by Seana Kelly
“Hmm?” Owen took my arm and led me to a chair. “Sit. Now, what about wards?”
“Mine don’t seem to be stable. Mostly they work, but people I ward against—werewolves—walked in yesterday. I did some research, but I wanted the plain English opinion from someone I trust.”
“I know wards are Helena’s specialty. If yours aren’t holding, I’m not even sure who could shore them up. I can ask my dad. He can build them well, but his magic isn’t as nuanced as Helena’s. What she did here is almost unheard of. She not only tied the wards to you, she taught them to respond to your thoughts. It’s—oh! I just realized. If Helena was your mom’s friend, she would have known that your mom was a wicche, that you carry wicche blood. Maybe that’s why your wards were so elastic and intuitive.” Owen pulled out his phone and started texting. “Mom’ll know.”
“Listen, I know you were scheduled for the bookstore, but would you mind taking the bar? I’m not up to running around. I’d like to just sit behind the counter and read.”
“No problem. Can I get you some tea to take with you?”
“Thanks, I’d love some tea. Whatever you recommend is fine with me.” Wicches knew the restorative properties of herbals much better than I did. I deferred to their expertise.
As I was walking through the doorway to the bookstore, unfamiliar footsteps sounded on the stairs above. It wasn’t as though I knew the sound of each of my customers, but these sounded strangely hesitant.
And then I smelled it. Wolf. A growl built in my chest. It was the wolf from the Marina who said he’d been looking for me.
“Finally found you.” He nodded at Owen and then studied me. His bespectacled gaze intent. Holding out his hand, he said, “Ethan. I didn’t get to introduce myself before.”
I left his hand hanging. “You can turn around and leave now.”
Owen stepped out from behind the bar and stood next to me.
Hand dropping to his side, he ducked his head. “I’m really sorry about before. When you’re a lone wolf, new in town, you’ve got to project strength, maybe some homicidal urges, otherwise, you’re seen as weak and attacked. I didn’t stop to think I was talking to another lone. I shouldn’t have come on like that. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Is that okay?”
Ethan watched me through his dark-rimmed glasses. There was something different about him. Not just his smell, although he did smell like melting plastic or burned paper. It was something else. The glasses were new. Wait, why was he wearing glasses? Wolves had perfect eyesight. Was this an attempt to appear less aggressive? Whatever the reason, I decided I wasn’t ready to kick him out yet. He knew something about those dead women. I could feel it.
“It’s okay, Owen. You can finish restocking.”
He moved away reluctantly as I led Ethan to a nearby table.
“Actually, would you mind if we talked in the bookstore? I’d love to look around.” Ethan ducked through the doorway, scanning bookshelves as he made his way toward the window wall and the view of the bay.
“Okay.” Following at a distance, I breathed deeply, trying to place that strange scent that seemed to ooze from his skin.
Head moving back and forth as he took in everything, Ethan dropped into a chair. “So, I’ve been looking for you for quite some time.”
“Why?” I was almost positive I’d never met him before. Sitting in the chair opposite, I tried hard to remember everyone I’d met at my uncle’s compound.
“I’ve missed you.” His eyes scanned me avidly, from head to toe. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. So much like your mother, but with your father’s coloring.”
Stupid. I knew that wolves could live centuries or more without aging but had forgotten. Stupid and potentially lethal.
“Your mother disappeared with you, and I’ve been looking ever since.” He threw his hands out, gesturing all around. “And look where I finally find you. So strange, really. Nothing for the longest time and then—pop—you’re back on the plane and easy to find. I never knew your mother was so gifted.”
If I hadn’t already met Ethan, I wouldn’t have found his behavior strange. Since I had, I began to wonder if someone else was pulling his strings. His voice wasn’t as deep. His mannerisms were, well, more feminine, I suppose. When I’d met him in the Marina, he’d sat with his knees spread, an arm thrown over the back of the bench. He’d taken up space. Now, his legs were crossed, and one hand seemed to play with an ear, almost as if he were absently toying with an earring. I wasn’t sure who I was talking to, but I doubted it was the wolf in front of me.
