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“Even if you fall asleep.”
Or until Igor inevitably knocked something to the floor and piqued his curiosity.
“Never envisioned myself renting a Barbie movie,” I said, returning to company more my age.
Caelan watched me wash my hands and pour two cups of juice, a pensive look in his eyes.
I leaned against the counter and paused to regard him in turn. “What?”
“Nothing." He tossed the thin folder on the table between our plates. “Your requested information.”
“Fast turnaround.”
“Unfortunately, my office needs time to get more information, and after his arrival in the states, your grandfather was not well documented.”
Setting down our drinks, my hand hesitated over the blank cover. Better to eat first, in case I lost my appetite.
With our plates rinsed and Mila absorbed in her movie, I pulled Caelan into the formal dining room, where we could keep an eye on her while maintaining enough privacy to talk. Our dining room was never used for anything except stacking stuff that didn't belong anywhere else: posters, old artwork, project and training supplies either myself or Lisa needed to grab on short notice.
The sheriff sat beside me, but rested his hand on the back of my chair as I read.
Warren Benjamin (German birthname unlisted) had been a former SA Brownshirt then SS officer defected from the Nazi party for reasons unknown in August of 1940, at which point he worked as a spy for the United States. He made appearances across Germany before his cover was blown and he joined a military unit, earning the moniker The Second Wolf.
The majority of the text had been redacted, including what happened to him once he’d left for Greece. I flipped it shut with a halfhearted smile. “Thanks for getting this.”
Caelan leaned away to take a quick peek at Mila. The girl was already nodding off. “Not what you were hoping for?”
“There's hardly anything here. Who was he before he changed allegiances? What was his name?”
“He changed it at least twice in the United States before we lost him. Seems your family was trying real hard to bury themselves.” The sheriff gaze followed the delicate pattern of the stenciled floral trim around the walls. “Still don’t know your name, Miss Davins.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Sucks when people disappear, doesn’t it?”
“Proves the process works.” He tapped the paperwork. “Really not going to tell me?”
Considering the consequences of my next move carefully, I set my hand on his thigh and whispered in his ear, “ You’ll have to work harder.”
The man gave me a look both appraising and keen. His hand covered mine. “Sure you want to play this game?”
Anticipation tightened my core. “Fun’s allowed, right?”
One side of his mouth turned up. He set my hand on my knee. His fingertips brushed my forearm as he rose. “There’s unfinished business on the table, Miss Davins.”
“Cast my vote for clearing it,” I said, and with a glimpse in the living room added, “After bedtime.”
He came around behind my chair. “I reckon I don’t need to devote much effort into figuring your name, except for my personal satisfaction.” His fingertips traced the curve of my cheek as I turned my head up toward him.
“Why’s that?” I asked in genuine curiosity.
“However you and Ingram Hayes are connected, I don’t believe your exact name is important. I know his history, and I know yours since you’ve popped into existence in Connecticut. He may be here for you at behest of a higher power, but it isn’t your original name drawing him, considering your tracks have been well-covered and nothing suggests you’ve lured him here yourself.”
“So what has?”
With those three little words, the warmth of his touch disappeared. Restless, a different kind of excitement toning his amber eyes, he crossed to the opposite side of the table. “Blood. Likely something or someone in your family history has steered him your way. Werewolves can act demonic, but we ain’t demons, and we don’t become them when we die, least, not to our knowledge. The entity may have used your grandfather’s voice to taunt you, but it ain’t out of the realm of possibility your grandfather, maybe even your grandmother, shook hands with the devil.” He gestured at the file. “You’re positive you don’t have living relatives or extended family who may know of your name change and whereabouts?”
“We severed all ties.” I ripped the elastic from my hair, running my fingers through the dark waves, gathering my thoughts and his attention. “Except a woman Gram knew from the concentration camp. I was more tightlipped than Gram, I think, or she really couldn’t keep the two lives separate. A few others, Mrs. Finn and her deceased mother, know at least her name, if not more.”
Could Gram have told our history to Calico’s mom? Had Cal overhead? Or had she offered a little truth to those friends she never lied to?
