by Kim M Watt
There was silence, then she heard the cat say faintly, “I know she’s exaggerating, but has anyone checked?”
“I’m sure policing was simpler before dragons,” Collins said. “And involved less of my family.”
DI Adams snorted. “Other than your mum.”
“Hey, she’s only a protester. Auntie Miriam keeps getting caught up in actual investigations.”
“Well, give it time. Maybe it’ll become a whole family affair. Meet you at Alice’s?”
“I’m on my way out the door. Oh, and Adams? The cat says there are werewolves.”
“I knew that.”
“I didn’t. But he also says although werewolves don’t generally steal sheep, they may have eaten them.”
“Oh, good.” DI Adams clicked the phone off and switched her blue lights on as she accelerated, thinking with some regret of the promised curry. But it wasn’t as if she’d actually expected anything to go smoothly – or for anyone to do as they were told – when it came to Toot Hansell in general and Alice Martin in particular.
Her GPS led her through narrow lanes and around blind corners where there wasn’t even room to pass another car, finding the shortest, although maybe not best, route to the village. She still considered all the roads around here to be indecently small, but with her blue lights on, hopefully any other cars would see her coming. She kept the speed up as much as she dared, crossing her fingers that she didn’t encounter any unexpected sheep. Dandy pawed the window until she rolled it down, and they roared down the wall-pinned lanes with his dreadlocks streaming in the wind and her lights painting colour across the abandoned stone sheds and leaning trees.
She slowed as she drew into Toot Hansell, rolling over the arch of a bridge and sliding in among the houses. She switched her lights off so as not to draw attention to herself and headed for Alice’s. Collins wouldn’t be here yet.
She pulled in behind the beaten-up estate, and the detective constable scrambled out and hurried to meet her.
“Hey,” DI Adams said as she got out of the car. “What happened?”
The woman’s cheeks coloured. “I don’t know. She brought me some dinner, and then came and took the plate away and said she was feeling tired after all the fuss – that’s what she called it, all the fuss – and was going to have an early night.”
DI Adams sighed. “And no one came by?”
“Um. Well, earlier some people did. A whole group of ladies.”
A whole group of W.I. ladies, she imagined. “Did they stay long?”
“No. I accompanied them to the door, to make sure Alice knew them, and she did, but she didn’t let them in. She said she was tired and didn’t want to see them, and that they should go and see Miriam instead.”
“And did they?”
“I guess so? They all left together again.”
“And then she said she was having an early night.”
“A bit later, yes. When DI Collins called, I thought he was just checking in, but when he asked me to make sure she was in there I banged on the door and even threw rocks at the window, and there was nothing.”
“Did you go in?”
“Um, yes.” She turned so red that DI Adams was worried for her blood pressure. “I kind of had to break a window.”
“Needs must. Any sign of struggle?”
“Not that I could see.”
“Alright.” DI Adams started up the path to the house, then hesitated and turned back. “Um, well done. No one expects someone to run off when they’re under protective watch.”
The DC nodded enthusiastically. “And she’s kind of old. I never thought she’d sneak off through the woods or something!”
DI Adams thought that she, personally, seemed to be constantly re-evaluating both the definition of “old” as well as just what the bearers of that label were likely to get up to, but she just said, “Exactly,” and continued up the path.
The DC called after her, “I got in around the back, but I locked up again. Do you want me to come?”
DI Adams waved her off and hurried to the back door, where she found the window over the sink missing a pane of glass. “Well, that’s convenient,” she said, and took her jacket off to cover the shards still remaining in the frame. She pulled herself through the window, wriggling around the high kitchen tap and muttering dire things about using common sense and weren’t there any better windows about the place, and if you’d already broken it why wouldn’t you leave the door open? Then she was in, and she rolled over so she could swing her legs off the counter and onto the floor.
The house was definitely empty. She could feel it. She looked down as something nudged her leg, and glared at Dandy. “So, if you could get in, why couldn’t you let me in?”
