Forbidden (10 page)

If there are commandments for Alphas, the first would be “Thou shalt be decisive.” When I’d first been bitten—and for years afterwards—I’d mistaken Jeremy’s decisiveness for narrow-mindedness. He never seemed to weigh options. He never even seemed to
see
options. When presented with a problem, he’d tell us how to handle it and that was that, as if there was only one possible solution. That wasn’t true at all. If Jeremy and I have anything in common, it is that we see too many solutions. There is no black and white for us. We see every way that a situation could be handled, and agonize over the decision, knowing none will be perfect.

The trick, as Alpha, is to
act
otherwise. No one in your Pack wants to see their leader waffling. To follow the Alpha’s commands wholeheartedly, they must believe those commands. Kind of like a cult, if you think about it, but when I jokingly mentioned that to Clay once, I got an hour-long lecture on cult dynamics versus pack mentality. He was right, though I never ceded the point. Werewolves don’t obey because we’re brainwashed into thinking our leader is all-powerful—we obey because the wolf in us is most comfortable following a leader.

So now I needed to decide what to do about our spell-casting chief of police and the answer was far from simple. I knew what Clay would do—march out there and confront her. Which is why, as he’d be the first to admit, he’d make a lousy Alpha. The problem is that, sometimes, I wish I had a little more of that decisiveness. Instead, I stood behind the cabin, shivering in the cold, as I replayed everything we’d discovered, all our interactions with Chief Dales and what they could mean, in light of our new discovery.

Then I texted Paige. I sent her the chief’s name and a photo, and asked if she had any record of her. The Coven records aren’t nearly as good as the Pack’s dossiers. I could take some pride in that—I’ve been in charge of the dossiers for almost twenty years. But I only need to track a few dozen werewolves, not hundreds of witches. And, let’s be honest, on a per capita basis, my guys are a whole lot more likely to get into the kind of trouble where I need to track them down, fast. It took Paige only a few minutes to report that there wasn’t a Jessica Dales in her database, which only meant Dales hadn’t been caught causing trouble before. There were a couple families of witches in the area, but most non-Coven ones had forgone their matrilineal system, meaning surnames were often useless. There had not, however, been any reported cases of witches practicing rituals requiring human sacrifice in upstate New York. Which, again, might only mean they hadn’t been caught.

As I weighed that, Dales started packing up. That gave me about two minutes to decide—confront her or not. I walked around to the back of the cabin.

“Hey, Jess,” I said. “Can I call you that? Jess?”

She jumped. “Oh, Ms. Michaels. I didn’t hear—”

“You don’t need to do that out here,” I said, pointing at the almost obliterated circle. “You can, if it helps for mental preparation, but that whole at-one-with-nature thing is just window dressing. You can perform witch rituals anywhere. I have a friend who can help you with that. Paige Winterbourne? Maybe you’ve heard of her. Her mother led the American coven. Now Paige is with the interracial council. You know them?”

As I chattered, I watched her expression. One, for signs she had no idea what I was talking about. Two, for signs that she was shocked that
I
was talking about it. When I saw neither, it answered a whole lot of questions. Once I finished, she did rouse herself to proper denials, of course. But I cut her short.

“I know you’re a witch,” I said. “What concerns me more is that I just started talking about Paige and covens and councils, and you aren’t wondering how the hell I know all that.”

“Which means you know what
we
are,” Clay said.

He’d stepped out behind her. When he spoke, she wheeled. It wasn’t until seeing him, though, that she stepped back. She stopped herself, but that reaction erased any doubts.

“You’ve known since you called me, haven’t you?” I said. “You figured out what Morgan was, and when you found my name on his map, you called me to come and take care of it. Get him off your turf. Fast.”

“I-I don’t—” She cleared her throat and came back stronger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Covens? Councils? Witches? I was waiting for the punch line.”

“So you don’t know what we are?”

“Besides crazy?”

I took a step toward her. She struggled not to shrink back.

“That’s fine,” I said. “If you
did
know and you admitted it, we could work something out. I’m all for coexisting. But when people know what we are and pretend they don’t, that’s a problem. And we’re very good at taking care of our problems. Which you’d know, if you knew what we are.”

A pause, one so long I swore an inch of snow fell before she answered. “Let’s talk.”

“Good. We’ll go inside.”

She shook her head. “It’s not my place. I just come here now that Charlie’s gone. With all the traps, I know no one will bother me.”

“We can open the door. As you said, he’s not here.”

She hesitated.

“Which would be illegal,” I said. “Trespassing. Break and enter. That’s not what you’re thinking, though. You’re a little more concerned about what we’ll see inside. All those predators.
Especially the wolves. Someone really likes wolves.”

