by Casey Lane
I opened the window a crack when we headed into the last mountain pass before Nowhere. My long, dark hair flew around my head; tucking it behind my ears was futile. I closed the window. My layers were packed somewhere in the backseat. The light running top and track pants I wore gave me no protection against the frigid mountain air. This time of year snow was starting to fall at the highest elevations
Coming back here was an obligation, nothing more. I would get in, solve Fang’s problem, and get the hell out. Preferably in three days. I owed him that much. But it didn’t mean I was happy about it.
I approached a giant two-story billboard so out of place in the dark shadows that at first I wondered if I was dreaming. Then I remembered that never happens. Dreams belong to the living.
I slowed down, easing my car off the side of the road onto gravel. I flinched, imagining what that would do to my car’s silver finish. I sat there staring at the sign with the car idling. Ben slept on. Mr. Figgles farted.
Twin Moons Casino. Games. Entertainment. Live Buffets.
Underneath the words, an image of a cowgirl wearing a short skirt leaned over, giving me a peek at her ass. She held a lasso in her hand, and a trickle of blood dripped from her ruby-red lips. Her lip color and the blood were done in some kind of glitter paint; I could tell when my car lights touched it. She looked disturbingly young, which only meant the advertising would be wildly successful.
This casino was opening that weekend. It was really happening. I remembered hearing about this idea ten years before. It had seemed like a pipe dream at most. Now here was the sign in all its gaudy glory.
Movement over to my far left caught my attention.
A wolf, lanky and silver furred, considered me from the other side of the road. He loped across the road in front of me, his amber-colored eyes glancing into my headlights before he disappeared into the night again.
His gait was familiar, but his coloring was all wrong. My wolf’s pelt had been dark. This one was silver gray.
Was it my imagination that he seemed to recognize me, or was that just curiosity?
I was here to pay the only debt I owed in this world. After that I was free. I would never leave LA again unless I was accepting the Nobel Peace Prize.
I got back in my car, and the rest of the trip into Nowhere was uneventful. We arrived with a few hours to spare before dawn at the motel outside the town limits. I left a sleepy Ben and Mr. Figgles to deal with check-in and headed, on foot, deeper into the mountains for a resting place until the sun went down again.
I felt a curious fluttering feeling inside as I ran. Usually exercise calmed me. Tonight it felt as though my nerves were on fire, tingling at the bright moon overhead. It cast the mountains into shadows. I admired the starkness, but I preferred the manicured life I’d tamed in LA.
A decent-sized hole in the cliff with a boulder blocking the entrance was just the place I was looking for. I rolled the boulder aside, then replaced it, leaving a small crack for ventilation and flying residents. Then I inspected my old haunt.
Still cool and dry. No sign of dampness, which was always appreciated. I was pleased the entrance was still unmarred by human graffiti and trash, which meant my secret place was still hidden.
A family of pack rats hastily vacated upon my arrival. A cranky rattlesnake protested his removal, but it was pretty clear who between the two of us had the bigger fangs. The bats were gone for the night, but I could tell by their guano which part of the cave they favored. I had no problem with bats as long as they stuck to their area.
I walked deeper into the cave. Past the black soot etchings depicting hunts with my kind so many centuries ago. Such markings would make an anthropological team swarm the site if they knew about them. They never would from me.
My ledge was still there, waiting for me. I brushed off a fine layer of dust and cobwebs, then climbed up and settled in. It fit me perfectly, just the right length and width, like a bunk on a ship—though I did miss my Egyptian six-hundred-thread-count sheets.
From deeper in the cave, I heard the faint whoosh of running water from an underground stream. It wasn’t unpleasant at all but a rather soothing white noise. It calmed me as I lay there waiting for the oblivion that always overtook me when the sun rose.
My heartbeat was still elevated. It wasn’t from the physical effort. I was in excellent shape. I was forever and always trapped in the body of my seventeen-year-old self. Even though my physical appearance was that of a brunette teenager, I was born in 1869.
