Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella

by Cecilia Dominic

  She’s down here, the reply said.

  The last time I’d approached the basement, it had been from the other set of stairs, so it took me a moment to orient myself to where the CT machine room was. Lonna met me at the vault door.

  “This way,” she said. “I tried to stop her, but she said she would only talk to you.”

  “What is she doing?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The scent of blood led me to the blood storage lab, which was about the size of a large walk-in closet. The door stood open, and it looked like a modern art painting with solid reddish-brown splotches in the middle and splashes and spots of it above and below. The light inside came not from the fluorescent fixture on the ceiling, but from Reine herself. She glowed white, and her curls seemed to blow in a breeze only she could feel. A static sensation emanated from her, and all of the small hairs on my body stood on end. I shifted to see if I could stop the distracting tingling sensations on my most private parts.

  “Reine, Milady?” I asked quietly.

  She un-illuminated, leaving a black shadow in my vision where she’d been. Before she moved, she looked like a photo negative of herself—dark and sinister—and I suspected it was to remind me how powerful she was and that I needed to keep her on my side, like getting the Fey to do anything they didn’t want to do was possible or advisable.

  “Ah, Wolf-man, you’ve arrived. I thought it wouldn’t take you long. But why did you bring her? I told her I only wanted to deal with you.”

  The way she said “her” indicated Lonna might be in trouble if she stayed. She got the hint.

  “I’ll be in my husband’s office if you need me,” Lonna said with a significant look at Reine. Then she strolled off.

  I took a deep breath to still the anxiety in my gut. Although Lonna was powerful in her own right with her wizard and werewolf blood, I doubted she’d win a head-to-head contest with Reine. I would have to warn Max that tension brewed between the two women.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” I asked once we were alone.

  Reine snapped her fingers, and the overhead light came on. Refrigerated cabinets stood along the walls. Most of them held empty metal racks behind intact glass doors. The racks in the cabinets to the left lay at awkward angles, and shards of glass from the shattered doors sparkled under the light. The dried blood made the white doors and metal counter look rusted, and she stood about an inch off the floor so her white slippers wouldn’t touch the flaky black mess. Again, my stomach turned, and I told it to still, but the black and white photograph of my father’s body blown to bits forced its way into my memory. As a child, my imagination had colored it more vividly than the lurid brightness Technicolor had brought to the movies.

  “When you build something to look like a castle, you can expect unpleasant things to happen in the dungeon,” Reine said. She floated out of the lab and stood beside me, her feet on the ground. “And the resemblance to Wolfsheim’s castle is uncanny. I had no trouble finding my way around.”

  “Wolfsheim?” I asked. “I’ve heard that name. Was his castle in Germany or Austria?”

  “No,” she said. “It was just a few miles from here. The ruins are still out in the countryside.”

  “Why was there a—you know what, never mind. What is the purpose of your visit?” I knew that her kind would reveal their motives in their own time, but with Morena wandering around—and I had no doubt she would bully Selene into taking her places she didn’t need to go—our time was limited.

  “Tell me what you notice, and then I’ll reveal what I see,” she said.

  I forced myself to study the scene objectively and not with the sense that the blood inside had belonged to two people who were now dead and possibly to many more who were still alive but likely in danger now.

  “The door is interesting because although there are splashes of blood, there are no drips, like they landed there and dried instantly. Also the color. The blood should have darkened by now in this humidity.”

  “Ah, very good, Wolf-man. What else?”

  “It’s difficult to tell without the bodies, but it seems the vials to the left exploded with enough force to take the doors with them, but I would need to see the pattern of wounds to confirm the direction the glass shattered. I don’t recall seeing scratches or other marks on the guards’ skin.”

  “Good, so you’re not assuming the blood in the cabinets exploded, broke the glass, and killed the guards.”

  “No, although I feel that might be a likely scenario. What could make the blood do that?”

  “Magic,” she said, as though it was obvious.

