Dark Moon Wolf

by Sarah E Stevens

  Eliza answered, “We do heal quickly—bruises usually fade in minutes, unless there are mitigating circumstances of some kind.”

  “What else?” Tim asked.

  “Her hands and feet are bound with duct tape and thin chains woven around them, almost like necklaces. Silver, I’m guessing?”

  Eliza nodded grimly. “That would definitely slow healing, the presence of silver.”

  “The room was brightly lit.” Sheila thought for a minute. “I think that’s all.” She groaned and held her head tightly. “My head is going to explode. Does anyone have any ibuprofen?”

  “I do,” I said, “back in my room. Hold on a second.”

  Carson still slept soundly, so I closed the room door lightly and darted into the bathroom to grab my bottle of ibuprofen. On the way out of the bathroom, I registered the front door open about two inches, letting in the light from the parking lot. Then, I saw the figure leaning over the bed. I shrieked and instinctively threw what I had in my hand. Yes, I chucked a pill bottle at the intruder.

  I’m sure it would have been more impressive had I been holding a ninja-star or something, but my aim was true and the pill bottle distracted the person. At least, he jerked slightly and it took that extra second or two for him to pull out his gun. I saw the dark metal barrel reflecting the parking lot lights and I froze in place; time stretching as the gun moved to point in my direction. So focused on the weapon, I didn’t even notice the door swing fully open and I wasn’t aware anyone else had entered the room until someone tackled the man. Apparently, he wasn’t aware either, because his attention didn’t waver from me. Then, in the next instant, everything turned into a blur of shadow and noise on the hotel room floor. Grunts, growls, what sounded like the man swearing and—my heart jumped—one, two noises I retroactively identified as gunshots from a silenced weapon.

  My paralysis broke, and I jumped onto the bed nearest the bathroom. I actually leaped over the writhing mass between the beds, hoping like hell no one would shoot wildly toward the ceiling, and landed next to Carson whose eyes and mouth were wide in the dark, though no sound. I grabbed him to my chest, rolled over the bed, and backed away from the fight. Should I run out the door? Were there others in the parking lot?

  Just as suddenly as it began, the room went quiet, except for the thudding of my own heart and panting—my own panting and someone else’s. Then Carson let loose with a siren wail, which served to electrify my remaining nerves. At the same time, I felt somehow reassured. This, I could handle.

  “Julie, is he okay?” Eliza knelt in the dark room. She cleared her throat and spat on the carpet. “Shit.”

  A shadow appeared at the front door. I jumped back in fear before the lights flicked on and I saw Sheila. She looked as wide-eyed and pale as I felt.

  “Julie? Are you both okay?” Eliza asked again over Carson’s cries.

  “Yes,” I said. “At least, I think so.” I checked Carson over with quick pats, but he seemed absolutely fine.

  When I looked at Eliza, I recoiled. The strong hotel lights revealed a scene of B-movie horror: she was covered in blood, surrounding her mouth, spreading down her front and all over her hands. She spat again and I felt my gorge rising as I realized why. I slumped back against the wall quickly and closed my eyes. I told myself sternly not to faint and held tight to that thought for the space of several breaths.

  “We have to move quickly, folks,” said Tim and I realized for the first time he was on the floor with Eliza. And the body. I couldn’t see the whole body from where I stood, only one leg lying oddly and sticking out from between the beds. “First, Sheila, inside and close the door. I’m not sure how much attention we just attracted, but let’s not invite gawkers.”

  Sheila promptly obeyed, looking relieved to have someone issuing concrete orders.

  “Eliza, get one of the spare blankets from the closet,” he continued. “Unless you’re injured?”

  “I’m fine. Just overzealous. I didn’t mean to kill him.” She grimaced.

  “Better him than one of us.” Tim gestured with his chin toward the closet and Eliza followed his direction.

  From Tim’s movement and the change in position of…the leg, I knew he riffled through the man’s pockets. He tossed a gun on the bed and pulled out a key ring, some tissues, a pack of cigarettes with a lighter. No wallet. No pack of matches with the name of the hotel where Kayleigh might be held. That would have been nice. Miss Marple probably would have had that kind of luck.

