They’d given up their French Catholic heritage long ago, and now focused all their energy when dealing with other wolves toward containment and control, as opposed to shaming and maiming.
They were both scientists at heart, and from the stories they’d shared, it took them until the Scots showed up in the Red River Colony to fully comprehend what that meant. Taking a different path had given them as much peace as werewolves could have.
Without the Geroux brothers, many werewolves would have been put down. With them, the Alfheim Pack was a thriving, diverse community that had helped build the town toward the artistic mecca it was becoming.
Gerard nodded toward the glamour around The Great Hall. “He’s not letting anyone in.”
“Even you?” I asked.
Gerard’s nose crinkled. He rubbed at its side, then shook his head. “It’s full moon in three nights,” he said.
I’d forgotten. Now was not the time for the elves to be pulling back their magic.
Gerard nodded toward The Great Hall. “It’s okay. Arne and the other elves are still open to the pack. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
Gerard did not seem to believe his own words. I clasped his arm. “How much did Ed explain?”
He hooked a thumb into a belt loop. “That something attacked you two on Rose’s Hill.” His frown deepened. “We’re going out toward your place. Axlam will keep the pack closer together this time while Remy and I stay on the edges.”
I nodded. “I was visited by another ghost.”
Gerard stepped closer. “Who?”
“I did not recognize the man, though I felt I should have.” I shook my head. I still could not place him. “He undid a spell.”
“What?” Gerard looked up at The Hall as if he expected Arne to come striding out. “A ghost?”
“There’s an anger,” I said. “You saw it on me the last time I was here.”
Gerard nodded.
“He broke it. Cleaned it. I’m not sure how to describe what happened other than to say he made it visible to me. It looked like slime. I was able to pull it off, and then it shriveled and died in the sun.”
Gerard stared at the glamoured hotel for a long moment. “The moment Arne is willing to talk, I will tell him of this.” He gripped my arm. “A magic the elves missed.”
Gerard understood. This was not the first time he’d experienced the unexplainable. But he and Remy always figured out what was happening.
“I think so,” I said.
Which was why he and the pack were still alive.
“Do you think the creature came through fully?” he asked. “Do you think it is still here?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. If it did, it hasn’t attacked anyone.”
Gerard rubbed at his forehead. “It’s only been two days.”
“Yes.” I pointed in the general direction of the library. “We haven’t seen either Tony or Ivan, either.” Vampires, when rudderless and afraid, attacked mundanes. It didn’t matter how well-behaved they were overall; a frightened vampire responded to the world the same way as a cornered rat—it snarled and bit and frothed at the mouth.
“No, we have not,” Gerard said. “They know we will hunt them if they run.”
If anything scared a vampire, it was a hunting Alfheim Pack. “I think they’re hiding.”
Gerard sighed. “I suspect you are correct.”
“The thing is, a vampiric demon would not hide,” I said. “I’d think Arne closing its access points would terrify it.”
“We have not sensed or scented any indication of a demon, Frank.” He paused. “We’ve checked. Nothing.”
So maybe Arne’s closing of the portals did its job. “Be careful when the moon comes, anyway,” I said.
Gerard pulled his sunglasses off the neck of his t-shirt and put them on his face. “We will keep an eye out for Marcus Aurelius, my friend. Axlam has tasked the pack with tracking your dog.”
“Thank you.” The wolves had a much better chance of finding my dog than I did. They all loved him, and would not harm him if they did find him.
I hoped. “Have any of the pack shown signs of excessive anger?”
Gerard shook his head. “No. It seems to be centered on you and the elves.”
Me. Was being the epicenter good or bad? I did not know. “Just be careful.”
“We will,” Gerard said. “We will.”
Chapter 17
Dag wasn’t in her office at the Administrative Complex, but Ed was in his.
The Alfheim County Sheriff’s Department, along with Alfheim’s city police force, occupied the largest concrete slab at the end of the complex. Like the city offices, the building was well-manicured and framed by a wide assortment of industrial-looking shrubs and flowers. A huge, ironic, orange and black “No guns allowed on the premises” sign hung on the front entrance. The fact that the Sheriff’s Department needed such an overt reminder to Alfheim’s mundane citizens made me wonder about the wider world.
But I was not here to discuss the problems caused by random people. I was here to speak to Ed about magic slime, his family’s safety, and the wolves.
Deep inside the building, past three separate defense check-points, I leaned against the frame of Ed’s door. “I got another visit this morning,” I said.
Ed waved me in. “Close the door,” he said.
I twisted to cross his threshold—even normal three-foot door spans cause me some trouble—and closed the door behind me.
“A ghost?” he asked as he clicked closed a window on his computer screen.
I shook my head. “No one I recognized.”
Ed leaned back in his chair. “A non-known visitation? Does that happen?”
I pulled out one of the chairs in front of his desk, but pushed it to the side when I realized it had arm rests. “It takes incredible magic to manifest a ghost for someone with whom the phantom has no geometry in common.” I pulled forward one without rests. “I didn’t see any magic around the ghost.”
