Grave Rites: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Grant Wolves Book 6)

by Lori Drake

  “Can I help you, Alpha?” she asked.

  He blinked. “Um, yeah. I’m here to see Cathy.”

  A manicured brow lifted. “Is she expecting you?”

  Who the hell was this woman, and why was she playing gatekeeper? He tried but failed to tamp down his annoyance. His head was still throbbing, and he’d had to blast music and the air conditioning all the way from Animal Control just to stay awake and alert.

  “Yeah, she is.” He took a step toward the door, intending to push past her if needed, but he paused when magic flared to life around her and she held up a hand. A leather glove sheathed her hand like a second skin, which struck Chris as odd. Who wore gloves in August, much less indoors?

  “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  She shut the door in his face. Chris sighed, leaning a hand on the doorframe. He was just so damn tired, and this was a complication he didn’t need. But he wasn’t left standing there long before the door opened again. This time it was Cathy on the other side.

  “Sorry, child. I—” Her apologetic smile faded, replaced with a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just… can I come in and sit down?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  Cathy held the door open while Chris shuffled inside, not making it farther than the kitchen table before he collapsed in a chair with a weary sigh.

  “I’m running on fumes, is all. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’ve got a headache.”

  A hint of movement caught his eye, and he looked over to see the gloved woman standing in the doorway to the living room. She leaned against the wall, arms folded as she studied him from afar. A familiar form slipped past her into the room, and Chris blinked.

  “Itsuo? Where’s Ben?” he asked.

  “He got called in to work,” Cathy said.

  “How—I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.” Chris frowned at his packmate, but the elder alpha merely met his gaze evenly and inclined his head.

  “My apologies, Christopher-san.” The defiant look in Itsuo’s eyes belied his contrite words.

  Annoyance pierced the ache in Chris’s head. “So you’ll answer Ben’s calls but not mine?”

  “Ben didn’t call him. He called Jenny,” Cathy said.

  Of course. If Itsuo would answer the phone for anyone, it’d be Jenny. Chris grunted and shook his head, letting the subject drop for now. His eyes drifted once more to the woman in the archway. “Who’s the other watch dog?”

  Cathy chuckled, shutting and locking the back door. “Chris, Amber. Amber, Chris.”

  Amber lifted a gloved hand and wiggled her fingers, but her face remained impassive.

  “She’s a friend.” Cathy walked over and stopped in front of Chris, studying him with a few extra wrinkles in her wrinkled brow. “What’s this about a headache? You don’t get headaches.”

  “I get headaches,” Chris protested, albeit weakly. She wasn’t entirely wrong. He didn’t get persistent headaches like this any more than he got a cold that put him down for more than twelve hours. Healthy as a werehorse, you might say.

  “Well, let me see what I can do.”

  Chris closed his eyes and let her take his head between her soft, aged hands. His skin warmed and tingled as her magic poured into him at his temples, spreading until he felt like his brain itself was cradled in her hands. Odd, but comforting. But the ache centered behind his forehead didn’t abate, and after a few moments the warmth faded and Cathy removed her hands.

  Opening his eyes again, Chris squinted at her. Her eyes had that distant quality they got when she was studying his aura, like she was looking at him but not at him. Through him. He did his best to sit still but twisted his fingers in his lap.

  Amber walked over to stand beside Cathy, her eyes likewise unfocused. “What is that?”

  Cathy shushed her softly, giving her head a minute shake. But the damage was done.

  “What’s wrong?” Chris asked, unease souring his stomach.

  “Your aura is...” Cathy lifted a hand, waving her palm slowly in a near caress of the empty air. “Damaged.”

  Chris sat straighter in his chair. “Damaged? What do you mean, damaged?”

  “It looks like it’s leaking,” Amber said, which didn’t soothe Chris at all.

  He bolted to his feet, alarm bells going off in his throbbing head. Standing quickly didn’t do him any favors, and he wavered on his feet, knocked over like a feather when Cathy gently placed a palm on his chest to urge him back into the chair.

