A Werebear Scare

by Nova Nelson

  The werebunny was stooped over a long sheet of parchment, a looking glass pressed against his eye as he inspected the document. Teetering at the front edge of his desk, having been carelessly knocked around by the chaos of papers surrounding it, was a placard that read Arthur Q. Flufferbum, Chief Editor.

  She couldn’t judge the state of his desk, considering the perpetual state of hers, but she could judge his rudeness in ignoring her. And so she did.

  “I need only a minute of your time, Mr. Flufferbum.”

  He scribbled out a line of text and, without looking up, said, “Get on with it then.”

  “You published information about the attacks yesterday and cited an anonymous source. I need to know who gave you that information.”

  He scoffed as he straightened his spine, but at least he finally looked up and met her eye. “Do I need to define ‘anonymous’ for you?”

  For Heaven’s sake. “You’re saying you don’t know who supplied the information?”

  “Again, do I need to define ‘anonymous’ for you?”

  She could have gotten mad at him. She could have done that very easily. But that wasn’t how you played against someone like Flufferbum. He wanted to make her mad; there might be a story in it.

  She wouldn’t give him that.

  “How do you know the source isn’t lying if you don’t know who it is?”

  “Why would they lie?”

  “The same reason anyone lies.”

  “Which is?”

  “It varies. But usually people lie because it benefits them.”

  He rolled his beady eyes. “We don’t issue payments to anonymous sources.”

  “As you know full well, there are other ways to benefit from events that might strike fear into the heart of the public. And I’d say an article about Taurus in the Silent Reach might do just that.”

  Flufferbum said nothing, simply shrugged like it wasn’t his problem.

  “Fine,” Bloom asked. “You don’t have to tell me anything you may or may not know, but can I at least see the primary document for myself?”

  Flufferbum wiggled his bristly mustache but didn’t break eye contact. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Two reasons. First, you want to get a sample of the handwriting and try to match it to the sender. And second, I burned the correspondence myself. It’s standard procedure.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Destroying evidence is standard procedure?”

  “You sure see things in black and white, Sheriff. No, we’re not destroying evidence, we’re ensuring the public doesn’t lose trust in our ability to protect their anonymity if they so choose to use it. We’re protecting them from this very scenario, where the overzealous law comes marching in, trying to claim jurisdiction over the press.”

  “For fang’s sake,” she said, letting the expletive slip and hoping immediately that it wouldn’t make the next day’s edition. “I’m not doing anything of the sort. We have a missing person case on our hands. I’m just trying to find him before it’s too late, if it isn’t already.”

  “Justify it however you like. It amounts to the same thing.”

  He had a lot of nerve to accuse her of spinning the situation, but she decided not to say that. Instead, she strode to the edge of his desk, staring down at him where he sat. His mustache began to twitch furiously, but he clenched his jaw and continued to meet her gaze.

  “If we discover Swamy Stormstruck’s body,” she said, “and I find out there was anything you could have done to help us prevent his death, I hope you understand that I will not hesitate to arrest you for interfering in a law enforcement investigation. You’re not a doctor or a lawyer, you’re not required to keep confidentiality. You’re choosing to do so, and that makes you entirely responsible for that choice.”

  “I wish you would just—”

  “Do you understand me?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Do you understand me?”

  He jolted back, his beady eyes blinking rapidly as his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. “Perfectly.”

  “Good.” She found that she was leaning sharply over the desk, and she cleared her throat and inhaled deeply to steady herself.

  But then something on the parchment he’d been inspecting caught her eye. She was sure she’d just seen the name Opal written there.

  With lightning speed, she snatched the paper before he could stop her and hurried back a few steps to give herself space to read over it.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  But she didn’t listen. He’d have to come over and rip this paper from her grip if he wanted her to stop what she was doing.

  And that was exactly what he did.

  He hurried around his desk and rushed toward her. Thank goddess for her speed reading. By the time he reached her, she handed it back to him without a fight.

  “What is that drivel? Surely you’re not running it.”

  He stuck out his chin defiantly. “It’s front page on tomorrow’s edition, yes.”

  “You can’t publish that.”

  “I absolutely can.”

  “Fine, you can. But you’ll be hearing about it.”

  He chuckled dryly. “From whom?”

  The name rolled right off her tongue without a single thought. “Zax Banderfield.” It seemed to cause the werebunny pause, so she continued in the same vein. “And Count Sebastian Malavic.” That really did the trick. The Eastwind Watch liked to boast about being independent and uninfluenced, but it accepted quite a lot of funding from the town’s purse. And that line item was ultimately signed off on by the treasurer of the High Council.

  And the treasurer of the High Council was none other than the town’s only vampire, the wealthy Count Sebastian Malavic, whose reputation preceded him in an icy chill.

  “I’m going to run it,” Arthur said, though the shake in his voice was unmistakable. “The decision’s already been made.”

  “Fine,” Bloom said, enjoying the upper hand for once. “But you’d better tell me everything that’s going to be in it. Everything.”

