by Sierra Dean
“I’m okay,” Desmond reassured me, though he sounded tired and a little cranky. It was amazing what cues I had started to pick up from his tone after living with him on and off for over a year.
“Need me to stop for some food?” I hadn’t really considered eating, since Holden and I had both fed before leaving New York. I’d made the vampire grudgingly agree to eat bagged blood at Calliope’s place since we wouldn’t have time for him to hit up whatever live taps he had at his beck and call around town. He’d made a hideous face the entire time he drank, but it meant we’d both be good until we arrived in Elmwood.
I couldn’t wait to find out his reaction when I told him he’d be drinking pig’s blood out there.
Before Desmond could reply, his stomach did so for him, letting out a loud, almost comical growl. “Um, yeah. Some drive-through or something would be great.”
Fifteen minutes later, after navigating the infuriating and completely nonsensical streets of Steinbach, the car reeked of McDonald’s fries, and Desmond’s stomach had quieted down considerably. During that whole time Holden had been unable to get an answer at Grandmere’s house.
The gnawing pit of worry in my belly was becoming difficult to ignore.
Holden, obviously sensing my anxiety, placed his hand on my thigh and gave a comforting squeeze. “You said she spends a lot of time outdoors, even this time of year. Maybe she’s out in the garden and can’t hear the phone.”
“And her two guards are ignoring it too?”
“They’re supposed to be with her, not in the house, remember?”
I wanted to point out they should still be able to hear the phone ring from outside, but he had a decent point. If the two men Callum had sent to guard Grandmere were outside with her—a very likely possibility I hadn’t thought of—they might be unwilling to leave her side. Their duty was to protect her, after all, and answering the phone would take secondary priority.
I let out my breath in a huff, willing to believe his explanation if it meant I could remain calm for the rest of the drive. Once we hit the dead zone, Holden put my cell back in my bag, and the three of us sat in grim silence. A few times I considered saying something, anything, just to break up the quiet, but I couldn’t manage to come up with a worthwhile topic.
After an hour on the road we turned off the highway onto a narrow ribbon of gravel that led away from the town of Elmwood proper. Two big, empty fields spanned out on either side, the crops having already been harvested for the season.
My heart gave a leap when we pulled into the circular driveway of Grandmere’s house to see most of the interior lights on, giving the place a warm, inviting glow.
“Thank God,” I murmured, barely remembering to turn the car off before I barreled towards the house’s front door. The boys followed behind me at a distance, and I suddenly felt nervous about the idea of introducing not one but two of my boyfriends to my grandmere at the same time. I didn’t think she would approve.
“Grandmere?” I didn’t bother to kick off my boots when I got inside, something that would appall her when she saw me.
The door was unlocked, my brain told me.
I hadn’t noticed it when I came in because the door was always unlocked. That’s the kind of place Elmwood was. I suspected Grandmere had taken more precautions when I’d been younger, but over the years she’d relaxed into the small-town safety mentality. Plus I tended to go for runs a lot at night, so it didn’t make much sense to board things up at sunset.
But she was in danger now, or at least the possibility of danger existed. Sure, she might have spells to ward against threats, but sometimes something as mundane as a lock was all it took to keep someone from getting to you.
Holden stopped at the front door, unable to continue. I wasn’t sure if I was still able to invite people in, considering how long it had been since I lived in the house, but I gave it a whirl anyway. “Holden, please come in.”
The magic holding him out yielded, and he was able to follow Desmond and me across the threshold.
“Grandmere?” Still no answer. “Ben? Is anyone here?”
The stillness of the house announced us as being the only people there. There’d been no sign of movement outside, and it was dark enough now even Grandmere wouldn’t be puttering in the garden. Something was definitely wrong here, and with every step I took into the house I got more and more afraid.
“Do you smell anything?” The question was meant for both of them, since each man had a better sense of smell than me. “See anything? Hear anything?” My hearing was the most acute of my senses, and I couldn’t pick up a damned thing beyond the noises the three of us were making.
“There’s no one else here,” Holden confirmed.
“I smell two male wolves, a human female, and a… Hold on.” Desmond vanished around the corner, and I followed him towards the sliding glass doors out to the patio. “Jesus.”
“What? Jesus what?” I grabbed his arm, tugging at it like he might answer me faster.
“Six. Six male wolves back here, different from the other two. And a female wolf.” He stared at me, and it didn’t take long for his meaning to sink in. “And I smell blood.”
Mercy had come for Grandmere, and she’d brought a whole new pack with her. She’d somehow managed to find another half-dozen wolves stupid enough to believe she was fit to lead them, and she’d manipulated them into helping kidnap an old woman and two other wolves.
The broken part of me wanted to sink to the floor and cry my eyes out, giving up all hope then and there. Mercy had what she’d come for. What would stop her from finishing Grandmere off once and for all?
If she wanted her dead, she would have killed her here.
My fingernails bit into the tender skin of my palms, and I fought against the urge to strike out at anything close to me. Hitting Desmond or Holden, or hell, even the bookshelf wasn’t going to make things any better.
Where was Lucas when I needed him?
“Can you track them?”