“That’s Charlie, and it’s completely unconnected to…” She glanced at us, then nodded. “Let’s go inside.” She paused. “And it’s Jess. You can call me Jess.”

•

“Yes, I know what you are,” Jess said as we entered the cabin. “And who you are. I didn’t make the connection when I called you because everyone says the stories about your…group living near here are just rumors. Obviously not. I figured it out when you guys showed up, which also explained the issue with your friend. After that, I just wanted you to get the hell out of town. No offense.”

“None taken.” I took a seat in Charlie’s living room. “I can see why you’d want us gone, preferably before we found the dead bodies. Sadly, that didn’t quite work out.”

She stared at me. “What? You think—? Shit! Of course you do.” She paced to the window, struggling to control her breathing, then turned. “I have nothing to do with that body. Witches don’t sacrifice people. I thought you’d know that.”

“They do for protection rituals,” I said. “A high level protection ritual requires a life given for a life protected.”

“I protect myself with this.” She opened her parka to show her gun. “And I protect my town with this.” She gestured at her badge. “That body you found was partially eaten. And not by scavengers. Doc said he found human teeth marks on the bones. That made me think it might be one of yours. We’ve also had drifters go missing, which could mean we have one of you guys living out here. I know your…group is supposed to handle problems like that, which is why I called you to the station last night and left you that list.”

“And stopped us from leaving today?”

“What?”

“A woman called and canceled our car repair this morning.”

“That wasn’t me,” she said.

“You’re the only one who knew.”

“No, lots of people knew. They saw the car. They asked us if you guys were okay. We said Jim was swinging by this morning to fix it.”

“So someone slashed our tires to strand us here, then
canceled our repair to keep us here?”

She finally came into the room and took a seat across from me. “I presumed the tire slashing was just kids. We have a few idiots.” She paused. “More than a few. It’s a small town. They get bored easily. They know better than to lash out at locals, but strangers are fair game. I don’t understand the mechanic call, though.” She looked around. “And where’s your friend?”

“He left.”

She frowned. “How? I saw his car at the diner this morning. It wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Hitch-hiked to the highway, I guess. Morgan’s not one of ours. Just coming out to see us and, apparently, after everything that happened, decided to push on instead. But speaking of the diner, did the server tell you Morgan was drunk the other night?”

“Sure. Marnie said he had three, four whiskeys with dinner.”

“Did you test him?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t charge the guy with public drunkenness after all that time.”

“He wasn’t drunk. Didn’t have a single drink, he said, and if he did, we’d have smelled it on him the next morning. Your server lied.”

“Why?”

“Answering that is your job, isn’t it?” Clay drawled.

She looked at him, seemed to consider responding, then decided I was the safer conversationalist and turned her attention back to me.

“Also, if your coroner found human teeth marks on that body, it wasn’t one of us,” I said. “You’d have found teeth marks like those.” I gestured at a wolf skull on the shelf. “Which means you have the kind of problem we can’t help you with. And…” I rose and walked to the shelf with the three human skulls on it. “This middle one? It’s new. It’s been boiled so I don’t think you’ll get DNA off it, but it’s a pretty sure bet that it belongs to Ricky Rivera.”

“What?” She scrambled up and stared at the skull. She looked ill and I cursed myself for being so flippant. She’d known Ricky. She’d doubtless come to know him even better in the months she’d been searching for him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She tore her attention from the middle skull and her gaze tripped over the whole trio. “No. That’s not…Charlie wouldn’t have…There’s no way you can tell that from a skull.”

“We found the rest of the body. Minus a skull. Also minus a hand, like our dead drifter. There are some finger bones there.” I pointed at the bookcase. “We found more in a cave. We’ll show you that, too. Before we do, though, tell us about Charlie.” 

Jess’s story started the same as the couple’s from the diner. Town legend, dating back before her time, about the young man who’d gone off to see the world, then came back, took a wife and settled down. Whereas the couple said he’d been just a normal guy until his wife’s death, Jess told another version.

“I think people forget,” she said. “Or they rework the past to make a better story. I arrived shortly before his wife died, and he was already a little off. According to everyone I talked to, he’d always been that way.”

“Off?”

“Eccentric, I should say. Not dangerous. Not ever…” She looked back at the skull, then away. “Some of this was here even before Susan died. Certainly the books. That’s what he did abroad. He taught English to make a living, but his real passion was for traveling and gathering stories. Folklore. Myth. Whatever you call it.”

“Ritualistic magic,” Clay said.

Again, she looked over, as if surprised to hear him speak, and again she hesitated, as if she realized she should include him in the conversation, before turning back to me.

