Werewolves of Waresville: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 7)

by Raven Snow

  The sound that came next was like a mini explosion, the metal being pulled apart like putty. Kosher leapt back, pushing Vic off the bed with a mighty thump. I watched with wide, fascinated eyes, not thinking that maybe I should take a step back too.

  The warped metal fell to the floor with a clang, and Daniel turned on me. His eyes were glowing like the color of his wolf self from the other night. It was wild and uncontained, and for a moment, I saw Boone in those eyes.

  Then, the moment was gone, and I was sort of proud of myself for standing my ground. Daniel snatched one of his flowery bandanas from a chest of drawers, tying it to his head with calm movements.

  “I can’t give you much more time with your…Biscuit,” he said, glancing at the shell-shocked detectives. “Especially now.

  “He didn’t do it,” I said, but in my mind’s eye, all I could see was that credit card.

  Daniel took my hand in a paternal way. “Loyalty can be a flaw, Harper, if taken too far.”

  He was out the door and gone in the next moment. Kosher ran after him, but it was like a tortoise trying to catch a cheetah. Amusing to watch, though not particularly productive. Vic and I enjoyed the show for a moment, admiring the waddling and swearing.

  Kosher tripped over something too small for us to see, and Vic winced. “He’s going to be in a foul mood all afternoon.”

  “But I’m going to be in a great one,” I said, wishing I had binoculars. “Oh, the pants are down. That’s my cue to leave.”

  Chapter Six

  I rolled out of bed the next morning and was surprised to find Wyatt still in it. Sure, he, Jeb, and Cooper had been up late last night trying to restore the Wheel to a somewhat respectable level, but Wyatt never slept in—especially on the weekend. Usually, he was up before dawn and humping at my leg to go do stuff with him. It'd been cute at first, but now, I just seriously wanted to drug him into submission.

  Peeking in on Cooper, I noted that he was still asleep as well. Though not quite as shocking as Wyatt lying in bed after the sun had risen, it was still out of character. I must have really worn them out.

  Biscuit wasn't in the bathroom, but I hadn't actually expected him to be. I hated it when cases got personal, because it left me with a drained feeling, like I'd been pushed past my limits. All I wanted to do was crawl back in bed with Wyatt. Unfortunately, I had a killer werewolf and a household werewolf to find—I just hoped the two weren't one and the same.

  Making myself a steaming cup of tea, I shuffled around in my robe for a while, waiting to wake up. When I finally came to the realization that it wasn't going to happen, I stepped outside to call Biscuit back. Though he snuck out every night, he didn't usually make himself scarce in the morning. When no fluffy monster came bounding up to me, I frowned.

  My frown was about to get a whole lot deeper—wrinkle worthy, even. I stepped down the stairs, not even glancing in the driveway until I was almost upon it. Then I switched my attention and stumbled back, sloshing boiling water on myself.

  It barely registered on the ouch scale.

  Lying spread eagle on my car was the body of a not very fit man. He was big, hairy, and had a lot of dirt under his fingernails and on his skin. The filth was the only thing covering him, unfortunately, leaving his bare ass pressed up against my paint job. With a detached sort of interest, I realized he had scratches and smears of oil all over him. It was an incredible find, because the majority of his body had been thoroughly chewed.

  As one would imagine, the cops were very interested when I called it in. Wyatt, before I could even call up to him, came down the stairs. The set of his jaw was grim, his knuckles white from the strain of flexing his fists.

  "I told Cooper to stay in his room," he said. "Not that that'll keep him from looking out the window."

  "It wouldn't have stopped me. How—?"

  "Police scanner. It's usually pretty silent, so I forgot to turn it off last night before bed."

  Trust Wyatt to spend his free time listening to the chatter of his co-workers. Though now that I thought about it, it wasn't a bad idea. I'd been hurting for cases lately and showing up at more of Kosher's crime scenes would be amusing.

  "It's for police use only," he told me, reading me like an open book. Then, proving he'd been paying attention, he wrapped his arms around me. His warmth made me realize how cold I felt. "We'll catch this guy. You don't have to worry."

