by Tasha Black
“Good to meet you,” Henry said to Van, who nodded back politely, but didn’t speak.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dulcie said immediately.
“Thank you. I know it will sound silly, but in spite of his age, this was quite unexpected. Uncle Rudolph was a man of habit. He walked for miles every day. That’s likely why he hadn’t finalized a will,” Henry explained.
“Are you his next of kin?” Seth asked tactlessly.
Dulcie tried not to roll her eyes.
“Uncle Rudolph had a cousin, Percival,” Henry explained. “He traveled to South America when they were younger. But no one’s heard from him in decades, and he was a good deal older than my great-uncle.”
He cleared his throat.
“It would appear,” Henry continued, “by all accounts, that not only am I the next of kin. I’m the only kin. The last Barrymore.”
“Fortunately,” he said, “I know what my Uncle Rudolph’s plans were for his assets. Though I don’t know the exact percentages he had in mind, he was clear that almost everything would go to the town, and I agree that’s best. I’m trying to work through his financial documents now so that we can begin making gifts as soon as the attorney allows. Dulcie, perhaps you could help me understand more about the town’s needs when we get through all of this. If we get through it.”
“What do you mean, ‘if’?” Dulcie asked.
Henry paused and a strange expression crossed his face.
“Henry, I’ll bring tea for your guests,” Wenderly offered from the doorway.
“Thank you, Jack, that would be most kind,” Henry replied gratefully.
Once the gentleman had gone, Henry leaned in intimately.
“Poor Jack was so close to my great-uncle, I don’t think he can bear to hear all this again.
As you know, Uncle Rudolph was found in the preserve. His expression was… sheer terror. But more importantly, the body was surrounded by large paw prints. Do you know the legend of the Barrymores?” he asked.
Dulcie frowned and shook her head.
Henry nodded and continued.
“My grandfather, Hugo, was a farmer. He was a very ambitious man. In spite of his efforts to bring gold out of the land, bad years and equipment failure always spoiled his attempts to buy his children into high society.
Then one year everything went right. After that he made money hand over fist. Even during years when other farms weren’t producing.”
“That’s lucky,” Dulcie commented.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Henry mused. “But as a matter of fact, legend holds it that Hugo bought his luck from an evil spirit—”
“Ha!” Seth laughed loudly. He looked around to see that everyone was staring at him. “Sorry, please go on.”
“He bought his luck from an evil spirit,” Henry continued. “Hugo agreed that the owner of the Barrymore Estate would owe his soul to a ghostly white hound. But in exchange the Barrymore heirs would enjoy great wealth and success. The family did and still does enjoy tremendous success, and Hugo did ultimately die under mysterious circumstances. Indeed, a ghostly hound was said to have been involved. It all seems to have gone according to Hugo’s plan. But can you see the flaw in the arrangement?” Henry asked.
“Well, he died,” Seth said immediately.
“The owner of the estate,” Dulcie murmured.
“Exactly. Hugo was so set on wealth for his family, he didn’t stop to question the wording - rather than cursing only himself, he had cursed every future owner of the estate. In doing so, he ruined my great-uncle as well, and… well, as soon as the estate is settled…” Henry trailed off.
“You,” Dulcie breathed.
Chapter 6
Van listened intently.
All the talk of ghostly white hounds hit a little too close to home.
The door swung open, and Wenderly pushed in a cart with a bunch of tea party stuff. Van had smelled him coming, but was still a little startled. He found his hand going protectively to the back of Dulcie’s chair.
“Your tea, Henry,” Wenderly said.
“Thank you, Jack,” Henry replied.
The older man left the room and Seth busied himself handing out tea. Much to Van’s satisfaction, his hand shook a little when putting Van’s cup in front of him.
“One lump or two?” he asked Dulcie.
“Two, please,” she said.
Van knew that two lumps of sugar were not going to be enough for her. But she seemed to be embarrassed to ask for more. Odd.
When they were all situated, Dulcie leaned forward to Henry.
“I know the story seems like it could be true,” she said. “And the paw prints near your great-uncle’s body make it seem more real. Pardon me for saying, but you’re a writer. And so far, this all seems like the product of a creative imagination under a great deal of stress. There has to be more for you to be taking this so seriously.”
Henry placed his cup back on the saucer.
“I knew Mr. Cho brought you here for a reason,” he replied. “You’re absolutely right. There is something more.”
As Henry pulled out a leather journal and began to rifle through the pages, Van surreptitiously put three more lumps of sugar in Dulcie’s tea.
She turned her head slightly to smile at him and finally picked up the cup for a sip.
He couldn’t help but wonder about her sugar kick. She seemed to be a pretty healthy eater, but when it came to her beverages, the sweeter, the better.
Of course, he wasn’t without his own vices. And Dulcie was quickly becoming one of them.
“Here it is,” Henry said, as he pulled an envelope from the between the pages of the journal. He began to read aloud:
“I hunger for souls,
Rudolph’s wasn’t filling.
