Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella

by Cecilia Dominic

  As I expected, the report only contained a list of what had been gathered with generic descriptions and locations, but I was pleased to see they’d found something that looked like paint flakes on the trees in the pullout I’d directed them to. It would take time to match fingerprints, analyze fiber samples and paint chips, and do the other forensic tasks. It occurred to me that with crimes of this nature being so rare in our community, we wouldn’t have the resources to do all that ourselves, so that meant Garou would have to send everything off to the human labs, where our items and requests would likely be in a long queue.

  “Brilliant,” I mumbled and pushed the button on my intercom. “Laura, set up a status meeting for me with Garou for tomorrow morning.”

  “Time preference?”

  “Early so I can get it out of the way.”

  I then took out a notepad and pen so I could jot down thoughts about the personnel files. Dutifully, I pulled Otis LeConte’s to me first with Selene’s next in line. I flipped through the basic demographic stuff, noting only that he was in his early thirties, although his picture showed he was balding prematurely, so he looked older. He’d had a round face with a goatee and mustache, and he stared into the camera with a grim expression, like he was determined to accomplish something if it was the last thing he did. No wife or children, which was a relief—it always depressed me when a victim left behind a young family—but one brother and elderly parents. I noted the contact information for them, sure they’d been notified of their son and brother’s death. I studied his picture again. There was something about his eyes, something angry I couldn’t come to terms with. He looked more likely to commit murder than be the victim of one. There were no disciplinary actions listed, not that I expected any since they’d just gotten started. Nothing else struck me as remarkable in the rest of his file aside from the fact that he’d been a genealogy nerd from a young age and had started tracing his friends’ family trees during adolescence. From there, it made sense he’d gotten into genetics.

  That reminded me—they should have gotten the application files from Iain.

  I called Lonna, conscious I only had a small piece of the picture of who Otis LeConte was. Her Institute number went straight to voice mail, and I suspected she’d left early since there wasn’t much to do with all operations suspended by the Council. I hung up without leaving a message and shot her a quick email requesting a meeting for the next day so I could ask her some more questions and get a peek at the applications. I also wanted to know what Wolf-Lonna had found the night before.

  Selene’s file came next, and I found my lips curling in answer to the smile she’d given for her personnel and badge photo. She looked very excited to be there. She, too, was single, with only a younger brother Curtis Rial listed as family. As for hobbies, she’d left the line blank. I found that omission frustrating.

  The other files passed in a blur of names and paper, but no one had anything interesting that said, “Yes, I am your murderer!” Not that I’d expected it to be that easy, but one never knew when something would pop up. When Laura poked her head in to tell me she was leaving and that I’d be meeting with Garou at nine o’clock the next morning, I was happy to walk her out.

  When I rounded the corner to the house I rented, I was surprised to see a car in the driveway. The forest green Jaguar seemed out of place next to the old brick building, which had been built in the early twentieth century during the Arts and Crafts movement. I always thought it needed a 1920s-era automobile to complete its air of old class. Not that a Jaguar or my BMW were shabby.

  “David, what are you doing here?” I asked once I’d parked in the garage and come back out to meet him. He stretched and grabbed his suit jacket out of the car.

  “Took you long enough,” he said. “I’ve been here for an hour.” His business attire told me he’d been to something important, and my stomach flipped when his sartorial choice clicked into place with the candle smoke and Laura’s strange behavior earlier—it was confirmed, the Council had met without me.

  “Why? I know I got a head injury yesterday, but I don’t recall making an appointment.”

  “No, but I thought you might like to know what happened in the Council meeting today. You’re a smart lad; you’ll have figured out we met.”

  “Ever hear of a phone?” I asked and unlocked the door from the garage into my kitchen. “And we weren’t supposed to meet until next week.” I kept my tone light to cover my growing sense of dread.

  He waved the modern technology off like it was an insistent gnat buzzing around his head. “There’s no substitute for face-to-face communication, Gabriel. Electronic gadgets can fail or distort. Morena’s always complaining about the battery dying on hers.”

  “That reminds me…” I put my smartphone on a charger on the kitchen counter. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Well, I can’t help but notice that open bottle of Oban you’ve got.”

  I poured two fingers of the whiskey into a square glass, and he waved off my offer of water or ice to go in it. I grabbed a glass of water and led him into the den, where I sat on the brown and green-striped couch. He took the leather recliner.

  “Ah, now this is more like it,” he said and leaned back. “Can’t complain about this modern invention.”

  “Right, because back in the day, all you had to sit on were rocks and piles of straw.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my patience, but all I wanted was to take a long run and then a hot bath. Both would help me process the day, but I needed to know what the Council had met about and what it meant for the continuation of the Institute.

  “You’re getting better,” he observed. “I remember a time when you would have snapped at me to spill my news.”

  “I was very young. I haven’t gotten impatient with a Council member since the seventies.”

  “You’re doing better than your father, then. Back in the Victorian days, he was a hothead.”