  And to her pleasure, Arthur Flufferbum grunted, spat “fine!”, and then spilled the scoop.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zax didn’t have any tea in his home on Fluke Mountain, but he had coffee. She accepted his offering hesitantly and made sure not to suck down the cup too quickly, lest her resulting bluntness get her in trouble.

  Her stomach rumbled and reminded her that she’d left her home in such a hurry this morning that she’d forgotten to eat.

  “Same,” said Clifford.

  Zax’s home was so lavishly furnished, she wondered if he was married and simply hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Did you design this space yourself?” she asked once the two of them were seated at a table made from the cross section of an ancient tree. It looked like he’d made this himself, adding some sort of finish to bring out the gorgeous details of the tree’s many circles. She rubbed her hand over the tabletop as he responded.

  “I did. It took years, but I finally got it how I liked it. This”—he nodded down at the table—“was made from an oak on the other side of Fluke Mountain. Don’t worry, it was already gone when I took this from it. I would never murder a beauty like that just for a nice table. But I wanted to preserve something of her once she was gone.”

  Ruby grinned at his fond use of the female pronoun. “I think that makes you a hero among the druids.”

  And now he grinned. “It did. And I made similar tables for a lot of them. I even made one for The High Priest Clearbrook.”

  “I suppose you think that will impress me, so I can tell you that I’m not his biggest fan.”

  “That’s a relief. Because I made his out of the deadest part of the tree. He didn’t know the difference. I sold it to him at a mark-up and told him it was actually a better cut than all the rest.”

  Ruby guffawed. “I’ll take
your secret to the grave.”

  “If you want. But part of me wants to him find out. I’d love to see what he’d do. Turn the Coven against me? Good luck. Not even a Coven witch would be dumb enough to go after the sleuth leader. They’d have a whole heap of werebears crashing down on them.”

  “It sounds from your tone that you might like that idea.” She was fond of it as well, after her many unfavorable encounters with the Coven. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

  “Let’s just say I don’t dislike the idea. Especially after a High Council meeting. Mayor Periwinkle is insufferable. And I generally like North Winds!”

  “Then we agree on that. They’re usually the most practical.”

  “Petrov Periwinkle is just the most heartless. You should hear him when it comes time for budget discussions. He would cut the entire city’s budget outside of his own paycheck if he could.”

  Ruby shook her head, and the conversation fell into a lull. She sipped her coffee cautiously. It was delicious, but she credited most of that to the bit of honeycomb he had put into each of their mugs. She noted the small luxury. It might just be her new favorite way to take her coffee.

  She felt her stomach rumble again. Perhaps she could grab a bite at A New Leaf on her way back in town. A lemon poppyseed muffin sounded divine. And Clifford was especially fond of their little meat pies. He usually gobbled up five before he was satisfied.

  “You know how Virgil said Swamy never showed?” Zax began once the friendly mood had settled.

  Ruby nodded.

  “Do we actually know who was the last person to see Swamy?”

  Ruby considered it and was shocked to realize she hadn’t sooner. Not closely, at least. “My presumption was that it was Opal who had seen him last. Or, if he’s dead, whoever killed him.”

  “But we don’t know that for sure,” he said.

  “No, I don’t suppose we do. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Depends. What do you think I’m saying?”

  “That Swamy could have been missing for longer than we thought. That he could have actually gone missing in the woods the same night that Virgil was attacked.”

  “It could be,” said Zax. “But not even Virgil saw him that night, or so he says. What if Swamy went missing even sooner? We don’t have a clear idea of the last time he was seen.”

  Ruby nodded. As more facts surfaced and more interviews were conducted, reevaluating what she knew was becoming a full-time job. And one for which she likely wouldn’t receive proper compensation. Ah, well, it wasn’t like she was hurting for money. There was serious job security in dealing with restless spirits.

  “Do we know where Swamy works?” she asked.

  “You might not, but I do. He’s one of the main growers for Whirligig’s Garden Center.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He grows stuff.”

  “I know that,” she snapped. “I meant more ‘how does that job proceed?’ Does he see Thaddeus Whirligig every day? Does he work alongside anyone else? Who, in other words, does he see regularly?”

  “I believe he works in the woods. He plants the seeds for the trees and ferns and grows them to whatever size Whirligig orders.”

  “And he does this operation on his own?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Ruby thought more on that. Alone in the woods day after day. Plenty of time to think. But also, plenty of time for something to go terribly wrong. “How close is his nursery to the Silent Reach?”

  “From what I understand, it’s nowhere near it. Whenever I pass him in the morning, I see him heading the opposite direction from his cabin.”

  “But you don’t know exactly where it is?”

  “No.”

