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Reluctantly, I surrendered Elfrie’s name and explained how she’d visited when Gram was alive and how I’d contacted her asking after Warren.
“If you’re wondering whether I knew Gramps was a werewolf, I suspected.”
“Jiggled his bones the night you bought the shovel,” he reasoned. “Dead have been scratching their coffins since the necromancer’s arrival, but if Tolbert was involved in your family’s coverup, you’d have crossed state lines.”
“Yes,” I said, a little frightened how quickly he’d drawn the conclusion.
“Lucky you did,” he continued. “Might could’ve unearthed a midnight surprise if you’d desecrated a site around the Litchfield Hills.”
Grampa’s yellow sneer gnawed at my brain. “You get many zombie calls?”
“Worsening... We’ve increased police presence around the hot spots and upped patrols in the quieter graveyards. Couple disappearances, more than a few encounters reported by ghost hunters, psychics, and drunks, but no one’s been attacked and lived to tell the tale. Last week, Jali and I headed to a cemetery in Burlington to exterminate a ghoul that’d mistaken a high school senior for its now animate prey. Footage has leaked to Youtube and other sites, but we’ve buried results where we could. Funny enough, the public believes the videos have been faked due to the footage being high resolution.”
“You’re an advocate for humans joining the Otherworld, right?”
He nodded.
“Why not shine a light under the bed?”
“I don’t try hard to keep things quiet,” he agreed, “But, Marcy, much as it pains me to say it, you should talk to someone with a more nuanced view. Try Mrs. Finn. There are good reasons why folks are content to abide by the Otherworld’s laws. It ain’t my place as the minority to decide what’s best for the majority. We’ve got to convince them.” The conversation tilted with a discerning look from the sheriff. “Warren killed your family?”
I gathered my thoughts, tired of lies, tired of being alone. “He destroyed them.”
After I’d detailed the night in a surprisingly emotionless tone, as if I’d replayed it so many times I didn’t have any tears left, Caelan paced the room. “Your grandfather kills your family, excepting you and your grandmother. She dispatches him and calls Tolbert to the scene. You avoided a bite, and so werewolf you are not.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“It’s better that you’re human.”
“Why?”
He stopped in front of me. “Knowing what you do tonight, could your grandmother have been bitten? After ‘snapping’ to borrow your eloquent phrasing, typical behavior for a stricken, married Wereperson would be to first seek and turn their spouse.”
“She had blood on her face and neck when she rescued me. I assumed it belonged to Gramps.”
“She have any scars resembling a dog bite?”
“Gram had scars on scars. She also wore scarves, turtlenecks and chunky jewelry, more so when she was older, when the wrinkles and liverspots drew attention. Of what she couldn’t hide, I never noticed a single scar she didn’t have a story about: none involving canines.”
“Raised her granddaughter under a false identity beside a formidable pack. Imagine she’d show registration the middle claw.”
“She was often gardening and taking nature hikes with Cal’s mom. She never turned after she died, but, thinking about it, I buried her in sterling silver earrings, her favorites, the pair she’d been wearing when she’d died.”
“What funeral home had you sent her to?”
“Marshburn and Sons. She had made arrangements in advance so I wouldn’t have to.”
The sheriff chewed his lip. “Henry Marshburn tops our the list of recommended Society morticians in the northeast.”
“Shit.” I paused. “If the flesh rots off a corpse and the silver becomes unattached, so to speak, will the bones—?”
“Magic decays, too.”
“She passed two years ago.”
“Be a tossup at that stage, and if she stays human, inconclusive. In the current climate, the risk isn’t worth the trauma of inviting the necromancer into what’s left of her flesh.”
“Wouldn’t be traumatic for you.”