I died in 1886 along with my family when we were slaughtered in our small Nevada settlement. Night had fallen after the beatings and rape. The murderers were interrupted by a creature so fearsome they never really knew what killed them. My family was already dead. I lay hemorrhaging until the creature, now my Maker, asked if I wanted to live. All I could think was that I wanted vengeance. I accepted her offer. My killers were already dead when I was reborn a vampire, but I’d seen enough of the world to know there was much more ugliness left in it.
For a long time I’d been excellent at killing, but that was before I joined law enforcement and then attended medical school. I had to find something to do. Immortality can be dull without a sense of purpose.
The sun would be up soon. In all senses of the word, I’d be dead until the sun set again. A ripple of excitement passed through me at the thought of seeing Fang again. It struck me that despite all my talents, I wasn’t a very good vampire at all. I could feel my limbs grow heavy.
Home sweet crypt.
Chapter Four
Fang
I’d been out tracking that troll all night. When I returned home the next morning, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was used to not getting much sleep, but I blinked at the sight before me.
There was blood all over the kitchen, like a scene from a slasher film. Food and dishware were thrown everywhere. Tom, our cat, sat next to the open refrigerator. He looked as though he’d been dipped in red paint. He paused his bath, blinked at me, then continued his washing. His cat paw prints tracked in and out of the kitchen.
Tina.
She was my first thought. Something or someone had broken in and attacked her. I searched the entire house. Not a sign of her. Nothing else was disturbed or missing, as far as I could tell. All the carnage was in the kitchen.
There was no evidence of forced entry. She might have known her attacker and let him in. Tina had won popularity contests back in high school because she was pretty and came from the most powerful pack in the valley. Being married to her had shown me she’d never moved past those accomplishments. Her homecoming sashes were displayed on our fireplace mantel, near our wedding photos. All was untouched.
Despite appearances, I suspected this was Tina sending me a message. Dammit, I’d eaten that shitty casserole too.
I had no time to clean up the place. A crime scene waited out in the desert. A real one, not this likely staged temper tantrum of hers.
I hated leaving Tom drying in blood, but he’d have to wait. Was this all Tina’s blood? It sure did smell like Tina, but this being our house, I couldn’t be sure. Her scent was everywhere. Her truck, purse, and keys were gone. No note.
I checked with her few friends and her brother, Leon. No one had seen or heard from her in the past couple days. It seemed I’d been the last one to talk to my wife before she disappeared.
I’d only stopped back at home in an attempt to smooth things over for the millionth time. Work awaited me. Both situations were familiar. I fed Tom a fresh can of cat food, more out of guilt over his trauma than thinking he was actually hungry. From the looks of his belly, he’d eaten about half that fridge. I changed my clothes and headed back out into the desert again. Odds were Tina would return soon. I’d grovel asking for forgiveness for her imagined slight. She’d grudgingly accept. We’d limp on. Marriage.
My search last night had been successful, but I wasn’t pleased. I’d found the missing female, but too late. Now I needed to collect her rema
ins and follow all my official procedures, including notifying her family.
When I arrived back at the site, there wasn’t much left of the body before me. The sun heated things up fast once it climbed over the mountains. The ravens had gotten to the corpse. If it had been a vamp, there’d have been nothing left but a smoking pile of hair and clothing. But this included a sticky black substance like tar along with a hefty amount of dyed blond fur. Troll hair was naturally black, but according to my wife, the females especially spent a great deal of time and money on bleaching and waxing.
From the relatively modest size of the fur pile, I guessed this had been a smaller female. She might even have passed for a shifter or a witch before her killer got close enough. Some small females worked as prostitutes; despite their appearance they were reported to be physically sturdy, which appealed to the rougher clients.
But back to this female. What had happened to her? Was this the result of rough sex and panic? Or something else? And what was with the mysterious black substance?
