The intervening time was tense. Ari haunted the Olde Town streets and parks, determined to stop further violence before it happened. Yet every phone call, every message was potential news of some new disaster. The final night was the hardest. Steffan’s control over his inner beast was strong, but even he found it difficult to resist the call of the full moon. Ari worried that the Canadian pack might choose that night to commit further mischief. When dawn came with no new crimes reported, she breathed a sigh of relief.
It was nearly 6:30 a.m. when she met Steffan two houses from their destination. Steffan was edgy; staying in the night before had cost him. The five weretigers who accompanied him were in better shape. The moon’s lure affected their species less than the wolves.
Ari turned to take a look at the house, a three-story built around 1910. Shingles curled at the edges; dingy white paint clung to the frame, chipped and peeling. The upstairs shutters were closed, except for one on the third floor that hung by a single hinge. The yard hadn’t been mowed since mid-summer, and hostas in neglected beds had lost a battle to weeds long before the weather curled their leaves.
It looked deserted. An impression negated by the faint but steady pulse of Otherworld power seeping from the doors and windows. The wolves were home from their hunt.
Ari looked at Steffan and nodded.
They approached the front door unchallenged. Ari pushed the button and heard chimes inside. When no one answered, she tried again. More chimes. Finally the door opened a crack.
“What do ya want?” A bleary-eyed face looked them over, a scowl gradually forming.
“We’re here to talk with Louie Molyneux,” Ari said.
The wolf opened the door a few inches more, his body filling the space. His shoulders were so enlarged from weight lifting he virtually had no neck. His face held creases from heavy sleep. “Who are you?”
Steffan moved forward on cue. “The local wolf rep to the Magic Council.”
“And the rest of them?”
“The Guardian, and the others are local weretigers.”
“Why are ya here?”
The wolf was suspicious, but Steffan had experience in diplomacy. Ari let him carry the conversation.
“The Guardian and I would like a few words with Mr. Molyneux. The tigers are here to make sure it stays peaceful.”
The wolf gave a derisive snort. “So what’s the deal? What’s this about? Can’t you come back later?”
Steffan shook his head. “Our business is only for Molyneux’s ears.”
The burly wolf blinked at them. “Wait.” He closed the door and left.
Steffan turned to Ari and shrugged. “So far, so good. We wait.”
The group cooled their heels for almost ten minutes before the door opened again. The big wolf was back with three sidekicks carrying guns. He motioned them in. “Stop right there.” He pointed to a side table. “Now, your weapons go here.” He grinned. “Or I can search you for them.” Ari shook her head. “This is a peaceful visit, but I’m not giving you our weapons.”
The wolf puffed out his chest and stepped toward her. A door behind him banged open, and an older wolf appeared. Forties, closely cropped reddish-brown hair, compact, powerfully built. His age showed in the small paunch at the waistline. Slightly rumpled, he looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Despite that, his dominance was obvious.
“What’s the delay?” he demanded. The wolves signaled their submission with dropped gazes. Louie Molyneux had arrived to deal with the intruders directly.
“Weapons,” the big wolf said. “The woman refuses to be searched.”
Molyneux’s nostrils flared. He leered at her body, finally gave a dismissive jerk of his head. “These two only,” he ordered, pointing to Steffan and Ari. “The others stay here.”
Molyneux led them into the back of the house. Ari and Steffan followed, urged on by the three guys with the guns.
Ari wasn’t happy about leaving their backup behind. She was surrounded by an unseen number of hostile wolves. She opened her senses and immediately felt the Otherworld magic and smelled the wolves behind the closed doors. Memory surfaced, a rancid scent Ari recognized from the park. The teens’ attacker was on the premises. Somewhere very near.
Walking beside her, Steffan sniffed the air. He must have smelled the hidden wolves. So far nothing they hadn’t expected, although proof the Goshen Park attacker was in the house was an added bonus.
Molyneux opened a set of doors, and they entered a large library. Shelves of dusty books, a paisley rug, roll-top desk, wooden chairs. Shiny computer equipment covered the library table. He hitched his pants and dropped into a desk chair. Two wolves stood behind him; the others remained in the hall.
Once Molyneux was settled, he pointed toward the other chairs. “Have a seat.”
Steffan lounged against the door frame without speaking.
“No thanks,” Ari said. “This won’t take long.”
