Witch Wolf Page 3

  “That’s Ms. Lyall,” I snapped. So sue me, half the people I work with are idiots. I had a feeling I knew why the deputy sheriff didn’t want the media getting wind of “that version.” He didn’t want the bad publicity if the shit hit the fan. I took a few steps closer to him, keeping my hand on the butt of my gun where it rested in its holster. As a deputy, Witkins got to handle the case out here in the boonies. It was his sandbox, but we’d been invited to play in it.

  “Then I suggest you start finding out all that you can about your so-called Winnie the Pooh, because it’s going to do this again, and within the next three weeks.”

  The other officer that had been talking earlier walked back to our group. He’d gone to throw up in the nearby bushes. He was so new I could tell this crime scene was going to haunt him for life. You never forget your first crime scene. He’d see pieces of that body floating around behind his eyes for days. Trust me, it’d happen. What really sucks is when you start dreaming about dismembered body parts chasing you and whimpering, “help me.”

  I turned my attention back to the guy in charge. Why some law enforcers asked for my expertise and then stood around arguing with me, I would never fully understand.

  “Wait, why in three weeks?” Arthur asked.

  I drew in a deep breath, counting slowly. I couldn’t believe Captain Holbrook hadn’t pushed for the Paranormal class to be mandatory for all officers on the force. I fucking would’ve.

  “It’s a werewolf, Arthur. Can you not remember any of the stories from your childhood?”

  “I wasn’t into that kind of thing when I was a kid,” he said, grinning.

  “The full moon. Aren’t werewolves supposed to shift on the full moon?” the deputy asked, and I had to admit that at least one person in our corner of the world was beginning to go somewhere with the thought. Maybe he’d stop arguing with me.

  “Bingo,” I said, keeping it to myself that werewolves could shift even when it wasn’t the full moon. “I really suggest you start studying all that you can.”

  “Lyall,” he said gruffly, “I want your help on this case. I want you to get me all the information you can on werewolves.”

  “Deputy Sheriff Witkins, I’m a witch and private investigator. I’m not a werewolf hunter, unless I decide to be.” I spoke the truth, but I sensed very strongly that the deputy was going to try and back me into a corner if I put up a struggle. Legally, he couldn’t force me to take the case.

  As a witch, I’m what most psychics would call a clairsentient. In French, “clairsentient” means clear feeling. I have moments when I sense things, without rational thought, and without a doubt. Most people have some type of psychic ability, whether they know it or not. Sometimes, people grow into adulthood and learn how to block out their own abilities, to the point where those senses become nearly nonexistent and undetectable. Instead of blocking mine, I developed them. It’s part of what made me a damn good cop and a wickedly good investigator.

  I gazed at the deputy and knew deep down in my gut that, intuitively, he knew I was right, but he was going to put me on the case because he just didn’t want to spoil his pretty hands with it and didn’t want his department taking the fall if there was one.

  I realized at a very young age that I am much more sensitive than most people to subtle energy changes and spiritual energies within the environment. I cannot touch a person or an object and see visions of the past. I am not a clairvoyant, a psychic that relies on clear visions of things to come. I may not see images, but I have moments where I feel andknow.

  Looking into the deputy sheriff’s dark eyes, I knew that he was sensitive, but I also knew that he ignored his intuition. In my opinion, it was a waste. If he’d harnessed the power that I felt coming off him in waves, like a warm breeze, he’d have been a better cop.

  The deputy took a step back and I knew that he’d sensed me prodding around his shields. I gave a very slow blink. He had such raw ability, that if harnessed… I shuddered to think on it. I suddenly knew more than I wanted to know.

  The trouble with abilities is similar to the trouble that comes with being a werewolf. If you cannot control the power, then the power will control you, and sometimes, when it comes to people that are as naturally psychic as the deputy sheriff standing in front of me, their own abilities could drive them to madness.