  “Julie,” Tim’s voice was grim. “Look at this man and make sure you don’t know him.”

  Carson had stopped crying, though he was wide awake and looked, in fact, like he’d never sleep again. I handed him off to Sheila, steeled myself, and walked around the bed.

  The man wore khakis and a striped golf shirt. At least—I swallowed hard and dug my fingernails into my palms—it looked as if it had been striped, underneath all the blood. Part of his shirt was torn away, probably by claws, and deep wounds were carved in the man’s gut. His neck was a mangled mass of blood and flesh, but his face was curiously untouched. I focused on that. Ruddy complexion, blue eyes, brown hair, heavyset. I studied him carefully to make sure the shock of seeing him in this situation didn’t cloud my memory, but I ended up absolutely sure I didn’t know him.

  “Tim, I’ve seen him before. He was outside the MacGregor’s house in Wyoming. He shot me, actually—that’s probably why I overreacted,” Eliza said.

  At her words, I stepped closer to the man and gazed down at him. This man was the one stalking us in Greybull? Was he the same one who rammed my car? Did he follow us from Wyoming or somehow pick up our trail here in Vegas?

  “I’ve never seen him,” I said.

  “And he has no ID.” Tim sat back on his heels. Unlike Eliza, his clothes sported only the smallest of blood spots.

  At some later point in time, I would have to think about the fact my new friend had such a capacity for carnage. Right now, I just said, “Eliza, do you want to go wash off?”

  “Yes,” said Tim decisively. “Bring your clothes, the washcloths, and the towels you use back here.”

  Eliza handed Tim the towel, detoured to her suitcase, and disappeared into the bathroom. We heard the water running for quite a while.

  Sheila still stood by the door with Carson. She hadn’t said one word and I wondered how much she regretted her impulse to get on that plane to Las Vegas. I smiled at her, weakly, and walked over to retrieve Carson.

  Squeezing her arm, I asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

  “Me?” She cleared her throat as her voice squeaked. “I’m fine. I wasn’t the one attacked or…”

  Killed. The ending of the sentence echoed in my head.

  “I know.” I nestled Carson into me, a rush of gratitude for his safety threatening to overwhelm me completely. I had not fainted this time and I would not cry. Deep breaths.

  I shook my head. “I just don’t understand. Is it Carson? Why Carson? Why would these people want Carson? Yes, he’s a full moon Were and a strong one. But he’s a baby. He’s helpless; he can’t do anything with his powers yet.”

  Something clicked in my brain.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice rang flat in my own ears. “They want him because he’s helpless. Because he can’t fight back. Because he’s strong—or he’ll be strong—but he’s not a threat. They want him. For something.”

  “But for what?” Sheila’s question voiced what we all wondered. And we had no answers. Dammit.

  ****

  After midnight, we finished cleaning up the mess, both literal and figurative. Tim wrapped up the body, along with all the soiled clothes and towels, in the motel blanket. A scratchy, dirty shroud for our enemy, which I thought grimly fitting. With the help of the man’s own car keys, Tim and Eliza had thoroughly searched his car. Not the blue sedan that forced me off the road, by the way, but a full-size black sedan with dark, tinted windows. The scariest—and most infuriating—thing
they found was a stash of three baby blankets, a pack of diapers, and a case of formula in the trunk. Yes, he had definitely planned to kidnap my baby. The bastard. I had quickly moved from being completely nauseated to feeling like perhaps ripping the guy’s throat out had been too quick a death. Um, except when I actually thought about the mess made of the guy, I still felt the earth reel beneath my feet. I feared I’d see those images for quite a long time in my dreams.

  The car had no paperwork indicating insurance or registration. Tim would ask a contact in the DMV to trace the license plate, but he was convinced he’d get no useful information. The man’s gun was a .22, a Beretta model 87 Cheetah, according to Tim. Knowing approximately nothing about guns, I believed him.

  I found it harder to believe the conclusion he drew.

  We gathered in Sheila’s room, before Tim went on a grisly errand to ditch the car and the body.

  “Looks like organized crime,” Tim announced in his mild voice. “Everything about this guy’s setup, from clothes to weapons to vehicle, points to the mafia.”