  "I want to be the one who catches him," I said, the words muffled by Wyatt's skin.

  He held me harder for a moment, stealing the breath from my lungs before reluctantly loosening his grip. "I'd be lying if I said the idea of you going after a werewolf won't keep me up at night."

  I pressed my lips to his jaw. "But you won't tell me not to."

  He smiled wryly, releasing me, because a patrol car was pulling up. "What a waste of air that'd be."

  Slamming the car door shut behind him, Kosher stomped up the driveway. When he stopped in front of me, he unceremoniously began poking me in the shoulder, punctuating each word that came out of his mouth.

  "Why—can't—you—just—stay—out—of—my—damn—way!" He sneered at me then. "You just bring death to everyone around you, don't you?"

  I'd had a hard morning. That coupled with my life-long hatred of law enforcement and authority made my temper shorter than a New York minute. Lunging forward, I brought my fist towards Kosher's face. I got ready for the satisfying crunch, the opportunity to show him how we punched in Miami. The blow never landed, though, Wyatt catching my fist in his.

  Before I knew what I was about, Wyatt was dragging me back. I couldn't see the look he was giving Kosher, but it was enough to make him back up, dropping his gaze to his shoes. When I made to move forward again, Wyatt's arms locked even tighter around me, so I contented myself with throwing obscenities and rude gestures.

  As if things couldn't get any worse, a black SUV pulled up, and Kline stepped out, looking disgustingly cheery. He took one look at the victim and whistled. "My, but this is an interesting town."

  Kosher eyed the new addition. "What the hell is he doing here?"

  The question seemed to be directed towards me. After shooting Wyatt an apologetic glance, I said, "He's here investigating strange goings-ons for the FBI."

  Wyatt flinched, releasing me, so he could face me while we talked. His voice was hushed, but there was no mistaking the anger in it. "And how do you know about that?"

  "He's sort of been tormenting me these past couple of days—trying to get me to break." At the dark look on Wyatt’s face, I rushed to say, "I won't break."

  "This is my jurisdiction," Kosher said, puffing his chest out. "You have no right to be here."

  "I work for the federal government; I can take whatever jurisdiction I please," Kline said coolly.

  I was pretty sure that wasn't what it said in the Constitution. But what did I know? My high school diploma was the result of witchcraft and heavy flirting skills.

  "If you're taking the case," Wyatt said quietly, the voice of reason amongst chaos, "you'll have to talk to the chief about it. Kosher and I are just doing our jobs."

  Kline looked a little taken aback. "Of course. I didn't—"

  A tan sedan squealed as it veered around the corner, racing down the street and almost hitting Kline's car as it parked half up on the grass and half in the street. Vic popped out of the car in heels, a cleavage revealing top, and pajama bottoms. She was wearing half a pair of earrings, and her face was smeared with so much makeup it was hard to tell where her features were supposed to be, geographically speaking.

  "Did I miss it?" she said, tongue almost rolling from her mouth as she sprinted up the driveway.

  "No," I said dryly. "He's still dead."

  Kline studiously looked elsewhere, as if Vic was committing some kind of act of indecency. Though, to be fair, her right breast did look pretty close to breaking free of the top. Personally, I was cheering it on. This country was built on the principles of freedom, after all. Why s
hould it stay in boob jail?

  One the other hand, Kosher didn't seem to think anything was strange at all. He stepped closer to Vic, explaining protocol and reiterating what he had observed. It basically matched my observations, though he did say the scratches were likely from running through the woods naked.

  Beside me, Wyatt stiffened, looking horrified. Even though he'd just come from bed, his hair looked groomed and his PJs were tasteful and unrumpled. Vic was like the anti-Wyatt, and not for the first time, I thanked my lucky stars that they had been put together.

  After I'd snooped all I could, Wyatt and I went back into the house while the crime scene guys documented the scene and hauled the body off. They'd wanted to take my car—something I was sure Kosher put them up to—but I'd blown up spectacularly at the very mention of it. So much so that the whole lot of them had been too petrified to move.

