Page 108 of Hoofin’ It

“I’m fine,” my mother growled.

“Oh! Communicative already? That’s excellent. You may as well come in. There’s no reason to lurk in the doorway. Make yourselves comfortable, procure some chairs, have a seat.” Dr. Yasolovic pulled out his cell and made a call, requesting for a vet able to do a full physical on an otter of unknown species, adding I was probably injured in some fashion or another. When finished, he pocketed the device, took hold of my head, and held me in a firm grip while he examined my right eye. “I find it intriguing the glass eye shifted with him.”

Everyone came into the room and found places to sit or hover, something done in relative quiet while Marian watched, her gaze slow and dulled from painkillers. Mom leaned over the FBI agent, sniffing with one ear pricked forward and the other twisted back. I watched, tensing but waiting to see what my mother would do.

Mom licked Marian from chin to hairline, and I sighed over the embarrassment of having two overly affectionate werewolves for parents.

“Gross,” Marian complained, waving her left hand in front of her face, as though the flopping, feeble motion would somehow make the smell of wolf breath dissipate faster. She had a lot to learn about werewolves, like the fact she’d be smelling wolf breath for at least an hour.

Instead of backing off, Mom licked her again.

I sighed.

“Patsy, you’re embarrassing our puppy.”

Dad’s words only encouraged Mom to upgrade her tokens of affections from licks to nuzzles, resulting in the oversized red hybrid werewolf half crawling onto the bed. Drugged and with her right arm in a sling, Marian was unable to fend off my mother, and her giggle-laden protests didn’t help matters, either.

Of the two sane people left in the room, Ernesto would add fuel to the fire to watch it burn, so I turned to Dr. Yasolovic.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not coming between a new werewolf bitch and the target of her affection. Be grateful it’s not you.”

“He already had a round,” my father said, coming to the foot of the bed and scooping me up. “How long until Marian’s wrist heals?”

“Four to seven days to be safe; she doesn’t benefit from lycanthrope blood quite like your son does. While we could speed her recovery a little with the virus, it would cause high fevers and general discomfort. Your son’s recovery rate is essentially a talent—a rather impressive one. There aren’t many natural-born shifters around, but he’s the first I’ve seen with the same general resilience as a werewolf. There aren’t many with his parentage, either. Werewolf children are either infected at birth or are resistant to the virus. Should you two decide to have another child, I’d be interested in monitoring the pregnancy and development. We might learn more how to identify shifters who haven’t undergone their first shift.”

With the current chaos in my life, I didn’t want anyone encouraging my parents to have another child. I squeaked and squealed, waving my paws at Dr. Yasolovic in my desperation to change the subject.

“Shane, behave,” Dad growled, tapping the top of my head with a knuckle. “Should we decide to inflict a second child on our son, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do. I look forward to visiting an area that isn’t infested with overly haughty humans lacking basic common sense.”

“Onto more important business. Someone tried to kill my son and his woman. How can we get involved and can the CDC help?” Dad passed me over to Pierina, who decided I was best worn draped across her shoulders.

Dr. Yasolovic smiled. “That depends on a few things, Mr. Gibson. Someone close the door.”

Ernesto reached it first. “My children and I will be assisting, as will my brother. We have three theories about the attack, and I’m very interested in aiding the investigation.”

Although the FBI hunted the vampire with more enthusiasm than the CDC would ever invest, I suspected the CDC had their reasons to either want Ernesto gone—or acquire his cooperation. Since vampires counted as sentients—formerly human ones—they received benefits demons and other races didn’t. On a DNA level, vampires classified as human despite the magic granting them unlife and a thirst for blood.

“Once my colleague arrives and handles fusing Miss Peterson’s wrist, we can get more details from her about the attack, but I don’t think either one of them noticed anything. Everything she told me before I had her dosed with painkiller gave me the impression they were focused on each other and little else. Shane was seated with his back to the canal, so he wouldn’t have seen anything. I believe he gave her the seat with a view of the third level; a section of the wall there is translucent so diners may see events. Is that correct, Miss Saven?”

“Correct. Gibby was seated facing the restaurant, and yes, where Marian was seated is the ideal viewing spot of the entry to the abyss. I had the table set that way in the slim hope she might see something interesting. Gibby’s not really interested in that sort of thing, so whenever he’s on the balcony, he’s usually facing the restaurant.”

Dr. Yasolovic grunted, pulled a slim book from his pocket, and jotted down a note. “How often does he go to your restaurant?”

“Every couple of months, but it’s been a while; I’d say maybe five months—he hadn’t been in since the accident.” Pierina scratched under my chin, and I enjoyed it more than I probably should have. “It definitely looks like they were the targets; the explosive went off right beneath the balcony, destroying its supports.”

Mom straightened, set her clawed, furry hand on the bed beside Marian, and twisted to face Ernesto’s daughter. “You’re certain?”

“Positive. I know my building like the back of my hand—I helped build it, I helped design it. I would guess some sort of grenade was used, tossed from the sidewalk. Quinton? Did you see anything from the front?”

I hadn’t noticed Ernesto’s son lurking in the corner of the room, standing between the window and one of the machines rolled out of the way. “I was answering a phone call about a reservation.”

While my parents had more problems than they could shake a stick at, they were still cops, and the hunt for the culprit lured them both into the discussion. Dad was tense, a growl slipping out of him every now and then. Mom hopped a few steps towards Quinton and landed in a crouch, her teeth bared. “How long before the detonation?”

“No more than a minute.”

“The conversation. Do you remember it? Are you normally near the door?” Mom sniffed, stretching her head towards Ernesto’s son. “You smell of her blood.”