  “For fang’s sake,” she muttered. “Then we’ll have to go on assuming he’s not dead in the woods, though if he died of injury and it was a slow one, there’s a good chance his spirit would simply move on and I wouldn’t hear a peep from him.” She sighed. “Everyone talks about how quick deaths are merciful, but the slow ones can allow a person to assemble their necessary peace before the end so they move straight on without lingering. And that’s merciful to me.” She took a deep sip of coffee, knowing even as she did it that she should slow down. But it was just too delicious.

  “I think we need to pay Ms. Barker another visit,” she said.

  Zax nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking. But first, how about I fix us something to eat?”

  She smiled. “You read my mind.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much. Just salted meats and cheeses. I could make a platter.”

  Clifford wagged his tail and Ruby’s empty stomach gave no complaint. “If you’re as superb a detective as you are a host, Mr. Banderfield, I’ll consider this case as good as solved.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  While finishing the meats and cheeses, Ruby wrote out a quick message and sent it off to Bloom to let her know they were revisiting one of the prime suspects. It was smart to keep the sheriff apprised of their plans in case things went south, and though Ruby was traveling with a hellhound and a werebear who was easily twice her mass, she knew that size didn’t always matter in the face of evil.

  Was Opal evil? Had she killed her boyfriend?

  The motive was shaky at best. Why kill him when she already had what she wanted: Cedric. However, the odds that she was covering for the real killer—a jealous lover, say—were quite high.

  The afternoon was getting on when Ruby and Zax left his house.

  She asked, “You really think she’ll be at home?”

  “It’s worth a try. We already know she isn’t at work.”

  “Perhaps she really is sick,” Ruby mused.

  After a moment, they both dismissed it. Even Clifford said that it was unlikely.

  The cabin came into view, and Ruby considered a strategy. After all, not only were they entering into the home of a suspect, they were also entering into the home of the missing person. Having a solid approach in mind prior to entry was always smart. And if that approach involved a quick exit plan, even better.

  “Keep watch?” Ruby said to Clifford when they were no more than fifteen feet from the front door.

  The hellhound bowed his head. “On it.”

  Zax observed her familiar with approval. “I could use one of those.”

  “I think you’re intimidating enough as it is. If you start walking around with that kind of backup, everyone will think you’re hiding a body or ten.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Ruby was just about to question whether the front door would be unlocked, considering the circumstances, when Zax twisted the handle and the door swung open.

  Neither of them took a step inside right away. They simply stared in shock.

  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Ruby finally asked.

  “A ransacked house?”

  “They didn’t live like this normally, did they?”

  “I sure as swirls hope not.”

  Zax was the first to step forward into the mess. It looked like a tornado had touched down. In the living room, two of the three chairs lay on their side and the drawers of a wooden credenza had been forced open roughly. Two of the drawers were pulled all the way out, and the contents were strewn around the area.

  And it didn’t get better the further they walked into the residence.

  “Opal?” Zax called. “Opal? Are you home?”

  There was no reply, and with the alertness only a predator can summon, he slowly stalked deeper into the mess. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” He turned the corner into a hallway where three doors led off—two on the right, one on the left. Every door was open except the farthest on the right.

  Ruby unabashedly used the werebear’s large frame as a shield, and stayed as close to him as she could without stepping on his heels. She could fight if she had to—she’d done it before—but Fifth Wind powers weren’t always the easiest to tap into, and it was never pretty wh
en she had to do that. Lots of ghosts involved, spiritual residue everywhere. Messy stuff.

  She had a wand, sure, but she hardly used it and almost never had it with her. Carrying around a handcrafted stick with overpriced labradorite in it was a great way to end up cracking that handcrafted stick with overpriced labradorite in two. (Granted, Ezra had given her a steep discount on it the first time around, but that was years ago. She doubted he would be so generous now.)

  And besides, even basic magic that an East Wind or a South Wind could perform effortlessly cost her a great amount of energy. Lately, she’d had an easier time yanking a spirit into the corporal world kicking and screaming than she’d had using her wand to tidy her home. That was fine, though; she enjoyed the act of cleaning up. It was essentially what she did all the time: cleaning up messes.

  But the mess in Opal’s house was one she didn’t think she would enjoy sorting out. Goddess help whoever ended up in charge of that. Hiring one of the expensive witch cleaning services would be worth it, and it took a lot for Ruby to admit that.

  The first doorways on the left and right of the hall showed similar views of disarray, but no sign of Opal. Zax approached the closed door then. He hesitated before knocking. Then he knocked three times.

  Ruby hurriedly added a fourth and glared at him, hissing, “What are you trying to do? Summon a demon?”

  He recoiled slightly, staring at her in befuddlement. “Of course not.”

  Right. Of course not. Werebears didn’t have to worry about things like that. “Never mind,” she said, “I don’t hear anything in there.”

  Zax turned the handle and opened the door slowly as Ruby held her breath.

  It creaked on its hinges, sending goosebumps bolting down her spine. He peeked his head in, then suddenly exhaled and casually flung it open the rest of the way. “Nothing,” he said, stepping to the side. The room looked exactly like the rest of the house. Whoever had done this had simply closed one door and not bothered with the rest.