“How did you know my mother?”
“Oh,” he laughed. “We go back.” The humor fell away as he studied me once more. “I’m not sure why she felt the need to hide you. You don’t seem particularly special to me.”
“Who are you?”
With a quick grin, he replied, “Ethan. Remember?”
“I meant who’s hiding behind the Ethan mask?”
He tapped his chin, a sneer pulling at his lips. “Hmm, that is the question, isn’t it?” Shrugging, he stood. “Well, I suppose I know what I need to know. She hid you out of sentimentality, not because you could ever rival me.” Walking toward me, he added, “Best to take care of little problems before they become big ones, though, right?”
The deranged glint in his eye had me rising out of my chair and moving back. Shaking his head, he tutted, a finger wagging back and forth. Then he leaped, knocking me to the floor, slamming my head against the hardwood. Light exploded in my brain a moment before I felt his large hands wrap around my neck.
I pulled at his hands, my body bucking underneath him. He was too strong. Gasping for breath, I knew I was one twist away from a broken neck. I tried to punch him, but he was too tall. The angle was all wrong. My blows glanced off his shoulders. He was crushing my windpipe.
Flattening my hands like planks, I stabbed at his eyes. Roaring, he reared back. I sat up and slammed my forehead into his nose. The bone snapped and blood poured out. I scrambled, trying to get away, and then his huge hands were wrapped around my neck again. He lifted me up and pounded my head against the floor with enough force, I heard my skull crack. Vision going dark, I caught a glimpse over Ethan’s shoulder. Owen, gripping a full bottle of whiskey by its neck, swung for the bleachers.
Fifteen
Ow
When I awoke, I was lying on the couch in the bookstore. Dave was right. It was freaking uncomfortable. Tentatively but with growing concern, my fingers skated over my neck. I was pretty sure the wolf’s meaty fists hadn’t actually squeezed my neck to the spine, but it hurt so freaking much, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Sam? Are you awake?”
Squinting one eye, I tried to focus on the concerned face of Owen. Why was there so much hurt? “Thanks for...” saving me. Knives stabbed with every whispered word.
“Shit, Sam.” The couch jostled as Owen fell to knees next to me. “Healing magic isn’t my thing. I’ve been trying, but I don’t think I’ve done much good.” He rested his forehead on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. Not even when Jenny Lim tried to kiss me in first grade,” he said with a shudder.
“Underfoot?”
“I called. It took a while to track down his number and then he didn’t answer, but I left a message. I also called my sister. Healing magic is her gift.”
“Clive?” If anyone could get Underfoot here in a hurry, it was Clive.
“Ah, no. I didn’t try him. I mean, the sun is still...” His voice trailed off at the end. “And, well, he’s kind of terrifying.”
I started to nod, but my neck and head screamed in pain, so I tried instead to lay as still as possible. “Clive.” Scary? Maybe to some but never to me. “Please.”
I opened an eye again and felt horrible for putting that pained look on Owen’s face. Over his shoulder, I saw Ethan lying on the floor. He was facedown, the whiskey bottle l
ying near him, with his arms, legs, and mouth secured.
“Duct tape?”
Owen glanced over. “Well, it’s not like we have ropes or chains around here. I found the duct tape in your toolbox under the sink. I used the whole roll.”
“See that.” Every word felt like stabby fire in my throat.
Shrugging, Owen added, “I don’t know how strong those guys are. Unless he’s like Wolverine and blades pop out of him, he should be secure.” His eyes flicked back to the bound wolf. “Probably.”
Even breathing hurt.
“Here’s hoping, anyway.” He grinned and stood. “Okay, I’m getting rid of this guy.” He picked up Ethan’s feet and dragged the bound body across the floor. “In answer to your unspoken question, yes, I could have rolled him over, but I wanted his face to get scraped up on the long drag.”
Smiling didn’t hurt. “Ocean?”