  Again, a mention of my father. I wondered if the uniform-clad ghost still followed me, but I didn’t feel any cold drafts or other signs of something supernatural, which gave me some small sense of relief. Not that I thought he’d hurt me, but it did cause some discomfort knowing I was being watched and possibly judged.

  “Well, I’m not him, although I am starting to grow impatient. You come to my home, drink my whiskey, and drop hints but nothing of substance. What did the Council meet about?”

  He set his empty glass on the coffee table and leaned forward. “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “That’s what the Council met about: you. That’s why you weren’t invited.”

  I raised my eyebrows, my strange meeting with Morena coming to mind. “Are they considering replacing me as Investigator?”

  “No, you’re coming into your maturity, so they’re thinking of promoting you to full Council member.”

  “About damn time. But why now? I’ve been mature for decades. I’m close to eighty years old, David.”

  He nodded slowly. “It’s something we don’t talk about generally—don’t want others to know too much about our inner workings, you see—but that’s how it works: the youngest member starts out as Investigator, and if they come into their full power, they get promoted up. If not, they get asked to leave, but that’s not happened in recent memory because the Council families are, through careful mate selection for offspring, very strong, and it’s rare for one of them to not achieve full lycanthrope power. You were a wild card, though, because of your human mother.”

  “Wait…” I massaged my temples. “What indicates that something’s happening now? As I said, I’ve been fully grown for several decades.”

  “Some of it’s how you’ve recently learned to use your werewolf senses while in human form, although you’re still developing that talent. You can only use one at a time, after all.”

  “I thought that was because males don’t multitask.”

  “It’s also a sense not unlike what you do with the scho
olboys,” he continued, ignoring my attempt at humor. “Some things you just know.”

  “What am I supposed to do? What did the Council decide?”

  “We voted four to two to wait it out and see what happens.” He drew his brows together. “Some are not convinced that you will achieve full power in spite of the signs, and they’re especially cautious because your championed cause—the Institute—seems to be falling apart.”

  “And you can’t tell me who voted against me,” I said.

  He shook his head. “You can likely guess.”

  “Probably Cora because of her connection to the Purists and Dimitri, who’s been cool to me lately. Why are you helping me, David? You said you had some interest in the Institute, but this is personal, and you could get in serious trouble for telling me as much as you have.”

  “A very old promise, lad.” He drew a yellowed envelope out of his jacket breast pocket. From it, he extracted a letter, its creases darkened and worn like it would fall into pieces at any moment. He held it gingerly and looked at me. “It’s from your father.”

  “To me?” I asked.

  “No, about you.” He unfolded the letter and squinted at it, although I suspected he’d memorized it by now. “‘Lachlan, I hope this greeting finds you well and indeed, better than I am. Our suspicions were correct, and I fear I am in mortal danger. Remember your promise to me, the one you made before I left. Regards, McCord.’”

  “What does it mean?” I couldn’t help but ask. I struggled to push away the memory of the images of my father’s demise, my mother’s tear-streaked face and the fear in her eyes.

  David re-folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. “He was behind enemy lines, and it’s a miracle that letter made it out at all. It’s deliberately vague, of course.” He looked down at the envelope, his expression one I’d never seen on his face before, of grief and sadness. “Although I didn’t want to, I had to keep my distance from you and your mother because you were in grave danger.”

  “From who?”

  He looked around. “Are you sure this place is secure?”

  “I believe so. I’m just renting, so I haven’t been able to do much to it.”

  “Then let’s go for a run and discuss it somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

  I didn’t feel David would attack me, but still, since allowing someone to see you change is one of the most intimate things a werewolf can do, David and I split up into different bedrooms to transform into our wolf selves.

  If I’m coming into my full powers, why isn’t this easier? I thought as I lay on the floor to catch my breath after changing. Or is this the human half showing through? They always resist change.

  My mind tried to chew on everything David had told me to this point, but I quieted it—there would be enough time for thinking later. We left through a hinged diamond-pane window I’d rigged so I could open it from the inside with my paws. I could get back in from the outside by using my nose to punch in a code on a keypad with extra large keys hidden in the shrubbery.

  “Ingenious,” David told me telepathically. “Definitely better than a doggie door. Did you know that’s how the vaccine lycanthropes manage?” He snorted. “They have no sense of dignity.”

  I didn’t respond. Lonna told me that was how they did it in the States. “At some point, you just have to get over yourself,” she’d said. “Practicality trumps pride.”

  David led me through the field behind my complex and into a wooded area. The wind whispered through the summer leaves, and woodland creatures skittered out of our way. As a wolf, David was barrel-chested with a little gray showing on his muzzle. In his human form, he outweighed me by a few stone, and while the difference wasn’t so drastic in canine form, it was all muscle. It reminded me he’d be a formidable opponent, and I was thankful he was on my side. I also wanted to know what my father’s letter meant and grew impatient as he led me through twists and turns, on paths and off them, until we were deep in the woods. He stopped beside a pool in a small grove, and the image I’d gotten from my brief sniff of Selene came to mind.

