Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella

by Cecilia Dominic

  When I arrived at PHQ, the headquarters for the Purist business/cult, I was surprised to see the parking lot almost empty. Was it a holiday?

  “Most of the company has Solstice week off,” the pretty young secretary explained to me when I remarked on how quiet it was. She tucked her dark brown curls behind her ears, which sparkled with diamond stud earrings. “We have a retreat center in the Hebrides that they go to for learning and reflection on this sacred time.”

  In other words, it was “get the culties away from society and use the energy of the pagan feast of enlightenment to further confuse them” time, but I only nodded politely and said, “I see.”

  “But Mister Campbell is here and said he’d see you when you arrive. I’ll just let him know you’re here.”

  “So you don’t get the week off?” I asked after she’d informed him via intercom, but he’d asked me to wait until he finished a phone call.

  “No,” she said with a pout. “Mister Campbell says he just can’t do without me. I’ll be going next week with him and his wife.”

  “That’s too bad you couldn’t go with the rest of the company, but I’m sure your services are indispensable.” As your hastily and crookedly buttoned blouse shows. I guessed my arrival had interrupted them since there were no other signs of hanky panky, most notably the odor one would expect. I said a prayer of thanks to whatever gods might be listening. Sometimes a sharp sense of smell wasn’t an advantage.

  “Mister Campbell will see you now.”

  I walked into a corner office with a view of the town, hills, and forests that surrounded the office park. It was high up enough that to see the peasants parked in the lot below would require an intentional look downward. Bartholomew Campbell sat behind a large modern metal and glass desk and looked not at all flustered in his tailored suit. Perhaps he really had been on a phone call and not doing other things. He didn’t stand when I entered.

  “Ah, McCord, is it?”

  “Yes, thank you for seeing me today, Mister Campbell. I hope I didn’t come at a bad time.”

  “Not at all, nothing that can’t wait ’til a bit later.” His handshake was firm, friendly, and I hoped, clean. It was the kind of handshake that welcomes you to the club, wink wink, nudge nudge. Everything from his wavy product-laden hair to his shiny black shoes solidified my dislike of him, and I wanted to grab the little secretary and bring her into the real world, show her there was something better out there and not all men were predatory creeps like her boss. Not that kidnapping women was something I typically did.

  “So how’s the little woman?” he asked.

  “I’m not married.”

  “Oh, a handsome guy like you, unattached? And one of us too. You know women are drawn to our power especially once we embrace it as we should.”

  “And how is that?” I asked and then mentally kicked myself for playing right into his spiel.

  He stood, and the bulge in his pants was unmistakable, being at eye level to my sitting self. I averted my gaze and groaned inwardly—flexing his power by trying to convert me was going to be foreplay for Bartholomew Campbell.

  “I know you’re familiar with our organization, Mister McCord.” He gestured out of the window. “You’re familiar with our holdings and properties, so you know our influence. Yet you’ve never come to any of our celebrations or accepted Cora’s and my invitation for dinner.”

  “I just accepted Cora’s invitation for lunch, for which you were too busy.” Although I resisted the temptation to put “busy” in air quotes, I allowed my skepticism to come through in my tone. “I’m not interested in joining your organization or in playing political games. I only socialize with people whose company I feel I would enjoy, and this isn’t a social visit.”

  He shook his head. “Cora has spoken highly of you,” he said and sat. “But she’s said you’re stubborn.” He shifted his weight, and I hoped something pinched him in an uncomfortable spot.

  The skin under my nails itched like I wanted to change and challenge him, but I forced my hands to be still and took a couple of deep breaths to deactivate the fight-or-flight, but mostly fight, system.

  “I would say you’re in a strange position, Mister Campbell.” He narrowed his eyes at me, and his lip twitched. Would he dare bare his teeth? I leaned forward—bring it—but I kept my tone polite. “As I said, I’m not here for a social call. I’m wondering what you know about the letter that was sent from someone in your organization to the Lycan Crier claiming responsibility for the murder of Otis LeConte.”

  He dismissed it with a wave of his hand much like his wife had done. It occurred to me they had practiced the reaction together to perfect their synchronized condescension.

  “We have many enemies, Investigator.”

  The use of my title made me sit up straighter—could he be acknowledging my Council authority? I let him keep talking.

  “Yes, I’m fully aware of why you’re here. The question is why you’re bothering us instead of trying to catch the real criminal.”

  “Well, if you’d tell me who that is, I’d be happy to go chase him or her. Meanwhile, if you can’t tell me who did it, then I’d appreciate knowing where you were on Tuesday morning.”

  “I was out of town at our retreat center getting it ready for the Solstice gathering. I believe my secretary told you about our annual company retreat?”

  “And would she or anyone else be able to verify you were there? When did you return?”

  “I just got back yesterday. And yes, several of my staff people were there with me. Not my secretary, though.”

  “Interesting.” Especially considering the nature of their relationship. “I would need someone not directly involved with your organization to provide an alibi. A shop girl, perhaps? Or a chips girl?”

  “And what are you implying?”