  “Magic,” I repeated. “Tell me what you see.”

  “Like you, I noticed the lack of drips on the door, like there was something that congealed and preserved the blood right away.” She gestured to the cabinets. “The blood is a chorus, each person’s sings with its own tone and melody that says where it came from and what it is.”

  “It sounds like you’re hearing the DNA.”

  “Whatever you want to call it. The blood from the two guards—a double bass line, boringly human, but faint like it was stifled before it was spilled. As for what’s in the cabinets, it is theirs as well.” She looked at me. “There are no others. Once your detective Garou does his analysis, he will find that the blood exploded outward from the guards in a directed manner, destroying the empty vials in the cabinet.”

  “What can make a man’s body explode, especially in only one direction from the throat?”

  She looked up at me with an expression of pity. “There are more things in Heaven and on Earth, Horatio…”

  “A Fey who quotes Shakespeare. Be still my heart.”

  She laughed her wind-chime laugh. “It’s more interesting than saying you don’t want to know.”

  “But I do want to know.”

  She gestured to the mess. “Max could have told you. Blood magic has many forms. Some can use it to control. Others to destroy. And as for the quote, William was a dear.”

  “So you’re older than you look.”

  “As are you. And we both have our secrets. You just don’t know as many of yours. Now leave me. I will seal the blood so that it won’t hurt poor Maximilian again, and I’ll do the same upstairs.”

  “Could you wait until our detective finishes what he needs to do?”

  “No, it is necessary now. Sealing the blood will allow it to rest, which will allow the spirits attached to it to be at peace if nothing else stands in their way. Plus, I need to remove the contamination from Max’s wards around the building and land—his using blood magic, even in small amounts, damaged the spells and allowed the intruders to get in. Nothing I do will interfere with the detective’s work.”

  “I trust you,” I said, realizing I did.

  “Oh, do you?” She flashed me a wicked grin, and before I realized her intention, she pulled my head to hers and kissed me on the lips. She tasted of honeysuckle and sweet wine, and the passion she ignited flowed through me in golden waves. The static came back, and I pulled her to me to quell the tingling that became a burning need.

  I barely heard Selene’s “Gabriel, oh!” before Reine pushed me away with a mischievous laugh.

  “That’ll teach you,” she said. “Remember, my kind is never to be trusted. Nor are most others.” With a chuckle that lingered in the air, she disappeared, and I turned to face Selene.

  12

  Don’t be a coward, Son,” a ghostly voice said.

  “I’m not,” I replied through clenched teeth. It was embarrassing enough to have been caught by Selene, who stood at the end of the hallway, her mouth open, one hand over it. Her blue eyes were so wide I could see the whites clearly. But that the specter who was likely my father had also found me with my hand in the Fey cookie jar burned any fear I might have had of him away.

  “What. The hell. Is that?” Selene asked and pointed a trembling finger over my left shoulder.

  I turned but couldn
’t see anything other than the blood-splotched door.

  “Tell me what you see,” I said. I clenched a fist to give my frustration somewhere to go—why could I only hear and not see him?

  She backed up one shaky step. “It’s a man. A bloody man. In uniform, maybe second World War.”

  “I’m going to come toward you slowly. Tell me if he follows.”

  “No, no Gabriel, please stay there. It obviously wants you, not me.”

  “What if I told you he’s not dangerous? He’s…” I took a deep breath. “He’s my father, and I’m trying to find out what happened to him. You’re right about the uniform—he died in World War Two.”

  A chill breeze stirred my hair and turned my cheeks cold. Then the relative warmth of the basement hallway returned.

  “He’s gone,” she said and sagged against the wall.

  Remembering her tendency to faint, I hurried toward her, but she waved me away. I stopped a few feet from her.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m fine, just fine. It’s not like I can get my blood warmed by a white-gold fairy, and I don’t have any ghostly parents following me around.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck to release the tension from my jaw clenching, a stress habit I’d never managed to break. “I was hoping you hadn’t seen that.”