A shiny metallic edge caught my eye, so I squatted to take a closer look. Half curled by heat, a piece of plastic the size of a credit card smoldered in the red dirt. Using a nearby twig, I pushed it to the side. Just as I’d thought, it was the remains of her casino hotel identification. Apparently I was standing over the remains of Shelia Fowler.
Having just arrived in his dented pickup, Menlo, my deputy, waited silently behind me. His dread rolls off him just as unsubtly as his cheap cologne. He’d been with the lizard shifter again. She must have been getting ready to shed her skin again, because he reeked. I’d have asked him to move downwind, but Menlo had the soul of a poet. He’d made up his mind to be a lawman, but I thought there were other avenues of employment better suited to him.
All paranormals are very different from humans in most ways, but in one area they overlap: both want a safe, comfortable place for their kind, with access to fresh water, fast Wi-Fi, and steady employment. Most of us in Nowhere needed to work. Menlo and I were no exception.
Menlo paces when he’s worried. He’d heard my wife had left me again. In the beginning, her departures were private. I’d return home to an empty house and missing luggage. Sometimes a terse note, sometimes not. As the years rolled by—and mostly due to my lack of a suitable response, according to her—Tina’s activities intensified. Last time, she’d slashed my tires and canceled cable during the NFL playoffs.
I squinted at the sky from under my beige cowboy hat, watching vultures circle overhead. It’d taken me most of the night to cover this valley in wolf form. Still vastly more efficient than what I could accomplish as a humanoid. The vultures were nature’s cleanup crew. I wished I could direct them to the interior of my house.
Our office was notified the previous afternoon that the troll hadn’t shown up for her training shift at the casino. Her family and friends had no idea why she wasn’t at the casino she’d headed off to in the morning. Late in the afternoon, her very worn Toyota sedan was found abandoned just about a mile off the main road thanks to an anonymous tip.
I’d spent the night tracking the area in wolf form. Normally, Menlo would’ve joined me. Two noses are better than one, but it was his night off. It wasn’t any hardship for me to be out under the stars tracking a scent.
The night was cold, but my fur kept me warm. My big ears heard every rustle in the clumps of sage. I could even feel the vibrations of the rodents in their burrows underneath me. They hushed at my approach, but what I was hunting was bigger game than a meal.
The sweetly scented desert air carried with it the smell of death. And something else, unfamiliar to me. I was sorry but not surprised to find the troll female dead. But the tar-like substance made no sense in this location.
There wasn’t much evidence left to collect, but I scooped up what I could into a plastic bag. Her wallet and ID were lying off the to the side. Someone had separated them from her body. They wanted her ID to be found, even if her body wasn’t. That in itself was curious and warranted closer examination.
Everyone knew everyone else in Nowhere. That’s just how it is in isolated communities with small populations. Doesn’t matter if the community is paranormal or human.
Menlo’s left cheek was missing a chunk of skin. It was an old scar. He never spoke of it, so I suspected it was the result of some pack skirmish.
As soon as Menlo met my gaze, his eyes slid to the side. His lack of eye contact wasn’t great for a deputy, but it was common among hyena shifters. He’d been pacing so much behind me I was sure his boot soles were worn out.
“Morning, Menlo.”
“Morning, Sheriff,” Menlo ducked his head. “The mayor stopped by looking for you this morning. Said it’s real important to talk to you.”
Whatever Leon Ryk wanted was always important and urgent to him. We had regular run-ins because he thought the sheriff’s department was part of his private security staff. We weren’t, at least not now that I was in charge.
He was also my brother-in-law.
I was willing to bet Tina had run to Leon before she left town, for sympathy and to make me look bad. Leon seemed to think I should be able to handle Tina. He’d been most enthusiastic during our courtship and wedding. Only after we got married had I figured out there was much about Tina I hadn’t seen.
“Mr. Ryk said stop by and see him at the casino.”
Shit. That would take a whack out of my day.
Ordinarily I don’t like driving out to the casino. After finding this poor troll here, however, I had a few more questions about what was happening lately over at the Twin Moons.