  A beat of silence reigned in the room as everyone digested this idea.

  Then we all talked at once. “The mafia knows about Werewolves?” Eliza said. “How can we fight the mafia?” Sheila said. “The fucking mafia is after my baby?” I said. I have an issue with anger and swearing.

  “Calm down.” Tim raised his hand. “Listen, knowing it’s organized crime doesn’t change anything. We still search for a well-prepared group of multiple humans in league with at least one Were. The larger ramification of ties to the mafia is something for the council to deal with: how widespread is the knowledge, how can it be contained, how are they trying to exploit our existence? I’ll alert the council to this possibility immediately and tell them we—I—will continue to investigate. We don’t need to deal with any of that. We need to protect Carson, rescue Kayleigh, and identify at least some of the key players in this group.”

  Gee. When he put it like that, it seemed so simple.

  “Do you think it’s safe to bring the council into this?” Eliza asked. She had spent the last two hours scrubbing the carpet in our hotel room, apparently using some special solvent and soap meant to take out bloodstains. I tried not to think about how Tim knew exactly where to purchase such supplies. I thought the room might pass a cursory inspection, but I certainly hoped no evidence prompted a thorough forensic investigation. At least if it was the mafia, they weren’t likely to notify the police their hired goon was missing.

  “At this point, I don’t think I can risk not telling the council. After all, if this truly is the work of the mafia and knowledge of Werewolves has become at all widespread…Well, it could be a huge threat.” Tim fiddled idly with the dead man’s car keys.

  “But if someone on the council is in league with them? And knows that we know?” Sheila leaned forward urgently, her blue eyes full of concern.

  Tim sighed. “I’ll be circumspect. I’ll report to my supervisor and relay concerns that someone inside the council may be part of this. I think it’s time for us to change location and not tell anyone where we’re staying. Even my contacts at the council.”

  We all nodded in agreement.

  “All right, then.” Tim stood and ran his hands over his tight curls, weariness showing in every action. He seemed so mild and unassuming, but able to make such quick command decisions—I hadn’t quite figured him out. “I’m going to take care of the car and the body.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sheila said, stifling a yawn.

  I rubbed my eyes. Damned contagious yawns.

  Tim shrugged. “I’ll drive out into the desert, find a remote place with some sort of cover, then torch the car with the body in it. I figure if it works for the mafia, it’ll work for us. Maybe they’ll assume a rival family did it.”

  “How will you get back?” I wondered aloud.

  “I’ll shift and run back. It might take me a while, depending on how far I have to go. Don’t look for me before noon or so.” With that, Tim said farewell and left.

  “All right. So I guess we’ll stay here until Tim gets back, then move.” Sheila yawned again and pushed back her heavy blonde hair. Here it was, way past midnight on a night full of violence, terror, and blood, and Sheila still looked gorgeous. How did she manage? I wish I could have chalked it up to witchcraft, that’s for sure.

  I looked down at Carson, sleeping on me in his sling, and sighed. I was definitely not letting him out of my sight anytime soon. If ever again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Even Carson was exhausted, so exhausted he slept until almost nine the next morning. Or technically that same morning, I guess. We crashed hard after Tim’s departure, Sheila and I on the two double beds in her room—me, with Carson practically attached to my body. Eliza curled in wolf form on the floor. She claimed she was just as comfortable when furry, and also her senses remained more acute, just in case another threat arose. Personally, I probably would have slept through anything short of an earthquake. A strong earthquake, at that.

  When Carson roused and made his little mewling noises, I groaned and Sheila flung her hands out.

  “Can’t you tell him we still need our beauty sleep?” She turned over. “Talk about a long night.”

  Eliza, on the other hand, sat up quickly, shaking herself almost as if still in wolf form.

  “Time to get up, folks. Tim should be back soon and Kayleigh’s still in danger.”

  She was right, of course. Somehow, the aftermath of last night and my intensified worry about my baby forced Kayleigh’s situation to the back of my mind. I took care of Carson while I thought about the next steps.

  Actually, that’s a bald-faced lie. I thought about coffee. Lovely coffee. Piping hot black coffee. I thought after coffee, after several mugs of coffee, I would be able to think about the next steps. But first, coffee.