The dog looked at his paws as if to indicate the distinct lack of opposable thumbs, then padded off to nose around the table. DI Adams ignored him and went to check upstairs.
Alice’s bed was un-slept-in, the lamp on her bedside table washing over the neatly turned down bedspread and the book beside the lamp, which had some sort of sea monster on it. Fascinated, DI Adams moved the book so she could see the one underneath. The cover of that featured hearts and quirky writing, and the next book was an analysis of military strategies of Ancient Egypt. They all had bookmarks poking out of them.
“Okay,” she said, and straightened the books up again. “Why not.” She left the bed and checked Alice’s closet, but nothing in particular seemed to be missing. The bathroom down the hall was empty, as were the two spare rooms, one fitted with the obligatory dresser, chair, and a bed with a quilted bedspread, the other set up with what DI Adams recognised as bars and straps for physical rehab. That room also had three fencing swords on the wall, thick rubber matting on the floor, a small selection of weights, and a large telescope on a stand, positioned by the window. DI Adams had a peek through it and found herself staring at a circle of dimming sky, waiting for stars to arrive. She didn’t touch the settings, feeling like a voyeur for the first time in her career.
Downstairs, the living room was empty, and what would have once been the dining room housed instead two slightly tatty chairs, a fancy chaise longue, and bookshelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but still couldn’t contain the volumes that crept onto the floor and stacked up on side tables, hardbacks and paperbacks and coffee table books and even a rather ancient-looking encyclopedia set. There was a ferociously clean utility room beyond the kitchen, and a cellar that the inspector investigated with some trepidation, hoping she didn’t find some sort of survivalist stash of weapons and rations and gas masks.
But there was nothing down there except folding chairs and tables stacked neatly and covered with tarpaulins, as well as some half-empty tins of paint and spare brushes and rollers still in their packets. Dandy bounded around on the stone floor, chasing shadows, and DI Adams said, “You’re not much use, you know. Can’t you track her?”
Dandy stopped mid-bound and looked at her, eyes glinting behind his dreadlocks. Then he looked up the stairs, whuff-ed, and ran for the door. DI Adams followed.
Collins had his head and shoulders in the window, and was saying to Thompson, “Can’t you just open the door?”
The cat, sat on the kitchen table, inspected a paw and said, “Do you see any thumbs?”
“These smart animals are useless when it comes to hardware,” DI Adams said, turning the cellar light off and shutting the door. “Dandy did some magic thing to get in, but I’ve got a jacket full of glass now because I had to do it the hard way.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that thing’s as smart as I am,” Thompson said. Dandy huffed at him.
“He talks less. I take that as a sign of intelligence.” DI Adams opened the back door and let Collins in.
“They can’t talk at all! They’re just nasty stinking mutts!”
“You’re so repetitive.”
“Anything?” Collins asked, looking around the kitchen.
“Nothing. Except the swords, but there
didn’t appear to be any missing, which I take as a good sign.”
Collins rubbed the back of his head. “Why am I not surprised that Alice Martin has a sword collection?”
DI Adams pointed at Thompson. “You seriously have no idea where she went?” Dandy whuff-ed from the door, but she ignored him.
“Look, she’s an adult. All I know is she took a good sniff of that envelope, and that was it. She said she wanted to be left alone, so I popped away for a bit, and when I came back she was gone. And I thought you should know, given that you’re meant to be protecting her and all.”
“What envelope was she looking at?” Collins asked, and Dandy whined.
“That one,” Thompson said, tapping it with one paw. “Doused in some stinky cologne. I think she recognised it.”
Both inspectors stared at the envelope as the dog pawed the door behind them. “That matches the letter,” DI Adams said.
“She said she lost it,” Collins said. “I guess she found it again?”
DI Adams snorted. “Sure she did. Dandy, what?” Because the dog had taken her hand and was tugging her toward the door. “Have you got a scent?” He gave a low, rumbling bark, and trotted out the door, waiting on the path.