  “The woman practically glows, Gabriel. Actually, she does glow. How was I going to miss it?” Then she stopped and studied me. “But why would you care if I saw it or not? It’s not like you and I have a relationship where it would matter.”

  Damn these Americans and their directness. But this was a side of her I hadn’t seen, and I stepped closer, fascinated by the emotion sparkling in her eyes. Could she be jealous? My mind ticked through the potential ramifications and how I could use them to my advantage to find her scar-faced friend.

  “We obviously have some things to discuss,” I said and tucked a copper strand behind her ear.

  She stepped back and narrowed her eyes. “Yes, we do, but not like you think.”

  “Then perhaps you would allow me to take you to dinner?” I turned up the Scottish charm again. “We could clarify the nature of whatever this is between us and share what we know about LeConte’s death.”

  “I’ve already told you everything.”

  Again, I decided the less I gave away, the better. Might as well make her wonder. “I have a few more questions to ask you, but I’d prefer not to do it here. These walls have ears.”

  A shudder accompanied the frightened glance she darted over my shoulder. “And god knows what else.”

  “Right. Dinner tonight?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

  “Tomorrow is the Solstice. You told the detective you had plans.”

  “They fell through. I was thinking you could take me to the ceilidh.”

  “Being in that crowd will make it difficult to talk,” I said, “especially about our unusual situation.”

  “I’ll feel safer with people around. Let’s see how the evening goes, and we can decide from there.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll pick you up at six?”

  “Fine. My address is in the file you no doubt have.”

  She turned and stalked down the hall. I didn’t bother to stop the grin that broke out on my face—she was jealous! I’d have to thank Reine the next time I saw her, which hopefully wouldn’t be soon. She’d reminded me all too clearly that fairies were trouble with a capital T.

  When I reached the first floor, my phone buzzed with several messages and reminders—Laura had come through for me, as always, and it was time to go meet Cora Campbell, fellow Council member and the wife of the Lycanthrope Purist cult leader.

  “I took the liberty of having the cook prepare a light lunch for us,” Cora told me when I arrived at her estate and her butler took my raincoat. We skipped the cheek sniff—neither of us enjoyed the other’s company, so we minimized contact. She maintained that having a lot of property due to her own wealth and not from organization funds kept them from being a real cult, but I didn’t buy it. Her charismatic husband didn’t mind the label, and indeed, he flaunted his ability to be a thorn in the Council’s side through his wife’s influence.

  “Where is your husband?” I asked once it became apparent Bartholomew Campbell was nowhere in sight.

  “He got called into Headquarters for a meeting, but he said you’re welcome to stop by after we talk.”

  Cora Campbell looked late middle-aged, which meant she was at least ninety, perhaps older. She wore a dark blue dress that clung to her ample curves, and her dark hair didn’t show any gray, although she had some laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

  “Dreadful business at the Institute,” she said once we were seated and warmed our hands with delicate china cups of tea.

  “You do cut right to the chase,” I told her. “And of course you know why I’m here. The Lycan Crier got a letter from someone in your organization claiming responsibility for the murder of Otis LeConte.”

  She shook her head and placed her teacup on the saucer. “I can’t say who sent the letter—how would I know?—but I can assure you, no Purist would do something as messy as murder a human in cold blood. We take our gift as predators seriously, but we do not act like common animals. There are other ways to eliminate problems.”

  “Oh?”

  Lunch arrived on covered silver trays, which uniformed staff removed with a flourish. Rare tuna sat on a bed of greens, and a side plate held lemon, but no dressing. Great… Cora was on a diet again, which likely meant the first part of the next Council meeting would be spent listening to her extolling it and trying to get everyone else to join her in doing it. I bit my tongue before I asked if she intended to remove me by starving me to death.

  “Politics, Gabriel. Words are much more effective in removing rivals than is violence. You do lack a certain subtleness, you know. I’ve often said so to Morena.”

