by Nova Nelson
“Town drama. Luanne Juventus swears on her mother’s grave that she saw a small flock of phoenixes fly over her house early this morning.” He shook his head. “Phoenixes!” he proclaimed. “We haven’t had a flock of those around here in, well, I don’t rightly know how many years. I’ve certainly never seen one.”
I snuck a quick glance at the back corner where Ted, who had already paid out, was finishing up his last cup of coffee, and sure enough, the grim reaper was at full attention. I gave him a quick nod to let him know I wouldn’t say anything then returned my attention to Stu.
“Just ridiculous,” he continued. “I told her it was probably a meteor lighting up the sky, not a fiery flock of birds, but she wouldn’t listen. She dragged me over a mile across town to track the path she saw them go, and when we didn’t find a single thing on fire, she finally let it drop. Except on the way back, Janet Timberhelm caught us and insisted she’d seen a flock of phoenixes, too.”
“Two people?” I asked. “You think both could have misidentified it?”
He got a kick out of that, chuckling, his shoulders softening. “Ms. Ashcroft, there can be a whole lot more than two people who make the same mistake.”
“True.”
“And two points might make a line, but they don’t make a pattern. Simple police work stuff. You’d learn all about it if you joined up.”
I shook my head as I fetched him his coffee and pie. “Not a chance,” I said over my shoulder. As I placed his usual in front of him, I said, “Hey, do you by any chance know someone named Fritz?”
Stu paused in unwrapping his silverware to gaze at me with some concern. “No. Should I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just heard someone mention a Fritz and I thought if anyone knew who that was, it’d be you.”
From behind me, Jane, covering for Tanner who was “home sick” (don’t get me started), said, “You say Fritz?”
I turned to find her strolling over from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Yeah, you know one?”
She nodded. “Oh yeah. Not his real name, though. His real name is Javier.”
Stu narrowed his eyes at Jane as he chewed then quickly dabbed the cherry filling from the corner of his mouth and said, “Your Javier?”
I looked back and forth between them. Jane had a Javier?
“Sure enough,” she said. “Never had a great memory, that one. We used to joke that his brain was on the fritz, and the name just stuck. That’s what happens in the Outskirts, I guess.”
“Wait,” I said, interrupting. “Who is Fritz?”
“Fritz Scandrick,” Jane said. “Used to be Fritz Saxon, but married one of the Scandricks.”
“Wait, does that mean…?”
She nodded. “Fritz is my brother.”
Chapter Eleven
“Well, technically, he’s my half-brother,” Jane amended. “But we were raised together until the first moment I could get my furry butt away from the Outskirts and run off with Bruce.”
“Bad news,” said Manchester, “but your furry butt came right back to the Outskirts.”
“It’s like Hotel California,” I said, before waving off any of their inevitable questions and following up with, “You said his last name is Scandrick now. Does that mean he’s married?”
The matriarchal structure of werewolf society had taken some getting used to when I’d first arrived, but it was slowly becoming second nature; male weres took the last name of their wives, not the other way around.
“Yep. To one of good ol’ Lucent’s half-sisters nonetheless.” Then she added, “Werewolf family trees don’t always branch outward.”
“Does he still live in the Outskirts?”
“Of course. It’s usually either the Outskirts or Hightower Gardens for us werewolves. Not a lot of middle-class running around. I’m one of the few exceptions. The rest have either married a different breed or moved to an entirely different realm.”
“Any chance he’s as dangerous as Lucent?” I asked.
Jane arched an eyebrow at me, though Stu was the one who responded. “You’re up to something, Ms. Ashcroft. Is there anything we should know?”
I flashed him a paper-thin grin. “Nope.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say that if someone were to go talk to him about a crime, that someone would want back-up.”
Stu shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Ms. Ashcroft, you’ve got to stop doing this on your own. Or make this the last time. Or, at the very least, bring along that boyfriend of yours.”
I felt my muscles tense. Was Jane staring at me? Jane was probably staring at me. I would have been staring at me, if I were her, trying to figure out if I would correct Stu about my relationship status.
Eh, it was just Stu. What the heck, right? “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I mumbled so no one but Stu and Jane would hear.
The deputy leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back and staring down his nose at me. “Is that so?” He leaned forward then and whispered, “Is it because of the”—his attention flickered to Jane—“that thing you told me.”
“She knows,” I said. “And yes.”
Stu reached across the wide countertop and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry to hear that. He’ll come around, though.” He broke the contact and used the hand to bring his coffee mug to his lips, but paused before taking a sip. “He’d be a real idiot not to.”
“That’s what I told her,” added Jane.
“I stick by what I said, though,” Deputy Manchester continued. “You need to take backup. And once you and Culpepper sort things out, he’ll be your guy. I can’t always be the one to have your back when you get into trouble, you know. I gotta sleep sometime.” He sighed heavily. “At least after today I’ll have a little extra help.”
“After today?” I said.
Stu was staring at me sideways. “Well, sure. I assumed you knew that’s where he was today instead of here.”
It clicked into place like a punch to the side of the head. “Tanner?”
