Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella

by Cecilia Dominic

  Instead he asked me, “What are you having for lunch?”

  Luckily I’d digested the biscuit quickly. “I think I’m going to have the Turkey Cobb salad.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “Why can’t you women ever eat?”

  I looked up from my menu. “’Scuse me?”

  “Just a salad?”

  “Well, what are you going to have?”

  “The steak you had for dinner last night looks good. Someone tiny and delicate like you needs to eat to keep up her strength.”

  Not sure if he was teasing or insulting, I returned my eyes to the menu, and my cheeks warmed again. “How do you know what I had for dinner?”

  “I was here, remember?”

  How could I forget? He and that witch, Kyra. Unbidden, the image came into my head of him tucking a stray curl behind her ear. And then of him grabbing my wrist with those fingers. I took a deep breath to loosen the tightness in my chest, and it released a flare of anger.

  “Did you want to talk to me about something, or did you just trick me into coming here to mock me?”

  He sighed and rubbed his temples again, but the gesture didn’t inspire the sympathy I thought he was going for. Instead, I felt frustration curl beneath my sternum and reach into my throat. This man could have murdered me the night before. Could have but didn’t. I took another deep breath and blew out slowly to calm myself.

  “Look, if this isn’t a good time, I can catch you later.” His expression reminded me of a begging puppy.

  “No, no, I’m fine. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “You’re Doctor Joanna Fisher?”

  “Yes. I thought we’d already established that.”

  “Of Cabal Laboratories?”

  “Formerly of Cabal Laboratories.”

  “What happened?”

  “A fire. An affair. All my data was burned, and so was I.”

  “I read your work on cultural patterns and CLS when I was in medical school. At that point, it was all theory, not something I planned on dealing with.”

  The waiter arrived. Ted, Manager, was nowhere in sight. “Are you ready, Doctor Bowman, Doctor Fisher?”

  Leonard raised his eyebrow. “Word gets around.”

  “Apparently.”

  We ordered, and after the waiter brought our drinks—sweet tea for me—I asked, “Wait a second, so you didn’t have CLS from childhood?”

  “No. I would be much better able to control it if I had.” The bitterness in his tone startled me.

  “When did you get it?”

  “The second year of residency at UAMS.”

  The door opened, and a shadow flickered over Leonard’s face. I turned to face the door, but at first I couldn’t make out the features of the couple who had just entered. The host greeted them, and once the door closed against the bright light of outside, I saw Lonna and Peter Bowman. He had his hand on her elbow. Leonard sank down in his seat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m supposed to be at home watching Peter’s wife. He thinks she’s having an affair.”

  “Looks like projection to me.” Already there was too much eye contact, too many casual touches.

  Leonard smiled his half smile again. “She’s too busy with their kid to think about an affair. He’s two.”

  “And a terror from what I hear.”

  “He’s not that bad, just a lot of energy.”

  “Not that you’re biased.”

  Leonard’s face lit with a true smile. “When I come home in the evening, he’ll run full tilt down the hall and jump into my arms.” He frowned and lowered his voice. “He doesn’t care about what happens after he goes to bed.”

  “What does happen?” I leaned forward on my arms.

  “You should know.” Leonard’s black eyes met mine. “But then again, you can’t. I don’t even know if I do.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a different state of mind. And what happens feels like dreams.” A line appeared between his eyebrows as he frowned. “I try to remember them in the morning.”

  “But you can’t.” I let my breath out slowly. I had read interviews of CLS kids who had originally been diagnosed with sleepwalking, but their EEG tracings had indicated a state closer to Rapid Eye Movement sleep than to the slow wave sleep associated with sleepwalking. When questioned the next morning, they claimed to have no idea how they got where they did or why. It was a different state of mind.

  So those creatures I had seen on the lawn last night had been CLS sufferers hunting—true werewolves. Gabriel had hinted, but now it made sense. Or didn’t. I couldn’t grasp the idea of humans turning into actual wolves.