  Half an hour later, we were basically awake and sitting in a restaurant down the street that did, indeed, serve the requisite morning coffee. Even good coffee, though I would have been happy enough with anything purported to contain caffeine. I poked the last remnants of eggs around my plate and smiled in gratitude at the waitress who continued to promptly refill my mug. Needing a mental break from tales of murder, kidnapping, and the mafia, we’d kept the breakfast conversation light by unspoken accord. Eliza devoured a stack of pancakes and mopped up some spots of syrup with the last bit of her second helping of bacon.

  “What,” she said to me. It wasn’t quite a question.

  I started slightly. “What?”

  Eliza set down her fork and fixed her attention on me. “You’ve been surreptitiously staring at me throughout breakfast. I think we should just talk about it.”

  “Talk about what?” I lifted my coffee and took a large sip.

  “All right. If you’re not going to say it, I will. ‘Eliza, have you killed a man before? Eliza, do you often go crazy and rip people’s throats out? Eliza, how can you just sit there and eat breakfast, as if you didn’t maul someone twelve hours ago? Which tastes better, bacon or human flesh?’ ” Eliza’s voice was low, but nearly shaking with anger.

  I didn’t know what to say. Those were my exact thoughts, but it sounded so vicious uttered aloud.

  “Now, Eliza.” Sheila’s warm drawl broke the tension. “We’re all sure bacon tastes better. I know that I, for one, am just happy to have the bloodthirsty, crazed monster on our side.” Sheila winked at Eliza and nonchalantly spread strawberry jam on a piece of whole wheat toast, hold the butter.

  Eliza sighed and dropped her head into her hands briefly. Then she sat up and addressed us both.

  “Sorry. I’m a little sensitive. I didn’t actually mean to kill that man, but when I saw him threatening you, Julie, and Carson, and I realized he was the same man I’d fought in Greybull, well, I acted irrationally. I guess I’m angry with myself—I shouldn’t project it onto you two.”

  I chose my words carefully. “To be honest, Eliza, everythin
g that happened last night shocked me. I know you wanted to protect us and I am very grateful. But this was the first time I’ve really been exposed to the…potential for violence…Werewolves have. It shook me. But it doesn’t change my basic opinion of you—you’re still Eliza, I’m still glad to have you here. I still want to be your friend.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  “Thank you,” Eliza said quietly.

  “Cheers, then.” Sheila lifted her cup of tea—crazy girl, not liking coffee—and leaned forward. “To the three of us. Friends and accomplices, no matter what.”

  We joined her in the toast and, corny as it was, I felt a glow of warmth not entirely explained by the caffeine coursing through my veins.

  “Okay, then, troops.” Sheila broke through our smiles. “I’d like to run to the store and get some supplies. I think I might take some time this afternoon to make some protective charms for the three of us—actually, the five of us; Carson and Tim, too. And I had another idea. If we haven’t made any progress finding Kayleigh by nightfall, I’d like to try to dreamwalk and talk to her. Perhaps, she can give us some clues as to where she’s being kept.”

  I nodded enthusiastically. “I’m glad someone has some positive ideas.”

  “I think someone should wait at the hotel when Tim returns,” Eliza said, “because we want to check into a new place as soon as we possibly can.”

  In the end, we decided Sheila and I would go shopping and Eliza would wait for Tim. Even in broad daylight, I didn’t feel comfortable staying alone at the hotel with Carson, just in case someone else continued to stalk us. I didn’t trust myself to protect him alone. We’d still be sans Werewolf, but I felt safer surrounded by other people in, say, a department store. Eliza asked us three times if we felt safe without Were protection, but she also seemed happy to have some time to herself. I think she was still working through her own actions the previous night. While I could admit I, too, was still taken aback by the vision of Eliza tearing out the throat of our assailant, I also hoped she wouldn’t start second-guessing herself in a way detrimental to our mission. More than likely we’d need her capacity as a—what had Sheila said—a bloodthirsty, crazed monster in the next few days. Ah well, she was our monster, anyway. I gave her a big hug, and we dropped her off at the motel.