“Brought you tea, Em.” Her uncle Norman came into the room, his concentration fully on the cup and saucer in his trembling hand. “It’s late. Hadn’t you better be thinking about bed?” He was always clucking over her.
“Thanks.” She rose to take the cup from him, guilty that she had left him alone in front of the television. What was the point of visiting him if she skulked in her bedroom all evening studying her musty old books? Except she didn’t want him to see what she was reading. He wouldn’t understand and would only get upset. “You should have called me to come down. I had no idea it was so late.”
“Reckoned you must be busy.” He peered past her to the cluttered desk he’d handmade for her too many years ago. It looked diminutive under the stack of books she’d brought with her. She was relieved she’d hidden the almanac.
“You’ll wear your eyes out in this light,” he said and gave a sniff that could have been disdain or indifference; she was never sure which. Her uncle only held with books if the studying of them promised a decent job, like medicine or law, professions he understood. Her father had been a schoolteacher, and to Norm, that was the pinnacle of success. Everything else, he viewed with suspicion, and Emily supposed she hadn’t helped any by returning from college as a scientist, of all things. Worse still, a doctor of something that sounded newfangled and faddy to Norm. In a science he probably suspected diverted good funding money from the real important stuff.
Genomics. She researched genetic mapping. She had explained what she did to him a hundred times, but he was still baffled. However, the fact that she had a doctorate, and his living room wall was filled with her certificates and graduation photographs made him proud. None of his buddies had anyone half as smart as Emily in their families.
Her success was the compromise between her need to get away and his need to worry for her. His savings had gone to making her the professional she was today in a science he was half afraid of. His money, and the small insurance policy left by her father, had given her the education she needed to escape this backwater town.
Emily suppressed a smile; she could read his huffy attitude like the back of a matchbox, all small print and rattling, with an occasional flare-up. Her uncle Norm was a grumpy old malcontent. He hated the modern world and most things in it, except her. He had supported her all her life, and she loved him for it.
“Stay and talk,” she said.
“Nah, early start tomorrow. My bones want bed.” Already, he was turning away, shaking his head. “Oh, it was the widow woman,” he added and looked back at her expectantly.
“What?”
“The widow woman. Lived next door,” he explained further. She looked at him blankly. His face closed and his gaze darted away in embarrassment. “In that thing we were watching. The detective thing. It was her killed the boy.”
“Oh. Yeah,” she answered, feeling ashamed. This was the TV cop program they had been watching hours ago. Before she went upstairs to use the bathroom and never came down again. Before a thought struck her, and she had to come and crack open a book to make sure of some detail or other. Before she had fallen down that rabbit hole an open book always provided, and abandoned him completely. Her heart sank. She had been selfish and she had hurt him. Her visits home were rare, and he looked forward to them so much, and here she was, not giving him even half the time she should.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Norm. I got sidetracked.” She flailed her hand limply toward the stacked desk.
“I know. I know. You got work to do. But remember, this is supposed to be a vacation. You need to get out, get fresh air.” As ever, he loved an opportunity to scold and fuss. But only a little. He always let her have her own way. Again, she damped down a smile. He was lucky she’d been such a levelheaded, timorous teenager; Lord knew how he would have coped had she been headstrong and wild.
“I’m going hiking again tomorrow,” she said to appease him.
“You been trapping?” he asked eagerly. Emily suspected he hunted vicariously through her these days. He had declared several years ago he was too old to go dragging around the woods after vermin, but his interest in it never failed.
“Yeah.” She took a sip of her tea. It was too sweet. He never got it right. “I might have some rabbit for the freezer.”
“Don’t go near that valley.” He glowered at her ominously.
“I won’t,” she said in all honesty. I don’t think I have to.
He grunted, pleased. “Night, Em. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too, Uncle Norm,” she said and watched him leave.