I’m coming back for you, Henry.
Prepare for a killing.”
-The Hound”
He passed it around to them and they looked it over in silence. A large paw print graced the bottom of the letter. Van held it close, pretending to be examining the details, and breathed deeply.
Nothing.
Not nothing, like a smell he couldn’t identify. Nothing like it had no scent at all. Not paper, not ink, not the oils from the fingers of whoever wrote it. Not even the residual odors from the people he had just watched handle it.
He didn’t know how it was possible, but suddenly, he was very interested in finding the person who wrote the note.
“Does this actually match the prints that were at the site?” he asked Henry.
“I… I think so,” Henry said, surprised. “I didn’t really stop to think about it.”
“We should check it out,” Van said.
“You would come with me?” Henry asked.
Van realized the man was scared, actually scared. If anyone knew that impossible things could be quite possible, it was Van.
“Sure, man, glad to,” he said.
“We’ll all come,” Dulcie added.
Henry smiled, as did Seth, who looked more than a little nervous.
They all returned to the front hall. Henry opened the closet door and grabbed a boot. Then he knelt to look for the other.
As far as Van could see, the closet was pristine and well-organized. It smelled clean, like fresh strawberries instead of musty clothes. Even the single boot showed only the slightest trace of the dark, loamy forest soil.
“That’s odd,” Henry said. “Jack, where’s the other boot?”
“Will the mysteries never cease?” Dulcie joked.
“My apologies,” Henry said. “I’ll go track down some shoes and be back in a moment.”
“Seth, stay with him,” Van instructed in a way that didn’t leave room for debate. “Dulcie and I will head out to the Preserve now and see what we can find.”
He turned and grabbed Dulcie by the hand before she could protest. He pulled her quickly to the front door and stepped into the crisp autumn air.
Chapter
7
“What the heck?” Dulcie asked, wrenching her hand away as soon as they were off the porch. Van really had some nerve.
“Those two are a mess,” he replied calmly. “You’re the detective, I’m the K-9. We’re going to solve this.”
Dulcie couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Ok, K-9, let’s go for a hike,” she said lightly.
The fall air brushed Dulcie’s hair against her shoulders. She felt good, so engaged in what was happening today. A smile tugged the corners of her lips.
“Love that,” Van murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Big yard.”
They were crossing through the deep rear garden of the Barrymore Estate to the woods beyond. The summer roses were gone and the trellises were nothing but thorns, yet they still had an eerie beauty against the pergola that surrounded the black water of the pool.
On instinct, Dulcie turned back to the house. Its granite walls loomed high even from half an acre away. A single light warmed a huge window in the rear of the house. Silhouetted in it was Jack Wenderly, Mr. Barrymore’s companion.
Dulcie wasn’t sure if he could see them in the twilight, or if he were alone with his thoughts. She was too far away to try and get a sense of him. In any case, it was a haunting sight and she shivered.
“Are you cold?” Van asked, breaking her reverie.
“I’m fine,” she replied, thinking wistfully of her sweater back at the office.
“No, you’re not,” he said, pulling off his leather jacket to reveal the tight white t-shirt, bulging biceps and bands of tattoos.
Dulcie blushed as he held out his jacket for her. She said a little prayer as he put it on her, but his shoulders were so huge it slid on easily. She didn’t try to zip it up for fear her breasts would not comply.
Instantly, she was enveloped in his body heat and the spicy scent that belonged to Van alone. She let her eyes close for an instant.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he murmured.
Her eyes popped open. That was flirting, it really was. Why was he always flirting with her? Why couldn’t he leave her to fantasize in peace?
Dulcie could just make out the amber fog of desire clinging to his form, but she chose to ignore it. It was probably wishful thinking on her part.
“Let’s keep moving,” she said briskly. “We want to get there before it’s completely dark.”
Van shrugged but followed her lead.
“So, you’re a shifter too, aren’t you?” he asked, completely disregarding the rules of the game.
Shifters and wizards didn’t ask those questions of one another. Not unless they were good friends or lovers.
As a new arrival, it made sense that he might not even know there were rules. But most of those called to Woodland Creek had a good instinct for silence.
“Not really,” she hedged.
“Oh yes, you are, I can tell. But I can’t figure out your animal,” he replied.
“How do you know I’m not a teapot?” she asked.
“You smell too good,” he replied, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile so sexy it took Dulcie’s breath away.
“Teapots smell good,” she blurted out.
“Touché,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling this time, warming her insides.
They walked on. Dulcie wondered if it was possible to be drunk on someone’s scent. The jacket and Van’s close proximity were getting to her.
A few more steps into the woods and the trees were closer together, making it seem as if it were the dead of night except for the ribbons of pink twilight that filtered through their branches. Pine needles made a fragrant bed beneath their feet.
“A butterfly,” he said, snapping his fingers.
Dulcie turned to look, and almost lost her footing, but Van shot out a hand to steady her.
“Where?” she asked.