But me not seeing the magic was very much part of the bigger picture.
Ed nodded.
The chair groaned when I dropped my bulk onto it. “He did, though, show me the magic that has been clinging to me.” I motioned with my hand to mimic pulling off of the anger. “It was like slime, Ed. Magical slime. The ghost did something to it. I couldn’t see it before. I could after.”
Ed leaned forward. “And you got it off?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I think so. I checked myself over before leaving the house.”
Ed tapped a pen on his desk. “Like checking for magical ticks.”
I would have chuckled if I’d felt up to it. “The elves won’t talk to me.”
Ed dropped the pen. “I know. Dagrun stopped by earlier. She’s working on the inside.” He rubbed his face. “Whatever that means.”
I dared not ask, but I was beginning to wonder if we were about to have an elf coup on our hands. The last thing the town needed was a civil war between their King and their Queen, especially this close to Samhain.
“I swear whatever crossed over is trying to manipulate the elves.” Obviously, I thought. Were Arne and Dag carrying the slime, too? But why? Because they were a threat? Because they held the power? Because they were elves?
All my questions seemed equally likely.
Ed pointed at me. “And you.” He sat back again. “Pretty much you, brother.”
I looked down at the floor. Yes, me. I was the epicenter. No getting around that. But why?
“Gerard says the pack has not sensed a demon,” I said.
Ed picked up his pen again. “You had a ghost visitor this morning who revealed to you magic you could not see and that the elves did not sense.” He pointed the pen at me. “The original access point got by both Maura and Mayor Tyrsdottir. The fire at the café looks like a gas leak only because the elves found no traces of non-Akeyla magic. You’re seeing ghosts. And whatever attacked us at Rose’s Hill hid itself from me.
”
Everything he said was true.
Ed tapped his pen on a report. “We’ve had an uptick in calls,” he said. “Three dead or missing dogs last night.”
Vampires feed on friendly beasts.
He held up his hand. “No sign of yours and no people missing, at least so far.”
I nodded.
“Tony and Ivan may be feeding on people’s pets. They’re under control, but they’re still vampires, and I bet they’re as terrified as we are right now.”
I nodded again.
“The wolves will be out with the moon.” Ed looked up at the ceiling. “I asked the mayor to send a couple of trustworthy elves to the wolves’ place. Enough to be on hand for when Gerard and Remy are out in the woods.”
His family would be without guards once the wolves changed for the full moon. “I’ll come over.”
Ed frowned. He stared right at me for a long moment before speaking. “You are the epicenter of this, my friend. Forgive me if I don’t want you near my kids right now.”
His words stung worse than any of the dark magic we’d endured, but he did have a point.
A valid and legitimate point.
I didn’t answer. I stood, instead. “Call if you get word on anything.”
Ed moused open his tabs again. “Will do.”
I walked toward the door.
“Frank,” Ed said.
I turned around.
“Under any other circumstances I would have been honored to have you watch over my family.”
I inhaled. “Thank you,” I said, and walked out.
I drove out to Rose’s Hill and parked my truck at the spot where Ed and I last saw Marcus Aurelius’s tracks. The late afternoon sun threw warm shadows through the trees and stirred up the fresh, semi-sweet, semi-pulpy scent of living things. Leaves rustled. Birds called. The forest wasn’t all that upset with Rose right now.
The hill wasn’t visible from my spot in the ruts that made up the road. The forest floor rose on the other side of the trees, and an outcropping marked an area with elevations, but the hill itself was out of sight.
I had no desire to go up there, nor was I dumb enough to think visiting a dead witch’s abode alone again was a good idea.
Better to wait until the elves decided they liked me again, and wanted to help, or for Gerard and Remy to serve as back-up.
Except I knew, deep down, that a part of Rose was still here, and that part wanted to help. Her remaining magic didn’t feel malevolent. It didn’t feel particularly benevolent, either, for that matter, but it did feel more alive than the flickering remains of a witch’s magic should feel.
Perhaps I was reading into what had happened on the hill. Perhaps I wanted so badly to feel the good left of Rose’s soul so much I made it up. Perhaps not. Either way, she did answer my questions as best as the dead could.
So many questions remained. So many clues that still seemed to serve no purpose. What did Ivan mean by borders and mixing? What purpose did he serve by giving me that book?
Why was I the epicenter?
I picked up a bag of Marcus Aurelius’s favorite treats from the seat of my truck. “Here, boy!” I yelled, and walked into the trees.
A bird screeched. I looked up just as a bald eagle flew over. Her white head and tail gleamed in the sun, as did her huge yellow talons.
The elves considered birds of prey to be symbols of strength and luck, as did the Native Americans. I hoped they were both correct.
Three hours of searching turned up zero signs of my dog. No signs of Tony or Ivan, either, or gnawed-on carcasses. No vampire marks. No demon signs. Just several pissed off raccoons, a fox, and a lot of leaf-strewn ground.
I drove my truck by the new construction just to get a better look at the progress. The sooner they got it done, the happier I’d be.