She sat back down at her desk, balancing her cup on the last inch of space, and checked over her scrawled notes. More hours passed. Rain rattled hard on the window and broke her concentration. Emily yawned and stretched, studying her skinny midriff reflected in the windowpane. She needed to stop and get some sleep. She was neglecting herself. She should eat better and get some of that fresh air she’d promised her uncle she would. Well, she definitely would be doing that later…today? Was it really that late? In a few hours, she’d be out there, making the rounds and checking on her lures, carrying on with her experiment. She’d told Uncle Norm she was going hiking. Hiking was a nice word for what she had in mind.
From her bedroom window, rivulets of rain distorted the buildings of Lost Creek, weaving their misshapen outlines into one another. She could make out the local gas station, closed because everyone used the mall these days. Next door was Gilroy’s Hardware, still limping along because needles and buckets and twine were not worth the ride over to Covington, the nearest big town. Beside Gilroy’s stood the pharmacy, and next to that more empty storefronts. This was the lot of backwater towns in hard times. Main Street was practically a mausoleum.
Beyond the rooftops, from her second floor window over Johnston’s General Store, she could make out the ghostly sway of poplar trees. Their slender crowns quivered under the onslaught of rain. Hundreds of trees, thousands, tens of thousands, running away from the edge of town and down into the valley as far as the eye could see. All the way down to Little Dip, to the people who claimed ownership of all the land hereabouts. People? More like animals. The glass reflected her bitter grimace.
Emily slid open the desk drawer and lifted out a cloth bundle. She set it on the desk and unwrapped the black silk. It pooled around a bright circular ornament. Emily lifted the large silver collar; it glimmered sharply in the lamplight. She regarded it from all angles with reverence, but not for its beauty or expense. It had cost her nearly two months’ salary to have it made. Thank goodness it had to be silver and not gold or she’d never have afforded it.
It was a plain thing, no decoration whatsoever, yet its curve and bevel held a simplistic elegance she supposed was beautiful. The silver shone, sometimes sharp as a knife, sometimes soft like a good luck charm. She hoped it was both those things; she needed both. She was unsure of the dimensions so had erred toward oversize. The lock was delicately intricate, and the key was on a long chain around her neck. It nestled close to her heart. If she’d interpreted the almanac correctly, this was a very powerful weapon. A werewolf wearing a silver collar was as powerless and placid as a newborn pup. She set the collar back onto its bed of silk and gazed out at the trees and the black hills beyond.
“I’ll get you, you bastard. And if I don’t kill you first, I’m going to shackle you and sell you for millions,” she swore to her nighttime reflection. It looked back at her, dark and distorted by the rain.
Chapter Three
“No. I refuse point-blank. You can’t go on this hunt. You’re too upset to be objective, and I don’t need another loose cannon out there.” Marie Garoul was emphatic. “Besides, I have an important job for you and Hope here in Little Dip.” She tried to take the edge off her order, but Jolie was having none of it. She continued to bristle.
They were in Marie’s living room. Members of the Garoul clan had gathered around the huge dining table to study maps and coordinate strategies for the hunt. The ai
r crackled with energy, and Jolie’s toes itched to go over and join them, except Marie barred her way. Jolie scowled at the floor, her face heated with subdued anger. If any Garoul should hunt down that bastard Luc, it was her. It was her mate who had been kidnapped, her mate who had been endangered. The fine hair on the nape of her neck bristled at the thought of Hope at the mercy of Luc’s ferals. Never mind that Hope had run rings around them and easily escaped. She could have been hurt! Jolie had a right to first bite.
A low growl rumbled in her throat, and Marie glared at her. Jolie let the growl trickle away into a moan of discontent and kept her eyes averted. Marie was Alpha, and not to be challenged, but inside, Jolie seethed. It was hard for a werewolf to be denied vengeance. She understood Marie’s point of view, but it still felt unfair. She would only bite Luc a little bit when she got her claws on her. Just a little, on the ear, and maybe the nose…and then she would rip her throat right out for so much as looking at her Hope.
“Jolie,” Marie said, her tone softer. “You’re too wound up. You’d kill her, and that’s not what I want. Luc is a Garoul. She’s family. We have to find out why she is behaving like a rabid animal. We need to know more about this virus.”