  “Nothing.” I leaned forward. “But keep in mind, I am the Council Investigator, and some things are very obvious.”

  He scribbled a name on a piece of paper and slid it across his desk. “Here. This person will be able to verify I was in Oban on Monday night.”

  The paper had a woman’s name on it. “Not Tuesday morning?”

  The smug arch to his eyebrows indicated he’d been welcome to stay over.

  “As you mentioned, you have money, holdings and property. Those talk. I need a copy of the itinerary for your trip including where you stayed and ate.”

  “Are you implying I’d bribe someone to give me an alibi?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  He pushed himself up on his hands and towered over me. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach and drove me to my feet, my hands clenched in fists. He bared his teeth, and I returned the expression. Instead of attacking, he nodded like I’d confirmed something for him and turned his back on me. I was dismissed.

  “Power, McCord,” he said over his shoulder when I reached for the doorknob. “Remember, women love it.”

  The feral expression on his face made me feel sorry for the poor secretary.

  13

  The secretary stood when I exited and pulled down the front edges of her blouse, which was now buttoned properly. It was probably a size too small and strained across her small breasts. I smelled her perfume—less delicate than I expected for her build—and when she looked up at me, her lips parted, and her eyes glazed over.

  “What can I do for you, Mister McCord?” she asked and licked her lips.

  The cortisol and other chemicals associated with the change coursed through me. Good gods, what had that monster trained the poor girl to do, to respond to? I deliberately recalled the feeling I’d gotten when Reine cleansed Max, torrents of icy waters pouring through me. “I need a copy of your boss’s itinerary for his recent trip to the Inner Hebrides and the list he’s compiled of his enemies. His wife mentioned it to me.”

  “I’ll be happy to get those for you.” She moved like she was in a dream, and whatever it was rising up in me wanted to growl at her to move fas
ter, but I calmed it with another deep breath that she must have taken to be an impatient sigh because she sped up.

  “Jade, get in here!” Bartholomew’s shout made us both jump, and she shook her head, her cheeks warmed by a blush. I glanced at Bartholomew’s door, which stood cracked open.

  “This is all I can give you,” she said and handed me a stapled stack of papers.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” Her big brown eyes glanced worriedly toward the door, and the sunlight highlighted the flecks of gold in them. My sensitive ears picked up the impatient breathing behind it, and it occurred to me she wasn't looking forward to the upcoming encounter with Campbell.

  “Do you want to go grab a cuppa?” I asked. “It’s about time for tea.”

  The sad smile she gave me twisted my heart and made her look older than her years. “Not today, but perhaps soon.” She looked pointedly at the documents she’d handed me. “You’d better go.”

  A wave of anger rose from the center of my gut, and I had to leave before I rescued her from Campbell.

  “Fuck it,” I said and turned at the door. “Jade, come with me.”

  She hesitated from where she’d emerged from behind the desk and shook her head. “Maybe later,” was all she said, and then she practically ran into Campbell’s office.

  “Laura,” I barked into the phone once I got into the elevator bay. “Open a Council Investigation on Bartholomew Campbell for sexual harassment immediately.”

  “Will do, Boss. Do you have solid proof?”

  “Not yet,” I said, but I’d just found the scrawled phone number at the bottom of page three. “But I will soon.”

  The elevator that picked me up was the only one that went all the way to the basement. I wouldn’t have remarked on it, but the smell of kerosene and pipe smoke—the same odor I’d picked up in the forest behind the Institute on the day LeConte was murdered—hung faintly inside. I doubted a human would have picked it up, and perhaps not even a weaker lycanthrope. Campbell hadn’t smelled of it, so who did? I pushed B for the lower level.

  The doors opened into a white-painted corridor that ended in a metal door. I followed the smell down the long hallway to the end and to a set of stairs. No light illuminated the stairwell, so I felt my way down two flights to a locked door. I took out a handkerchief—thankful I’d kept that remnant of my earlier life when men carried them all the time and before the ubiquitous paper tissue had made an appearance—and felt around the door through it so I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints.

  The rough surface of the wall stopped at a cool, smooth edge, and below it, squares—a keypad. I listened to make sure no one else was down there, took out my phone, and used the torch app. The metal keys didn’t show any wear, and I wished I had my fingerprint kit with me so I could see what numbers had been pushed most frequently and make a guess at the code. Perhaps Jade could enlighten me. I’d call her that evening right after I phoned Selene to confirm our date for the following night.

  It was after five by the time I made it back to Lycan Village, and I stopped into Marley’s for a pint. David Lachlan waved me to an empty stool beside him.

  I joined him and ordered one of the local brews, which I knew to not be too bitter.

  He held up the small glass of whiskey he was already halfway through. “It’s amazing, lad, how this witches’ brew and the fizzy stuff you’re about to drink are made from the same basic ingredients, but it’s what’s done with them that matters.”

  My beer arrived, and I clinked it to David’s glass. He tossed it back, thunked the glass on the bar, and gestured for another.

  “That’s your fifth, Lachlan,” Troy, the regular evening barkeep said. “D’you have a way home?”