Stu nodded. “He has his interview with Sheriff Bloom today. Right about now, actually.”
I turned to Jane. “Did you know about this?”
Pressing her lips tightly together, she gave me a clear “don’t you start with me” look. “Of course I didn’t. He just told me he was staying home sick.”
“He lied,” I said, dumbfounded. Up to that point, I hadn’t been aware Tanner could lie. Not a bald-faced one like that.
“Of course he lied,” Jane said. “No one tells their place of employment where they are when they’re interviewing for another job.”
“Place of employment? He owns it.”
“Co-owns,” Stu corrected around a mouthful of warm pie.
I pointed at the deputy. “Don’t you get cute with me. I told you not to shark my people, Manchester.”
Stu waved me off. “I did nothing of the kind. Culpepper’s wanted to get into this line of work for years. I opened a door and he came running in.”
It was probably true, but it still left me raw.
I turned to Jane. “Do you know your brother’s address?”
“Is he a suspect in something?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you his address if you promise me one thing.”
I waited.
“If Fritz seems at all guilty, tell Stu right away so we can lock his hide in jail. It’s been a long time coming for that one.”
“And take back-up,” Stu said. “Doesn’t have to be me or Culpepper, but take someone.”
I glanced hopefully at Jane, who laughed. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. If I never saw Fritz again, that’d be too soon.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have someone else I can take.”
“Stringfellow?” asked Stu.
Both Jane and I blurted, “What?”
“Of course not,” I hissed.
Stu, who’d jerked away when we’d both rounded on him held up
his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. It’s just that he seems to be your go-to for getting into trouble. And hear me when I say this, Ms. Ashcroft: if you’re going into the Outskirts to confront a Scandrick, you better believe you’re heading straight into trouble.”
“I know that,” I said. “And I have great back-up in mind. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
Jane and Stu exchanged a glance that showed just a little too much doubt.
“Whatever you say,” said Jane before she wandered off to set menus in front of Peter and Zeke Abernathy, two middle-age werepanther brothers who farmed land just beyond the crescent spread of the Outskirts.
“He’ll come around, Ms. Ashcroft. I promise.”
I didn’t meet Stu’s eyes as I wiped off the countertop next to him. “I’m not even thinking about that,” I replied, which was a lie. I still thought about it all the time.
Or rather, all the time when I wasn’t actively working to distract myself. And speaking of which, I had a fantastic distraction in my near future, if only I could get my presumed back-up to agree.
Although, for some reason, I didn’t think confronting an unstable werewolf in his own home in a dangerous part of town would be quite the way Landon wanted to spend his evening …
Chapter Twelve
“Seriously, Landon. It’ll be fine,” I said as we walked down the desolate street in the Outskirts.
Behind us followed our familiars, though they kept their distance from one another. Grim wasn’t too keen on Landon’s bobcat familiar, Hera, tagging along.
Landon wasn’t too keen on accompanying me to the Scandrick compound in the far reaches of the Outskirts, meaning no one was thrilled about this side trip. Not even me.
Okay, I was a little thrilled. At least it kept my mind occupied.
I’d never explored the Outskirts because why would I? I happened to enjoy living (for the most part), and while Medium Rare and the block around it was safe enough, the rest of the neighborhood left something to be desired; namely, personal safety.
When Jane had described where Fritz lived as a compound, I knew it would be a hard sell to get Landon to come with me, so I didn’t mention that detail. It wasn’t that he was a chicken, exactly. He simply preferred the cerebral arena of conspiracies more than the dangerous nitty gritty of investigation.
And me? Did I enjoy the dangerous stuff?
I’m inclined to say no, yet when one finds oneself in the same situation enough times, one must assume there’s some sort of payoff to keep coming back.
I thought of Dr. Phil’s catch phrase, “And how’s that working for you?” when people kept doing the same dumb thing over and over again.
Honestly, though, heading straight into dangerous situations was working for me just fine. Hadn’t killed me yet, and it had led to such desirable outcomes as solving murders and … making out with Tanner’s best friend, leading to the break-up I was so eagerly avoiding.
So, like I said, everything was just fine.
“Remind me of your plan again,” Landon said, his voice a low whisper even though we were the only ones on the dirt road leading between increasingly dilapidated buildings.
“We’re just going to talk to Fritz, see if he’s heard from her. We know that the two of them were …” I cast a sideways glance at Landon and reconsidered my words. “We know he was in love with her, so maybe something happened with her circle and she had to go into hiding. For all we know, she could be out here. If anyone’s thought to check the compound, I doubt they’ve actually done it.”
“Hold up. Compound?”
Fangs and claws. “House. Or, um, collection of houses. Not a compound, per se. Just a gated community.”
Landon rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. I bet there’s virtually no difference between where we’re going and Hightower Gardens.”
“I mean, they both have a lot of werewolves,” I said, smiling sheepishly.
“Right. Hightower Gardens has werewolves with a lot to lose by killing two witches and their familiars, and the Scandricks have nothing to lose by doing that. But you’re right. Same thing.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t tell you all the facts because I knew you wouldn’t come with me.”
