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“Ah, true.” She lowered herself another step. “Tell me, sugar, what do all werewolves possess?”
A breeze lifted the back of my shirt, a faint temptation to flee. I stood firm.
She dropped the pendent and another step, opened her mouth and let her tongue slide over her pearly whites. “Teeth.”
I flicked the blade’s tip toward the cleaned porch. “And blood.”
Her heels clicked less assuredly on the next step. “Confident, aren't you?”
“And a smidge dumb. That’s what makes me dangerous. Ask Sheriff Harlowe.”
She descended, this lovely monster of grace and poise, until the tip of the blade was a thrust away from plush cashmere.
"You're here for your brother’s pelt,” I announced.
She held her finger to the knife edge, tried to push it aside. I pushed back. Withdrawing her finger, she sucked the blood. “Ouch.”
“You’re lucky it’s ‘ouch,’” I continued. “You broke into my home.”
She aimed to set her palm on my wrist but retreated a step when a quick flash of the steel nearly lanced her forearm. “Once upon a time, your grandmother said the same.”
“My grandmother?”
“When I first entered your home—pleased to learn you support local artists, by the way; I, too, have several pieces of stoneware by Talisha Carter, shame she disappeared—I noticed you’ve changed the contents of the dining room curio. Your grandmother kept several dolls on display.”
“I still dream about some,” I said.
“She bought them abroad and underground, claimed their lifelike eyes invited wandering spirits. In return for their good care, the spirits protected your home.” The woman rested a hand on her hip. “Evidently you’ve been slacking.”
“No regrets.” I shrugged. “They’re creepy. Grandma maintained extensive provenance on her pieces. I surrendered one to authorities after the news aired a segment on emergent kuman thong cases. This particular seller had been dry-roasting fetal corpses from an abortion clinic for use in his dolls.”
Stephen’s sister covered her heart. “How abysmal! And the others?”
“He was the sole problem child. Nothing untoward about the amulets and idols stuffed inside the rest.”
“Thank goodness! What angels she kept! Eight or nine on display, accented by the stain of that cherry cabinet.”
“A coffin.”
“A treasure chest.” Sadness played on the woman’s wistful smile. “There was this one doll, a girl in a bright blue dress. . .”
“Aaju,” I said, a bit taken aback by her knowledge of Gram’s collection and a growing certainty she meant me no physical harm. “Grandma purchased her from a medicine man in Greenland. She houses the restless spirit of a tupilaq, if you believe in such fairytales. There’s a sperm whale tooth sewn into the doll’s chest depicting the spirit: equal parts walrus, raven and child. I still have her.” I met the woman’s dark eyes. “But I don’t have time for a home invader and potential thief. Please make your point before I do.”
“Of course, sugar. We’re both busy women.” She fiddled with her charm. “One afternoon when I was a pup, your grandmother caught me stealing Aaju. She binds my hands and feet together and locks me in with the dolls. Never been so terrified. Ten minutes later, she opens the cabinet, tells me this is the kindest reaction I could ever hope for if I got caught thieving. Says I have worms for brains and if I ever try to steal from her again, she'll smash open my skull and pull them out one by one and make herself a bowl of spaghetti.” She chuckled. “Your grandmother had such an expressive face, not unlike yourself. I believed her threat, and I believe yours. I confess, you’ve only caught me because I couldn’t leave without seeing if you still had that precious doll.”
I studied my prim and proper thief: she and Stephen shared a certain physical prowess; though she was not the athletic specimen he was, confidence and control ruled her posture.
"What’s your name?” I asked.
She pouted. “We’ve lived alongside one another for years, Marcy.”
“We hardly wave.”
“Your grandmother recognized a bad influence when she saw one,” she said. “I’m Calico Finn.” As if sensing my shock, she tapped one spotted dimple. “Not originally; my parents weren’t cruel. When I turned eighteen I made the legal change to better match my nature, among other reasons. Far sexier than ‘Dalmatian’ or ‘Holstein,’ wouldn’t you agree?”
“Can’t say I’d have chosen the same.” Gram had chosen my new name. Wise, considering I’d been a child, but some days I still resented my lack of say.
“I also answer to ‘Cal’ and ‘Hey, sexy.’” She winked.