  “Don’t be alarmed, child.”

  Chris swallowed. “Don’t be— How am I supposed to not be alarmed? She just said my aura is leaking!” The words came out shriller than he would’ve liked, and he winced, rubbing his chest idly.

  “Well, it is.” Amber rested her gloved hands on her hips, studying him with a clinical air.

  “Can you feel that?” Cathy asked, her eyes on his hand where it rubbed his chest.

  “My hand? Yeah.”

  “No, not that. I mean, does your chest hurt? Ache? Or just your head?”

  Chris glanced at his hand, then back to Cathy. “No, just my head.”

  “But you just rubbed the exact—” Amber began, but Cathy shushed her again. The younger witch sighed.

  Chris looked down at his chest again, realization dawning. “He shot me.”

  “What?” Cathy’s brows shot up. “What happened?”

  “Last night, at the séance. I—” He looked at Amber, hesitating. “Sorry, I hate to be rude, but can you give us some privacy?”

  Amber’s gloved hands formed fists on her hips. She didn’t move until Cathy gave her a small nod. The honey-haired witch stalked across the room and disappeared into the living room, leaving them alone. Itsuo moved into the doorway as if he could block sound with his body.

  “Sorry,” Chris said quietly. “I just— I don’t know her, and this involves my ability.”

  “I figured as much.” Cathy drew a chair over to sit in front of him and leaned over, taking his hands in hers. “Talk to me, child. What happened at the séance?”

  He told her everything, from getting an answer on the Ouija board to his growing suspicion that it wasn’t really Naomi and getting shot by the spirit when he popped astral to check. She listened patiently, gnarled thumbs rubbing the backs of his hands soothingly.

  “…and then I woke up in the back of the car, and we went home.”

  “Did the headache start then, or later?”

  “No. I felt an ache in my chest, but I figured it was just in my head. The headache didn’t start until this morning. It was mild at first, and I’ve been dragging ass all day. I just figured it was from not getting enough sleep. I could barely keep my eyes open on the way here.” He caught himself reaching up to rub his chest again and diverted his hand, rubbing his forehead instead. “What’s happening to me? What does it mean for my aura to be leaking?”

  “It just means that you’re leaking mystical energy. That’s why you’re so tired. You’re a lycanthrope, child. A magical creature. With that energy escaping, it’s only natural that it’d take some of the pep from your step.”

  Chris swallowed, looking down at his hand still joined with hers. “So, what do I do? Will it heal on its own?”

  “It should, but I may be able to accelerate things magically. My normal healing magic didn’t do anything for it, but I have a few ideas. In the meantime, rest is my prescription. I’d like you to remain here with me, so I can keep an eye on your condition.”

  He brought his head up sharply, though that only made it throb more. “I— We— I can’t just— I don’t have time for this!” Tugging his hand from hers, he pushed his fingers through his hair, grabbing and pulling in frustration. “I haven’t even told you what I came here to talk to you about.”

  “It can wait.”

  “No, it can’t. You don’t understand. Naomi—”

  A golden glow sprang up around her, and she put her hand on his knee. “S
leep, child.”

  Warmth spread rapidly up his leg from the knee, and Chris tried to protest, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was just so relaxed, all his troubles and fears fading into the background like soft rain in the forest. His last conscious thought was a fleeting hope that he didn’t hurt himself falling out of the chair.

  14

  Joey marched into the ranger’s station with the tuft of wolf fur still pinched between her fingers, gritting her teeth against the pain in her hip. Pain shot down her leg with every step and radiated upward almost to her waist. She must’ve been quite a sight, because Harding broke off his conversation with the ranger behind the desk and stared at her for a long moment. The ranger shot to his feet, dusky features awash with concern.

  “Miss, are you okay?” Ranger Rick hurried forward and met her about halfway across the room. He was a big guy, built like a bear—if bears had biceps as thick as Joey’s neck and washboard abs. The guy was built, corded muscles on display beneath the rolled-up cuffs of his uniform shirt. Despite his size, his big hands were gentle as he steered her toward a chair.