“Jeez, look, it’s got a nose,” Thompson said. “Genius! He’s figured out she left by the back door, not by tunnelling under the house or parachuting off the roof!”
“Alright then,” DI Adams said. “I know you can track us with your teleporting thing—”
“Shifting. It’s called shifting. It is not teleporting. That is science fiction, which is rubbish. This is magic, which is real.”
“Leaving aside the talking cat telling me sci-fi is rubbish, back to my point – can’t you find her?”
Thompson shuffled his paws. “Um. I did have a go before I came to find you.”
“And?”
“Well, magic’s not all-powerful. The right runes and we can’t see things. The right combinations mean we can’t even shift into a protected area. Like the dragon’s mount. I can’t get anywhere near the place except on foot, and I can’t tell who’s there from the trails they leave, either.”
“Awesome,” Collins said. “Like a forcefield.”
“It’s not science bloody fiction!”
“And not awesome, if we can’t find Alice,” DI Adams said. “What about Miriam?”
“No luck there, either.”
“Any chance the dragons could have taken them to the mount for safety?” Collins asked.
The cat shrugged. “Maybe. But walking there from the edge I can shift to will take me the best part of an hour. I’ve only got little legs.”
Collins pulled his phone out. “Well, sod all this magical stuff.” He hit dial and a moment later said, “Tracy? Can you get me the tracking on two phones? Yeah, I’ll text them through now. Cheers.” He hung up again and looked at DI Adams. “I could murder a cuppa.”
DI Adams looked around the kitchen. “You do it. I might put the spoon back wrong or something.” She sat down at the table and Dandy came over to flop at her feet with an exasperated air. She tapped her phone against the table a couple of times, then said, “Werewolves.”
“Bloody hell, I almost forgot about them,” Collins said, checking the cupboards. “She doesn’t have teabags. It’s all loose leaf.”
“You think they were at the farm?” DI Adams asked Thompson.
“Well, I’d kind of dismissed it, but big man there told me about the eaten-up sheep. That sounds like their style.”
“And the stolen ones?”
“Maybe. It’s not normal, but they could be saving them for later.”
DI Adams put the phone down and stared at it. “Any chance they could still be on the farms?”
“It’s possible.”
“Dammit.”
“What’s up?” Collins had found a teapot and was examining it dubiously. “Is it one spoon per person and one for the pot?”
“Don’t forget to warm the pot first,” the cat said.
“The journalist,” DI Adams said. “I tipped him off about the farms, said he should take a look around.”
“Ah.” Collins put the kettle on to boil. “I mean, I don’t much like journalists, but being eaten by a werewolf seems a bit harsh.”
DI Adams found Ervin’s card tucked into her phone case and dialled, leaving the phone on speakerphone. There was no ring, just a click, and the automated message. “Hello, you’ve reached Ervin—” She hit the disconnect button and looked at Collins.
He put the teapot back in the cupboard. “Skip the tea, shall we?”
“Probably best. Add that number to your tracking request, will you?” She turned the phone toward him and got up, stretching and hearing her joints creak. “So, werewolves. Silver bullet through the heart and so on?” It sounded so perfectly surreal that she couldn’t be serious about it, even given the existence of dragons.
The cat yawned. “You shoot anything in the heart with any sort of bullet, it’s not exactly going to go skipping over the hilltops, is it?”
“So, just ordinary bullets’ll do it?”
“Do you have any of those?”
Collins hit send and put his phone down. “No. And going back to Skipton to tell them we need to check out a couple of shotguns because we have a werewolf problem isn’t exactly going to play well. We need another plan.”
“Dragons?” DI Adams suggested. If they were going to embrace werewolves, they may as well do it with the help of fire-breathing, winged backup.
“Sure, got their mobile number?”
“Well, you can stop hanging around the cat and all.” She headed into the hall. “I’m not going out there empty-handed.”
She ran up the stairs two at a time and ducked into Alice’s workout room, choosing the two heaviest-looking fencing blades. She bounced them, one in each hand, then turned and trotted back down the stairs.