Behind them, the hunting party shuffled and shifted. They were prepped and ready to go on Marie’s word. This conversation was delaying the inevitable, but still Jolie persisted in a last-ditch attempt to join their ranks.
“Why is Ren going when I can’t?” Jolie latched on to what she hoped was a pertinent point that might sway things in her favor. Over Marie’s shoulder she could see Ren talking to the others like she was important or something, when she was no more than a blow-in who had brought nothing but trouble. Jolie was angry with her, too.
“Enough.” Marie’s voice was sharp and determined. “Ren is coming because we are hunting her twin sister, and she has some experience with this disease. Now stop complaining and go see to your mate. I gave you both a job to do. Go do it.” She turned back to the hunt pack.
Jolie stomped out onto the porch, seething at her dismissal. She had a right to go! She hesitated, unwilling to leave but uncertain what to do next. She had run out of options. Off to her left, something rustled, and from the corner of her eye, she caught a slither of brown pelt slipping through the snowberry bushes. Anyone but a Were would have missed it, but Jolie’s keen senses, heightened by her foul mood, picked up on the shiver of leaves. Someone had been spying at Marie’s window. Intrigued, Jolie followed the interloper.
In several strides, she had caught up. Mouse was shrugging on her fleece top when Jolie found her behind a tree. It amazed her how easily the young Were could mutate. When she’d been Mouse’s age, it was a struggle for Jolie to change cleanly, if at all. It had come much easier after puberty when her bones were stronger.
“I saw you,” she growled at the young pup. Mouse had the good grace to blush.
“I was only looking for Ren,” she said.
“You were snooping,” Jolie said and folded her arms. “Do I have to go tell Marie?” Marie was always a good threat with the younger ones.
Mouse’s face became a sullen mask. “No,” she said in a whiny voice. “I wasn’t doing no harm.” She stooped to tie her shoelaces, and Jolie was unsure where to go with this conversation. She had no idea what to do with cubs.
“Come on.” She nodded toward the compound and moved away expecting Mouse to follow.
“Are we going to see Marie?” Mouse fell in step beside her, shoulders drooped and feet dragging.
“Nope,” Jolie said. “Hope has made cookies.” As usual, when there was a situation Jolie was unsure of, or where she felt out of her depth, she deferred to Hope. Hope would wangle the truth out of the youngster. After all, she always managed to prize Jolie’s secrets out of her.
*
“More lemonade?”
Mouse pushed her glass across the table and brushed cookie crumbs from her cheek with a grubby hand. “Please,” she said belatedly.
Hope smiled and filled the glass. “I suppose you miss Joey,” she said, slapping Jolie’s hand away from the cookie plate. “You’ve had three already,” she told her.
Mouse nodded. “I do. I know he had to go back to the farm, but he was sad. He liked it here.”
“He’ll be back in a few weeks with the others.”
“You’ll get to meet Jenna and Noah.” Mouse brightened at once. “They’re my friends. Joey’s my best friend, but I like Jenna and Noah, too. They’re cool.” Mouse reached for a fourth cookie and Jolie looked on dismayed as she got away with it.
“What about Luc? Do you miss her, too?” Hope’s question was deceptively casual. Mouse dropped her gaze and stopped chewing for a moment. Confusion and hurt washed over her face.
“Yeah. But everyone’s mad at her, and I think they want to hurt her,” she mumbled into her chest.
“No, they don’t, sweetie.” Hope moved around the table and gathered Mouse into a hug. “Don’t you worry about that. The Garouls want to bring Luc home and make her better. After all, she’s a Garoul, too, and Marie makes the best medicine in the world. She has to find Luc to give her some. That’s why they’re going out looking for her.”
Mouse perked up at this news. “They have medicine for Luc?”
“You bet they do,” Hope said in her most upbeat voice, “and they need to find her to make her take it. Isn’t that right, Jol—” She broke off and glared. Jolie tried to stuff the stolen cookie into her mouth in one go, but it broke in pieces down her shirtfront. Tadpole zoned in on the crumbs under her chair, managing to enhance her culpability.