An empty, expensive sedan waited on the gravel next to the chrome and glass monstrosity, and a man I did not recognize talked to the foreman. The guy looked like any Cities tourist with his jeans and his craft brewery t-shirt, but had an air about him that said either owner or designer.
I waved as I drove by. The new man smiled and waved as if asking me to stop.
He jogged over. “Hello!” he said, and offered his hand through my open driver’s side window. “I’m Aaron. Aaron Carlson.”
He looked to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties, and had some gray peppered into his hair. A slight belly suggested he sat more for his work than the laborers building his new house. His face, though, looked younger.
“Frank Victorsson,” I said.
We shook.
“You live across the lake, correct?” He pointed.
“Yep. That’s me,” I said.
“They’re almost done with the exteriors,” he said. “The noise will lessen soon.”
I chuckled. “Good.”
He chuckled, too. “Our youngest just started college.” He grinned. “And I’m semi-retiring. We thought a lake house would be nice.”
“It’s lovely here,” I said.
“God, isn’t it?” He stared out at the trees. “Here,” he said, and pulled a card from his pocket. “My cell’s on the back, in case you know anyone who might want to take care of the place when we’re not here.”
He smiled.
I took the card. “Aaron Carlson, attorney at law. Specializing in immigration, defense, and personal injury law,” it said.
“You’re a lawyer?”
“Yeah,” he said. “My wife does intellectual property.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Well,” Mr. Carlson, attorney at law, said, “We’re hoping the place will be ready by Christmas.” He looked almost forlorn. Almost.
I extended my hand again. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Carlson.”
“Call me Aaron. Please.”
“Will do, Aaron,” I said.
“Interesting tattoos you have,” he said, and pointed at my head. “Is that Yggdrasil?”
One of my protection tattoos had a real-world base that was, in fact, the world tree. “It is,” I said.
“You have to come by once we’re in. Our middle daughter is working toward an art degree and she will grill you about the design.”
I wasn’t sure being “grilled” by a lawyer’s artist offspring sounded like a good time, but being neighborly often meant putting up with annoying children.
“Will do,” I said one more time.
He patted the door of my truck. “Good to meet you, Mr. Victorsson.”
“Good to meet you too, Mr. Carlson,” and waved one last time as I made my way around the lake and to my home.
Chapter 18
Another day of searching for Marcus Aurelius led to nothing but more dashed hopes. Three days he’d been gone now, with no signs. The wolves would look for him tomorrow night, but my worry had blossomed into something cold and shaky in my gut.
I’d lost animals before. Horses, an endless number of dogs, a few cats, goats, and a parrot. But losing the emperor felt different.
Ed had called mid-afternoon to tell me he had three more calls the night before, including a ripped-apart cow.
My loyal, faithful hound might be out there, somewhere, hiding in a hollow from vampires and a demon.
I put bowls of clean water and food out on the deck just in case. The raccoons would eat the food by morning, but if Marcus Aurelius did come back, he’d at least have something.
The sunset spread reds and oranges over the lake. Most of the work on the Carlsons’ house had been interior today, with thankfully less noise. Workers still toiled inside, and must have either gotten the house connected to the grid or the solar panels and batteries set up, because the entire house was lit up like a Christmas tree.
I unrolled my mat and took up my usual morning place on my deck. A little evening meditation might help calm my faithful companion, fear.
The moon peeked out over the tops of the trees. One more night and she’d be full—and the wolves would run the w
oods. And likely one more night without my dog.
I closed my eyes and counted my breath in, then counted as I slowly exhaled out. I would not mourn. He might yet make his way home, and I would continue my search. The wolves might find him tomorrow.
But it was hard.
I looked over my shoulder at the wide French doors and the silent kitchen beyond. Akeyla should be helping with dinner and chatting about her day.
My house, once again, was more silent than my poor soul could tolerate.
The moon stood out as a massive orb opposite the final deep reds and purples of the setting sun. Across the way, behind the glass, someone walked back and forth in front of Carlson’s view of the lake. Several of the lights switched off.
Two of the workers walked out of the building and to their trucks. Another light switched off until only the room behind the big window remained on.
The ghost appeared again—the unrecognized man from a few days ago.
He manifested directly between me and my neighbors as a small, round man with curly hair and a hawkish nose.
He tilted his head and blinked his eyes just as the moon threw a glowing path from his back to the Carlson house.
I dared not move. Dared not to upset the geometry of his placement in the world, and mine, and the shining, bright line connecting us to neighbors I wasn’t sure I liked.
“Who are you?” I asked. Ed was correct; he had to be someone I knew.
The ghost stuck out his tongue and silently hissed.
“Ivan?” Was I looking at the man Ivan was before he turned? Small, troll-like but not mean. Bookish, and perhaps slightly magical?
But Ivan was a vampire. Was I looking at the ghost driven from his form by the possessing demon-spirit?
“I don’t understand, Ivan.” Why would the ghost of a vampire offer information?
Why did any ghost offer information? Why did they manifest at all? I glanced around Ivan’s human ghost at the path of moonglow.
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