“Tracking’s in,” Collins shouted from the kitchen. “Alice is in the village, apparently.”
“That seems unlikely,” she called back.
“Yeah. The journalist and Auntie Miriam are both at the farm, though.”
“Good,” she said, walking into the room with a sword in each hand, the tips of the blades pointing at the ground. “Let’s go deal to some werewolves.”
Collins just stared at her, and the cat said, “Holy fricking hell. It’s the return of Zorro.”
22
Mortimer
Mortimer’s nose was perilously close to some nettles, which he wasn’t happy about. He wasn’t quite sure just how resistant his scales would be, considering all the stress-shedding. Amelia lay to one side of him, wriggling around restlessly and craning to see better, and on the other side Beaufort was stretched out, a perfectly mottled blend of greens and greys that was smoking slightly. The dew was settling on his scales and evaporating, and if one wasn’t expecting dragons, Mortimer rather thought he probably looked a lot like a pony-sized shrub on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
There was an awful lot of shouting and waving going on at the van still, but at least all the dogs were inside. They made him nervous. Angelus was bigger than he was, and Jasmine’s dog had a tendency to bite things, even dragons.
“I can’t believe they’re going to the farm while we’re just lying here,” Amelia said. “We should be helping them!”
“What, like Gilbert did, slashing all those tyres?” Mortimer asked, although he felt a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing too.
“Hey, he was trying!”
“They were ramblers! And you said it was a bad idea, too. He could have exposed us all!”
“At least he did something,” Amelia said. “We’re just hiding in the bush like rabbits.”
“Right, well, this rabbit feels like it’s less likely to get eaten at the moment,” Mortimer retorted.
“Lucky, because I’m hungry.”
Mortimer made a rude noise and Amelia shoved him, sending him falling into Beaufort, wh
ich was rather like falling into a warm, round wall.
“Easy, lad,” Beaufort said.
“It wasn’t me,” Mortimer pointed out, righting himself.
“Tattletale.”
“Quiet,” the High Lord said, his voice a low grumble that stilled the scuffling dragons. Mortimer peered out into the lay-by as the back door of the van slammed and Rob ran to the passenger side. Rainbow turned the key and the engine groaned and clattered, then roared into life, belching black smoke over the short grass and bushes as she revved the engine. She shoved it into gear, and the van lurched, threatened to stall, then coughed its way out of the lay-by and onto the road, leaving a layer of smog behind it.
Someone coughed rather pointedly, and Mortimer looked up to see the dryad swinging her legs above them. “They’re the saviours of our environment, are they?”
“They mean well,” Beaufort said, getting up and trotting out into the open to give his wings a shake. Mortimer followed more cautiously. It might be late, and they might be on a little side road, but it didn’t mean there weren’t going to be cars about.
“Hey, where’s the heavy metal dragon?” the dryad asked. “You know, the one with all the stuff in his tail.”
“There,” Amelia started, nodding toward the bushes, then frowned. “Well, he was there.”
“I didn’t see him,” the dryad said.
“He’s probably sulking somewhere,” Amelia said, peering into the trees.
“Why?”
“He’s in disgrace.”
“What, for the cars?”
“It was very foolish,” Mortimer said.
“It was very funny,” the dryad replied. “You should have seen the humans. They were just beside themselves. All running around trying to figure out what to do.” She snorted, and plucked a wood louse out of her chest moss, popping it in her mouth.
Beaufort looked up at her and said, “That sort of thing attracts a lot of attention. We don’t need that. Any of us.”
The dryad shrugged. “Sure. I don’t do anything except keep them out of the deeper woods. We’re not picking fights.” The trees shivered as she spoke, and Mortimer glanced around. Even for dragons, dryads are difficult to spot, rising out the trees and fading back into them just as quickly. She could be alone out here, or there could be a hundred of her sisters just behind her. Not that there were a hundred of them left, he thought sadly. Probably not in the whole country.