“Yes, ritualistic magic. From all over the world. That’s what drew me to him when I moved here. I heard a few things and I wondered if he was a supernatural. So I asked about his interests. Just questions, not interrogation. We became friends, I think. Of a sort. No one else was interested in his hobby, not even his wife and stepson. No one around here seemed to understand. It was just…”

“Weird,” I said.

She nodded. “But it was purely an academic interest. He collected some of this, but he didn’t do anything with it. He didn’t try the rituals. He just learned about them. Until Susan passed away.”

“His wife,” I said. “And how did she die?”

“Cancer. No possible foul play there. It was quick. Three months and she was gone. But during those three months…” She waved around. “That’s when it went from books and memorabilia to all this. The skulls, the skins. He became obsessed with animals.”

“Predators.”

She blinked, as if she hadn’t seen the connection. After a look across the room, she nodded. “Yes, predators, I guess.”

“And the traps?”

“That came later. After the fight with his stepson.”

“Coach Hanlon.”

“Right. Don’t ask me what it was about. No one knew. Just a big blowout that pushed Charlie completely off the rails. That’s when he started living out here permanently, set up the traps and told the rest of the world to go to hell. Even me.”

•

We prepared to leave the cabin after that—all of us. I could ask more about Charlie’s disappearance. I could tell her about the ritualistic markings we’d seen in the forest. For now, though, we’d shared enough. Time to slow down and process.

What did I think happened? That our eccentric recluse had tipped over into raving madman. The missing drifters dated back to shortly after Charlie’s wife died. Shortly after a guy obsessed with ritual and predators started going “off the rails.” Now he’d disappeared and we were finding bodies with human teeth marks.

Charlie Lacoste was out here. I was sure of that. He was probably even coming home occasionally to add to his collection. He might be living in the cave, the smoke covering his scent. He had, I believed, become his obsession. Become a predator. A wild beast living in the forest, feeding on whatever he could catch. Including Ricky Rivera.

•

The sun was setting. We were on the cabin steps when Jess got a call. She looked at her cell phone and winced.

“Mrs. Rivera,” she said. “Always fun.” With a deep breath, she answered.

I don’t know if she realized we had super-hearing—her knowledge of werewolves seemed to be a little scattered—but she retreated into the cabin to talk. I caught a few words. Something about a man who’d been arrested, and there might be a connection to her son’s disappearance. Mrs. Rivera was calling to demand more information. Jess seemed to have no idea what she was talking about. A moment later, she came out.

“Well, it seems your friend Morgan didn’t take off after all,” she said. “According to Mrs. Rivera, he was caught going after one of our teens.”

“What?” I said. “No. He wouldn’t…” I glanced at Clay. “Our tire-slasher. I bet he spotted the kid when he was leaving town.” I turned back to Jess. “Clay and Morgan chased our vandal yesterday and lost him in the woods. Morgan must have seen him again and gone after him.”

“I figured it was something like that. I tried to tell her yesterday that he couldn’t have taken Ricky. He just got here, and her son disappeared over a year ago. It seems she’s convinced that he took him and came back. Now they think he was trying to strike again. Because, if you’re going to grab teenage boys, this is the only town that has them.” She rolled her eyes.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“A flash mob,” she said. “And not the sort that breaks out in song. I don’t think they’d have done anything, but luckily, it never came to that. The voice of reason appeared, in the form of our football coach, who has more than his share of experience mediating when testosterone surges. Mrs. Rivera said he took Morgan to the station. We’ll get this straightened out. But you really need to keep your friend on a tighter leash.” She glanced sharply at Clay. “No pun intended.”

He only grunted.

“I’ll phone the station and see what’s going on.”

She didn’t bother retreating for this call, and I realized she only had earlier for confidentiality. This was just business. Jaggerman answered at the station and she told him what she’d heard.

“Yep, he’s here,” Jaggerman’s voice came though the cell. “Coach thought this was the safest place for him. I figured we’d hold him until everyone settles down. I’ll turn him loose.”

“No,” Jess said. “Tempers are probably still a little raw. I’ll bring his friends down to make sure he gets out safely.”

“I don’t think that’s nec—”

“Better safe than sorry. Just hold him until we get there.”

A pause. “Not sure I’m comfortable with that, Chief. Doesn’t it violate his civil liberties or something?”

“No, we can hold him for up to twenty-four hours. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Where are you? I thought I saw your Jeep over by the woods.”

“You did. I got a report of a second body. It might be…” She trailed off. “I don’t want to say too much. Just hold tight and let Wes know what’s going on. I’ll call if I find anything.”

•

We took Jess to see the grove with the pelts and tree markings first. She said she’d seen other trees with the markings elsewhere, and presumed they were Charlie’s. The pelts, though, were new, and she had no idea what they meant.