  Just as I'd begun to think we'd have crime scene guys on our lawn forever, like terrified little gnomes, Wyatt said a few, quiet words to them. Next thing I knew, they were peeling away from the Victorian, and I still had my car. I supposed men were good for something, after all. I made a note to alert the media.

  Red tape is never truly done with good Samaritans, however, and we were called down to the station to give our formal statements after lunch. Well, I was called. Wyatt was formally invited.

  Justina, the receptionist who frequently warmed Oliver's bed, gave me a sour look. The last time we'd seen each other, she'd tried to shoot me in a fit of jealousy. I took a moment to try to find a polite way to address this situation. Moment over, I stuck my tongue out at the other woman and moved on.

  Like the first time we met, Kosher put me in the interrogation room. I couldn't tell if he was getting the nostalgic warm fuzzies or if that was just me. He kept me there for a good hour, hashing and rehashing everything that had happened this morning. By the end, I was answering in movie quotes and picking my nails.

  "Get out of my sight," he hissed, trying to be intimidating.

  Putting my feet up on the chair, I smiled at him. "But I just got comfortable."

  He swore a streak so blue, my ears were almost burned to a crisp. Grinning and patting myself on the back, I left the room before Kosher decided to put me behind bars. He didn't technically have cause, but that wouldn't save me from a few uncomfortable hours.

  Swinging by Wyatt's desk, I was going to pick up his paperwork when a bulletin board caught my eye. It was just chock full of unfriendly characters, some resembling kids I went to high school with. After a moment, I recognized the face that had stopped in me in front of the bulletin board, and the blood drained from my head.

  I read the caption under the picture: wanted for desertion. He was a couple years younger, hair straight and short. There was an air of confidence around the boy identified as Riley Summers.

  It was Biscuit.

  Breathing through my nose, I made myself walk out of there with my head held high. Kline seemed to be everywhere now, and even if he wasn't, I didn't want Kosher investigating my reaction to that wanted ad either.

  Getting into my car gave me the creeps, but I shook it off. It was my bug, and nothing that anyone did to it would make it evil or haunted. I didn't believe in those things, at least as far as cars went. And I wasn't going to let someone take away something I loved.

  My thoughts drifted back to Biscuit of their own accord. At least he wasn't wanted for murder, I thought, taking small comfort in that. Problem was, this still wasn't the full story. People didn't just desert without good reason—or a bad one. Why did Cooper have to pick out the one dog with a complicated past?

  I practically threw Wyatt's paperwork at him when I got home, not sticking around to chat. Cooper was playing with Biscuit in the living room, and I had to physically pull him away so I could take him for a "walk."

  Once we were a suitable distance from the house, I took out my phone and showed him a picture of the wanted poster. His doggy eyes stared at it blankly for a few moments. After that, he just lied down, whimpering once and then going silent.

  "I'm taking it you don't remember," I said crossly. "Why can nothing come easy to me? Is there some kind of universal law?"

  Biscuit had no answers for me, possibly because he was in dog form. His thoughts were simple and he had no way to talk.

  "You were a Navy Seal, you know," I said, hoping to spark something. "Remember that when you try to fight me during bath time."

  I took Biscuit on a long walk. I wasn't going to do it, my head too full for the pleasantries, but the dog looked at me with his big, sad eyes. Really, I was a big sucker. Maybe if I was as heartless as Kline or Kosher, I'd have solved this case by now.

  That just depressed me further.

  Just as we were about to re-enter the neighborhood, a figure stepped out from the trees. I let out a squeak, and Biscuit growled, almost tripping me in his haste to step between me and the intruder. The man looked Biscuit in the eyes, and after a moment, my dog was forced to drop his gaze. The hairs on the back of his neck stayed up though.

  It was Daniel. And he didn't look happy.

  "Another victim," he said, staring off into the trees. "And now, an FBI agent is poking his nose into our affairs."

  I didn't ask how he knew about the hunter from a few towns over—Kosher had let me in on the identity by accident in the interrogation. I didn't ask how Kline had gotten to him so quickly when he was supposed to be on the run. None of those things were really on my mind at the moment as I gripped the leash closer to my body, shaking my head.