  I’ll consider that problem later.

  “This will do,” David said and stretched out on a flat rock that was shaded, but I could smell the heat radiating off it in waves of mineral and dry dirt, so I surmised it had been in the sun for most of the day.

  I found a soft grassy spot and stretched out. The ground released tangy green smells with notes of damp earth, and I had to fight my wolf side to not close my eyes and take a nap. My human side wanted more information.

  David looked like he had the same struggle—his eyelids kept drooping.

  “Tell me why my mother and I were in danger after my father died,” I said.

  He started. “Right.” He stood and shook himself, then sat on his haunches. “What do you know of the Order of the Silver Arrow?”

  “Not much,” I said. “I remember hearing something about it in school, but I thought it was dead.”

  “It was supposed to have died out long ago, but as with most secret societies, it still survives in some form, but its purpose hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s become more dangerous.”

  8

  David related the origin of the Order. Back in the eighteenth century, the world was torn apart by war as the British struggled to expand and hold on to their colonies, and the colonies fought to be free of British rule. It was also supposedly the “Age of Enlightenment,” but there were those who resisted scientific advancement, and they also succumbed to a sort of xenophobia. The opening of the world frightened the Europeans, and the realization that some people were more than human terrified them.

  One of these creatures was a vargamore, a half werewolf, half wizard named Sir Dorian Wolfsheim. He had come from Germany and had fought and sailed for the British. He hated his wolf side, feeling it was crass and undesirable with all those messy emotions and urges, and was overly enamored of his wizard abilities. Rumor had it that he started the Wizard Tribunal, not as the governing body it is now, but rather as a punishing body to chastise wizards who were unable to resist their base instincts in the name of science and purity.

  Sadly, psychology was still barely a twinkle in the eye of scientific inquiry, so Wolfsheim could not realize his persecution of lycanthropes was an effort to eradicate that side of himself. He went at it with zeal akin to religious persecution with the blessing of the British crown, which had its own bloody history and frustrations with the Scots, who were once again revolting. The clans who fought with Bonnie Prince Charlie had the most lycanthrope blood in their number. Those who fought against the Great Pretender, as he was known in England, were primarily allied with the wizards.

  “My family fought on the wrong side,” David said. “And they were part of the packs who failed to show up where they were needed. Something confused and scattered them until it was too late.”

  “Wolfsheim,” I said. “As a vargamore, he could do that.”

  “Aye. And he did. And then he hunted us down systematically until only those of us who could seek refuge on foreign shores or disguise ourselves among those who had not fought for the Pretender were left.”

  A snapping branch brought both of us into alert stance and sniffing the wind for the scent of a creature big enough to make that much noise. A shiny object flew from the trees and embedded itself in a stump just in front of David’s nose. We dashed for cover away from where it must have come from.

  “What was it?” asked David.

  “I didn’t get too close a look at it.” I risked a glance behind us. I didn’t want to distract him from our flight, but I knew what I’d seen: a silver arrow. That someone could have gotten that close to us told me they had magical help. It seemed we had attracted the attention of a vargamore, and someone was in pursuit.

  We eventually circled back to my flat, changed back, and dressed.

  “How was that possible?” asked David when he walked into the kitchen. “How could someone have just snuck up on us? Some
one armed?”

  “You know as well as I do,” I told him and handed him a glass with a generous pour of the Oban. “Direction of the breeze and possibly some extra help.”

  He knocked it back and held out his glass for a refill. I gave him a half pour. He scowled.

  “Don’t stiff a man who’s just had his life threatened.”

  “Unless you’re sleeping over, you need to be able to drive. And that silver arrow was a warning. They could’ve killed us both if they’d wanted.”

  He shook his head. “Just fucking great.”

  “Maybe you need to get better at giving history lessons,” I told him. The doorbell rang, and we both startled. “Stay here.”

  “Insolent pup,” he growled, but he didn’t move.

  I hesitated and grabbed the open Oban bottle before he helped himself again. Not that there wasn’t other alcohol in the kitchen, but in spite of his rustic upbringing, David wasn’t the type of guest to open something without asking.

  His words followed me into the front hall. “If your father wasn’t such a good friend…”

  I checked through the peephole and saw the last person I expected: Selene.

  Protective instincts kicked in. I opened the door and pulled Selene inside. “Are you crazy? You don’t know who might be out there.”

  “What is your problem?” She detached her arm from my grip and narrowed her eyes at the Scotch in my hand. “Are you drinking that straight from the bottle?”

  “No, I’m drinking it from a glass like a gentleman,” I said and motioned for her to follow me into the kitchen, thinking it would be best to introduce her to David before he surprised us. But when I got in there, I saw he’d left through the side door. His empty glass sat on the counter beside the letter from my father, and the sound of his car’s engine started and moved away.

  “What’s that?” she asked and reached for the letter.

  “Official business,” I told her and picked it up. It barely had any weight to it, and I handled it carefully.