We had a good idea where to find the body—I’d made note of the coordinates. As we approached, I noticed Clay slowing. Hesitating.

“Wrong turn?” I whispered as Jess trailed behind us.

“Thought I heard something. Wind’s blowing the wrong way, though.” He took another step, then lifted his hand, telling me to hold on while he investigated.

As he crept away, Jess moved up beside me. “Is that how they do things? Women and children in the rear?”

I didn’t answer, partly because I was too busy watching Clay’s back, partly because I just wasn’t interested in defending myself. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but we’ve never had the caveman syndrome—where the big strong man insists on looking after his fragile little woman. With wolves, mated pairs are partners, equal partners, which only changes now, as we shift into our future roles.

There was a time when I would have felt the need to explain. To make sure she knew I wasn’t “one of those women.” I no longer cared.
I
knew I wasn’t. Good enough.

Clay stopped beside a pine. After a moment, he waved me forward. When Jess tried to follow, he put up his hand to stop her.

“Like hell,” she said. “I’m the one wearing a badge here and—”

I gave her a look. That’s all it took. A look. Should I admit I was shocked when it actually worked? Maybe I was getting better at this Alpha thing. Or maybe that look just reminded her that I could rip that badge from her chest…and take her heart with it.

I crept over to Clay. He motioned for me to peer through the branches. When I did, I saw a figure in a parka heading for the body. A police parka.

“Kent,” I whispered.

Jess had told Jaggerman to notify him. I should have said something then, warned her that we’d seen Kent taking way too much personal interest in the first corpse. Now it was obvious he wasn’t just a creep with a camera. He was heading straight to the hidden body. Moving fast. Getting rid of the evidence.

I looked at Jess. She’d moved a few steps closer. I glanced toward Kent, then motioned for her to approach quietly. By the time she made it, Kent was crouching by the evergreen that sheltered the body. No time to explain. Well, yes, there was time, but I wasn’t taking the chance that she’d blurt something and startle him. Instead, as she waited for an explanation, I motioned Clay around the other way. He took off.

I whispered, “Someone’s there,” and pointed to the spot where she could look through the branches. As she bent, I left her there and headed for Kent.

“I think you should let the chief handle that,” I said as I walked up behind the crouched figure.

He jumped and turned and I saw his face. Not Kent. Jaggerman.

He looked at me, then to the left, where Clay blocked his escape.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jess said as she strode over. “Phil.”

“I, uh, had a report. Must have been the same one you got.”

“She got that from us,” I said. “We were leading her here.”

“Then someone else must have found the body too, I guess. I got a tip.”

“Right after I said I was heading out here?” Jess said.

As Jaggerman continued backpedaling, it became very apparent why this career cop had been passed over for the chief’s job. He was an idiot. There was no plausible way he could have “just happened” to beat us to the body, but he kept trying to find one.

I let Jess handle it while Clay and I blocked Jaggerman’s exits. When he didn’t even try to make a break for it, I started doing some logistical figuring.

“You weren’t at the police station when Chief Dales called, were you,” I said. “You were already out here. Which means you have the station phone forwarded to your cell.”

“I…No, I got the call, then I—”

“Put on your jetpack to beat us here?” I took a step toward him. “Where’s Morgan?”

He paused, then managed a weak, “Who?”

Clay was on Jaggerman so fast he didn’t have time to squeak before he was up against a tree, suspended by his shirtfront.

“Hey!” Jess said. “That’s my—”

“Where’s Morgan?” Clay said.

“I don’t know who—”

“The guy you supposedly took into custody.”

“Oh, right. He’s, um…I let him go.” He looked at Jess. “I know you said not to, but I really felt I should. He was threatening lawsuits and—”

“You weren’t at the station when she called,” I said. “We’ve already established that. The only reason you were so damned determined to release Morgan was because you never had him in the first place, did you? Which means…” I looked at Jess. “Mrs. Rivera said Coach Hanlon took Morgan.”

Coach Hanlon. Charlie’s stepson.

I closed in on Jaggerman, pinned against the tree by Clay. “Where is Morgan?”

When he started to protest, Clay leaned in and whispered in his ear. I was standing too far back to hear more than a few words, but when Jaggerman’s gaze shot to the tree sheltering the corpse, the message was clear.
Tell us or you’ll end up like that.

“Jess?” Jaggerman said in a strangled voice. “You know me. I’ve worked with you for years. I’m a good cop. I—”

“Tell him where his friend is,” Jess said. “Or I need to start a search party for the guy, which means I’ll have to ask
him
to escort you to the police station.”

Jaggerman’s jaw worked. Then he swallowed and said, “He’s at the cave.”