  “Not really,” she said, letting him usher her to the seat more to play on his sympathy than anything else. Along the way, she took advantage of his proximity to get a good whiff of his scent, easily matching it to the remaining SUV still parked out front. This was the lycanthrope.

  “What happened?” Harding asked, ambling over a little more slowly but likewise concerned.

  “One of the rangers just tried to run me over. Get your notebook out.”

  “What?” Ranger Rick stared at her, mouth agape, while Harding did as she asked.

  Joey rattled off the license plate number of the SUV their fresh suspect hurried off in, then slowly eased herself down to sit. A low growl escaped her as the pain spiked, and she held the arms of the chair in a white-knuckled grip until it eased to a manageable ache once more. As long as she remained still, it’d be tolerable for now.

  Holding up the tuft of fur, she looked between Ranger Rick and Harding. “Either of you have something I can put this in? It’s evidence.”

  “I’ve got an envelope, will that work?” the ranger asked, hurrying back to his desk after Harding gave him a nod.

  “I found it in the back of his SUV, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure was used to transport the wolf recently,” Joey explained.

  Harding sighed. “Joey… you can’t just search someone’s car without a warrant.”

  “No, you can’t just search someone’s car without a warrant. Well, or probable cause. Which I’d argue you have, because there’s a wolf from this sanctuary in custody in Seattle, and we’re trying to figure out how it got there. The park vehicles are a logical thing to check.”

  Ranger Rick returned with the envelope, and Joey dropped the tuft of fur inside, then offered the envelope to Harding. He grumbled but tucked it in his pocket.

  “Trust me,” Joey said. “It’ll be a match.”

  “Can we back up a little bit?” Ranger Rick asked, resting his hands on his hips. “First off, who are you?”

  Joey looked up, meeting the ranger’s eyes and letting her wolf surface just enough for him to notice. “Joey Grant, Alpha of Seattle. Who are you?”

  The big guy didn’t even blink, holding her gaze. “Quinn Bartlett. Lead Ranger and Director of the Tall Pines Animal Sanctuary. No pack affiliation.”

  “Great,” Joey said. “Now that introductions are out of the way, we can get back to the whole ‘who was that guy that just fled the premises with a vehicle connecting him to your missing wolf’ thing.”

  “Wolves,” Harding said around the cap of the pen he was chewing on.

  Frowning, Joey glanced at him. “What?”

  “There’s a second wolf missing,” Quinn said. “When the detective here told me they had one of my wolves in custody, I didn’t believe him. I pulled them all up on the GPS, and sure enough… Hyacinth was out of range. But so was Daffodil.”

  Joey wrinkled her nose. Hyacinth and Daffodil? Really? She shook the thought off. “What kind of range does the GPS have?”

  “Maybe ten miles.” Quinn shrugged. “It was all we could afford, but it’s been more than enough for the last six years. Our wolves aren’t migratory. There’s plenty to eat around here all year. Is Hyacinth okay?”

  “Yeah. Scared, but in one piece,” Joey said.

  “We’re going to need immunization records for the missing wolves. They’ve had rabies shots, right?”

  Quinn nodded. “Yes, thank God. No problem. I can print them out for you.”

  “Wait,” Joey said, shifting in her chair and instantly regretting it. “Can we go back to who that guy is and why the hell he’s smuggling wolves out of the sanctuary?”

  Quinn’s massive chest swelled before he heaved a sigh. “That’d be Jordan. My partner. We founded the sanctuary together.”

  “He have a last name?” Harding asked, pen poised to take note.

  “Yeah, of course. Kazinski. Jordan Kazinski. But it doesn’t make sense. I’ve known him most of my life, and I can’t believe he’d do something like this. There must be another explanation.”

  “He was jumpy enough that he didn’t want me nosing around in his car,” Joey said. “But why would someone, anyone, want to smuggle wolves out of the sanctuary?”