“What?” Owen stopped and stared out the window at the teaming water. “No! I’m not killing him. I’m dumping him in the storeroom for people on a higher pay scale to deal with.” He paused, thinking. “How many bodies are in there now?” Shaking his head, he continued dragging the wolf. “I swear, it’s getting all Sweeney Todd up in here.” Owen pulled the dead weight around the bookshelves and out of the room.
It was long past noon, but the bar was empty. The silence complete. Where was everyone? Then I felt it. I’d chalked up the pressure in my head to having it slammed repeatedly against the floor, but that only accounted for most of it. Some of the pressure came from patrons being stopped as they tried to enter. I hadn’t opened the wards for business. And yet a wolf walked right in. If it was the wolves who stole my blood in order to bypass my wards, were they the ones working with a demon? Ethan did reek of burning things. I needed answers.
“Open,” I whispered, and people began tromping down the stairs.
“What the hell, Sam?” Pause. “Sam?”
“Where is she?”
“Owen?”
“Shit. Somebody call Clive.”
Owen must have returned from the storeroom then. His low, reassuring voice calmed the patrons before he started getting drinks, all while avoiding the ‘Where’s Sam’ questions.
I struggled up, not wanting anyone to find me like this. Once vertical, my head pounded like a drum being beaten by a deranged chimp on crack. Eyes closed against the bright light battering my brain, balance iffy, I swayed to the side and ended up clutching a shelf for support. Using it as a guide, I made my way to the back of the bookstore, to the panel with the hidden latch. Twisting an ornamental wolf’s head carved into a decorative bookcase frame, I heard a click. The shelves swung out, revealing an entry to my apartment. Securing the door behind me, I stumbled to my bed and fell into blessed darkness.
I awoke to cool fingers brushing lightly against my throat. My apartment was warded against everyone but myself, so I should have been more panicked, but I recognized the scent and touch. Clive. I’d told my wards to let him enter the previous day and then forgot to revoke the access. Mostly forgot.
“You do insist on courting danger, don’t you?” His deep British accent was comforting in the dark.
“Not my fault.” Stabby but not as stabby as before. Swift werewolf healing at work.
“No, it never is.” His fingers left my neck, but then glided across my forehead. “You have a concussion, a rather severe one. Owen’s sister Lilah says your skull was cracked. Her magic and your own healing have repaired that. I spoke with Underfoot. He’s out of town but is familiar with Lilah’s magic. He says that she is the better choice for healing this type of injury than he is.”
“’Kay” Ow. I knew it shouldn’t, as this was silent, brooding Clive, but having him here allowed the fear forever knotted inside to relax, just a little. Clive may be annoyed more often than not by me, but I knew he’d protect me. I wasn’t alone.
“Are you here to keep me awake?” I was shocked anew every time I heard the raspy croak that had become my voice.
“Hmm?” His voice came from my living room and then there was a scrape in the dark by the side of my bed. “No. You’re healing. Staying awake with a concussion is just for humans. Feel free to go back to sleep.” His voice had settled to my right.
“You’re staying?”
“I’ve moved one of your chairs in and I’m quite comfortable for the moment. Since talking is difficult for you, I can wait to hear what happened. We have a strange wolf bound and struggling in your storeroom. I need to decide how long he lives, but that can wait until you’re able to talk.”
I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep again, but there was something about Clive watching over me that allowed me to relax, secure in the knowledge that whatever came for me, Clive would battle it. Between one breath and the next, I dropped back under.
The scent of chocolate woke me. I reached out, only then realizing that my hand was being held. I had one brief moment to experience profound contentment before the hand slid away.
“Good. You’re awake. I’m going to turn on a lamp in the other room, so we have some light. We’ll see if your head can take it.” A moment later the bedroom was bathed in dim, shadowy light.
“Okay?” He stood silhouetted in the doorway to the living room.
“Yes.” And it was. My throat didn’t hurt as much, either.
