striped with shadows.

  It was real. Oh, gods, it was real.

  I had changed. I had exposed myself to Jared, both my wolf self and my naked self. And I’d seen him almost naked. Not complaining about that part. And my grandmother said she’d never been far away and had made sure to let me know her spirit was still in the house.

  Was that why my parents spent less and less time there, not my father’s health? I imagined Nona’s ghost wouldn’t make my mother feel welcome.

  Thankfully my feet found their own way into town. I said a prayer of gratitude to whoever may be listening that the coffee shop was already open, well-lit, and warm. I didn’t stop shivering until I wrapped my hands around a cup of black tea and curled up on a banquette behind a little table. The barista brought the scone he’d heated up for me.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  A normal life would be nice. I shook my head and told him, “No, thank you.”

  He gave me the kind of smile that young men have been giving attractive young women for ages, but I could barely manage a small grin back. While running my own business, I’d been able to analyze new data as it came up, anticipate what needed to happen, and determine the steps to take to ensure my agency not only survived but thrived. Now I could barely manage my own life, as simple and narrow as it had become.

  I got another tea and scone to go. I figured I’d bring Veronica breakfast. She’d had a tough day the day before and had still treated me with kindness rather than taking her anxiety out on me. I could appreciate that since I’d grown up with the opposite. We were both strangers in a strange place, and she was on a work visa, so her position was tenuous. I’d had to deal with similar situations with young models who had come to the States and gone wild enough to attract the attention of the authorities. I would offer my help where I could, but first I had to butter her up so I could have lunch off.

  Was I being like my mother? No, I was repaying kindness with kindness, or at least I thought I was.

  When I got to the store, Veronica was already there straightening up displays that hadn’t been messed. She had dark circles under her eyes and gratefully accepted the tea and scone.

  “Aren’t you a gem?” she asked. Her accent was thicker this morning, and I wondered if she hadn’t slept well.

  “Pun intended?”

  She blew across the top of the tea and took a sip. “Nice and strong. Thank you, dear.” She cocked her head. “Your aura is different. Something exciting has happened.”

  Her pronunciation and Jared’s announcement from the day before clicked. “Yes, right, you’re Scottish. Are you familiar with the Institute for Lycanthropic Reversal?”

  Her face paled, and she placed the cup on the counter so hard a few drops splashed out. I scrambled for paper towels, which she used to blot the spill.

  “What about the Institute?” she asked.

  “Someone leaked a statement yesterday that they’ve found a cure for CLS.”

  She nodded, and a thoughtful crease appeared on her forehead. “Ah, a leak? They’ve been working on it since the summer and were close when I left. That’s good news indeed, but not for them.”

  “What did you think I was going to say? This is a lying-free zone, remember?”

  “Right.” She took a deep breath. “I’m relieved. They have a lot of enemies, and I was afraid they’d been attacked.”

  “Who would want to attack them?” I sat on a bench. This was close to what my grandmother’s ghost had said the night before.

  “There’s a group called the Purists who feel that CLS is a gift, and they’re opposed to the work the Institute is doing. The head of the Lycanthrope Council defeated the Purist alpha over the summer, but there are those who still feel strongly and could act.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How do you know all this? And don’t say something witchy. Y’all don’t get that kind of detail from spells.”

  She laughed. “No, dear, I’m from Lycan Village, where my own store is. The alpha comes to me sometimes for help.”

  “And so the Purists are into keeping CLS uncurable. Who else?”

  “The Young Bloods are those who feel as you do, who were born lycanthropes and want the option for reversal because it doesn’t go well with their modern lives. They typically drug themselves through their changes, but it has negative effects on their health and lives since they have to put themselves out for twenty-four hours.”

  I caught my breath with relief and excitement. The world had just cracked open and gotten bigger. There were others who felt as I did, that CLS was more than an inconvenience? “But wouldn’t they want the ILR to succeed?”

  “Yes, but if the Lycanthrope Council doesn’t give them a voice or access to the cure, they could turn dangerous.”

  “Is there anyone else?”

  “No, dear. Well, there’s the Wizard Tribunal, but they’re the lycanthropes’ allies.”

  “What? There are other magical creatures, er, people?”

  Her eyebrows angled in a perplexed expression over the rim of her cup. “All kinds,” she said once she’d swallowed. “Why are you asking this?”

  “I don’t know if I’m crazy, but…” I told her about my grandmother’s ghost but left out the details about Jared.

  “So you have a ghost in your house who’s capable of casting spells?” She pursed her lips. “She must have been very powerful in life. You’re lucky she’s on your side.”

  I shivered again. “I think she is. Still, that was embarrassing.”