  The cops couldn’t force me to hunt and execute. That was a personal decision that came with being a licensed paranormal huntress. They could ask me to do it, but by law, I still had every right to tell them to go fuck themselves. I slammed my shields down tight, fearful of catching the attention of the beast within. I was still at a crime scene. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air and I wasn’t going to risk unintentionally taunting her.

  “I’m hiring you to investigate this crime. None of my men know how to deal with this. They don’t have the training to deal with this. We’ve never had our noses shoved so deeply up paranormal ass. We need your help. Are you with us or not, Lyall?” The deputy’s words were careful and slow.

  Golly, put like that. “Fine. Where do you want me to start?”

  “The Nelsons, who live on this farm, have already been questioned,” he said, “but I want you to question them.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Arthur. “You so owe me for this.”

  He smiled a wide toothy smile. “You’re just everyone’s favorite witch, Kass.”

  “Oh, shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, Kingfisher.”

  Chapter Four

  It wasn’t long before I was sitting in a brightly lit kitchen. Mrs. Nelson had offered coffee, and I’d graciously accepted a cup. I idly twirled my spoon before lifting the drink to take a sip. The Nelsons sat at the table staring at me like I’d sprouted a second head.

  “You don’t look like a cop,” Timothy said. He was the Nelsons’ youngest son. I knew that because they’d told me their oldest was out of state at the Texas University. I looked at the pink frilly drapes over the window. Mrs. Nelson’s touch was undeniable. I turned my gaze back to the boy of sixteen. He looked a little bit older, one of those sixteen-year-olds who could pass for eighteen. His eyes were the deep dark brown of his father’s, and they both sported the same light summer tans. Timothy’s hair was a few shades lighter than Mr. Nelson’s, but the height, the eyes, and facial structure were unmistakably his father’s genetics.

  Mrs. Nelson looked immaculately clean. Her blond hair was shoulder length and pulled out of her face to show startling blue eyes. The features of her face were soft and delicate. In size, she was tiny between her son and husband.

  I took another sip. “That’s because I’m not a cop.”

  “Then why are you here?” Mr. Nelson asked.

  “I work with the cops and they want me to question you,” I said flatly.

  “But we’ve already been questioned,” said Mrs. Nelson.

  “You haven’t been questioned by someone who knows about the preternatural.”

  “And you do?” Timothy snorted.

  I stared into his rich brown eyes and he looked away first. “Yeah, I do.”

  Everyone fell silent. Mrs. Nelson leaned into her husband, narrowing her eyes at me. Her eyes kept flicking to the pewter necklace hanging over my shirt. I ignored it.

  “What were you doing that all three of you noticed the werewolf?” I asked.

  “Werewolf?” Mrs. Nelson laughed. “It was a wolf.”

  Great, she was going to deny what it was. I knew what it was based on the crime scene. I’d only seen one other werewolf killing, and that was a year ago on an out-of-state job. A single wolf wouldn’t take down a man. They hunt in packs, and packs keep their distance from humans. Should I also mention that we don’t have wolves in Oklahoma? Nah.

  “Whatever you say,” I said. “What were you doing?” I arched a brow this time.

  “We were going to check on the herd,” Timothy said. “I heard something howl and got my parents. We went out to make sure there weren’t any wolves or coy
otes trying to get past the fence.”

  Fuck it, I couldn’t help it. “Just for your information, there aren’t any wolves in Oklahoma. Wolves were hunted to near extinction so many years ago that they’re only found in a few places in North America—Wyoming and other mountainous regions.”

  “It was a wolf.” Mrs. Nelson’s voice was harsh.

  “Mrs. Nelson, I’ve seen a werewolf before. They’re as real as you and me, but a hell of a lot furrier and scarier.”

  She just stared at me, mouth open. “When?” she asked boldly.

  “I was on the job about three years ago. The werewolf’s brother had reported her. Said that his sister was acting strange and he couldn’t find her.”

  “What happened?” Timothy wiggled in his seat, eyes burning with a sudden interest in the story.