When I tried to sit up in bed, the movement set off fireworks of pain in my head. I had one horrifying moment when I feared I’d vomit in front of Clive, but then he was there, gently pulling me up to a seated position, tucking pillows behind my back. He froze, almost as if he, too, realized what he was doing. A second later, he was on the other side of the bed, sitting in my reading chair.
“Your alarm clock.” He gestured to the mug on my nightstand. “I asked Dave to make you cocoa.” A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “You should drink it before the whipped cream melts.”
Cocoa and a hand to hold. Tears prickled. “Thank you.”
Nodding, he asked, “Can you tell me now?”
I did. I explained the whole weird history with this wolf, the meeting in the Marina that was laced with menace, the glimpse I caught of him watching us outside the Tonga Room, and now this latest attack when he’d seemed to be little more than a puppet.
“And you’re sure you don’t recognize him? He wasn’t one of your uncle’s wolves?”
“I’m not sure of anything. I know I don’t remember ever seeing him before a few days ago, but it’s possible he just kept out of sight when I visited. I’d been there less than two weeks before I’d been attacked and sent away.”
I reached for the mug. Before I had a chance to stretch my arm, the mug was in my hand and Clive was leaning back in his chair.
“Did anything unusual happen when you visited the Santa Cruz Mountains’ pack that would have caused a member to stew and plot for seven years?” Clive’s voice was low, nudging my conscience to remember a long-buried incident. It was a little like changing Siri’s voice. My conscience now had a deep British accent. I liked it much better.
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary before…”
“Before the attack?”
“No. I mean, yes, I remember things like hiking, playing poker, taking pictures, a campfire. I don’t think I’m missing memories from that week.”
Clive leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “That’s an odd way to phrase it.”
“Coco thinks I’ve had memories stolen.”
Clive stilled at my words, waiting for me to elaborate.
“When I said my necklace was all I had of my mother, she wondered why. In trying to explain, I realized I didn’t remember how she’d died. I had the memory and then I didn’t—that’s what scares me. Someone poked around in my head, looking for the memories they wanted, and then stole them.”
“It’s a different kind of rape, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Relief at being understood swamped me. “That’s it exactly. Someone inva
ded my mind, searched for my mother, and plucked her out.” Emotion tightened my throat as I blinked back tears. “She’s been erased.”
Clive’s hand wrapped around mine again. “Let’s see what we can do about finding her.”
After another visit from Owen’s sister Lilah, I was feeling well enough to work. I checked my watch. Owen would be off soon. Dave could work the bar, while I sat behind the counter in the bookstore.
Once the schedule had been worked out with everyone, I was settling in when the phone rang. “Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar, this is Sam.”
“Hi. Could I speak with Owen, please?”
I didn’t recognize the voice. Pain and suspicion had been weighing me down all day. I was shaking them off right now. “It depends. Is this Mr. Wonderful?”
He laughed in a way that let me know he enjoyed that Owen had talked about him. “Well, that would depend on who you asked.”
“Okay, is this Mr. Dreamy Veterinarian?”
“Hmm, I don’t think I can wriggle out of that one. I doubt Owen knows any other vets.”
“Good. The reason I haven’t passed the call on yet is that I need some information. Owen said you might be stopping by soon, and I’d like to mess with him. Could you tell me your name and what you look like or what you’re wearing so I can pretend that I already know you?”
He laughed. “Sure. I’m George. Mom says I look like a taller version of my sister Coco. Black, dark hair, lighter eyes. I’ll be wearing my green, V-neck sweater over a white t-shirt with jeans. Does that help?”
“Perfect. Play along when you get here, okay? Listen, I’ve been talking with you too long to pretend we haven’t been plotting. Would you mind hanging up, waiting a few minutes and calling back? Then either Owen will answer, or I’ll forward right away, and he’ll never know we’ve spoken.”
“Sure thing. I’m looking forward to meeting you in person.”
Ten minutes later the phone rang again. I ignored it and let Owen answer. We needed normalcy and teasing. We needed something other than threat and dread and dead bodies.