  Veronica laughed. “Yes, it sounds like seeing her was a surprise. How did she die?”

  “Heart failure. She died in her sleep.”

  Veronica peered at me over the rim of her cup. “Are you sure her heart killed her?”

  “That’s what the doctors told us. She was in her eighties and had a history of heart disease, so no one felt the need to do an autopsy.”

  “Interesting.” But she didn’t elaborate. “At least she won’t be going with you to lunch today.”

  “No. Wait, you knew about that?”

  “Just some simple deduction and a lucky guess. There’s a distinct glow of rosy hopeful lust about you.”

  The heat in my cheeks told me more than my aura, or whatever she was seeing, was tinged rosy.

  “Just be careful, dear. I know the enemies in Scotland, but there are different dangers here I haven’t yet been able to determine.”

  Her words reminded me of what
my grandmother had told me, but the bell over the shop door chimed, and a family came in before I could ask.

  Something subtle shifted in the atmosphere. Hadn’t Nona said not to trust anyone? For all I knew, Veronica Chalice might be a spy for the Lycanthrope Council.

  The shiver at the base of my skull told me my intuition was on to something.

  So much for no lying. Or are lies of omission excepted?

  6

  An Odd Lunch Date

  We’d been at the shop for about an hour when Jared texted me the address for lunch and, “I’ll take care of the valet parking. I hope you like seafood!”

  “As if there’s anything else to eat up here,” I muttered. I knew that wasn’t a fair assessment of the New England dining scene, but that was all my parents had taken us out for.

  We could never eat at Italian restaurants because we’d insult my grandmother, who, truth be told, fed us well enough. But there was always one night during the visit when we’d go to the beach for a clambake with some cousins and another when my grandfather would take us all out for seafood. My grandmother had a weakness for fried clams with bellies, the soft part, included.

  Veronica smiled at me as she dusted, and I tried to put the clams under a blanket in my mind.

  “It’s nice you have some good family memories,” she said.

  I glared from behind the register, where I had been studying a list of the stones we had in stock and their approximate prices. “This whole mind-reading thing is unpleasant.”

  “I wasn’t reading your mind, dear. You were muttering about clams, but you were smiling.”

  “Oh.” My face burned again. “Sorry.”

  She pointed the feather duster at me. “You don’t have to be so defensive. Not everyone is out to get you.”

  “No, just a fair number of them.” I pulled my lip back in from where it tried to pout. I remembered my mother admonishing me, “No one likes a pouter, dear. Disappointment shows your weakness. Don’t pout—go after what you want.”

  The bell over the door jangled, and a teenager walked in. She studied the shelves from under heavily shadowed, half-lidded eyes, and she flipped her straight brown hair forward. It had a carefully placed blonde streak from the crown of her head to just below her chin. Her whole demeanor screamed, Leave me alone while her cosmetics and clothing—dark and fashionably torn said Pay attention to but don’t fuck with me. Her face had good bone structure, though her haircut made it look a little too long, and her skin was remarkably clear for her age.

  I took all that in before I could stop myself. I wasn’t in the modeling business anymore. Still, I kept an eye on her. Her eyes widened slightly when she spotted a shelf with rose quartz, and she fingered a pink and white heart that seemed about the right size for her hand.

  I quietly approached her.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” I asked in the same tone I would use to address an adult.

  “No, just looking.” She put the heart down on the shelf with a clack, but her hand hesitated when she tried to pull it away.

  “Is it speaking to you?” I bit my lip and tried not to laugh at myself. Had I really just asked her that?

  She gave me a classic teenage, but well-deserved, Puh-lease—or whatever they were saying these days—look. “It’s a rock. A pink rock.”

  “It’s a rose quartz.” I recalled what I had been reading about it. “That it’s carved into a heart is sort of ironic since it supposedly helps people in their love lives. Maybe it’ll give it a little extra oomph for you.”

  She picked it up again. “It’s smooth.” Then she added under her breath, “I could use all the help I can get.”

  I could tell she really wanted it but fought with herself over it. Maybe it would take the rest of the money she’d brought with her on vacation. Maybe she was afraid to hope it would be helpful. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit to like something pink. Whatever it was, I stepped back to allow her to make the decision. She replaced it on the shelf and walked around, seemingly looking at other stones, but her gaze kept returning to it. The set of her shoulders said she’d recently endured some sort of heartbreak.

  Get used to it, honey.

  She returned to it one more time and picked it up, holding it. “I don’t have any money with me. Can you keep it for me for later?”

  I knew if people went away to think about buying something, they were less likely to commit, but Veronica nodded.

  “We’ll keep it safe for you, dear. Will you be back today?”