  Our food came, and I continued to glance over Leonard’s shoulder at the table where Peter sat with Lonna. They had their drinks, and it seemed as though Peter liked a civilized cocktail at lunch. There was also one in front of Lonna, which surprised me because she never mixed business and alcohol. Apparently this was more than business.

  “What are they doing?” Leonard still slouched in the booth so as to be out of sight.

  “Talking. Drinking. Why?”

  “I can’t leave until they do. He might see me.”

  I tried not to smile at the irony of the situation. “What are you so worried about? What will he do to you if you’re not there?”

  “Peter is mercurial. I think that’s the right word. He likes to hold our dependence on him, especially our financial dependence, over our heads.”

  “Wait a second, ‘our’?”

  “My cousin Ron also has CLS and lives with Peter.”

  “Both of you?”

  “And we both got it last winter while we were in residency at UAMS.”

  “Before that, nothing?”

  “Nothing. We were both always incredibly healthy.”

  Incredibly healthy… My stomach gave a lurch and I put down my fork. Joanna, I don’t know why you always get sick, and your brother doesn’t, my mother would say. Andrew is the most incredibly healthy boy.

  That’s because he’s a tough kid, my father would add, pride in his voice. That conversation had occurred when I was six. Three years later, my “incredibly healthy” twin brother had died.

  “Doctor Fisher? Joanie?”

  My name snapped me back to the present. I shook my head to clear the fog of old grief. “Sorry, memories.” It disturbed me that they had snuck up on me. Since the fire, only recent unhappy memories intruded on my days. Was I now to be tortured by old ones, too?

  “Did you know someone with this?” Leonard frowned.

  “Beyond my research subjects? I…I don’t know.”

  Have you ever heard of the Landover curse? Now it was Galbraith’s voice in my head. It supposedly skips a generation. If it popped up, you’d know.

  Or would I? An incredibly healthy child who had died mysteriously of complications after an elective tonsillectomy, Andrew had always had too much energy for his own good. He wasn’t dissimilar to the CLS victims I’d studied, but his problems had occurred long before the diagnosis had emerged. I filed that away in the back of my head to look into later.

  “Dessert, Doctors?” the waiter asked. It was a different one with blond hair, blue eyes the color of the ocean on a clear day, and a smile that invited a response. He winked at us, his pad poised. His nametag said, “Ronald”.

  “Sure, Doctor.” Leonard smiled. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

  “Avoiding big brother, are we, Leo?”

  “Always.”

  “No worries. I can get you out the back if needed. Who’s the babe?”

  Leonard looked at me. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Yeah, she’s a social worker from Little Rock.”

  “No, doofus.” Ron tapped Leo on the top of his head with the pencil. “The one who’s sitting with you.”

  Again, heat spread across my face and chest. I must be glowing.

  “Ron, this is
Doctor Joanna Fisher, formerly of Cabal Laboratories and one of the world’s leading researchers of CLS.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand and Ron shook it. His hand was warm, but also rough.

  “Ah, that’s who I was hoping you’d be. I’ve read your work and told Leo he needed to try to meet you. I’m Doctor Ronald Bowman, formerly a surgical resident at UAMS.”

  “And now waiting tables?” I asked, then bit my tongue. “Sorry, that was rude.”

  Ron’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s all right. The CLS was interfering. Wouldn’t do to lose it in the operating room.”

  I put my fork down. “Why don’t you both come up to my place? I have a lot more to ask you.”

  Ron smiled. “Sure, when?”

  “When do you get off work?”

  “I’ve just been cut, so half an hour. Just enough time to fetch you some dessert and coffee. What would you like?”

  “Chocolate. But I had that dessert last night.”

  “The chef does an awesome chocolate cream pie the regulars know to ask for. It’s not on the menu.”

  “That sounds perfect. And a latté, please.”

  “Leo?”

  “Apple pie. Plain coffee.”

  “Coming up.”

  When Ron left, the room seemed to get a little darker.