  “I’ll take him,” I said. “But maybe you should give him a water first.”

  “Aye.”

  “Since when do you care about the state of my mornings?” David asked.

  “If you’re going to wake up with something ugly in your bed, it needs to have looked pretty the night before. That’s not going to apply to you, my friend, unless you’ve got a magic mirror.”

  “Ha!” He clapped me on the back so hard I saved my beer by an act of grace and possibly a small miracle of the suspension of gravity.

  I wiped the spilled beer off my hand. “Watch it—you’re wasting those good grains.”

  “And malts and hops and god knows whatever else they’ve got in there.” He squinted bleary eyes at the amber-colored liquid. “It’s all in what you do with it, isn’t it? What you do with what you’ve been given.”

  Troy slid a glass of water, no ice, in front of David, who scowled at it. “Nothing good in that lot. Just hydrogen and oxygen. Nothing that’ll wet a man’s throat.”

  “Drink your water, Lachlan, and I’ll give you another whiskey.” Troy rotated his massive shoulders in a seeming stretch, but the action flexed his biceps.

  David nodded. “Fine, fine, I got it. I’ll drink the blasted water, but you better make that last one a double.”

  “Sure, I’ll pour it from the tenth instead of the fifth and size it accordingly,” Troy said with a grin, and I laughed.

  David, obviously too drunk to understand fraction-related humor, just said, “That’d be grand.”

  Troy made sure David killed off the water before he gave him another whiskey.

  “Now I’ll be pissing all night,” David grumbled. “Haven’t broken the seal yet.”

  “Here’s to a werewolf-strength bladder,” I said, and we toasted to our good fortune.

  “Aye, that’s one of the good things about what we are. There’s plenty of bad too.”

  He lapsed into gloomy silence, and I sipped my beer and let the events of the day run through my head. I’ll admit to lingering on the kiss from Reine and the conversation with Selene and skipping over the unpleasant encounters with the Campbells. Cora had to know what her husband was up to. We didn’t have highly developed senses of smell for nothing, and detecting relationship infidelity was easier for us. On the other hand, if she was going to treat him as a true alpha, he could mate with as many females as he wanted.

  No, I wasn’t going to embrace my wolf side to that extent. I was fine straddling the line between animal and human. Wolves never drank alcohol, after all, and that was what sometimes made life bearable.

  I shook my head. My thoughts had become morose like David’s. “What’s with you, anyway?” I asked him.

  “What do you mean?” He looked at me sideways.

  “You’re testing your lycanthrope tolerance and bladder strength, and you’ve made some comments indicating you’re not happy with something. There’s nothing worse than a werewolf in a philosophical mood.”

  His shoulders heaved, and I couldn’t tell whether it was a shrug or a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about the letter, Lad. I shouldn’t have given it to you. I’ve just put you in more danger.”

  “Danger comes from lack of knowledge, not too much.” Max’s complaints about how blood magic would be less dangerous if they could study it came to mind.

  David shook his head, and it seemed to get heavier with each swing, but he continued, “You weren’t getting shot at with silver arrows before I gave you the letter. I told your Da I’d take care of you if something happened to him, and I can’t fail now.”

  This was news to me, and it unlocked something. The flood of memories kept me from saying anything. I recalled David as having been a peripheral presence in my life during my short childhood and what felt like an even shorter adolescence before my first change at age thirteen. My mother, a human, had long suspected and feared I’d end up like my Da.

  At that point, I’d gone to the Council School—it hadn’t been a disciplinary academy then—and found out about my kind and the special kind of responsibility we had to keep our hormones under control when we had the power of an apex predator. I graduated and went on to Oxford at age seventeen and was made Council Investigator at age twenty-two, no o
ther family members being available to fill the appointment. David had been the one to orient me to the Council and my role on it, but I hadn’t thought there was anything odd or significant about it.

  “Let’s not talk here,” I said. “I’ll grab some food and take you back to your place. Troy, two roast beef sandwiches, take-away.”

  “Good move,” Troy said. “Bread’ll help. Chips with those?”

  “Yes, the more absorbent material, the better.”

  In ten minutes, we were on our way in my car. David slumped in the passenger seat, his eyes closed. The late sunlight gilded the sides of the trees we passed, and I felt the thrum of energy that comes with twilight in old forests. Today it was stronger than usual, and I kept one eye out for Reine’s ilk and/or ghosts, friendly or otherwise. As if on cue, I heard the voice from the backseat.

  “Poor fool couldn’t hold his whiskey when something was bothering him. He’s a better celebratory drinker.”

  “I don’t have time to deal with you now,” I said as quietly as I could through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry,” David said. “Then why did you offer to take me home?”

  I cursed our preternatural sense of hearing. “Not you, you daft fool, you must be hearing things.”

  “Or you are,” he said.

  “Right. Either way, just focus on not throwing up in my car.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you if I need you to pull over.”

  We arrived at Laird Hall without incident, and David waved away my offer to help him.

  “I was drinking whiskey before you were even thought of, pup,” he told me and almost careened into the door. He righted himself.