I labeled the evidence and asked Menlo to take it back to the office. He was always a twitchy guy, but today he seemed downright anxious.
“Something on your mind, deputy?”
He took his hat off his head and wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm. He sucked on his teeth before he spoke.
“I gotta bad feeling about this one, Sheriff.”
“You have good instincts, Menlo. She”—I held the plastic bags before our faces for emphasis—“was likely murdered.”
Menlo’s yellow eyes shifted between my face and the plastic bags. “I was talking about Miss Tina.”
Maybe my encouragement about his instinct was misplaced.
I spent the rest of the day in my humanoid form, scouring the site where Shelia was found. I headed back into town, but instead of stopping, I drove right through until I reached the Nowhere Motel. Trucks rumbled by here on a regular basis during the day, but night was pretty quiet.
The previous night, my wolf had come across a beautiful vampire standing next to her car, staring at the new Twin Moons Casino sign. I’d imagined her so often that at the time I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. The wind carried her scent, which mixed with the snow flurries. I didn’t stop but kept on my way. It was a dream, surely, but I’d take it.
After today I knew it wasn’t a dream. I’d seen the glances and heard the rumors that I’d done something to Tina. The town suspected their own sheriff. Leon must’ve spread the news through his pack. Hattie Silverthorne was here. She knew I was in trouble. My mind was part terror, part blessed relief.
I was even a bit shaky as I pulled into the motel. Though that could’ve been because I hadn’t eaten in a while.
These days the Nowhere Motel is looking the worse for wear. It’s burned down a few times but always gets rebuilt. Gravel dings have pitted the exterior doors of the dozen single-floor studio casitas. There’s an office/apartment at the far end where Grizzly, the owner, lives.
Not surprisingly, Grizzly is a bear shifter, cranky and paranoid as hell. As it turns out, these are the perfect qualifications to run a roadside motel for paranormals. He looks like Grandpa from The Munsters.
There were only three vehicles at the place. One was Griz’s beat-up Dodge truck. Even though I knew who I was coming to see, I stopped to in to Griz’s office first. It was the polite thing to do.
The do
orbell chimed when I stepped inside. That, too, was a formality. I’d seen the office curtain move when I pulled in.
“Evening, Griz.”
“Sheriff.”
We shook hands. His grip was firm, but he moved stiffly these days. He wore a western checked shirt and a bolo tie. He was as much cowboy as bear shifter.
We chatted about the upcoming NFL playoffs. Griz preferred a team east of the Rockies. I was for another farther west. It was the kind of things males, paranormal or human, like to talk about.
“Got a few guests, I see.” I heard laughter from behind the closed apartment door. I’d heard a widow and her young bear-shifter son had moved in with Griz. That seemed to be going well.
Paranormals were the biggest gossips around, but Griz liked his personal life kept private. I admired him for that.
“Damn casino, stealing my business. You know I had an inquiry asking if we had heated towel racks? What’s a dwarf need a heated towel rack for?”
“Boggles the mind. You’ve still got the best view around.”
“Damn straight. The moon comes up over the mountains so bright, I gotta close my damned curtains.” He squinted at me. “You here on business or pleasure?”
“I’m a married man.” I held my hands up, showing my silver ring. “It’s always business these days.”
The old man sniffed. I couldn’t tell which part he took exception to, but I could guess. He’d never been a fan of me and Tina. Like me, Griz was an outsider. Bears don’t run in packs. He’d respected Tina and Leon’s parents, but he didn’t think much of their offspring.
“You here to see the polyamorous circus folk?” He wrinkled his nose as if there was a bad smell.
“It’s already that time of year? Well, it explains the minivan.”
“Dwarves.” Griz shrugged. “They’re coming through more often. If I’d known that I’d have investigated disposable bedding. This time the lot of them piled into cabin two, even though they rented out one through seven. Probably have to burn the mattress when they check out again.”