“Mouse, I think Ren will be looking for you. Go say good-bye, and then come back here for dinner. Okay?” Hope pinned Jolie with a stern stare while speaking to Mouse. Jolie cringed.
“Okay.” Mouse hopped down from her chair and headed out, Tadpole hot on her heels.
“There’s something wrong,” Hope said the minute the door closed behind Mouse. “She’s holding something back.”
“Huh? She seemed fine to me,” Jolie answered, dusting down her shirtfront. Hope snorted in exasperation and moved the cookies out of reach completely.
“We’d best keep an eye on her. I’m glad she’s staying here while Ren is out hunting,” she said.
“I’m the one who should be out hunting—” Jolie began, but Hope interrupted her.
“You’re to do what your Alpha tells you. Marie asked us to mind Mouse, and I need you here helping me, not running around the forest after that fool Luc.”
“What do I know about cubs?” Jolie refused to let go of her huff.
“Then it’s time to learn, and you better be quick. Mouse moves in tonight and we already know she’s stressed,” Hope said. “Now help me prepare dinner.”
“I’m the one who’s stressed,” Jolie grumbled, but slid off her seat to go peel potatoes.
Chapter Four
Luc found the next rabbit in the abandoned logging camp a few miles north of Little Dip. Her escape route north had disintegrated into a zigzag from one feeding station to the next. She needed the free fuel more than she needed to run for it.
Once more, she approached cautiously. This was different from the other drops, and that unsettled her. There had been human habitation here, but not recently. A delusional entrepreneur had once tried to re-create a Wild West experience for tourists by restoring the original loggers’ camp. Luc vaguely remembered the cumbersome court battle he had with the Garouls over plan designs and zoning restrictions. They had not wanted a tourist destination so close to their home valley, and, of course, they had won. All that was left was an abandoned collection of ramshackle cabins, the sturdiest of which was the dynamite store. Even it was teetering on the verge of ruination after all the years of abandonment, nothing more than a damp, mossy home for insects. The builders had been lazy in sourcing their materials and had cut timber from the nearby hillside. They had denuded the sloping terrain behind the camp, and now rivers of rainwater gushed along
gullies cut deep in the exposed earth, washing away roots and earth in a muddy scree-filled flow. Water spluttered down onto the camp floor creating a quagmire of muddied pools and puddles.
Luc sniffed disdainfully at the stupidity of man as she stomped through the mire. Her nostrils quivered, zoning in on the scent she was meant to follow. She was enjoying this game. It brought her easy food, and best of all, distraction from her current woes. She turned toward the last standing cabin.
The signs of recent activity were everywhere. The place stank of humanity and mold. Boot prints covered the mud-splattered floor, but just one set. This was not very clever. Luc’s ears twitched in annoyance at her hunter. She tried to figure out what was going on here. Everything had been so pristine before; there had been no trace of the hunter in the earlier food drops. Why be so careless now? A half-eaten sandwich sat curling on the windowsill. Luc sniffed it. Ham, and not that fresh, maybe a day old? Perhaps this had been the first drop and she had managed to come upon it last? Who was to say she had found them in the correct order. Maybe the hunter had become more skillful as the game went on? She sniffed the ham sandwich again and ate it. Food was fuel. Then she turned her attention to her main meal. This rabbit was not out in the open like the others. It was hanging from a rafter in the storage room, which was nothing more than a box with iron bar walls, not unlike a frontier jailhouse.
Number four was the trap. It was the fattest, bloodiest, and freshest bait so far. Luc hunkered down and regarded the rabbit and its discreet tripwire until the sun had arched and noontime passed. The rain drummed incessantly on the thin tin roof. So she was meant to lumber up to the free meal, snatch it from the wire, and in doing so slam the barred door shut behind her, sealing herself in. As if she were that stupid! Everything about this trap was a huge disappointment.
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