  “Yes.” A sharp nod made her hair swing forward. “This afternoon. Thanks.”

  She left, and Veronica plucked the rock in question from the shelf. “I’ll just hold this aside for her.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “She won’t be back.”

  “No, this one wants to go with her, but she needs to put effort into letting it. Just like you do with some things.”

  “What do you mean?” What I had come to recognize as my natural defensiveness spread like a metal breastplate over my heart.

  “You’ll know. Now go to lunch. Sometimes the road to Marblehead gets crowded, so it’s best if you catch the early bus.”

  I left. I was smart enough to know when I was being dismissed, and I wondered what I had done to make Veronica impatient with me. Or maybe it was just the usual stubborn Kyra.

  Well, that’s who I am, and if she doesn’t like it, forget her.

  If only I could forget the sense I’d disappointed her like I had my mother.

  I didn’t feel like wallowing in self-pity, so I paid attention to what was around me. As with most cute little New England towns, Marblehead had its combination of modern and quaint and about a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts within five square miles. Make that most of New England. Dunkin’ was like the Waffle House down south—you could never have too many opportunities for a pecan waffle and hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered.

  Great, I don’t know if I’m homesick or hungry.

  I found the place Jared had recommended, which was right on the water. Good, space is good. I had already hunched my shoulders as far as they would go while the bus navigated down the town’s narrow streets. I wasn’t sure what the driver was thinking—there had to be wider lanes for the large vehicle.

  I was early, so I decided to walk around until our reservation time. Of course my family had visited the place, but I wasn’t nearly as familiar with it as I was Salem.

  I wandered outside and along the docks, admiring the colorful boats in the harbor. A crew of men were working on one, presumably to store it somewhere for the winter. A well-built man in a polo shirt and sports coat stood and watched. The boat’s sails were furled like wilted petals, its beauty finished with the season. The man I’d assumed was the foreman turned, and I saw it was Jared.

  “You’re early,” he said with a grin, and he kissed me European-style on each cheek.

  “So that’s your boat?” I asked. My cheeks heated, and I hoped he assumed the pinkness was from the sun.

  “Yes, she’s a schooner. I decided to take her up the coast one last time today before the winter, and the lads agreed to crew for me.”

  “That’s nice. Kind of sad that it’s the last time.”

  He cocked his head at me, and his eyes echoed the greenish hue of the water. I turned away, ostensibly to watch the activity on and around the boat, but the intensity of his gaze bothered me. What did he see—a failure or an attractive woman? I dared not ask. I could see why women fawned over him—he had looked at me like he thought I was the most important person in the world.

  “It’s not so sad,” he said. “Winter has its own charms like fireplaces, holiday parties, kisses under the mistletoe…”

  My mind added, runs through the snow, the magic of the moon in a sharp, cold winter sky, frost crunching under my claws…

  I turned with raised eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?” came out of my mouth before I could stop it, but it was the most instinctual thing to say to mak
e sure I didn’t blurt out any of what I’d been thinking.

  He laughed, and I added hot chocolate to the charms of winter. “Only if you want it to be,” he told me, his voice low.

  Yep, I’d share my hot chocolate and flirt with him any day, but I needed to know about this cure for CLS.

  “Lunch first.”

  The hostess couldn’t take her eyes off Jared, and every time she turned to see if we followed her, her gaze lingered too long. I thought it would serve her right if she tripped, but she managed not to.

  Whispers eddied behind us through the dining room. She led us to a private room and seated us by a window, and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding when she closed the door. I’d once been comfortable with that kind of attention, but that had been when I’d been successful and at the height of my beauty. It occurred to me that some of the diners might have thought I was Jared’s latest conquest, or—considering his reputation—that I was trying to seduce him.

  Jared hadn’t seemed to notice anything untoward, but then, he was used to being handsome and rich and drawing every woman’s eye in the room.

  “You’re a fan of ceviche, right?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Right, I needed to think about food, not the yummy man in front of me.

  “You’re not sure?” His perfectly shaped brows flickered into a momentary frown. “I thought I remembered it was a favorite of yours.”

  “It’s been a while.” For lots of things, and he knew my favorites? I wonder what else he knows I like. I shoved that little thought back into the naughty drawer it had sprung from. “Since I had ceviche, I mean. I don’t eat stuff like that in landlocked states unless I know where it came from.” A memory tickled my brain, of a corporate party for which he’d hired some models to attend and charm his colleagues, but I couldn’t remember much of it—probably because I had just gotten sick. “But I trust you know where to find the good stuff.”

  “Yes, this chef does it right. We’ll start with that. Do you know what you want?”