  "You can't take him."

  Daniel pursed his lips. "I must. What would you have me do? Watch as others die? As my pack is destroyed because you can't see the truth?"

  "I can see fine," I snapped. "I see that you need a scapegoat." But that wasn't getting me anywhere, so I tried a new tactic. "Please, I just need a little more time."

  "Time, you do not have. I can't let this go on any longer."

  Stepping in front of Biscuit, I made my position clear. "You'll have to go through me to get to him."

  All at once, Daniel was in front of me, his calloused hands wrapped around my throat. He lifted me off the ground, and I couldn't breathe, my vision going fuzzy and my throat on fire. Below, I heard Biscuit yowling and throwing himself at Daniel. If it had any effect, the alpha didn't show it.

  In the woods, I could feel the other wolves ready for the kill. One in particular didn't watch Biscuit as the other's did. His eyes were on me, on Daniel's hands on my neck. Boone growled low in his throat, watching the life drain out of me and furious that his alpha would deny him this.

  Then, I was back on my feet, the pain in my throat the only indication that anything had happened. I stumbled back from Daniel, pulling Biscuit with me.

  Calmly, he said, "I don't want to hurt you, Harper, but I'm taking Biscuit with me. How this plays out is up to you."

  Peering down at the dog that would give his life for me or my family without a second thought, my body began to shake. In all my adventures, I'd never faced this moment. I had to directly choose between myself and a loved one. Someone who had won my loyalty. There was no clever trick, no more time to be bought. It was Biscuit or me.

  I squared off against Daniel.

  Seeing this, the alpha sighed, pinching his nose and glancing at his wolves in the forest. "You're going to make me kill you, then?"

  "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" I felt the magic building in me, ready to take and maim. I was its vessel and without me, it would cease to exist.

  The magic wouldn't go down that easy.

  But preparing for an attack turned out to be unnecessary, because Daniel didn't come at me a second time. Instead, he said, "I have to take him with me, Harper, you must understand that. You don't have the equipment or knowledge to hold a werewolf." He paused. "I will cage him and grant you your time. No harm will come to him...for now."

  "How much time?" I choked out.

  Daniel just shook his
head.

  In the end, it was Biscuit who made the decision. Pulling his leash from my hold, he walked over to Daniel, looking back at me every few steps. In his eyes, there was such love and devotion that I almost lost it and cried in front of the whole pack.

  There's nothing in this whole world that will love you as fiercely as a dog will.

  Grabbing Biscuit's leash with distaste—for the leash, not for Biscuit—Daniel disappeared into the trees. I stared at the wood for a moment, unable to leave because of another pair of yellow eyes pinning me to the spot.

  I'd had enough of Boone, and I was at my limit. Flipping him the bird, I turned my back on the sadistic werewolf and walked deliberately away. It was like turning away from someone holding you at gunpoint and sweat broke out all over my body. When an unearthly howl went up, I flinched, coming to a stop.

  When he didn't come after me, I somehow found the courage to keep moving. It wasn't a block later that my cell phone started ringing, almost startling me into the tears I was holding back with sheer willpower.

  "Yes?" I said, my voice like a chain smoker's.

  "Oh, Harper, I'm so glad I caught you," Nancy said on the other line.

  Leaning against a telephone pole, I wondered if this was punishment for something I did in a past life. Then I thought, who am I kidding? There's plenty I've done in this life to be punished for. Nancy Bennett was the embodiment of heavenly torment. I half suspected she'd smite me when I said no to whatever she'd cooked up.

  And I was going to say no.

  After having my ass kicked spectacularly, I wasn't in the mood to be belittled and alienated over something that should've made me very happy. Being with Wyatt for the rest of my life would get me there. The process? Not so much. The process, in fact, might just have me skipping town before the week is out.

  "...so much to do. We simply must get some planning done immediately! For heaven's sake, we don't even have a venue."

  All this "we" talk made me wonder if I was marrying Wyatt or his mother. If it was the latter, I was getting the raw end of the deal. She never shut up, and she hadn't put out once since I met her.