  “And what has she said in return?”

  “You’re still young and have a lot to learn. Although we’re not so far apart in age, you and I. And you have a pretty face to go with your nice body.”

  The look she gave me dialed the atmosphere up from moderately awkward to severely so. Mindful that she might be playing the game she’d just described, I chose the course of avoidance and moved on with my questioning.

  “Tell me your whereabouts on Tuesday morning.”

  She nodded. “I was here getting ready to host a Purists Ladies’ Luncheon. You can ask any of the staff.”

  “Right, I’m sure they’ll all vouch for your alibi. And your husband?”

  “He was at the headquarters. I’ll refer you to his staff. Surely you don’t think one of us would have done such a foul deed?”

  “Of course not.” But I could get a warrant to look at telephone records and search emails. “However, as the leader of an organization claiming responsibility—”

  “Which we are not. Claiming responsibility, that is. As I said, I cannot fathom why anyone from the Purists would do that. Murdering humans goes against our core philosophy of treating our lycanthropy as a gift and using it responsibly to show our kind that they need not be afraid of the urges, which can be channeled into more productive means.”

  “Like hunting on lands that aren’t yours,” I couldn’t resist saying. A case had come before the Council the previous year.

  She dismissed my challenge with the same airiness she’d exhibited when she’d paid the trespassing fine. “The forest was wild long before humans came around with their petty sense of ownership.”

  I doubted she’d take so kindly to someone hunting her game on her property, but I didn’t want to antagonize her.

  “Is there anyone within the Purists who might be holding a grudge, someone who would want to make you look bad?”

  She tapped the tines of her fork against her lips. “None that come immediately to mind. We’re blessed with loyal organization members and staff fo
r the most part. You’ll have to ask Bartholomew if he’s gotten any complaints from the Headquarters employees.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “As for anyone outside the organization, we do have many enemies. Again, you’ll have to get it from Bartholomew, but we’ve compiled a list of those who have threatened or otherwise been unpleasant to us.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I didn’t expect that list to be useful—the Purists weren’t very popular outside their own little circles—but maybe it would have some overlap with someone else.

  “And now for some sparkling water with lime to help cleanse us of impurities.” Cora signaled to the butler, who served us tall glasses. My stomach growled when I smelled the lime he squeezed into the water.

  “Ah, Gabriel, you men do have all the luck with metabolism,” Cora told me.

  Not having heard back from David about lunch, I stopped at a pastry shop in the little town between Cora’s estate and the Purist Headquarters for a meat pie. As much as the cult might want to embrace their animal sides, Cora might find it unpleasant when they rebelled in hunger, at least if that was how they were all eating these days. Not that I had a problem with fish, but I needed more than scraps not to feel hungry. Yes, if past patterns held, we were going to get a diet lecture at the next Lycanthrope Council meeting. If the Council was a family, Cora was the crazy aunt who insisted everyone listen to her latest fad.

  In spite of our long lives with points of connection, Bartholomew Campbell and I had rarely met, and I couldn’t remember what the man looked like in person aside from slick and untrustworthy. I pulled up pictures from his appearances at public events on my phone as I ate my snack to try to jog my memory. Finally, I found a good one with enough resolution it wouldn’t pixilate when I zoomed in. It showed Bartholomew and Cora at a charity event the year before. She wore a black dress and a somber expression, but he was all big teeth and confidence. Like her, he had wavy dark hair that he allowed to grow thick and full as a sign of virility. Unlike her, he’d not aged much, looking about forty or so to her late forties/early fifties appearance. I couldn’t remember the year they married, a date that would likely be adjusted for the press so as not to give away their long life spans. That he had allowed himself to be photographed so much indicated the extent of his ego. In spite of the human world being aware of Chronic Lycanthropy Syndrome as a psychological disorder of impulsivity, they weren’t aware of us as werewolves. And that was how we tried to keep it.