  “The cops sent me out,” I said, leaving out the part that no one had taken the call seriously enough to send me out with backup. “I found her in the woods near the house.”

  “And?” He pressed.

  I shrugged. “And,” I added, “that’s all you need to know. The government knows about these things, but with the vampires taking over all of the media coverage, the people are kept in the dark. All we know is that not all of the wolves out there are hostile. If they were,” I shrugged, “there’d be more bodies.”

  “Our government knows about this?” he asked, confused.

  “Yep.”

  “Why don’t they tell us? Warn us?”

  “It’s kind of ‘don’t ask, and they won’t tell.’ There are underground werewolf hunters out there, and most are unhappy that there’s a new law going through that any werewolf in question has to go through a full trial before getting slammed with the death sentence. If it passes, it’ll make them harder to kill. They’ll be protected by our government.”

  “Cool.” Timothy grinned. “That’s so cool. I never knew they really existed. I mean, I thought when we saw the wolf out there, that it wasn’t just a normal wolf, but I thought maybe I’d been watching too many horror movies.”

  “Timothy,” his father said, and Tim closed his mouth.

  “You’re not a werewolf hunter,” Mrs. Nelson said, and again her eyes dropped to the charm dangling off my necklace.

  “No,” I said, “I’m not. I’m a preternatural investigator.”

  She scoffed. “What is that?”

  “I investigate crimes and cases having to deal with the preternatural.”

  Her eyes again lowered to my necklace.

  “Is there a problem, Mrs. Nelson?” I said, and my voice didn’t sound entirely friendly.

  “Yes,” she said, “I don’t like having a devil worshipper in my house, lying to my son about werewolves. It’s bad enough there are vampires!”

  Fuck it. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and called Arthur’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Yeah, Kass? What is it?”

  “I need backup before Mrs. Nelson gets out her Bible and tries to thump me out of her house.”

  “All right, we’re coming.”

  “Thank you.”

  Arthur said, “No problem.” I flipped the phone closed.

  I smiled oh so sweetly while saying, “The cops are on their way so they can be witness to this investigation. How silly of me not to bring them in the first place. By the way, I don’t worship a devil. You can’t worship something you don’t believe in.”

  Mrs. Nelson’s face turned an angry shade of red. Her husband put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Honey…”

  She jerked away from him. The expression on her face didn’t look very sane as she spat, “I don’t want this devil whore in our house!”

  I took in a deep breath and leaned back in my seat. One…two… “I told you, I don’t believe in a devil.”

  Arthur walked through the back door with two other officers. “Having trouble, Kass?”

  “Yeah, apparently my new nickname is Devil-Whore.”

  Arthur looked at the obviously pissed-off Mrs. Nelson. She was leaning over the table glaring at me. She pointed at me dramatically. “I want this devil worshipper out of my house right now!”

  Mr. Nelson and Timothy just sat there. Did I mention I don’t like drama queens? I leaned back in my seat, taking another sip of coffee. I’d let Arthur and his backup deal with this.

  “Mrs. Nelson, if you don’t calm down and cooperate with us, we’ll be forced to take you into custody.”

  “What for?” she practically screamed. “I haven’t done anything!”

  “For withholding information from the police and verbally harassing a law enforcing officer.”

  “She just said she’s not a cop!”

  “No, but when she’s working with the force she’s considered a cop. She’s got a badge of her own and has every right to press charges.”

  Arthur looked at me and I shrugged. I wouldn’t have pressed charges, but if Arthur’s threat got her to sit back down, I’d go with it.

  *

  I stood outside the Nelson’s two-story ranch waiting for Arthur to wrap things up. A glance at my cell phone told me it was almost five in the afternoon. I really wanted to get home before rush hour traffic. Gods, I hate traffic. In order to keep myself from getting pissed at Mrs. Nelson, I had to remove myself from the kitchen. As much as I hated doing exactly what she’d wanted… She’d kept ranting and casting daggers with her eyes. It wasn’t a good idea for me to let my temper out. Hell, even before I was infected with lycanthropy that was a bad idea.