“Maybe?” Desmond answered uncertainly.
“Good.” I turned back towards the front door with Holden hot on my heels and Desmond trailing a few feet behind.
“What are you planning to do?” Holden asked, grabbing my arm and tugging me to a halt when I was almost to the car.
“I’m going to do what I came here to do,” I snapped.
“Which is?”
“I’m going to kill that bitch once and for all.”
Chapter Thirty
Desmond followed the scent trail to the edge of the woods bordering Grandmere’s property, but we hit our first roadblock when the rogue pack seemed to take her directly into the creek. We lost a good ten minutes prowling up and down the bank on both sides, trying to determine where they got back out of the water.
Eventually Holden smelled something in one of the metal culverts about a quarter mile down the creek.
Grandmere’s slipper.
The trail picked up again on the opposite side of the culvert, leading into a deeper part of the woods.
Growing up, this was a section of land I had refused to visit very often. The property belonged to the Syler family, who had gained notoriety in the late seventies in the worst possible way. Buck Syler, a bachelor in his mid-forties, had lived with his mother Luanne in the house. The other Syler kids had grown up and moved out, and Luanne’s husband Jeff had passed away, leaving only Buck and his mother on the property.
Buck was a slow kid who grew into a slow man, and the whole Syler farm fell into a state of terrible disrepair since neither Buck nor Luanne did anything to look after the place. Since they were off the grid and no one in Elmwood really had to see what a mess the place was, people didn’t tend to bother the Sylers, and no one did anything to help them, either.
As it turned out, Buck was in the habit of making drives. He would make the two-hour trek to Winnipeg, find a hooker, have his merry way with her, and when he was done, Buck would incapacitate the poor woman and ha
ul her all the way back to Elmwood. Normally the girls were still alive when he got them back to the barn.
They didn’t stay that way for long.
Over the course of seven years, Buck kidnapped and murdered seventy-eight prostitutes and fed their bodies to his pigs or buried them out in the unused fields.
In 1983, a group of teenagers who were hunting outside a designated area happened to find a human hand. They thought at first it belonged to a bear and brought it home as a trophy, but soon the grim reality became evident.
All this happened a decade before Grandmere brought me to Elmwood, and the town had done a lot in that time to shake the horrible memory of Buck Syler. Old Luanne, though, she still lived on the property until late last year when she finally kicked the bucket.
As far as I knew Buck was still alive and rotting in prison, having avoided the death penalty since Canada didn’t have one.
But technically he inherited the property since the other Syler children couldn’t find anyone willing to buy it, so no one quite knew what to do with it now.
The legend of the Syler farm was enough to spook me as a kid, especially knowing Luanne lived there. Considering what I was, I had no interest in wandering into a place that was sure to be haunted. Even when you’re used to being alone in the dark at night, the idea of ghosts can still get a bit spooky. They made me uneasy no matter how much strange stuff I’d experienced.
I had to admit, though, if Mercy wanted a nightmarish, off-the-grid hideout where she could take Grandmere and the wolves, the Syler farm was a perfect choice. I shuddered just thinking about setting foot on the blood-soaked property.
Having a good sense of where we were going now, I set off ahead of Holden and Desmond. I’d grabbed my sword from the car before we left and had armed Desmond with a shotgun from the house. Holden insisted he preferred to go without a weapon, and I didn’t argue. A vampire could easily take a wolf down in a fight, and we’d faced far worse odds than this before.
If Ben and Fairfax were still alive and in good shape—and I was too busy fretting over Grandmere to consider my brother might be hurt—we would have almost even numbers against Mercy’s clan. And the willingness of these rogue wolves to follow an insane bitch like my mother meant they couldn’t be too smart.
I liked our chances.
The night air was cool and a bit damp. Not so cold to threaten snow, but chilly enough I could see my breath. Holden’s only showed when he spoke, which was a strange effect. Sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really alive in the traditional sense.
“It’s over this way. We have to cross a big field to get to the main house, and we’ll be exposed if they’re waiting for us. Is the scent still strong?”
“Yeah,” Desmond answered. “They definitely came through this way.”
“And the blood?”
“I stopped smelling blood down by the creek.”
Perhaps that was a good thing. If Grandmere’s wounds had been superficial, the blood might have washed away in the water. Anything more severe and she’d probably still be bleeding. That was presuming the blood was hers. I hadn’t asked, and neither Desmond nor Holden had offered, though both could probably tell. My senses were good, but not honed enough to determine sex and species from such trace amounts.
I was grateful not to be able to determine whose blood it was, because it meant they hadn’t lost enough for me to figure it out.
We reached the edge of the tree line and came to a stop. The barren Syler crop fields had grown wild with tall grass that swayed and rustled in the wind. It swept out before us like a wall of sharp brown fingers waiting to grasp and pluck at us. The noise could very well announce our arrival if we didn’t proceed carefully. I didn’t bother looking for a path because that would be the approach equivalent to ringing their doorbell.
The lights in the main house were off, but a small lamplight flickered in the window of the barn, throwing eerie shadows onto the ground that shifted and moved like a living thing.
