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“Oh, shit.” Deb had reported the tall man in my yard the morning Stephen’s pelt had been displayed.
“The pack found her strung in the slaughterhouse. Headless, but there was no mistaking her canary diamond engagement ring. The monster skinned her and took the time to slide a twenty-thousand dollar ring back on.”
“Where was her head?”
Cal set down her glass. “Patience, sugar. I’m getting you there. Jaz called the CPA. We were told Sheriff Harlowe was unreachable, no surprise considering who his hands were full of, so they sent Lieutenant Mishra-Anderson. You’d have an easier go of drawing a smile in a river than putting one on her face, so I left Jaz to mold that pile of wet cement and headed to the slaughterhouse with Evie to stand guard and chase any idiot ghost hunters or teens. Ten minutes had passed when the body’s toes suddenly stretched for the ground and its sticky knees peeled apart like chunks of strawberry taffy. Threw up my rabbit. In the distance through the swamp we heard Deb scream. Her body started to writhe and claw at the hook protruding through her chest as if it were trying to run off and find its head. To see the sparkle of her ring as her nails bit into the fat of her breast? Fuck.” Cal wiped her eyes. “Bad enough Stephen died, but if he suffered the same infernal torture? Fuck.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, Cal.”
“The night got worse before the CPA controlled the scene. I went to locate Deb’s head in case humans overheard. Thought to end her misery. Followed her shrieks into the swamp and there I met Deb, motherfucking Queen of the Damned. Her head had been skewered on the stump of a lightning-struck oak. Whatever monster did this left the skin on her face. Her hair was braided into an updo and decorated in swamp flowers. A tiara of ferns had been pasted in the blood of her forehead. Her eyes were milky; I didn’t think Deb saw me, but if she did, she never stopped screaming. More than once a serpentine wriggling brushed my belly as I steeled my nerves and approached. I couldn’t bear to crush her skull in my teeth, so I nosed her into the swamp.
Reeds swayed and water lapped the stump. I scratched the bark to give it a fresh mark for Lieutenant Mishra-Anderson, when by random chance my snout caught a sour wind and a glimpse of something human-shaped and green-eyed crawling toward me through the moss.”
The color drained from my face. “What’d you do?”
“Shit myself as I ran.” She leaned out to examine the delicate strands of the spider’s forming web. “Haven’t told the pack what happened after I chummed the waters.”
“Safe to assume you’ve heard about Metacomet?”
“We disagreed on who owned some double yellow lines, but they were good people.” She stared at my living room window frame, where paint had peeled in a claw-like scratch. “What’s happening, Marcy?”
My throat felt dry despite a swig of water. I remembered Lisa had never bought beer as promised. “Too early for wine?”
“Almost too late. Be a long time before I dare raise a glass in the night,” she said with an eye toward the woods.
The sheriff's truck pulled into the driveway. He exited the truck, leaving the vehicle running. Calico pushed herself out of the porch's shade to intercept him at the walkway. Her right hand was balled in a tight fist. I ran after her.
“What were you thinking? You can’t take a human into hostile territory, you asshole!”
To his credit, Caelan turned his head enough where Cal could pop his chin if she chose (she didn’t), surveyed my property, and drawled, “This here’s a right fine day, Mrs. Finn. Your neighbors sure have witnessed enough performances without us adding to the circus.”
Calico’s head swung toward the other houses. Tension dropped from her shoulders. She set her hands on her hips and hissed through a polite smile, “She could have been killed!”
“She was safe. Miss Davins doesn’t share Talon’s rivals, yet.”
“Did you feel safe, Marcy, hun?” I couldn't get the words out fast enough. “The second you realized a necromancer was waiting, you should have dropped her somewhere zombie-free and called me.”
“I’m under no obligation to notify you of a non-pack member’s whereabouts. In fact, I find myself surprised you didn’t know where she’d gone trotting.”
Cal crossed her arms. “We’re neighbors, not besties.”
The sheriff held up his cell. “Didn’t sound so casual on your three voicemails this morning.”
Cal tapped her painted claws to her elbow. “Good neighbors are hard to replace.”
“As are museum paintings.”
I eased between the thief and the lawman. “Like my feline companions, I go as I please when I please.” I flashed both werewolves a smile. “What can I help you with, sheriff?”
“We’ve got a lead, partner,” he announced, amber eyes focused on Calico. He waited patiently, that is to say, with the proud delight of a kid who’d tablespooned baking soda into a paper-mache volcano.
Her head whipped around. The flush returned to the alpha’s cheeks. “You can’t!”
Caelan dropped his arm over my shoulders. “Already ran it past Belzer—Thomas Belzer, Otherworld’s chief PR manager, my near but less than dear handler, Marcy. Expect an article to be released after the investigation on human cooperation and the retention of classified information. Change is in the air, Mrs. Finn.”
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed. “She’ll be slaughtered.”
“Miss Davins is free to do whatever pleases her.” Caelan must’ve read my expression, because his smile widened when our eyes met. “I for one am looking forward to working with her.”