  The air around the house smelled like fresh grass and pine needles when I breathed. I heard footsteps falling somewhat hurriedly and turned around to find Timothy approaching. He smiled weakly, as if trying to be friendly but seeming more awkward in his youth.

  “You’re serious?” he asked.

  “About what?” I leaned back against the car, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “About the werewolves.”

  “Yes.” I wondered where Arthur was and why it was taking him so damn long.

  Timothy pushed the brown tresses of his hair back. “Sorry about my mom,” he said. “She’s pretty hardcore and anything she doesn’t understand tends to freak her out.”

  I nodded slightly. “I’m used to it.”

  “I’m cool with it,” he said. “I’ve got a friend in school and his mother practices witchcraft. She’s really earthy, smart too.”

  “Nifty,” I said, for lack of anything better.

  “Look, I know I’m probably bothering you but I just thought we should talk. I’d like to know more about the werewolves.”

  “I didn’t say I was an expert on the subject.” In a sense it was true. I’m not an expert, just your average werewolf here, folks.

  “You sounded like you knew about ’em in the house,” he said, and I frowned at him.

  I sighed. “Look, Tim, I only know what I’ve experienced, and trust me, you don’t want to come face-to-face with a lycanthrope. They’re not that fascinating. Scary, yes, but the whole fascination factor diminishes when they’re trying to eat you.”

  He gave a slight nod. “I just wanted to hear more about what happened to you. Hey, you know what you said about the media and vampires? I saw on the news the other night that there was a vampire club that opened in the city a few weeks ago. Did you see that?”

  He changed the subject so quickly it took my mind a moment to process what he was saying. I was obviously running low on caffeine.

  “I don’t watch the news,” I said, “too much negativity.”

  In the United States, vampires had legal rights. It was the rest of us underground paranorms that were waiting for a law to pass that protected and treated all supernaturals as legal citizens. Of course, from an outsider’s perspective, drinking blood might seem classier than using a human’s arm as a chew toy.

  In all reality, most werewolves keep to themselves or to a local pack. They don’t usually brutally murder. Yet, with everything there are exceptions. The movi
es make it look like we lose all of our humanity when we shift. In actuality, we’re not any different from humans. If a person of ill heart is turned into a werewolf, it’s not being a lycan that makes them a bad person. It’s being a bad person that makes them a bad person. It’s like a gun. It’s not the gun that hurts someone, it’s the person holding the gun and pulling the trigger that does. I admit that the hungers and instincts arise and sometimes the animal sees through the eyes of the human instead of the other way around, but it is only the weak willed that fall victim to their inner wolf. Then again, maybe everyone’s wolf is different. I wouldn’t really know, because I never joined a pack. I know there’s one in every city. At least, that’s the case according to Jake, the Paranormal Hunter that helped me get my license, but I was too afraid joining a pack would risk exposure. Thus, I avoided the idea all together. Jake had told me that there are quite a few wolves that “lone” it. Well, I was one of them now.

  I heard voices and turned to look toward the house. Arthur was shaking hands with Mr. Nelson. He turned, stepping off the porch. He was heading in my direction.

  “Tim!” Mr. Nelson yelled from the porch.

  Timothy smiled another awkward smile. “I guess I should go inside.”

  “Be safe, Tim,” I said. “You should try and stay in the house until we find the lycanthrope that did this.”

  He began walking back toward the house. Unexpectedly, a little warning went off in my mind. This warning wasn’t coming from outside danger, though. It came from deep inside and was loud enough that I called after him. “Timothy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do me a favor and don’t try to go investigating on your own, okay?”

  “Why would you think I’d do that?”

  I couldn’t tell if it was the emptiness in his voice, the way his shoulders tensed, or my intuition, but something in his dark brown eyes told me he’d thought about it. I only knew that there was an image in the back of my mind of a sixteen-year-old boy snooping where he shouldn’t and getting himself hurt, or worse.