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No matter how much I wanted to believe that Joel was responsible for the growing threats and weirdness surrounding me, somehow, it didn’t feel quite right.
I’d thought going to the wolves was overkill, but maybe my subconscious knew something I didn’t.
Mitchell nudged me when I hadn’t moved for several minutes.
“We should take that footage to Dean.” He said, gesturing with his chin toward the screen of my desktop.
“But it doesn’t show anything,” I argued.
Mitchell gave me a look. “It shows more than you think.”
Mrs. Miller lived in a subdivision favored by the older folks of Locket.
I wasn’t sure if it was by design or circumstance, but Woodland Oaks didn’t have a resident under sixty. Most of the young people looking to buy homes avoided it like the plague because of the HOA and its stringent reputation. When my grandmother was alive, I’d often joked with her about Woodland Oaks, telling her it was her time to move there whenever she forgot to put sugar in her coffee or left the television on when she left the room.
I drove as carefully as I could. When we stopped by the security booth at the entrance to the neighborhood, Mitchellmade up some excuse about dropping off some paperwork for Mrs Miller. The guard let us through when I mentioned her cat.
We parked on the street outside of her house and got out. Mitchell rounded the car to get the cat, and I waved him off, explaining that no one wanted to be confronted with the image of their dead cat in a strange man’s arms.
We trooped up the driveway and rang the bell.
It took longer than I expected for Mrs Miller to answer the door.
She was holding her cat.
“Mallory, what on earth are you doing here?” Mrs Miller admonished. “Don’t you know that Princess Merryweather has an early bedtime?”
The orange Maine Coon blinked up at me.
I dipped my head. “I didn’t realize,” I explained, forcing a smile over my confused expression. “We were just in the neighborhood, and I’d heard you were entering the cat pageant in Nashville. I wanted to wish you luck.” None of that was a lie, but I was twisting the truth pretty hard.
We spoke for a few minutes before rushing back to the car.
There was no dead cat in the trunk.
Mitchell slid into the driver's seat, which was just as well because I was too shaken up to drive.
“What did you go with the other bodies?” He asked. “The rat and the possum?”
“I threw the rat away when I got home,” I whispered. “Kaleb tossed the possum in the trash can outside of the store. Do you think they disappeared as well?”
“I don’t know.” His scarred lip pursed in thought. “You’re Sídhe. You’d know more about Glamour than I would.”
“Technically, Wolfkin are Wild Fae as well—” I argued, stopping myself when I caught his exasperated glare. “Never mind.”
“What do you know about Glamour?” He asked, changing the subject.
“Grandmother Eva used to say it was sneaking something past reality and then convincing the world it always existed.” My brow furrowed as I tried to remember her words. “It's harder to use in the Human Realities because reality is more fixed here than the Aos Sí. Belief is a big part of it. It’s why you have clothes when you shift; you just expect them to be there.”
Mitchell tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Do you think the animals are a Glamour?” I asked.
“It would explain why the cat is still alive, though it could have been another cat entirely.” He shrugged.
I exhaled; the adrenaline from finding Princess Merryweather’s body had just started leaving my system. “I’m so glad the cat is alive.”
“Me too.” Mitchell shot me a close-lipped smile.