  “I can think of a couple reasons. Neither of them are good. Breeding, for one. Or, rather, cross-breeding. Wolf hybrids are popular as pets. But…”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to use a male for that? A stud service,” Harding said.

  Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Which leads me to the only other thing I can think of: to sell them on the down low as exotic pets.”

  “Has Mr. Kazinski been having any financial problems? A nasty divorce, gambling debts…?” Harding asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of. He’s not married, and I’ve never known him to gamble.”

  “Who’s in charge of the books for the sanctuary?” Joey asked.

  The big wolf bristled. “I am. There isn’t any money missing from our accounts, and I don’t appreciate you accusing my friend of stealing from the sanctuary.”

  Joey levered herself out of her chair with a grimace, not that it put her even close to eye level with Quinn, but it made her feel stronger, more in control than sitting while the men stood. Her hip protested the motion strong enough that she had to bite back a wave of nausea. She hoped she hadn’t broken the damn thing. That’d be just her luck.

  “Your friend tried to run me over!” she snapped, then took a deep breath and blew it out while the pain dimmed to a dull roar before continuing. “I can’t prove he’s behind the wolf-napping, but I’d bet my good hip that he knows something. And if Hyacinth’s fur in the back of his car is too circumstantial to hold him, I’m pretty sure assault with a deadly Suburban will do the trick.”

  The detective coughed into a fist, but Joey didn’t miss the hint of a smile peeking out around it. “Vehicular assault.”

  Joey rolled her eyes and flapped a hand. “Whatever.”

  Sighing, Quinn turned away and prowled back to the desk. His chair creaked in protest as he flopped into it and reached for the keyboard. “There’s an easy way to figure out whether or not Jordan was anywhere near Seattle in the last few weeks.”

  “Oh?” Joey and Harding said.

  “Yeah. Mileage logs. The SUV belongs to our nonprofit. We log everything for tax purposes.”

  Joey wandered over to the desk, forcing herself not to limp, and watched as Quinn logged into an online portal of some sort. “What’s that?”

  “IntelliMile. It’s an app we use for mileage tracking on our phones. It automatically detects trips and lets us classify them as business or personal.” He clicked the mouse a few times, forehead wrinkling as he studied the screen. “He’s definitely made more trips than usual to Seattle lately.”

  “Define more than usual?” Harding asked.

  “Well, we maybe go into the city on
ce a month or so, but he’s been out there every other day for the last few weeks. I’m not even sure where he’s found the time…”

  Harding joined them at the desk, leaning over Joey’s shoulder to peer at the screen. “Is there any way to tell where he is right now with this thing?”

  “Only after he stops moving and it logs it as a trip. Once that happens, I can give you an approximate location.”

  “That’d be helpful,” Harding said. “Thanks. In the meantime, can I get a printout of those trips?”

  “The maps, too, if possible,” Joey added.

  “Sure,” Quinn said, clicking a few more times before the big laser printer beside the desk came to life with a rumble of a purr and a high-pitched whine of something in dire need of grease. Leaning back in his chair, Quinn laced his hands together behind his head and frowned. “There has to be a logical explanation for this. I’m sure if you just ask him he can clear it right up.”

  “Any information you can give as far as how we might contact him would be helpful,” Harding said. “Phone number, home address, the works.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Joey watched as Quinn sat up again and grabbed a notepad and pen to scribble down Jordan’s contact info. The big guy seemed genuinely perplexed, and willing to cooperate. But she couldn’t discount the idea that he might be in on whatever money-making scheme Jordan might be involved in.

  But how—if at all—did any of this connect to the missing witches? Maybe not at all. Maybe Chris’s hunch was just that… a hunch. Nothing based in actual reality.

  As she left the ranger’s station with Harding, she said as much to him.

  “Sometimes leads don’t add up,” he said. “But sometimes they do in surprising ways. You serious about wanting to press charges against this guy?”

  “If that’s what it takes to ask him a few questions, hell yeah.”

  “It means a stop at the station before I drop you off at your friend’s.”