I tried to hear any sounds of struggle or screams, but there was only the chatter of the grass and the whisper of the wind. If I stood still too long, the thump of my own heartbeat was liable to drive me mad.
“We crawl,” I announced. “Spread out and stay low. They won’t see us over the grass, and if we move slowly, they won’t hear us coming.”
The clouds broke, sending a spear of cold white moonlight to the ground, briefly illuminating the whole tableau.
In another time, the farm might have been almost pretty with its big red barn and rambling two-story house. But with the porch in shambles and the paint peeling from every surface, it looked like what it truly was.
A scene out of a horror movie.
No ghosts, I pleaded to myself. Please, no ghosts.
I was haunted enough without having to deal with any angry spirits. I didn’t see ghosts often, certainly not every ghost out there, but I’d seen a handful, and it never got easier.
Given our location and knowing why the restless dead were here, I had zero interest in interacting with them. I couldn’t offer them peace or release. I couldn’t even find peace for myself.
Neither of the boys kicked up a fuss over my plan. Desmond slipped to all fours naturally and crawled forward with such ease I had to stop to marvel at the fluid grace of his motions as he disappeared into the grass. Looked like he’d retained a few tricks from his wolf form.
Holden, who typically moved like a dancer when on two feet—or in the bedroom—didn’t do as well on the ground. He gave his trousers a forlorn look before getting in the dirt. It was a good thing I hadn’t suggested he crawl on his belly, he might have murdered me.
The distance from the woods to the barn took longer to cover this way, but it was smarter than leaping into the fray with guns blazing. I had to know what we were up against, and it was always smarter to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible.
By now they would probably know we’d arrived in Elmwood. Even a basic drive-by of the farm would turn up our car. So Mercy would know I was coming for her. I had to be the endgame target of her assault. If she’d only wanted to kill her mother, this would already be over. But for her to run off with Grandmere and hole up in some haunted shithole, she was drawing me out. Taunting me.
Mercy liked to hit me where it hurt; she’d already proven that by killing Brigit. I wouldn’t put it past her to wait until I showed up to bump off Grandmere in front of me.
I had to be careful.
The handle of my sword bit into my hand as I crawled, making me wish I’d thought to bring along its sling. It took me about twenty minutes to clear the field quietly, and by then my palms were cut up and I’d worn a hole in the knee of my jeans.
At this rate I would need to buy stock in Levi’s if I was going to keep burning through denim this way.
Desmond emerged from the grass a few feet to my left and Holden about ten feet to my right. We were facing the broad side of the barn farthest from the house. If we moved right, we’d be at the front side where I’d seen the lamp burning in the window. Better to go the back way.
I wasn’t well versed in official SWAT hand signals, but I did work for the FBI now, so perhaps I’d inherited some skills along with my new nonexistent title. I waved my hand at Holden to get his attention then pointed emphatically to him and to the front of the barn. Then I waved my hand between Desmond and myself and pointed to the backside.
Perhaps not the most elegant way to coordinate the troops, but given the way Holden rolled his eyes, I suspected my point had been made. He stayed within the cover of the grass and edged towards the front of the barn. At least I assumed he was moving because I couldn’t see him anymore, and he was so quiet he might as well have been sitting still.
I waited a few moments, holding my breath in anticipation of him being spotted, or perhaps expecting him to acknowledge he was safely in position. All I got was quiet.
Turning toward Desmond, I jerked my chin towards the back of the ba
rn, and he set off crawling ahead of me. Since it was less distance to travel, we got there a lot faster than our initial trek across the field, and by now my hands were numb to both the cold and the pointy shards of hard grass that kept stabbing me.
The windows at the rear of the barn were dark, and the big sliding barn door was wrapped up with a length of chain and padlocked shut.
My fingers tightened reflexively around the sword. A bit of chain would be nothing for the blade to slice through, but metal on metal was sure to make one hell of a racket. Yet, if the door was bolted, it suggested there was something inside worth protecting. I couldn’t get closer to listen at the door without making myself seen.
I waved for Desmond’s attention then cupped my hand to my ear and raised my eyebrows. God, it was really a good thing I didn’t play charades regularly. I was not skilled at miming.
Des shook his head. I hadn’t expected him to hear much, since I wasn’t hearing anything either. I didn’t like this. We already knew we were being set up, so the silence was clearly a trap. But if Mercy and her wolves were lying in wait, shouldn’t we have smelled them by now? Or at least gotten some hint of their presence?
Yet there was nothing.
Magic.
Was Mercy forcing Grandmere to cloak the area? I wasn’t sure if that was a spell Grandmere was capable of, but I doubted she would cast it without a lot of…persuasion.
Motherfucker.
I wanted to swear out loud but managed to keep my teeth gritted and my opinions to myself. Desmond was next to me suddenly, his hand braced on my shoulder. My angry face must have given away how I was feeling. I was as bad at hiding my emotions as I was at miming.
As quickly as he’d appeared, his comforting grip shifted to a clutch that bordered on painful, and I swallowed a small meep of surprise, trying to swat his hand away.
Then the smell hit me.
Wolves.
Not the musk of a werewolf in his human form, but the full furry scent of a wolf on the prowl. And it was practically right on top of us.