“Earlier,” Van said. “You said you thought about getting a tattoo once. I bet it was like a butterfly on your ankle, or something like that. Just the right level of rebellion, but easy to cover up.”
“Actually,” she began, but Van cut her short by wrapping an arm around her protectively and spinning them around, sniffing the air as he did.
They froze in place for a moment as he searched the woods for a scent. Dulcie’s heart beat against his arm and she rued her shifter animal once again for having no skills whatsoever to assist her in a dangerous situation.
At last he straightened, but didn’t let go of her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He loosened his arm enough that she could turn to face him, but still didn’t let go.
“There was someone, or something. I know it.” His eyes darkened as he gazed at her. “But they’re gone now.”
“How do you know?” she asked stupidly, grasping at anything to distract her from those eyes.
“I just know. Do you think I would ever let anything happen to you?” he demanded.
“I’m just your real estate agent,” she murmured.
He threw his head back and laughed, hard. The sound echoed in the silent woods, and reverberated back until Dulcie felt it on her skin and in her bones. A haze of orange merriment haloed Van, and she realized she’d never seen him laugh before.
The sight of it was so delightful that Dulcie laughed too.
When she stopped and smiled up at him, he suddenly cupped her cheeks in his big hands.
“I love that smile,” he whispered fervently.
The next thing she knew, he was kissing her, his lips warm and insistent against hers.
Dulcie melted into him, her hands still by her sides.
Van thumbed at her jaw, urging her to let him in.
When she did, his tongue crashed over hers, stroking her firmly, then teasing and flicking.
Dulcie felt herself tremble under the command of that talented tongue. Emboldened, she grasped his lower lip between her teeth, and nipped him gently.
For a moment he froze, then his hands left her cheeks and she was flying through the air, landing with her back pinned to a pine tree and Van’s hard body angled against her soft one.
He gave her no time to adjust, or even to breathe. His mouth devoured hers and his hands were everywhere, one tangled in her hair, the other smoothing down the curve of her hip, then dragging her closer still by the collar of the leather jacket.
Dulcie moaned into his mouth and pressed herself against him.
He swallowed her sounds, pushing his hips forward so she could feel the rigid length of him throbbing against her stomach.
Dulcie snaked a hand up to gently stroke his rough cheek. The five o’clock shadow felt as satisfyingly raspy as it had always looked.
Then his hand was between her breasts.
She panted into his mouth, aching for his touch. Her nipples were so stiff they hurt.
But he didn’t touch her breasts. Instead he left his hand flat against her chest, as if he were counting her heartbeats.
She kissed him harder then, like maybe his tongue could answer her questions better from inside her mouth.
He pulled back just as she was forgetting her name.
“Dulcinea, we need to slow down,” he whispered. But his eyes were luminous and he glowed with lust.
She couldn’t speak, so she slipped her arms over his shoulder instead and raised herself up on her toes to nuzzle his neck.
“Christ, give me strength,” he whispered. But he threw his head backward, making it easier for her to reach him.
His plea stoked the fire that was already crackling inside her.
She buried her nose in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in.
His hands tightened on her hips.
“Dulcinea, please, not like this,” he whispered again.
But when she extended the tip of her tongue to lick a lazy path up his neck he stopped speaking.
Enjoying the effect she was having on him, Dulcie nipped gently at his fevere
d flesh.
A terrifying growl erupted from his throat, as he spun away from her.
“Hey man, you okay?” an unfamiliar male voice came through the brush.
Van must have sensed him coming.
“Fine,” Van spat back. “What are you doing out here?”
Chapter 8
Van fought his instinct to snarl as the man approached.
He was on the short side and fit, with a neatly trimmed beard and steel-grey eyes. His clothing made it look like he might be on safari, and he carried a delicate net on a long stick.
“I’m just going for my early evening walk,” the stranger said at an oddly slow pace, as though he considered each word. “I’m a lepidopterist, so I always bring my net. I’ve collected the most amazing specimens in these woods.”
Dulcie’s heart rate sped wildly against his arm.
“Forgive me,” the man said, offering his hand to Van. “I’m Templeton Burroughs.”
“Van Blanco,” he said, pumping it once.
“And who is this beauty?” Templeton purred, looking at Dulcie.
She was terrified, the scent of fear poured off her. Before Van could protect her, she spoke.
“Dulcie,” she said calmly. “Are you with the university?”
Van approved of the way her cool voice hid her distress.
“No, I’m a caretaker at the cabins on the preserve,” he said in the same slow and measured tone. “I do it to support my amateur work with butterflies. I could ask what you two are doing out here, but I’m sure I know the answer.”
He gave them a small wink.
“Do you spend a lot of time in the woods?” Dulcie asked. Van admired the way she refused to take the bait. She was a good detective, he had to give her credit.
“Oh yes,” Templeton replied.
“Were you in the woods last night?” she asked.
He took in a breath and let it out through his nose.
“I suppose you mean the Barrymore thing, don’t you? Are you some kind of police?” he asked doubtfully.