“Suit yourself.” Molyneux lit a cigar, took two slow puffs, and leaned back. “So what’s this all about? You said you wanna talk, so talk.” He put his feet on the desk and crossed them at the ankles. His small beady eyes bore into Ari’s. He puffed away. Ari decided he’d watched way too many American gangster movies. It sounded even funnier in a French accent.
Figuring he’d been told who they were, she dispensed with the formalities. “I understand you were at the Second Chance Saloon Sunday night.”
“Is that why you’re here? Heard it got crazy as hell after we left. The bloodsuckers killed somebody. Damn shame.” He puffed again.
Smoke began to fill the room and irritated her nose. Ari fought off a sneeze. “You talked with the vamps before the fight. Any idea what set them off?”
“Nope. Not a clue. Can’t help you.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Don’t rightly remember. Typical bar talk, I guess. Women, sports, beer.”
Ari prodded him about the fights at the bar and at the Were Fest, but Molyneux continued to profess his ignorance. When she pushed to know what happened just before the outbreak at the festival, Molyneux answered with increasing annoyance.
“Look, sister, I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Who the hell can predict what vamps will do?”
“How about telling me what you do know? About a drug called Fantasy. I hear you’re peddling the stuff all over town.” Ari had to give him credit. His reaction was almost invisible. Almost—but not quite. Molyneux’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second.
“That’s crazy. You don’t know what yer talkin’ about. And I don’t have time for it.” He swung his feet down and stood. “I’ve got things to do…” He let the sentence hang.
Ari met his dismissal with a challenge of her own. “I’m not done with you, wolf. You’re going to see me around every corner.”
Molyneux bristled, his body snapped to attention, his yellow eyes gleamed with malice. Ari’s heartbeat jumped with a spark of recognition. She had seen that predatory look once before.
“When were you last in Goshen Park?”
He hesitated. “Never heard of the place.”
“No? Big park on the edge of Olde Town? There’s a funny story going around about a red wolf who hunted in the park for children. One day a woman came along, whipped his ass and scared him away. Ever heard that story?”
Molyneux’s face turned red. “A stupid story!” He caught himself and continued with less vehemence. “No wolf would run from a woman. Now get out. Or I’ll have you thrown out.” The two wolves behind him came to attention, and Steffan straightened in the doorway.
“I’ll go,” she said. “But one last thing—the tall, brunette she-wolf who’s been seen in your company… I’d like to talk with her. Is she around?”
He showed her his teeth. “She’s gone. Sheila got bored and went home. Local company’s too tame down here.” Molyneux looked at his wolves. “See they find the door.”
“Sorry to hear she’s not around,” Ari said, not moving. “Maybe you can deliver a message. Tell her that her friend Angie died. You know the one, the reporter.”
Yep, that hit home. Now that Ari knew what to look for, she saw the telltale flicker in his eyes. Satisfied, she turned, brushed by the wolves in the hall, and strode out the front door. Steffan followed. She didn’t stop until they had collected the weretigers and were back on the street.
Steffan hadn’t said a word since they’d left the library. Now Ari heard choking sounds that turned into a chuckle. He responded to her look of inquiry with a wide, wolfish grin.
“I thought you were going to get us killed in there,” he said, his shoulders starting to shake with laughter. “He was such an arrogant prick. And you kept poking him. The drugs, the wolf who had his ass whipped. Almost lost it on that one. And when you brought up the reporter, he nearly turned purple.”
Yeah, well, Molyneux had been an easy target. Steffan’s amusement was contagious. It wasn’t really that funny, but an adrenaline hangover does strange things. They stood in the middle of the street snickering like a pair of idiots. The weretigers watched in confusion. Steffan tried to explain, reciting parts of the encounter, but the tigers still looked bewildered. It was one of those times when you had to be there.
On the drive home from Steffan’s, Ari called Ryan and filled him in. It didn’t take long for him to check police records and identify Sheila as Sheila Montgomery, Molyneux’s long-standing girlfriend. Assaults, disorderly. Ari was glad to put a name on their suspect. Ari was positive Sheila had been in the house today, and that they’d meet again.
Ryan’s other news was not so welcome. The police department’s case on the vampire attacks was officially closed. Unless she found new evidence that allowed Ryan to reopen, Ari was officially on her own. In anticipation of the order, Ryan had spent the morning calling around the country, talking with other law enforcement jurisdictions about Fantasy. And he gleaned some unexpected results.