  “Do you know how to get to Wolfsbane Manor?” I asked, then remembered, “Oh, yes, you do.”

  Leonard smiled, but with bitterness. “Will your butler be there?”

  “Oh, Gabriel, I forgot.” I thought for a moment. “Why should it matter?”

  “Well, there was last night.”

  I remembered the two men locked in their wrestling match, their faces intent. “He’ll have to be okay with it. We’re all trying to solve the same puzzle.”

  “Fair enough. I knew you’d need more than a salad.”

  “Leonard, are you teasing me?”

  He smiled without bitterness this time. “I can’t let my charming cousin have all the fun. And call me Leo.”

  I smiled back. This could end up being a fun afternoon.

  6

  The caffeine and sugar from the chocolate pie and latté buzzed happily through my bloodstream as I rode up the mountain in the back of Ron’s compact car. Lonna still had the car keys with her, so I left a note on her Jeep, and the guys brought me home. Leo had originally offered me the front seat, but I was the shortest, so it made sense for me to take the back. After about ten minutes, the guys seemed to forget I was there.

  The situation made me think back to graduate school. Most of my friends had been men, and I’d learned to fade into the background and listen to them tease. The differences between the thought processes and communication styles of men and women had always fascinated me. Now I had to learn a whole new vocabulary—that of the werewolves.

  Leo and Ron bantered about women of their past, but when they slipped into a debate about a certain reconstructive surgical procedure in the most recent issue of JAMA, I became bored and watched the world out the window.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve used the road to get up here,” Ron commented as we pulled up to the gate, which was closed. Lonna had the remote, too, so I hopped out and pushed the buzzer.

  “Wolfsbane Manor.” Gabriel’s clipped accent came through with some static. “State your business.”

  “It’s me, Gabriel, and I have guests.”

  “Very good, Madam.”

  I hopped back in the car as the gate swung open. Ron maneuvered the car up the long drive to the circle in front of the house. Gabriel had cleaned out and turned on the fountain, and the water droplets sparkled in the sunlight. For a moment, all felt right with the world, but then Ron’s comment about not having used the road to approach the manor jolted me back to the present sticky situation.

  “How long have you been coming up here?” I asked.

  “Months.” Gabriel appeared in the door, which opened without a creak. He’d been busy.

  “Gabriel,” Ron said with no trace of his former joviality.

  “Ronald. Good to see you again.”

  But it obviously wasn’t.

  Leo frowned. “Gabriel? When did you get back in town?”

  “Yesterday. Apparently you don’t remember our conversation last night.”

  “What conversation is that?”

  “The one during which I taught you a lesson about threatening ladies.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You were fresh off the hunt.”

  Now I was the one rubbing my temples. It seemed impossible the violent, angry Leo of the night before could be the same affable chap who had just bought me lunch. The conflict had slipped my mind even though my wrist throbbed when I moved it in the wrong direction, and most directions were wrong. It seemed like everywhere I turned today there would be some sort of surprise waiting. I just didn’t want to end up with a fight on my hands, but Leo didn’t look like he wanted one. His frown was of concentration and frustration.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Gabriel asked.

  “I’d love one,” Ron replied and bounded up the stairs.

  “I need one,” Leo added and followed. Gabriel held the door open for them but moved to block me.

  “A moment, Madam,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “The drinks are on the bar in the den,” he called over his shoulder, then shut the door.

  “What is it?”

  “As you can tell, there is some, ah, tension between us.”

  “No shit.” I crossed my arms and tried to look as stern as I could even though I barely reached his shoulder. “Tell me why?”

  “We were part of the same pack. There was a falling out. I became a solitary hunter.”

  Gabriel’s revelation jolted me.

  “You’re one of them, too?” I whispered.

  He looked at his feet. “I thought you might have guessed after last night. My case was from childhood. Your grandfather had hired me for research, and as domestic help as a cover-up.”

  “So why are you still here?”