He held up a hand between us. “Oh, I know why you didn’t tell me. But you’re wrong. I would have come. Otherwise I would’ve been the guy who let Nora Ashcroft go get herself killed in the Outskirts because he was too cowardly to tag along.”
We turned a tight bend around a long, windowless slaughterhouse and were immediately met with a straight view of the compound at the end of the long road.
“See?” I said, gesturing toward it. “Just like Hightower Gardens.”
It was not, in fact, anything like Hightower Gardens. For one, Hightower Gardens didn’t see a need for guards. And the fences were iron posts, not impenetrable stone that fanned out in either direction from the main gate farther than we could see from this angle.
“I didn’t even know this existed,” Landon said. “I’ve never seen any census records indicating this as residence. And judging by the size of it, there could be hundreds of Eastwinders living in there.”
“If the census workers here are anything like the ones where I come from, they’re not paid nearly enough to bother with a place like this.” I rolled my shoulders back, opening up my lungs for a deep breath. “Shall we?” I asked.
“No thanks,” said Grim. “You kids have fun.”
I turned and glared at my familiar. “You knew what you were getting into. I straight up told you it was a compound.”
“Right, but— Ohhh … You can’t smell all the fresh blood, huh?”
“Fresh blood?” The shock caused me to say it aloud, and Landon emitted a wobbly whine behind me. “I mean,” I said stiffly, “fresh mud?” Over my shoulder, I added for Landon’s sake. “Grim wanted to roll in fresh mud after this. Dogs, huh?”
“Not a dog,” Grim corrected. “A grim. Not even remotely the same.”
Landon wasn’t buying it. “We’re already here, Nora. I’m not turning back. Besides, Hera already told me about the blood a few hundred yards back. She promised not to taste any, but I’m not so sure. Let’s just get in and out, okay?”
I nodded, and we approached the gate.
When we were within twenty yards, a gruff male voice hollered down at us from a small platform above the gate. “State your business.”
I took the lead. “We’re here to talk to Fritz.”
“You with the Coven?”
“Thank Moon, no!” I said.
The man’s laugh sounded like steel wool over brick, but a moment later, the gate began to open.
“Well played,” Landon said, “with that ‘thank Moon’ stuff. Drawing on the main commonality between witches and weres. Smart.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said. “I occasionally pay attention to things. Especially when they could be useful for not getting me shredded.”
We approached, and the man from the platform was already waiting on the ground for us as we reached the threshold of the compound. “Names?”
“I’m Nora Ashcroft and this is Landon Hawker. Those are our familiars, Grim and Hera.”
He eyed each of us suspiciously. “That cat might not like this place.”
“No offense,” Landon said, “but I don’t think any of us are going to like this place.”
The man chuckled. “Fair enough. Half the wolves who live here don’t like it themselves. If there were any other way to keep us safe from you settlers, we’d take it, I assure you.”
“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” I assured him. “By the way, I didn’t get your name.”
He blinked rapidly before narrowing his eyes at me. Did no one ever ask for his name? Or did the compound have so few new visitors that there wasn’t occasion for introductions?
“Rufus Boone.”
“Boone? Is there a Boone pack?”
He nodded. “Sure is. We don’t stray far from ho
me, though, so it doesn’t surprise me you haven’t heard of us.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Landon said. “You’re one of the original families. The Boones fought in the war.”
“The Boones died in the war, too,” Rufus added. “Most of us, at least. That’s why we keep to ourselves. And why we turn away most visitors … especially witches.” He scowled at Landon, and I stepped closer to draw his attention away from the poor North Wind.
“We just want to talk to Fritz. There are rumors going around about him that we don’t believe are true. We want to get to the bottom of it so we can tell the Coven to back off. We’re trying to avoid any trouble here.”
Rufus was silent for a moment, his eyes roaming up and down my body. “Not sure who you think you are. If you have the power to get the Coven to back off of a werewolf they’ve set out to destroy, you might be more powerful of a witch than I ought to let inside these walls. I could save us both a lot of trouble and tell you that whatever rumors you’ve heard about Fritz, they’re probably true. Not one of our shining stars. How he’s survived into adulthood, none of us around here can fathom.”
“Be that as it may, we’d still like to talk to him. It’ll only be a minute.”
Rufus adjusted his stance, rocking his head back and sighing heavily. “Yeah, okay. I’ll send an owl ahead to let him know.” When he extended an arm, hardly a second passed before an owl landed on it. No designated mail perch, no bell to ring. It was almost like telepathy, but as far as I knew, werewolves didn’t have familiars.
“Have you ever seen that before?” I asked Grim.
“Yep. Did you think witches came up with the owl system?”
“I guess so.”
“Nah. Werewolves and owls have worked together since time unknown. Witches adopted the method, but it’s never worked as well.”
Rufus pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, stuck it in the owl’s talons, then said, “Fritz” and the bird was off. Then the guard stepped out of the way, giving us space to pass, and provided directions to Fritz’s home. “He should be there, given it’s the afternoon and he doesn’t do anything for work anyway.”