  He inclined his head toward the inside of the house. “The same reason they are, I suspect. I know of your research. And you need the help around here. It’s a big house.”

  “Fine, you can stay.” I put a finger on his chest and tried to look intimidating. “But no more funny stuff. At the first sign of something suspicious, you’re out of here. Got it?”

  Gabriel nodded solemnly. “Yes, Madam.”

  “Why was my grandfather interested in werewolves?” I asked. “Don’t tell me he was one, too.”

  “He had the lycanthropic energy about him, and he understood the condition, but I never saw him change. He told me he was working on a cure, and I became a willing subject. It was soon after that he disappeared.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “The same facts you do: he went on an ill-fated canoe trip. I was out of town working out immigration issues, so I wasn’t here.”

  “Do you think they had something to do with it?” I glanced toward the windows to the den.

  “Perhaps we should question these two and see what we can learn.”

  “Sure, why not? Although… You haven’t put anything in the drinks, have you?”

  He smiled, and wrinkles appeared around his eyes. I realized he had seen and done a lot more than he’d let on, and I mentally added about five years to his estimated age. “No, Madam. I am counting on the truth being in the bottle, as they say.”

  We entered the den. Ron and Leo sat on the sofa and sipped beers.

  “Done with your conference?” Leo asked.

  “Yes, he was just filling me in.”

  “Must’ve been quite a fill-in. Ron’s already on his second beer.”

  Gabriel took the first bottle—which Ron had put on the sea chest without a coaster—into the kitchen. I poured a glass of white wine from the bottle that chilled in the ice bucket along with the
beers.

  “So you guys are doctors?”

  “Were doctors.” Ron waved his beer in a dismissive gesture. “We could be saving lives, but we’re stuck here, in the middle of the backside of nowhere.”

  “Doctor Fisher doesn’t need to hear a reprise of this old conversation,” Gabriel came in with a plate of assorted cheeses and crackers. “She has some questions for you.”

  As much as I appreciated his interrupting the rant, I resented him taking the lead just as Lonna had earlier. Did I really seem so incapable of gathering my own information?

  I took a deep breath. “Ron, when were you diagnosed with CLS?”

  The lycanthrope in question sat back and sipped his beer. “I don’t remember exactly when I was diagnosed, but I knew when I had it.”

  Leo sat forward and laced his fingers over his bottle, his head down. Dark brown curls obscured his face. “The night of Temmerson’s dinner.”

  Ron looked sick to his stomach. “The chief surgeon Alfred Temmerson had us residents over to his house. I didn’t have a date, so I brought Leo.”

  I listened, fascinated. I had never heard the story told from the first-person adult’s perspective.

  Leo had been out sick that day, as he mistook the early signs of CLS infection for the flu, which he assumed he acquired from the flu shot he’d gotten earlier that week. Ron also wasn’t feeling great, so the cousins decided to go to Fred Temmerson’s dinner together in case Ron needed Leo as moral support and chauffeur. When the cousins arrived, they were greeted by the very attractive Lisa Temmerson, who was home from college and helping her father host the dinner. Her mother had died from breast cancer the year before. The moon was waxing, only a day away from full, and as it rose, Ron and Leo felt its charm—and those of the young Lisa.

  Lisa took their coats and told the young men to loosen their ties.

  “We’re being casual here tonight,” she told them with a wink of her green eyes. Ron felt a pang of jealousy, and for an irrational moment, wanted to punch Leo. He shook the feeling off and accepted the glass of red wine another resident offered him.

  By this point, both Ron and Leo felt as though they were floating in a dream with events happening in illogical sequences. Dinner—catered barbecue—was served from the kitchen, and the residents ate on paper plates on their laps and pretended not to wonder who would screw up first. Lisa struck up a conversation with Leo, who was quite glad to entertain the pretty girl, particularly as he was the only non-surgeon physician there. The other surgery residents had brought girlfriends, boyfriends or spouses—none of whom had doctorates in anything with the exception of a psychologist who dated one of the female surgery residents.